Regency Gamble: A Lady Risks All / A Lady Dares
‘Well? What are the rules to a good hustle?’ Mercedes prompted when he met her questions with silence. ‘Aren’t you going to answer?’
Greer put down the cue stick and folded his arms across his chest. ‘No, as a matter of fact, I am not.’ Then he did as he’d promised himself. He walked past Mercedes and out the front door of the inn into the glorious spring afternoon.
‘Greer Barrington, come back here. I have asked you a question.’
Oh, that did it. He was not going to acquiesce, not before he gave her a piece of his mind. He didn’t stop until he’d reached the town green though he was aware of her behind him every step of the way, her anger palpable as it chased him across the street. Greer turned and faced her, fixing her with a hard stare. ‘Can you leave me the hell alone for once? What is it you want? “How do you shoot a slice, how do you split a pair, how do you compensate for angles?” It never stops!’
His voice was too loud, but he didn’t care. It felt good to let out the frustrations, sexual and otherwise, that he’d carried for days.
Mercedes answered him evenly, unfazed by his harsh words. ‘I like the best, Captain. That’s what I want. And if you want what I want, you’d better be the best because I don’t have time for anything less.’ Nothing got to her. Just once he’d like to see something get under her skin.
‘You did in Bosham. You had time for a picnic, time to stroll around the fair.’ Greer made a wide gesture to indicate the park around them. ‘Spring is passing you by while you’re penned up in a dark inn shooting slices and teaching hustles.’
Something shifted in her grey eyes and her gaze lost its hardness. Her anger was fading. For a fleeting moment he thought he saw something akin to sadness in them, then it was gone, replaced by something more stoic, more like the Mercedes he’d come to know. ‘If I am, it will be worth it. I can enjoy next spring. Chances don’t come my way very often, Captain. I have to take them when they do, spring notwithstanding.’
‘Greer, please. No more “Captain.” You only call me “Captain” when you’re angry.’ Greer gave up the last of his anger, intrigue overriding his frustration. ‘What opportunity is that, Mercedes?’
‘To be on the road with my father,’ she said simply but tersely, and Greer sensed this was not a direction she’d willingly take the conversation. Her relationship with Lockhart was a touchy subject and, quite frankly, the relationship seemed a bit odd to him. It was nothing like the relationship his sisters had with his father. Mercedes and Lockhart were more like partners than a father and daughter.
It was strange, too, to think the indomitable Mercedes would yearn for time with her parent like any other child. He’d spent his childhood lapping up any crumb of attention from his father’s table, treasuring those rare moments when his father came out of his office to take him riding. Even now, he knew he still craved his father’s approval. He’d wanted to make his father proud of his military career.
Greer gave Mercedes a considering glance as they walked; she was so beautiful and proud it was hard to imagine she harboured the same wants as the rest of them. But she’d no more admit to it than he would, if asked. The conversational angle was played out. She would let him go no further with it. All he could do was tuck her arm through his and change the topic.
‘Have I ever mentioned how much you remind me of my superior officer, Colonel Donald Franklin? We had a secret nickname for him.’
Mercedes favoured him with a tolerant smile, the kind reserved for belligerent six-year-olds. ‘And what was that name? I’m sure you’re going to tell me whether I want you to or not.’
‘Drill book Donny or sometimes Old Prissy Pants.’
‘I’m sure you want to tell me what he’d done to earn such lovely monikers.’
‘He never relented. Buttons, boots, hilts—he’d have as big a fit over them not being polished to perfection as he would over something important like messing up manoeuvres.’
‘Little things matter,’ Mercedes said defiantly, taking the Colonel’s part. He’d known she would even if it was just to be stubborn. He understood that. It was better to be stubborn than vulnerable. ‘Besides, he brought you back alive didn’t he? His lessons couldn’t have been that useless.’
He didn’t miss the subtle analogy. She could bring him back to life, give him the spark his life was missing if he’d just listen to her. Still, for the sake of argument, he had to respond. ‘Buttons and boots can’t get you killed.’
‘I disagree. Buttons, boots, manoeuvres—they’re all part of acquiring discipline. In fact, it was one of the first things I noticed about you: your well kept uniform. It spoke volumes about the kind of man you were.’
‘What kind of man is that?’ He was enjoying this now. They were good together this way—walking and talking, sharing insights the polite people of the ton would consider too bold between a man and a woman.
‘A man who can be relied on to follow the rules.’ She tossed him a coy smile. ‘There was no Colonel Franklin to insist on polished buttons that night in Brighton and yet they were. No matter how much you may rail against his rules, you will follow them.’
Greer gave a growl of dissatisfaction. He wasn’t sure the analysis was all that complimentary. ‘You make me sound like a milksop, as if I can’t think for myself.’
‘Not at all. I’ve never once thought you were weak. Following rules makes you a man of discipline. It makes you reliable. I find that a very attractive quality.’ She smiled again, a smile made for bedrooms and the dark, not public parks in the brightness of the afternoon.
She was flirting overtly with him now, the first time since Bosham. Greer felt himself go hard. Did she have any idea what sort of fuse she was lighting? She was by far the most intriguing woman he’d ever encountered. She called to him body and mind. The very physicality of her sensuality beckoned in wicked invitation while her mind fascinated him with its insights on human nature. To truly know her would be a heady prize, one he doubted any man had yet to capture. But one, he was sure, many men had failed in the attempting.
‘Circe,’ he said softly, letting the air charge between them and the afternoon be damned. If she wanted to play this game, who was he to deny her? He was confident enough in his abilities. Perhaps he’d be the one to claim the prize.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You,’ Greer drawled. ‘You’re Circe, the siren from Homer’s Odyssey.’
She tossed her head, tiny diamond studs in her ears catching the light, an entirely seductive movement that drew the eye to her face. ‘Tell me, did Circe play billiards?’
Greer laughed. ‘No, she was, and I quote directly from Homer, “the loveliest of all immortals.” She enticed men, but when they failed to win her, she turned them into animals.’
Mercedes cocked her head to one side, giving him a smouldering stare of consideration. ‘Do you think I’m in the habit of reducing men to their baser natures? I think men do that quite well on their own without any help from me.’
‘I think, Mercedes, you know exactly how you affect a man.’ They’d come to an old, wide oak that hid them from the view of others in the park. It would be the most privacy they’d have. The game was getting dangerous now. How far did he dare take it? How far would Mercedes allow him to take it?
‘And Circe? Did she know or was it the type of curse where she was doomed to attract men? I must confess, I wasn’t all that good with the classics at school.’
He could imagine that. Mercedes was the practical sort; the classics wouldn’t hold any appeal for her unless they held the secrets to turning metal into gold. ‘What were you good at?’
Mischief flickered in her eyes. ‘Palm reading. Would you like me to read yours?’ She took his hand and turned it palm up between them.
‘They taught palmistry at your school?’ This must have been an interesting school indeed.
‘No,’ Mercedes said without looking up, all her attention riveted on his palm. ‘The gypsies did and they camped near the school every spring.’
‘And you ran off to visit them?’ At least he hoped her gaze didn’t drop any lower. There was an impressive show going on in his ever-tightening trousers. He’d have to get it under control before they started walking again.
‘Of course.’ She did look up briefly, then, her eyes dancing. ‘And no, my father doesn’t know.’
He should have known. Greer chuckled. ‘Well, go on, tell me what you see.’ Besides a full-blown erection just inches from your skirts. He was going to have to start wearing his darker trousers. A man couldn’t hide anything in fawn. Inexpressibles. Hardly. They were more like expressibles.
‘For starters, you have an air hand. That means you have long fingers and a squarish palm.’ She traced the outline of his hand with a slow finger. ‘I noticed your long fingers right away that first night.’
‘An air hand? Is that good or bad?’ He didn’t really care, he just liked the feel of her fingers tracing the lines of his palms.
‘Neither. It simply describes characteristics. You like intellectual challenges. You are easily bored. That would explain your enjoyment of the military and your eagerness to avoid the home farm, don’t you think?’
Once more they skirted a truly personal issue. This time it was he who shied away from it. He caught her looking up at him from beneath her dark lashes. He chose to play the cynic. ‘It would if I hadn’t already told you that. How do I know you’re not just putting pieces of fact together and making this up to suit?’
‘You have to trust me.’ She spread his fingers and studied them each in turn. ‘Look at that.’ Mercedes licked her lips, looking entirely wanton and very much like a gypsy. He was positively rigid now. Her next words just about did him in. She caressed the flat of his palm. ‘You are a sexual creature who excels in the intimate arts.’
‘Be careful, Mercedes,’ Greer warned in low tones. He was about to ‘excel’ right there.
‘Or what? I’ll find my skirts up and my legs wrapped around your waist? Is that a promise?’ Mercedes gave a throaty laugh. The image she painted was a potent one but this was not the time or place for such a demonstration.
Greer grabbed her wrist none too gently. ‘That’s enough.’ She needed to be taught a lesson about toying with a gentleman’s sensibilities. ‘I will not play the animal to your Circe in the middle of a public park.’
She shot him a hard look and yanked her wrist away from the shackle of his grip. ‘Of course you won’t. In the end, you’ll always abide by the rules.’
It was said mockingly. She was daring him and he was almost tempted to prove her wrong, that he would break those rules and take her right there. Goodness knew it was what his body wanted.
‘Is that what you want?’ Greer asked tersely. ‘Do you want me to take you here in this most uncouth fashion?’ He could feel the closeness between them evaporating.
‘What I want is for you to concentrate on tonight,’ Mercedes snapped. Just like that the termagant was back. For a few moments they’d been something more than travelling partners. The lines that defined their association had blurred ever so briefly. He was coming to recognise Mercedes was very good at such blurring, especially when it helped her get something she wanted.
Damn her.
It all became crystal clear: the best target is someone whose ego is greater than their skill. Give up a bit early, let them think they’ve got the upper hand, then raise the stakes and win the game. Always quit while you’re ahead. Greer blew out a breath and had the good grace to laugh. ‘Are you hustling me, Mercedes?’
She smiled, wicked and knowing, a finger trailing lightly down his shirt front. ‘I don’t know, Greer. Tell me again, what are the rules to a good hustle?’
Chapter Nine
‘There he is. That’s your mark,’ Mercedes whispered at his ear a few hours later. The quiet inn had been transformed into a noisy crowd of people. It was a Friday and wages had been paid out. Men jostled at the bar for tankards of ale and the activity was brisk around the billiards table. Even a few women were present, although none were as stunning as Mercedes.
Tonight she wore a tight-fitted gown of deep-blue satin, trimmed in black lace and cut shockingly low, shoulders bared, the star pendant hanging from a black satin ribbon at her neck. Looking as she did, Greer was almost ready to forgive her for hustling him that afternoon. Almost.
He kept a hand at her back, ushering her through the crowd to an empty space near the billiards table where they could watch the games. ‘Him?’ Greer nodded towards a tall man in his early thirties playing at the table. The man in question had been winning.
Mercedes nodded, but he noticed her gaze kept moving about the room, always landing on one man in particular, a handsome auburn-haired fellow who boldly returned her attention. ‘Greer, why don’t you get me a glass of wine, if they have any?’ she said absently.
Greer questioned the wisdom of leaving her. Every man in the room had noticed her by now, Mr Auburn-haired included. When he hesitated, she laughed up at him and he had no choice but to go in search of wine. ‘I’ll be fine. But it is sweet of you to worry.’ He was going to end up fighting someone over her tonight, he just knew it.
By the time he had returned, hard-won glass of wine in hand, he could see his suspicions weren’t far off. The auburn-haired man had moved to her side in his absence and men hovered around Mercedes. Worst of all, that little minx was encouraging it.
‘Your wine, my dear.’ Greer elbowed Auburn Hair at her side with a little more force than necessary.
She took the glass from him with a smile and a laugh. ‘There you are, I thought you’d got lost.’ Then she addressed the group around them. ‘This is Captain Barrington. He’s a fair billiards player, too, like your Jonas Bride there.’ Impressive, Greer thought. She had the name of the mark already.
She batted her eyelashes at Auburn Hair. ‘Do you think my Captain can take him, Mr Reed?’ Her hand idly fiddled with the star charm where it lay against her bare neckline. Every man’s eyes were riveted on that bare expanse of skin, especially Mr Reed’s. Mr Reed’s eye might be a bit darker for it too.
Mr Reed shot him a cocky glance men everywhere have understood for centuries. I can take her from you. To Mercedes he said, ‘Shall we see?’
Mercedes reached into her cleavage and pulled out pound notes with a graceful gesture while half the room sucked in their breath. Good Lord, she was putting on a show. Even knowing that, Greer couldn’t help but feel the first stirrings of desire. Then Greer understood. The mark wasn’t Jonas Bride, not really, not unless he chose to make the man his personal mark. The real mark was Mr Reed and she’d been drawing him to her since she’d walked in the room. Find someone who likes to bet beyond their ego.
Reed called over to Jonas Bride and a game was quickly established. Mercedes blew him a kiss, the signal to lose. Give up a bit, build the opponent’s confidence. This would be for both of them should he choose to engage Jonas Bride. It was what Mercedes was waiting for, his test for the evening. Would he personally engage in a hustle? Would he be able to win when he needed to, unlike in Bosham?
‘Bride, care for a wager between us?’ Greer offered, the affront to his own pride goading him into it. He’d show Mercedes he could play this as well as she could.
Greer lost the first game good-naturedly. Mercedes passed her pound notes to Reed and tossed her dark head. ‘Shall we go again?’ she said coyly, drawing more money from her bosom. Reed practically salivated. She blew him another kiss. And another.
Reed was standing too close to her, staring too much by the time she gave the signal to win. Greer doubled his own wager with Mr Bride, who gladly took it, seeing it as a chance for easy money. He’d just won three straight games.
Greer broke and won, careful to win just barely. There was no sense in making Bride look foolish. Reed bent over Mercedes’s hand and kissed it lavishly before he surrendered the funds, his eyes lingering on her breasts.
It’s just a game, Greer reminded himself, watching money pass back and forth between them. She’s playing with Mr Reed, working him out of his money. It’s you she likes. It’s you whose ear she sucked into oblivion; it’s you who she kissed in the parlour at Bosham, really kissed. You kissed her first and she kissed you back.
But it was hard to remember that when Reed had his hands on her, his mouth possessively close to her ear as if he had any right to Mercedes. And that cocky stare of his! He positively gloated every time he caught Greer looking at them.
Looking at them was proving costly. Reed slid a hand along Mercedes’s leg and Greer shot a poorly aimed slice that nearly caused him to scratch. Mercedes laughed and slid a hand inside Reed’s waistcoat. Greer clenched his jaw and tried to focus on the game. He should split the pair and make the table difficult for Bride. It was what Mercedes would recommend.
‘Don’t miss, Captain,’ Reed called out. ‘I’d hate to have to console your lady if you lost again.’
Greer looked up. Lucifer’s balls, Mercedes was in his lap, her mouth at Reed’s ear. That was it. No defence, no strategy. He was going to clear this table, take his winnings and his woman and get the hell out.
Greer aimed and aimed again, the shots coming in rapid fire. He saw only the table, only the balls until he’d potted them all.
‘I think that might have been the fastest game ever played,’ a man breathed somewhere in the crowd. Greer didn’t care.
‘I’ll take my money, Bride.’
‘And give me no chance to win it back?’ Bride was disappointed.
‘No,’ Greer said tersely although he could see the answer was not popular with the crowd. Bride had lost a considerable sum. Greer stuffed the money in his pocket. ‘Mercedes, we’re leaving.’
Mercedes shot him a disapproving look, but he was done. He wasn’t going to stand by and watch her flirt with another, especially when he didn’t know exactly where he stood with her. It was time to stake that claim.
‘Maybe she doesn’t want to go, Captain,’ Reed sneered, deep in his cups by now.
‘The lady is with me.’ Greer planted his feet shoulder width apart and flexed his hand.
‘Is she?’ Reed drew Mercedes to him, but she was too quick. A small blade flashed in her hand, coming up against Reed’s neck.
‘I am.’ Mercedes’s eyes glinted with the thrill of the hunt.
Reed released her. She moved backwards to his side and Greer felt a profuse sense of relief to have her with him. Ale had made Reed slow, but his sluggish brain was starting to work it all out. ‘Hey, that’s not fair. You made me believe—’
He couldn’t complete the thought before Mercedes interrupted. ‘You’re right. I made you believe and you fell for it.’ She slipped the blade into the hidden sheath in her bodice and gave Reed a wink. ‘The last rule of a hustle is to quit while you’re ahead. Adieu.’
Greer grimaced. He wished she hadn’t said that. Reed wasn’t drunk enough to ignore the slight, but he was drunk enough to fight. It didn’t take a genius to know who he’d be swinging at. It wasn’t going to be Mercedes.
Reed lunged. Greer was ready for him. His arm came up, blocking the punch while his other fist found Reed’s jaw, laying him out in one staggering blow. Cries of injustice were rising. This was going to get ugly. He and Mercedes were woefully outnumbered. It was past time to get out.
Greer shoved a bench or two in the way to slow down pursuers and pushed Mercedes ahead of him with one word of advice. ‘Run!’
But the patrons were unfortunately bored or game or both. And they were happy to give chase. At the door he needed his fists to secure an exit and still they followed them into the streets. He had Mercedes by the hand as they ran through dark streets, winding through alleys until the mob gave up the pursuit.
‘Alone at last!’ Mercedes gasped, half panting, half laughing as she bent over to catch her breath. Her hair had come down and her face was flushed. Greer thought he’d never seen anything lovelier. Until he remembered. He was supposed to be angry with her.
‘You almost got us killed back there!’ he panted.
‘Beaten up, maybe.’ Mercedes laughed, dismissing his concern.
‘Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one they were going to punch.’ Greer felt his anger slipping away. It was deuced hard to stay mad at her. But he could stay mad at Reed.
Mercedes leaned against the brick wall of a building, her breathing slowing. ‘You’re looking at me strangely.’ She raised a hand to her face. ‘Do I have dirt on my cheek? What is it?’
‘This.’ Greer braced his arm over her and bent his mouth to hers, adrenaline surging through them both, the kiss hard and bruising, its unspoken message was clear. ‘You are mine.’
This was a dangerous kiss. All of his kisses were. But that didn’t help her resist. Mercedes fell into the kiss, the thrill of the chase finding a new outlet in this physical release. They had kissed before, just as hard and just as furiously. Tonight, it wasn’t enough. In the moments of escape, she wanted more and so did Greer. Desire and adrenaline fairly rolled off his body. His hips pressed into her and she could feel the extent of his want, pulsing and hard as his mouth devoured her. Why shouldn’t they have more? Why shouldn’t they celebrate this moment? Why did it have to mean anything beyond now?
Mercedes reached for him, finding his hard length through the fabric of his trousers. She stroked it, firm and insistent, moulding the cloth about its rigid form until she felt the tiniest bit of dampness seep through. Greer groaned, sinking his teeth into her throat, his bite an intense mix of pain and pleasure against her skin. His hand too, was not idle. He cupped her breast, thumbing her nipple into erectness beneath the satin of her gown, creating an exquisite friction against her skin. A moan escaped her, swallowed up by his mouth. He was branding her with his kisses, with his touch. She ought not to let him. She belonged to no man. And there could be no future in belonging to this one, only disappointment. But, her body chimed in, not until after great pleasure. Greer would be a matchless lover, their passion unequalled.
Her skirts were up, the evening air cool on the heated skin of her body, her leg hitched around the lean curve of his hip, the decadence of their position fuelling their ardour. They were in a public place. Technically, anyone could come along at any time. It was a naughtily delicious thought to imagine being caught with this man. Even she had not dared so much in such a place before. Greer’s hand slipped inside her undergarments and found her cleft, stroking, teasing her into unquenchable flames, his own breathing coming ragged and fast.
Mercedes fumbled in haste with the fastenings of his trousers. ‘Come on, get that out here to play.’ Her own voice was hoarse with want as her fingers groped for access to that most male part of him. Almost! She almost had it. That was when she heard it: the sound of horse harness and carriage wheels. They were about to be discovered by, ‘My father!’
Mercedes tugged at her skirts, giving Greer a shove into action and pushing him away from her just as the Lockhart coach stopped in front of the alley entrance, travelling lanterns lit. A dark figure jumped nimbly down from the coach box. ‘I heard there was a little commotion at the inn and thought you might be looking for a ride.’ Her father strode forwards looking at ease.
They did need a ride, but damn the man, he was showing up at the worst times. First at the fair, now this. How in the world was she ever going to get Greer into bed at this rate? After tonight, that was precisely where she wanted him and the consequences be hanged.