"Find the housekeeper. She'll get you cleaned up and give you a meal before you go."
A sly smile tucked into the boy's cheeks. "Can one o' the 'ouse wenches give me the washin'? The pretty red-headed one wif the big—"
"Alfie," Gavin said in a warning tone.
"Right. The 'ousekeeper it is." The boy scampered off, whistling as he went.
Alone, Gavin watched the dark street from the bow window. He usually savored this slice of peace before Covent Garden filled with the carts of the costermongers, bakers, and other tradesmen with their wares. Today, however, the scene struck him as barren, cold; he had an odd yearning to see the sun break across the cobblestone and the flower stalls blossom into color.
At the sound of footsteps, he dismissed the fanciful notion and turned to see Hugh Stewart stride in. As usual, his mentor's broad, flat features had a disgruntled air, and the greying auburn beard housed a scowl. Built as solidly as a brick house, Stewart's menacing mien had preserved their hides during the years in the hulks and even after their release, when the two of them had scraped by as guards-for-hire in the stews. Now that The Underworld was a success and they'd become nearly respectable, Stewart's looming figure still came in handy, keeping rowdy customers in line.
"How'd we do tonight?" Gavin asked.
Dropping into a chair, Stewart stretched out legs thick as tree trunks. "Broke up three knife fights and five fisticuffs," he rumbled. "Then caught a git cheatin' at the cards and had to give 'im a beatin' myself. And that's to say nothin' 'bout the backbitin' 'twixt the 'ouse wenches."
In sum, business as usual. Gavin poured out whiskey and joined the other man at the table. "What is amiss with the wenches?"
Stewart downed the shot and gave him a sour look. "'Tis the bloody Roman Suite again. They all set their sights on the same toff. Told you, didn't I, that havin' all 'em hen-wits plyin' their trade in one room was bound to lead to trouble."
"The Roman Suite adds to the club's ambiance," Gavin said.
Stewart's broad brow furrowed. "The what?"
"The setting. We're The Underworld after all. What would hell be like without an orgy?"
"Never did get all your fancy words, but if I know one thing, it's that females bring nothin' but trouble." Stewart scratched the back of his neck. "And speakin' on that matter, I 'ave to tell you again, lad: I've got a bad feelin' in my gut 'bout that Fines girl."
"I have the situation well in hand." Gavin savored the slow burn of his drink. The hot tingling was not unlike what he'd felt around Miss Percy Fines... only then the sensations had centered farther south on his anatomy. In fact, just thinking of her—that bright, shining hair, the cheeky attitude—was enough to stir his rod.
"What sort o' female prances around in breeches?" Stewart said. "And to 'ave the bollocks to demand you give up what's owed to you?"
"She is brazen, I'll grant you that." In truth, Percy's contradictions intrigued Gavin. She exuded both girlish innocence and womanly allure… not to mention a hellion's spirit. Recalling the way she'd called him an arrogant ass, his lips twitched.
"Nothin' but trouble, mark my words. Them so-called ladies'll use their wiles on you, all flutterin' eyelashes an' swishy silks. Before you know it,bam"—Stewart slammed his fist on the table—"they've hung you out to dry or worse."
His mentor was speaking from experience. Long ago, Stewart had fancied a well-bred miss who had seemed to return his affections... until the day her father caught her and Stewart in flagrante. Then she'd turned on her lover; her accusations of assault had not only broken Stewart's heart, but they'd landed him in the prison hulks as well.
"You can't trust a woman, lad, and that's fact."
"Don't worry your head over it," Gavin scoffed. "For when have I lost mine over any female?"
Stewart's mouth formed a grim line. "There's always a first time."
"Not for me," Gavin said.
He'd learned his own lesson about females early in life. His mother had been a clergyman's daughter, and she'd never let him forget her station, despite the fact she'd had him out of wedlock. Disowned by her good family, she'd spent the years thereafter reeking of blue ruin and blaming her bastard son for her misfortunes. She'd made Gavin mind hisp's andq's and beat him senseless if he dropped so much as a consonant or made a mistake on his lessons. Up until the day she'd abandoned him, she'd been a blowsy, sanctimonious drunk.
Middling class morality—there was nothing he hated more.
Despite his inexplicable attraction to Percy, he couldn't deny she represented the double standards he despised. Headstrong, impulsive, and more than a little hot-blooded by his reckoning, she nonetheless carried herself as if she were a proper young lady. The hypocrisy of her mission annoyed him further: she blamedhimfor her brother's feckless actions. As if he'd held a gun to Paul Fines' head and forced the fool to gamble away the family fortune!
"My only interest in Miss Fines is the role she'll play in my vengeance," he said flatly.The fact that I want to fuck her senseless doesn't change anything—except make my plans more enjoyable to carry out."I am going to ruin her and obtain her brother's shares of the company." He tossed back the rest of the whiskey. "Retribution, Stewart, that's what this is about."
"Nothin' like revenge to warm a fellow's 'eart, eh?"
He smiled wryly at the other's approval. Stewart sounded as proud as if Gavin had just graduated first class from Oxford instead of announcing he meant to seduce a genteel virgin. In a way, Gavin supposed his commitment to righting old wrongs was a rite of passage. In the stews, there was no code more fundamental than an eye for an eye.
Gavin tipped his empty glass over on the table. "Speaking of retribution—is the meeting with the other houses set?"
