"We join forces, Hunt. Between the two of us, we have more men, more power than the rest combined. I say we use it to put the others out of business. Then we expand our clubs and split the riches." Leaning forward, Kingsley said, "Covent Garden, fifty-fifty between us."
There was truth to Kingsley's words: theywerethe two most successful of the bunch. If they banded together, they could likely run the others out of the area. Or make them disappear, which, Gavin guessed, was what the other would prefer. Though there was no love lost between him and the other club owners, Gavin had no desire to murder the competition. He knew where that path led: carnage begat carnage. And the last thing he wanted was to be sharing a blood-splattered throne with the Judas across the table.
"Why me? If it's more power that you're after, why not band with your father-in-law?" Gavin said. Teamed with Bartholomew Black, Kingsley might become an unstoppable force.
Anger flashed across the other's man features before he tucked it away, leaving nothing but a smooth, unperturbed surface. "I'd like to make a name for myself without the old man's help," he said easily. "Never liked mixing family with business."
So the rumors were true. Gossip had it that Black had never taken a shine to Kingsley, whom he considered a fop. The old man had consented to the marriage only because he could deny his daughter nothing. Mavis was the apple of Black's eye, and any man fool enough to marry her had better keep her happy… or suffer the consequences.
Gavin stood. "I've never liked mixing my business with another's. So I must decline your offer."
"Consider my offer with care, Hunt." Kingsley rose as well, his lips pulled tight. "You're not the only one I can ally with. There are many players in this game, and you'll want to choose the winning team."
"I don't need a team to win. I'll do so on my own." Gavin made a mocking bow.
Kingsley's mouth turned white. He gave a stiff nod and stalked from the room. Gavin continued to sip his whiskey. Magnus' advice floated into his head.Keep your friends close, your enemies closer...but too close and they'd slit your throat. In the end, a man was a fool to rely on anyone but himself. Having lived with that reality for as long as he could recall, Gavin wondered why it now left him cold.
12
At ten minutesto ten on Friday night, Percy climbed over the window sill. She grabbed onto a sturdy branch of the oak tree outside her bedchamber and descended nimbly into the garden. Looking up, she saw no glow in the windows of the servants' quarters, and Tottie had gone to bed hours ago. No one would miss her. Heart racing, she let herself out the back gate and, pulling her hood closer around her face, hurried through the mist toward the street corner.
Moments later, a gleaming black carriage emerged from the fog, the enormous wheels rolling to a stop in front of her. The door opened, and her breath hitched. Having so recently experienced the refinement of Lord Portland's company, she could only marvel at how primal Hunt seemed in comparison. Moonlight glinted off his burnished eyes, limned the huge and menacing shape of him. He wore unrelieved black, the same color as the brutish four-in-hand stamping at the ground.
"Good evening." His voice was as deep and dark as the netherworld. "I trust you haven't been here long."
He held out a hand, and she had no choice but to take it. Even through the layers of leather, his touch scorched her. She snatched her hand away the instant she was aboard.
"I arrived only moments ago myself," she said, scooting to the farthest corner.
To her relief, he took the opposite seat. His presence seemed to fill the plush velvet and leather interior, his clean, masculine scent curling in her nostrils. In the flickering light of the lamp, his features were rendered in harsh relief, his scar raised by the shadows beneath it. Her lungs stretched to fill themselves as the enormity of the situation suddenly struck her.I've a date with the devil.By then, he'd shut the door, and the carriage spun into motion. Percy had the sensation of gliding into dark and uncharted waters.
The River Styx, perhaps.
"A lady who doesn't keep a man waiting," he said. "How unusual."
His mocking tone annoyed her and dispelled some of her nervousness. "When I sign my name to something, I follow through with it," she said tartly. "Where are we headed, Mr. Hunt?"
"I think we're better friends than that. Let us drop the formalities. Agreed... Percy?"
"I repeat, Mr. Hunt, what is our destination this evening?"
"You wound me, Miss Fines." He sighed, not at all convincingly. "The fact of the matter is, where we are going is a surprise, so you will just have to wait."
Dash it. Had waiting turned into some sort of national exercise? If she got a penny for every time... Disgruntled, she lifted the corner of the curtain and peered out at the passing darkness. They were headed down Pall Mall; they could end up anywhere.
She turned to him in exasperation. "Can't you at least give me a hint?"
"I suppose I could," he said. "But I have a better idea."
She gave him a wary look. "What sort of idea?"
"Quid pro quo. I'll tell you the destination if you'll answer a question of mine."
"Which is?"
He studied her with fathomless eyes. "Who is this gent you're infatuated with?"
Blood pulsed in her cheeks. "That is none of your business. And I'm not infatuated—I am in love." She quelled a quiver of uncertainty, raised her chin. "There is a difference."
