"He is a cold-hearted bastard," Paul agreed. "Unfortunately, he's also a man of his word. 'Tis practically gospel that Hunt always follows through and collects on his debts."
She frowned as her brother poured himself another drink. His fourth, by her accounting. "Don't you think you've had enough? 'Tis the middle of the afternoon, for heaven's sake."
"Then it appears I am behind schedule. I make it a habit to be thoroughly foxed by lunch." He gave the gin bottle a shake. "In point of fact, this rot-gut usuallyismy lunch."
How could he make light of matters at a time like this? In desperation, she reached over and placed a hand on his arm. "You need a clear head, Paul! How will we come up with a plan to deal with the situation otherwise?"
"Clarity is overrated." Plucking off her hand, he drained his glass. "Besides, I already have a plan. You're looking at it."
Her brow furrowed. "At what, exactly?"
"This." He gestured grandly to the room. "My secretrendezvous. I am in hiding, don't you know. So long as Hunt cannot locate me, he cannot get my deed to the shares."
Percy rolled her eyes. "Thatis your plan? You'll have to face the problem eventually. How long can you possibly hide?"
"For as long as it takes. I'm rather good at it." He leaned back in his chair and nearly fell off it. "Told the cronies I was off on The Tour, so I shan't be missed for months."
"Dash it all, Paul—"
"Manners, manners, Percy. Don't argue with your elders. 'Tishn't... 'tisn't seemly," he said. "What would your Lord Perfect say?"
She scowled at Paul's derisive nickname for Lord Charles. For some reason, her brother found it amusing to poke fun at the viscount. "I've told you before—don't call him that. And we've only chatted a handful of times, so he isn't mine."
Not yet, she added silently.
As if reading her thoughts, her brother gave her a snide look. "Oh, you'll have him. Madcap, ain't you, but pretty as could stare... not to mention stubborn as a bull. A merchant's daughter who'll bring a title up to scratch." A bitter note entered his voice. "Papa would be so proud of his li'l poppet."
"Never mind that. We must discuss next steps—"
But her brother had risen from the table, knocking the now empty gin bottle onto its side, where it rolled hollowly back and forth. He stumbled over to the pallet and collapsed upon the straw. Percy followed and, kneeling, looked down at her sibling with a mixture of aggravation and concern. She smoothed back a blond forelock.
"Least one of us will make him proud." He rolled onto his side, away from her. But not before she caught the wet shimmer upon his lashes. "Leave me be, Percy. 'Tis done.I'mdone."
Her heart ached at the naked misery of his tone. Paul had profligate tendencies, true, but she knew him to be a gentleman of character. A noble brother who'd protected her time and again. They'd already lost Papa; she would not lose another member of her family.
Softly, she said, "Remember the time we went boating in Hyde Park?" When she received no reply, she went on. "I insisted I could paddle as well as you."
A pause.
"Only eight years old and already a hellion. Told you to be careful but you wouldn't listen," he mumbled.
Her lips curved. "I never did. So when I tumbled over..."
"Tried to grab you... fell in as well..."
"We both received a soaking before you got us to shore. Then you shouldered the blame, though it got you the tongue lashing of your life and your allowance revoked for months." Her chest tightened. "My big brother. You've always looked after me, haven't you?"
A faint snore came in response. Seeing his closed eyes and the even rhythm of his breathing, she pulled the greatcoat over his sleeping form.
We Fineses never give up—especially not on each other.
"Now it's my turn," she whispered, "and I won't let you down."
2
The lightof morning filtered through the office windows. Despite being occupied at his desk, Gavin Hunt noted the way the rays radiated across the sitting area, gleaming off the mahogany furniture and gilt accents. He liked light. Craved it, for all the years he'd gone without. Even with his current success, he still conducted most of his business in the dark. Above the marble fireplace, the gold ormolu clock chimed the hour as eleven, the pleasant sound obscured by the chamber's other occupant, who was bent over the short end of his desk.
"That's it, Hunt, plow me 'arder." Panting, Evangeline Harper looked back at him over her bare shoulder. Brassy curls framed her sharp, feline face, and she tugged suggestively at the rope that bound her wrists at the small of her back. "You know I like it rough. I want to feel ev'ry monstrous inch o' your prick."
