Squaring small shoulders, she took a breath… and downed the drink in a gulp. The result was predictable though no less delightful for it. Her eyes watered, and she began to sputter.
"Like it?" he said.
"It's d-delicious," she choked out. "The b-best I've ever tasted."
"Have another, then." He made to take her glass.
She yanked it out of reach. "No! I mean, thank you, I've had quite enough." She cleared her throat. "I wish to discuss the matter of Paul's debt now, if you please."
He waved her into one of the chairs facing his desk. He remained standing, leaning casually against the mahogany edge. "Discuss away."
She sat, and he had to firm his lips at the way she crossed her Hessians primly at the ankle. "My brother is a gentleman of good character," she began. "This has all been a terrible mistake. That night, when he got lured into your den of vice, he'd had too much to drink..."
Christ, the mercy approach. His eyeballs twitched upward. Given her show of resourcefulness thus far, he'd hoped for something a might more original.
"Gentleman or not, your brother knew exactly what he was doing when he wagered against the house," he said. "You are familiar with the expression,one reaps what one sows?"
She frowned at him, the hairs of her fake moustache bristling like a porcupine. His fingers itched to rip off that despicable strip. To get a clear look at her once and for all.
"And there are no exceptions to that?" she asked. "Mr. Hunt, can you not find it in your heart to show a little mercy?"
"In a word? No."
"Then at least give my brother time to pay off what he owes you."
"He's had his time." Gavin studied the nails of one hand. "Now he owes me his shares of the company."
"But the company is our Papa's legacy. All that he worked for… and all that we have left of him." Her voice hitched. "Please, sir, you cannot ask Paul to sign it over to you."
The pleading expression in her azure eyes would melt any heart—any heart not made of stone. As it was, even he felt a slight and foreign twinge in the vicinity of his chest.
"Surely we can come up with an alternative?" she said.
"Can we?" He gave her a considering look.
Taking a breath, she said, "I'm assuming you've heard of the Marquess of Harteford?"
"I've heard of Harteford." Though his insides roiled, he kept his voice even. "So?"
"Nicholas—Lord Harteford, I mean—happens to be a dear friend of my family. In fact, he's practically a Fines. When Nick was just a young man, Papa mentored him in the business and later the two became partners. After Papa passed away, Nick tried to persuade Paul into taking over the helm, but my brother hasn't any interest in the company… except for his share of the profits, of course. So Nick runs things and gives Paul a share of the dividends."
"This Nick of yours sounds like a right upstanding gent."
Apparently immune to sarcasm, she gave an enthusiastic nod. "He is the very epitome of a gentleman and truly like an older brother to us. In fact, he's bailed Paul out of trouble numerous times. And if you agree to release my brother today, Nick might be persuaded to pay you,"—she inserted a dramatic pause—"...with interest."
He regarded her silently, gears turning in his head. His original plan for vengeance was simple: destroy everything Morgan held dear. He could, of course, simply off the bugger, but what fun would that be? No, Morgan was going to suffer as he had. Gavin had identified his foe's two areas of vulnerability: Morgan's company and family. With Fines' majority shares in hand, Gavin planned to execute the first part of his revenge by tearing Morgan's life's work apart piece by piece.
Next, Gavin had intended to get to Morgan's wife, the marchioness. Seduction, mayhap, though the scheme would have its challenges since Morgan's marriage was apparently a love match. Even so, women were fickle, unreliable creatures; Gavin had resolved to find the chinks in Lady Harteford's armor. Now, however, he had a better, easier plan. Here was his enemy's sister—clearly in heart, if not in blood—dangling like a ripe peach in front of him. The opportunity was almost too perfect. He could ruin the little hoyden while Morgan frolicked on vacation, helpless to intervene. Powerless, as Gavin had once been. The notion drove his pulse faster.
Who'll be holding the knife then, Morgan? Whose throat will be exposed? When you plead with me, I'll show you the same mercy you once showed me.
Despite his simmering rage, Gavin perused his quarry with cold detachment. If the rest of Percy was anything like her eyes, seducing her would be no hardship.
With a touch of nervousness, she said, "There's one small problem. Not even a problem, really—more of a temporary snag. You see, at present Nick is travelling on the Continent. However, I'll write him immediately, and I'm certain when he receives my message—"
"Then your precious Nick is not here, is he?" Aye, this new stratagem was falling neatly into place. "Nor is his money."
"Not at the moment," she said. "But he will be. And the Marquess of Harteford is not a man one would wish to make an enemy—"
