If I haven't already fixed it first.She wondered how she would explain her wager to Nick and everyone else. And who knew how matters would be settled between her and Gavin? Whilst she'd grown more and more certain of her own feelings, she did not know how he felt about her. Oh, she knew he wanted her, was possessive of her. But did he love her? Would he want a future with her even after she won her brother's freedom? She bit her lip.
"Nicholas fishing me out of the suds," Paul said bitterly. "Now there's a first."
Uneasy with her brother's shifting mood, she said, "You will do as Nick says, won't you? Stay out of trouble until he returns? This O'Brien you mentioned, you won't—"
"Careful, sis, you're starting to sound like mater. Nothing puts a fellow off more than nagging." Her brother cut off further conversation by rising unsteadily to his feet. "Now if you don't mind, I'll take you up on your offer of a loan and be on my way."
"Oh." She drew a breath. "Yes, of course."
As they left their mother's bedchamber, Percy recognized she was not helping her brother and did not knowhowto. But perhaps she knew someone who did.
24
Gavin gloweredat the pair of men sprawled and bleeding in the street before including the rest of the audience in his gaze. The crowd of passers-by ringed the front steps of The Underworld, eager for the sight of more bloodshed.
"Anyone else want a go?" he said.
Gazes averted, feet shuffled.
"Begone then," he growled. "The club doesn't open until noon."
He turned and headed inside, Stewart behind him.
"You alright, lad?" his mentor asked as they entered the empty foyer.
"Fine." He flexed his hands, wincing at the sore knuckles. "Lyon's men are all bark and no bite—just like the dead bastard himself."
"That's three times this week they've challenged you. How long are you goin' to let this go on?" Stewart's voice was an irritated rumble. "We ought to go in and take down Lyon's club."
"Everyone already thinks we did Lyon in. I don't want to add fuel to the rumors. There's enough carnage going on," Gavin said grimly.
Though Lyon had been a bastard through and through, news of his death had roared through the stews like a lit match thrown to kindling. The men loyal to him had issued a warrant for blood. Since Gavin and Stewart had been the ones to discover Lyon slaughtered at the bawdy house, they'd been fingered as the culprits (like any self-preserving bawd, Antoinette was keeping her lips firmly sealed on the matter). 'Twas a vicious rookery tradition: eye for an eye—kill first, ask questions later.
"Can't 'elp but think the timin' o' the business was convenient. That we 'appened to be the ones to find Lyon an' get pinned for it."
'Twas an echo of Gavin's own thoughts. With Lyon gone, there was new territory for the taking, and Kingsley and the O'Briens were wasting no time jockeying for power. Beatings and opportunistic pillaging occurred daily, escalating the cycle of violence. Meanwhile, Gavin had to focus his energies on preserving his hide.
"Kingsley, Patrick, or Finian could have sent that man to the bookshop. They could have planted Lyon's dagger to rouse suspicion, knowing that I would hunt Lyon down at Antoinette's," Gavin said.
"True enough. We'll get to the bottom o' this." Stewart's eyes thinned. "And speakin' on gettin' to things—thought that old coot Magnus gave you Paul Fines' location."
"He did."
"Then why 'aven't we picked up Fines yet?" Stewart demanded.
Running a hand through his hair—then grimacing as his knuckles stung—Gavin said, "I'm considering my options." Which was true enough. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."
"You ain't goin' to give into that chit—"
"I said, leave it to me." As his mentor scowled, clearly wanting to argue further, Gavin said, "Let's focus on more important issues. Lyon's dead, and I can't be far down the list. I want you to arrange for a visit to our rivals."
After a minute, Stewart said in grudging tones, "Get some ice on those fists, then, since you'll be needin' 'em."
Gavin strode off to the front card salon. Sunshine streamed through the bow window, gleaming off the mahogany bar. Filling a bowl with ice and a glass with whiskey, he sat down at the bar and let the cold numb his skin. Moodily, he nursed his drink. Hell's teeth, would the mayhem never end? He was weary to the bone of all the violence, the need to sleep with one eye open. What he wouldn't give for a moment of peace.
"Sorry to disturb you, sir." The quiet words turned his head. Davey stood in the doorway, holding a tray of glasses. "The butler told me to stock the shelves. But I can come back later—"
"You're not disturbing me," Gavin said impatiently. "Go on and do as you were told."
