Regency: Rakes & Reputations: A Rake by Midnight / The Rake's Final Conquest

Jamie sipped his wine and allowed the conversation to drift over him as he watched the ladies across the drawing room. Earlier at the dinner table, sitting opposite Miss Eugenia had been a sweet agony of yearning. Each time she brought a spoon to those luscious lips, he remembered how they’d tasted, how they’d felted crushed beneath his own. Though it pained him to admit his own lack of self-control, he knew he’d do it again, given half a chance. And knew, too, that kiss had been the biggest mistake he’d ever made. He’d have been better to imagine it than experience it and yearn for it the rest of his life.

The ladies laughed at something Bella said, and then Miss Eugenia glanced in his direction. Their eyes met for a moment and he held back a groan. He wanted her in a way he’d never wanted any other woman, and with an intensity that left him breathless.

Upon reflection, he realized it was true—what Charlie had said. He had spent his adult life avoiding serious entanglements. He had gone so far as to shun the company of women who would expect more of him. But Miss Eugenia…no, she would be no different. Even as he watched her now, her hand went to her throat, and he knew she was remembering that night. He was a reminder of all she had suffered, of her pain and humiliation. There could never be a future with her.

Ah, but there was the next week or so, until she was whisked back to Ireland. And, torture though it would be, he would avail himself of every opportunity to be near her until then.

“…Cox.”

Jamie returned his attention to his own conversation at the mention of that name. “Cox? “

Charlie grinned, as if he knew where Jamie’s mind had been. “Were you not paying attention, Jamie? Devlin just told us that his stableman, old Cox, is dead.”

“Dead?” Jamie frowned. “Accident?”

“Murder. We found him in a stall. He’d been covered over with hay, but the smell gave him away.”

Jamie studied Devlin’s face. Had Devlin avenged the attempt on Jamie’s life? As usual, Devlin was inscrutable. “Coincidence? Or do you think it had something to do with the other night?”

Devlin’s lips twitched, as if he might smile. “It wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re thinking, Hunter. Were I a betting man, I’d wager he was silenced for whatever role he played in that debacle. If he had been paid to help an assassin, it wasn’t by me. He’d been carved up like a Christmas goose. It wasn’t pretty.”

Knife, not a pistol? A pistol was more likely to be a hired killer, but a knife was more…personal. More familiar. Henley was quite proficient with a dagger. But then so were the Gibbons brothers.

He glanced back at Miss Eugenia and a vision of her suffering Cox’s fate chilled him to the bone. She could identify Henley. She could testify against him. Would she be next? Or would he?

Damnation! She had refused to stay safe at home, and he could not let her wander through society indifferent to the danger to her. No simple mooning after her would do. He would have to dog her every footstep. He would have to play the role of her most ardent suitor to keep her close. He would not let her die as Cox had.

It was time to pay the Gibbons brothers a visit. Gina would be safe enough tonight, since Mrs. O’Rourke forbade her girls from entertainments on Sunday nights.

The Gibbons brothers did not have a known address. When Devlin wanted to see them, he merely put the word out and, sooner or later, the brothers turned up at the Crown and Bear. Considering what Jamie suspected, they were not likely to respond this time.

Luckily, he had learned they were known to frequent a flea-infested gin house off Petticoat Lane by the name of the Cat’s Paw. He elbowed the door open and eased in, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. The odor of unwashed bodies and years of spilled ale and gin was noxious. Behind him, Charlie coughed to cover his disgust and they moved to a section of the bar nearest the door.

“What the bloody hell are we going to order?” Charlie muttered under his breath.

Jamie shook his head. The gin would strike them blind and the ale was likely the poorest to be had and diluted with filthy rain water. The tavern keeper, a man with one good eye and another that wandered, asked, “What’ll it be, gents?”

“Bottle of whiskey,” Jamie said. “Bring it unopened.”

He noted they were drawing attention and was undecided if that was good or bad. The Cat’s Paw did not attract men of Hunter’s ilk, but most of the bully boys in the place would think twice before assaulting a gent in public. Once he and Charlie departed and entered a darkened street, however.

When the tavern keeper brought the whiskey, Jamie held it to the light. It was sealed and looked clear, not cloudy with the foul water hereabouts. He nodded at the tavern keeper, who opened the bottle and handed it to him. Jamie raised an eyebrow, took a swig and winced as the cheap rotgut burned a path down his throat. He passed the bottle to Charlie, who did the same.

Jamie tossed the tavern keeper a few coins and waved the unwashed tin cups away.

Charlie grinned as the tavern keeper turned to attend other customers. “I wondered what we could possibly order in here that wouldn’t poison us.”

“We’ll see how big our heads are in the morning.”

A tall figure emerged from the shadows at the back of the room. A shorter figure followed on his heels. They approached Jamie cautiously.

“I knows you,” the taller man said. “One o’ Farrell’s friends, ain’t ye?”

“Hunter’s the name.” Jamie inclined his head toward Charlie. “And this is my brother, Charlie.”

“You th’ gents askin’ fer us?”

“Aye.” He grabbed the whiskey bottle around the neck. “We want a private talk.”

Richard “Dick” Gibbons, the taller and older of the brothers, led the way to a table in a far corner. He and his silent brother, Artie, sat against the wall, leaving Jamie and Charlie to sit with their backs to the room—a dangerous position in this sort of place. Jamie tilted his chair to one side, facing the room, and Charlie did the same, forming a rough semicircle. Artie grinned at their ploy.

Dick Gibbons held out his tin cup and Jamie obliged by pouring a measure of whiskey into it, then did the same with Artie’s cup.

“You remember what we wanted last time?” Jamie asked.

Dick nodded.

“I want it again.”

The eldest Gibbons’s grin made Jamie wary, and he suspected that Henley might have escaped the authorities a few weeks ago because the Gibbons brothers had warned him off. Selling that information to two parties, both Devlin Farrell and Henley, made for double profit. The Gibbonses were treacherous enough for such a move and greedy enough to risk Devlin’s anger.

“Thought ye got ‘em all.”

“You know we didn’t,” Jamie countered, running his own bluff. “And you know who I want.”

Dick seemed to contemplate denial and decide against it. “Henley, is it?”

Charlie took a swig from the bottle and eyed the Gibbons brothers warily. His glance at Jamie warned of caution, but Jamie was beyond that. There was only one way to deal with men like these—plainly. “Henley,” he confirmed.

“‘E’s a dangerous one,” Dick said. “‘E offered a bounty fer ye, didn’t ‘e?”

“You know he did,” Jamie confirmed. “Was it you who took a shot at me two nights ago?”

Artie’s shoulders shook, but his laugh sounded more like a wheeze. His grin split to reveal two rows of rotten teeth. Dick shrugged, but did not answer Jamie’s question.

“I thought a knife was more to your liking,” Charlie said. “Was it you who carved up old Cox?”

“A smart man’d use whatever’d get the job done. We hears th’ Hunters is dangerous, too. Wouldn’t pay ta get too close.”

“I didn’t know that mattered to you and your brother.”

“Don’t.” Dick sat back in his chair and took Jamie’s measure. “If there’s enough money in it.”

Here was the confirmation that the Gibbons brothers would play a double game without the least compunction. “Name your price.”

The Gibbons brothers put their heads together and communicated in whatever way they were able given Artie’s reluctance or inability to speak. When Dick faced him again, he laughed, expelling a cloud of foul breath that nearly sickened Jamie.

“Considerin’ the risk, hundred pounds,” he said.