Her Wanton Wager by Grace Callaway Read Free Book Online

Stewart in flagrante. Then she'd turned on her lover; her accusations of assault had not only broken Stewart's heart, but they'd landed him in the prison hulks as well.
    "You can't trust a woman, lad, and that's fact."
    "Don't worry your head over it," Gavin scoffed. "For when have I lost mine over any female?"
    Stewart's mouth formed a grim line. "There's always a first time."
    "Not for me," Gavin said.
    He'd learned his own lesson about females early in life. His mother had been a clergyman's daughter, and she'd never let him forget her station, despite the fact she'd had him out of wedlock. Disowned by her good family, she'd spent the years thereafter reeking of blue ruin and blaming her bastard son for her misfortunes. She'd made Gavin mind his p 's and q 's and beat him senseless if he dropped so much as a consonant or made a mistake on his lessons. Up until the day she'd abandoned him, she'd been a blowsy, sanctimonious drunk.
    Middling class morality—there was nothing he hated more.
    Despite his inexplicable attraction to Percy, he couldn't deny she represented the double standards he despised. Headstrong, impulsive, and more than a little hot-blooded by his reckoning, she nonetheless carried herself as if she were a proper young lady. The hypocrisy of her mission annoyed him further: she blamed him for her brother's feckless actions. As if he'd held a gun to Paul Fines' head and forced the fool to gamble away the family fortune!
    "My only interest in Miss Fines is the role she'll play in my vengeance," he said flatly. The fact that I want to fuck her senseless doesn't change anything—except make my plans more enjoyable to carry out. "I am going to ruin her and obtain her brother's shares of the company." He tossed back the rest of the whiskey. "Retribution, Stewart, that's what this is about."
    "Nothin' like revenge to warm a fellow's 'eart, eh?"
    He smiled wryly at the other's approval. Stewart sounded as proud as if Gavin had just graduated first class from Oxford instead of announcing he meant to seduce a genteel virgin. In a way, Gavin supposed his commitment to righting old wrongs was a rite of passage. In the stews, there was no code more fundamental than an eye for an eye.
    Gavin tipped his empty glass over on the table. "Speaking of retribution—is the meeting with the other houses set?"
    "Blind Stag next week. Can't say I'm lookin' forward to rubbin' elbows with the bastards."
    Several nights ago, cutthroats had held up two customers leaving The Underworld. Not only had the pair been beaten and robbed, but they'd been warned by the masked assailants that all those patronizing Gavin's club could expect the same fate. News of the attack had spread like wildfire, hurting business. It didn't take a genius to surmise that the other Covent Garden club owners had benefited from Gavin's misfortune. But which of the blighters had instigated the attack?
    The most likely players—Robbie Lyon, Warren Kingsley, and the O'Brien brothers—wouldn't blink an eye to do violence. Gavin needed a show of force to stave off future aggression. He'd decided to start by calling a meeting where he would flush out the culprit.
    "Have our men track our competitors in the meantime. One of them sneezes, I want to know about it," Gavin said. "And contact Magnus. I need his help locating Paul Fines."
    "Don't know why we have to involve that crafty codger," Stewart grumbled.
    Though Stewart despised John Magnus, Gavin liked the scoundrel. Magnus was old as the hills, and though his was a fading star, he still did business as a trader of information. Magnus' secrets had proved useful to Gavin in the past. Perhaps because they shared physical deformities—the other man had lost an eye in his youth—Magnus had shown a paternal bent towards Gavin … a fact that seemed to nettle Stewart to no end.
    "Call for Magnus," Gavin said firmly. "I want Fines found."
    Scowling, Stewart left to attend to the tasks.
    Gavin made his way through the