Page 11 of A Bet with a Duchess (The Gambling Dukes #1)

Fynn

I rode through the night.

I should have left earlier, but I had prevaricated too long. Unsure what I was doing, what my reception would be, whether Georgiana would even see me let alone believe me, I had waited until the earlier hours of Tuesday morning—far too early—before I ran to a stable livery, hired a horse, and started off for Dalhurst Manor.

Sunlight peeked over the country hedges about twenty minutes before I arrived. By the time I got there, pulling up on the drive and seeing the strangely familiar manor before me, day had fully broken.

The day I would discover my fate.

I dismounted and tied the horse’s reins to a mounting block just to the side of the house. Gravel flew up in the air as I ran to the door, ignoring the doorbell and opening it, ignoring the startled servant in the entrance hall who had evidently been stepping out to greet me.

“Georgiana?” I only had my gut telling me she was here in the first place. Only then did I wonder; had I just stormed away from London, only to leave her there? “Georgiana?”

“What in blazes?—”

I turned on the spot to see the de facto leader of the Gambling Dukes standing there, a book in one hand and a glass of orange juice—freshly squeezed from the Orangery, I supposed—in the other.

“Kineallen,” I said urgently, stepping toward him. “Your Grace, I?—”

Bad idea.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” Kineallen said quietly, a strange sort of cold ferocity in his voice. “I returned to see Georgiana, she seemed most odd. And now you’re here.”

I halted. Definitely a bad idea. “I'm looking for?—”

“Don’t you think you’ve caused enough trouble?” he said angrily. “Why don’t you get back in whatever carriage you came in and?—”

“Who are you talking—you!”

I swallowed. The butler had entered, a tea tray in his hand—a tray that fell to the floor as he stared at me.

“You’ve got some nerve,” the servant said icily. “Coming back to the house you’ve pulled apart when?—”

“I haven’t,” I tried to begin, but it was no use.

They didn’t trust me. Of course they didn’t. I wouldn’t have trusted me, in their place, and I undoubtedly looked a mess. I hadn’t washed last night, my stubble almost becoming a beard in my haste to get here.

To see her.

“I need to speak to Georgiana,” I said evenly, trying to keep calm in the face of her friends’ fury. “Where is she?”

The butler spluttered, “Of all the self-serving—haven’t you done enough damage?”

But Kineallen looked at me closely. There was a strange look in his eye, something I had never seen before and in a way, hoped I never would again.

A look of careful consideration.

I had never been sized up like that before, never examined in quite that way. Not just as a friend, or as a friend, but…well. Almost like a father.

Kineallen sighed. “The drawing room.”

“Your Grace!”

“She’s big enough to fight her own battles,” he said at the gasped outrage of his butler. “You know the way, Mr. Monroe.”

I did. I raced along the corridors, rushing past a few more housemaids who were evidently changing beds that day, linens stacking high in their arms. I didn’t stop. I yelled apologies over my shoulder as I sped along the corridor, toward the East Wing of the house, to the end of the corridor where no one else came.

The door to the Orangery was closed, of course. It would have all too easy to march in there, but it wouldn’t have mattered. I needed to be invited in, and I could see the only person I cared about through the door itself.

Georgiana. She looked tired, eyes worn, a heavy slump in her shoulders as she pored over paperwork, her gaze flittering between that and the two ledgers placed before her on the table where we had almost played cards.

My heart skipped a beat and I knew I’d made the right decision.

“Georgiana.”

She looked up, eyes astonished for just a fraction of a second before they narrowed.

“Go away, Mr. Monroe.”

Mr. Monroe. My heart sank. This wasn’t the welcome I had expected—not that I had any right to expect one.

“Georgiana, please let me in.”

“No.”

“Georgiana—”

“I’ve made that mistake before,” she said dryly, her voice muffled through the glass. “And I won’t again.”

I swallowed. I had hurt her, hurt myself, almost destroyed something precious between us. But I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

Never again.

“Well, you don’t have to let me in to listen to me,” I said with a dark laugh, “and I have so much to say to you, you’ll just have to sit in there and listen.”

Georgiana turned away, her focus returned once more to the paperwork before her, but I knew she could hear me. She couldn’t block me out entirely.

“I made a mistake—I was wrong. Wrong to return to London, wrong not to tell you more gently about Markham—” Probably wasn’t a good idea to mention him, I thought ruefully. “Wrong to leave you.”

She did not turn around, but I could see her fingers shake slightly as she picked up a piece of paper.

“I am so sorry, Georgiana. Your business was your own, you were right, what I found didn’t need to be known by anyone. I haven’t…I didn’t tell anyone. In London, I mean.”

That got her attention. Georgiana turned to stare at me, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and narrowed her eyes. “You…you didn’t?”

I shook my head, heart soaring at the mere look she was giving me. At least she was looking at me again. “No. I was fired, actually, but that doesn’t?—”

“You lost your job?” Georgiana frowned. “You gambled everything, then, on this scoop. And you lost.”

I swallowed, heart stirring as I knew what I was about to say was the greatest risk I had ever taken. “No, that wasn’t the gamble. The gamble is now.”

Georgiana

“You gambled everything, then, on this scoop. And you lost.”

“No, that wasn’t the gamble. The gamble is now.”

I stared at the man who had brought me such ecstasy and such pain. The man I believed I would not see again.

Standing there, pouring out his heart.

My feet acted of their own accord; at least, no conscious thought moved them, but before I knew it, I was standing before the door, opening it.

Fynn stepped forward. The door closed behind him.

There we stood, perhaps for a minute, perhaps forever. My breath was jagged in my lungs, his chest was moving as though he had run from London itself, yet still we said nothing. Still we did not move toward each other.

For which I was glad. The moment Fynn touched me, all my resolve to stand by my family and denounce Fynn as a thief of knowledge would disappear.

“Georgiana, I?—”

“You were right.”

I swallowed. The words had slipped from my tongue, the truth winning over my desire to protect Markham. But I couldn’t lie for him, I couldn’t. It went against not only every moral code in my rank, but in my soul.

Fynn blinked. “What?”

I sighed heavily, shoulders drooping. “I should never have accused you of—I’ve gone back through the ledgers. You were right, he was stealing from us. Had been stealing for weeks. Months, perhaps, I haven’t got that far back yet.”

It was hard to admit, even to myself, but saying it aloud was difficult. My friend, one of the few people I would have died for, lying to me. Lying to us all.

“I am so sorry, Georgiana,” Fynn said quietly. I looked up as he continued, “I could hardly believe it myself, if you hadn’t come back just as I’d found?—”

“You would have told me eventually,” I said with a dry laugh. “You’re too principled not to.”

“Not too principled to stay here and work it out with you,” he said ruefully.

My heart skipped a beat.

“I want you out. Out of here, out of Dalhurst Manor…and out of my life.”

“That was my fault, I think.”

Silence fell between us again, but in the silence I was more conscious of my desire for him, the need to be close to him, to have Fynn kiss away all my frustrations, all my fears.

God, I wanted him. More than ever.

But I couldn’t bridge that gap.

“What…what will happen now? To the Gambling Dukes, I mean?”

I sighed heavily and said the words I never thought could be true. “His membership has been rescinded. That’s why Lilah and Kineallen are here, we…we discussed it.”

A hand, on my arm. It was warm and strong and everything I wanted. “Surely not.”

I shook my head. “It was Kineallen’s decision and as our leader, he had the right to do that. We can’t trust Markham anymore, we can’t have a thief in the club. Friend or not…he’s gone.”

I would not cry for him. Not now. The friend I thought I knew was gone, a mirage, someone I had never known.

And I gasped with relief as Fynn pulled me into his arms, his strong embrace, his scent settling my nerves as nothing else had done, and his hands tightened around me.

“I'm sorry, Georgiana. I'm so sorry.”

I clung to him, Fynn, a man I didn’t know two weeks ago but now needed desperately. He was everything, all I wanted. He had not betrayed us. He hadn’t betrayed me.

He had lost his job, his only security, to protect me.

I pulled back, just enough to look into his eyes. “Fynn, I?—”

He knew what I wanted. Passionate lips crushed mine and I moaned in his mouth, letting go of everything I was, everything I wasn’t, certain in the knowledge that whatever the future held, he would be there.

Fynn Monroe.

His fingers were swiftly pulling at my gown, and I swiftly pulled at one of the shoulder ties. The material fell on my left, revealing my breast.

“God, you’re not wearing a corset or stays,” Fynn muttered, fingers scrabbling to undo the other shoulder tie. “Georgiana…”

I wasn’t wearing any undergarments either. Well, I had come to the Orangery early that morning, before seeing anyone. There was no need to dress up.

I wasn’t dressed up now. I was naked. The folds of muslin fell to the floor and I stood there, in Fynn’s arms, within a glass Orangery, utterly nude.

And I did not care.

“I love you, Georgiana,” Fynn said seriously, his gaze fixed on mine. “It makes no sense, but I don’t care.”

I smiled. I had known it before he had spoken the words; had known it, I think, the moment I saw he had come back. Come back to me. “I love you, Fynn, but if you don’t take me now, I’ll sort myself out.”

He moaned at my words, pulling his shirt over his head and letting it fall. Before the material even hit the floor, his breeches were unbuttons, pulled down, and he had picked me up.

The strength in his arms shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did—as did his gentleness. Lying me on the floor, not thinking just acting, Fynn covered my body with his own and kissed me hard, nestling himself between my legs.

I didn’t care about anything in that moment; not Markham, not my friends, not the club which would probably now fail—not even the damned glass all around us.

I couldn’t think.

All I could do was feel; feel the heady delight of his strength against me, the breadth of his chest, the way his tongue devoured my own, teasing me with growing pleasure, one of his hands on my hips and the other teasing my nipple?—

“Fynn,” I moaned, unable to help myself. “Now!”

“Give me one second,” he panted.

The ache between my legs was growing, my secret place slick with desire, and I needed him, why wasn’t he?—

And I saw why. Slowly, very slowly, he was rolling a French letter down the length of him, and I tilted my head back and whimpered, my need so great that it was sweet agony to wait for?—

“Fynn!”

“Georgiana!”

He cried my name as he entered me and I almost cried with relief, needing him, welcoming him in, sparks of pleasure now rocking my body, I was so close.

“So close…” I murmured as he slid deeper into me, deeper than I thought possible. “Oh, Fynn, so close…”

I don’t know how long we were there for. An hour? Perhaps more.

“Fynn, yes, yes!”

I don’t know how many times he made me come. Who keeps count, after five?

“Ohh, yes!”

All I know was we were fortunate no one walked past the Orangery, and my knees wouldn’t be the same for days afterwards.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

I smiled at Fynn as we stepped along the corridor, hand in hand, at some later time. My cheeks were flushed, I could feel it, and his hair was so mussed it was going to be absolutely obvious what we had been doing.

Not that it was a secret. No secrets anymore. Never again.

“No time like the present to introduce you as not the investigative journalist threatening to tear down our club and livelihoods, but as my future spouse,” I said lightly.

Fynn groaned. “You don’t have to say it like that!”

I laughed, joy sparking through my heart. “Perhaps not.”

I could feel the tension in his hands grow as we stepped across the entrance hall and through the bar, toward the French windows. Even from here, I could see them all around the lake, just as we had been when Fynn had first walked into our lives.

Into my life.

All, save Markham.

“There you—Georgiana, what the…?” Lilah rose as we stepped onto the terrace toward the lake. “What is he doing here?”

I smiled at my best friend, then at Fynn, who looked nervous. It was rather nice to see him unsettled. “This is my future husband.”

“Husband—”

“Georgiana, what the?—”

It took about ten minutes of explaining.

“—certain he’s not told his editor?” Kineallen said, unusually serious.

I nodded. “Fynn wouldn’t do that.”

“You can have my word on that, or you can check my job applications tomorrow,” Fynn jested, holding a whiskey. “I was fired for keeping this to myself.”

Kineallen nodded, and I breathed a sigh of relief. There would be further conversations, of course. No member of the Gambling Dukes merely accepted what they were told, I knew that better than anyone.

But it was a start.

“So what will Markham do now?”

I flinched at Fynn’s words. Probably not the best question to ask.

Lilah sighed. “Not sure. His townhouse is paid off, he’d got plenty of money in the bank?—”

Kineallen snorted. We all ignored him.

“—he doesn't need to work, at least not for now,” I concluded.

Lilah shook her head. “We’ll have to keep an eye on him, of course. I would usually trust that he would never say anything to another soul, but you’ll need to keep close tabs on him, Georgiana. We all will.”

I nodded, my stomach twisting. I would. The pain of his betrayal wasn’t one I would be able to forget quickly—but I had found some good out of all this.

As my friends continued to chatter about how precisely we were going to keep this news from the newspapers—and the gossip sites online—Fynn sidled up to me.

“Is it always like this?”

I took his whiskey, sipped it, and gave it back. “What do you mean?”

“Well, this,” Fynn said, glancing around the pool.

I looked where he was looking. Lilah and my friends were dressed to the nines—we obviously had something on today, not that I’d remembered—drinks in hand, soft evening light glittering through the lake as they spoke in low voices.

“This?”

“This!” Fynn said with a dry laugh. “Friends almost family, and drama, and secrets, and passion? Is it always like this with you Gambling Dukes?”

I smiled, warmth rushing through me as I leaned into his arms and kissed him firmly on the mouth. “Most definitely. Scared?”

“Scared?” repeated Fynn, his free hand lowering to gently cup my buttocks. “Nope. Though I hope the next time I make a bet with a duchess, it’ll play more in our favor.”

I kissed him again, and again, and knew I would never stop kissing him. “Oh, you won’t need to make a bet with a duchess again. I already won big. I'm not fool enough to chance it again.”