Her Wanton Wager Read Online Free PDF

been a tad, well, imprudent.
    But she could hardly have invited her ladies companion along, could she? First off, Lady Tottenham—known to intimates as Tottie—was recuperating from last night's excesses at supper; at this hour, Tottie could scarcely handle a hair of the dog, let alone negotiations with an infamous scoundrel. No, it was better that the dear remained blissfully unaware of Percy's whereabouts.
    Percy reminded herself that she'd never been a shrinking violet, and here was the opportunity to prove her mettle. Steeling her spine, she said, "Please release me, sir. There is no reason why we cannot talk things over in a civilized fashion."
    Hunt ignored her request. He continued to finger a strand of her hair, and the gesture affected her strangely. Her blood grew hot, her chest tight. The tips of her breasts stiffened, chafing against the linen. As he continued his bold appraisal of her, she saw that his irises were the brown-black of coffee and embedded with flecks of copper, giving the impression of a burnished gleam. With his thick, tawny brown hair and hard-edged features, Hunt possessed a distinctively wolfish mien.
    "Go ahead and talk," he said.
    How could she, with the dratted man standing so close? His scent, woodsy and uncompromisingly masculine, curled in her nostrils, and the proximity of his tall, muscled form set loose a swarm of butterflies in her belly. Nerves, that must be it. She was simply unused to gentlemen contemplating her as one might a tasty snack.
    Not that Hunt was a gentleman. Oh, he made efforts to carry himself off as such. His ink-black jacket and grey trousers were exquisitely tailored, molding to his long, virile lines. Above the dusky plum waistcoat, his cravat held a perfect knot. Even his accent was polished and not the Cockney she'd expected, making her wonder about his origins.
    What does that matter, you ninny? Perhaps he didn't grow up in the stews or he's had elocution lessons ... who cares? Beneath that civilized veneer lies a predator.
    "I am very sorry to have misled you," she said, clearing her throat. "But you must understand I only did so out of necessity. Having a reputation to consider, I could hardly walk in here as myself."
    "How prudent of you."
    Flushing, she said, "Would you mind taking a step back, sir? It is difficult to converse when you are standing so close."
    His hard mouth curled in a mocking manner, but he did as she asked.
    "Thank you. As I was saying, I did not mean to deceive you. Given my brother's dire situation, I had to resort to desperate means."
    "Talked to him lately, have you?"
    Though Hunt said the words casually, she sensed his keen interest. His ears might as well have pricked. Well, she was no feather-wit. If he thought she'd betray Paul's location, he was sorely mistaken. She held herself to her full height which, unfortunately, brought her only eye level to his chest. She had to tip her head back to gaze beyond the broad span of his shoulders and past the granite edge of his jaw to meet his eyes.
    "Even if I had, Mr. Hunt, I would not tell you. I know that you are after him for the deed to his shares," she said. "So long as you cannot find him, my brother remains safe."
    Hunt's gaze darkened. "A coward can only hide so long, Miss Fines. If I am forced to hunt your brother down like a dog, I will do so. I do not treat kindly those who betray me."
    He paused, no doubt to let his threat sink in. Her gaze flitted from the damaged side of his face to the massive, large-knuckled hands bearing countless marks of violence. What manner of a man was Hunt? What was he capable of? Up until this point, the only villains she'd encountered were those who populated horrid novels. 'Twas fitting that Hunt's club was named The Underworld for she fancied he possessed the cruel, merciless demeanor of Hades.
    On second thought, given her own namesake, 'twas a mythology better left untapped. As she thought of the Hades and Persephone of legend, a shiver passed