his lips curved cruelly as he focused. She cursed her cowardice. If she’d not made him leave so early, he would not be nearly so wide awake.
‘Let us have champagne, shall we?’ she murmured in sultry tones. ‘To celebrate your winnings.’
His gaze dropped to her breasts. ‘Aye. Champagne first.’ He grabbed her and hauled her towards him so she landed hard on his chest, his hand pressing her fingers against his arousal. Winded, she stared up into his square face with its cruel thin lips, hawkish nose and cold blue eyes. ‘And then you can play me a tune with that pretty mouth of yours.’
A shudder rippled down her spine. It was a jest, but like all Jack’s jibes it carried the edge of a threat. Something he couldn’t help. A habit. Swallowing the bile of revulsion, she retreated behind her wall of ice, presenting a false smile that masked her inner turmoil. A drunk Jack was a dangerous man. And if she couldn’t avoid him...she’d do what she had to do. This was business. And the path to freedom to live life the way she wanted.
Only a fool let a pair of pretty green eyes and a jaunty open face melt a hole in hard-won defences. To remind herself where she stood, she gazed up at the man who held her future in his hands and smiled. ‘Not before I offer you a toast.’
She freed herself from his grip with a light laugh and descended the steps to the path.
Arm in arm they walked inside, his grip possessive as if he sensed her fear. It would not be wise for Jack to sense fear. It always brought out the worst and winning had stirred his appetites, something she usually managed to avoid. Their relationship was all about business. Nothing else. But it did not mean she could relax her guard. A couple more drinks beside the fire and he would fall asleep. If she was lucky.
She closed her eyes and once again saw those clear green eyes gazing at her with awe. It was as if he somehow saw her how she had been, not how she was.
Damn him.
* * *
The next evening, to his surprise, Logan found himself in very different surroundings and company.
‘Well, brat,’ Sanford said, squinting at him through eyes already fogged with the effects of wine at dinner followed by several bumpers of whisky. Such a dandy, this Sanford. Blue-eyed, pale, delicately built, his fair hair carefully ordered, his linen white and crisp. Logan wouldn’t be surprised if the young lordling spent as many hours at his toilette as did most women.
‘If this is the best entertainment Auld Reekie has to offer,’ Sandford continued, ‘I can see I am in for a great deal of dullness over the next week or two.’
Sanford was an acquaintance of Lady Selina, his brother’s wife. The Sassenach lord was part of a contingent of gentlemen preparing for the King’s upcoming visit to Scotland. He had invited Logan to dine at The New Club in Princes Street, Scotland’s finest gentleman’s club. From here there was an excellent view of the castle. For some reason, Logan had been intrigued by the idea of seeing the inside of the place. So much so, he’d borrowed an evening coat from his brother Niall.
Sanford was right. It was as stuffy inside as it was imposing outside.
He shrugged. ‘Edinburgh has it all. High or low. Drinking. Gambling. Women.’ Perhaps he could leave the lordling at the nearest brothel.
‘Definitely low,’ Sanford said with a sardonic twist to his mouth. He brushed at the sleeve of his immaculate black coat. ‘A little drinking and gambling wouldn’t go amiss, if the stakes are right.’
As far as Logan could see, Sanford had too much of the former and was ripe for the plucking at the latter. But he wasn’t the man’s keeper. He’d run into Sanford by chance and been swept into the young dandy’s orbit like a stray asteroid. He rather wished he’d been rude and ignored the man when he’d heard himself hailed on the Royal Mile earlier in the day. He’d intended to unload the Sassenach right after dinner.
Apparently not. He swallowed a sigh. ‘I’ve an appointment at the Reiver in Old Town just off The Lawn Market. There’s gambling to be had there.’ And women. A particular dark-eyed beauty. A high flyer to whom he’d responded on a visceral level. And was still responding to, damn it all. He shifted in his chair.
Sanford lifted his quizzing glass and observing the men seated around the baize tables playing whist and faro. ‘As long as it’s for more than a few pennies a point.’
‘I’m no a gambler myself.’ Logan got more than enough excitement pitting wits against excisemen, ‘but from what I saw, the play looked deep enough. And if you are looking for low, you canna do better than the wynds of Old Town Edinburgh.’
Jamie arched one fair brow, his lips curving in a cynical smile. ‘It sounds like my kind of place.’
They left the club, Logan leading the way through the tenements and closes of the streets crowding at the foot of the castle. The evening was warm, which meant the usually dense air of Auld Reekie was breathable, though, of course, fires were always needed for kitchens so the air was never completely fresh. He dove into Ridell’s Court where Archie’s tavern hunkered at the end, the light from its windows gleaming off the muck in the runnels. He ushered his guest inside.
Sanford lifted his quizzing glass at the occupants of the taproom, some engaged in dominoes or a rubber of whist with tankards of ale in their hands. ‘Hardly a hive of vice,’ he said mildly.
‘This way,’ Logan said and took the stairs down to the cellars, into the noise and the smoke.
As he left the bottom step, his gaze went straight to the table beside the hearth. Not there. He should be glad. But he was not. He was disappointed.
He shook his head at himself. At the strange longing to see her again. He was not in the petticoat line, he had enough excitement in his life, and nor could he afford such a high flyer, even if he wanted her.
But want her he did. In the worst way. Not something he needed to be thinking about now or at any other time. Wanting was one thing, having was quite another.
With a judicious shove here and an elbow in a rib there, he secured them a place at the bar.
Archie grinned at him. ‘Back already, is it then? Do you have word for me?’ His gaze slid to Sanford, who was idly looking around him.
Logan shook his head in warning. ‘Just visitin’. An ale for me and a whisky for my friend.’ He gave Archie a hard stare. ‘The good stuff, mind.’
Archie served up the drinks. After a quick look at Sanford, he leaned over the counter to speak in a low voice. ‘There’s a man asking after you. A gent from London.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Aye. He’s against the back wall behind the pillar. Ye noticed his woman yesterday.’ Archie leered.
Logan’s heart stilled in his chest. He forced himself not to look. ‘Did I now?’
‘You did.’
Casually, he glanced past Sanford and over the heads of the men standing at the bar. He saw them now. The table squeezed into a corner far from the hearth. And there she was. In a gown the colour of blood, her lips painted to match. The colour made her skin look like snow. Against his will, his body tightened. He forced himself to look past her, to the man at her side, the big brawny fellow
