Regency Gamble. Bronwyn Scott
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Greer blew out a breath and she had the sense she’d pushed him too far. ‘I can’t believe you’re siding with him.’
The words sliced her as surely as any blade. If he only knew! She wasn’t on her father’s side. She wasn’t on Greer’s side. She was simply on her side, trying to make a place in a world that insisted there wasn’t one for a female. Her own anger began to spill. ‘I’m not siding with him. I’m trying to save you from yourself. Or maybe you don’t care. Not all of us have the home farm waiting for us if this doesn’t work out.’
Damn him and his high-road principles. She didn’t want to need him, but the reality behind all her bravado about emotional detachment was stark and simple. He was her chance. Her success was tied to his although she dare not tell him that.
‘I must apologise.’ Greer clicked his heels together and executed a stiff bow, his tone just as rigid. ‘I’ve taken my frustration out on you. You are merely the messenger of unpleasant news.’ He reached out and covered the star charm where it lay against her neck. His hand was warm on her skin, the gesture intimate, his fingers achingly near her breast. He smiled. ‘We’re in this together.’
Until it’s time not to be. Mercedes masked the self-serving thought with a smile. She needed to exit the room. The atmosphere between them was charged with a new emotion more reminiscent of their unfinished business from the fairground.
‘We’re not meant to be at each other’s throats,’ she offered by way of acknowledging his apology. If she didn’t leave soon, this conversation would veer into territory best left unexplored for the moment until she could make her mind up about the handsome officer—was he to be more than a protégé to her? But her feet stayed rooted to the ground.
‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ He raised a hand to the back of her head, trapping her, drawing her closer, a secret smile on his lips. ‘Being at each other’s throats isn’t all bad.’ He took her mouth in a hard kiss, letting his lips wander along her jaw and down the length of her throat, teasing her with a flick of his tongue here, a nip of his teeth there, until he captured her mouth again, challenging her to a heated duel of tongues.
‘Or being in them,’ she managed between kisses. This was new territory indeed! Usually she was the aggressor. It was what she preferred. It reduced the opportunity to be taken by surprise. More importantly, it let her drive the encounter. But it was very apparent that Greer was driving this one.
Her hands anchored roughly in the thick depths of his hair. This was not a gentle exchange and she roused to it, revelling in the feel of his hands at her hips, hard and strong as they held her, the thrill of his lips pressed to her neck, to her mouth.
She sucked at his ear, her teeth taking sensual bites of his lobe until Greer gave a fierce growl of pleasure, but she couldn’t completely shake the thought that had taken up residence in the back of her mind. She’d use Greer, use this chemistry between them until he and it had served their purpose. Then she’d cut him free. She’d have to.
Such an assumption had always been an underlying tenet of her plan. She was turning out too much like her father. She’d not meant to be. It was a rather sobering revelation and one she was definitely not proud of.
‘What are the rules to a good hustle?’ Mercedes all but barked across the table in yet another small inn in yet another middling, nameless town. Good Lord, the woman was driving him crazy on all levels.
Greer gave her a steely look across the billiards table. If she asked him how to hustle one more time he was going to walk out of this room. Every morning in the carriage it was the same drill: ‘Tell me the best place to aim a slice, the proper way to split a pair, what are the best defensive shots.’ Every afternoon, it was practice, practice, practice until he could execute the strategies in his sleep. At least he could when he wasn’t dreaming of her.
Since Bosham she’d managed to torture him by day as well as night; the temptress that had sucked his ear lobe to near climax in the Millstream parlour had taken up residence in his dreams, leaving him waking aching and hard. But that temptress became a termagant in the morning.
‘Well? What are the rules to a good hustle?’ Mercedes prompted when he met her questions with silence. ‘Aren’t you going to answer?’
Greer put down the cue stick and folded his arms across his chest. ‘No, as a matter of fact, I am not.’ Then he did as he’d promised himself. He walked past Mercedes and out the front door of the inn into the glorious spring afternoon.
‘Greer Barrington, come back here. I have asked you a question.’
Oh, that did it. He was not going to acquiesce, not before he gave her a piece of his mind. He didn’t stop until he’d reached the town green though he was aware of her behind him every step of the way, her anger palpable as it chased him across the street. Greer turned and faced her, fixing her with a hard stare. ‘Can you leave me the hell alone for once? What is it you want? “How do you shoot a slice, how do you split a pair, how do you compensate for angles?” It never stops!’
His voice was too loud, but he didn’t care. It felt good to let out the frustrations, sexual and otherwise, that he’d carried for days.
Mercedes answered him evenly, unfazed by his harsh words. ‘I like the best, Captain. That’s what I want. And if you want what I want, you’d better be the best because I don’t have time for anything less.’ Nothing got to her. Just once he’d like to see something get under her skin.
‘You did in Bosham. You had time for a picnic, time to stroll around the fair.’ Greer made a wide gesture to indicate the park around them. ‘Spring is passing you by while you’re penned up in a dark inn shooting slices and teaching hustles.’
Something shifted in her grey eyes and her gaze lost its hardness. Her anger was fading. For a fleeting moment he thought he saw something akin to sadness in them, then it was gone, replaced by something more stoic, more like the Mercedes he’d come to know. ‘If I am, it will be worth it. I can enjoy next spring. Chances don’t come my way very often, Captain. I have to take them when they do, spring notwithstanding.’
‘Greer, please. No more “Captain.” You only call me “Captain” when you’re angry.’ Greer gave up the last of his anger, intrigue overriding his frustration. ‘What opportunity is that, Mercedes?’
‘To be on the road with my father,’ she said simply but tersely, and Greer sensed this was not a direction she’d willingly take the conversation. Her relationship with Lockhart was a touchy subject and, quite frankly, the relationship seemed a bit odd to him. It was nothing like the relationship his sisters had with his father. Mercedes and Lockhart were more like partners than a father and daughter.
It was strange, too, to think the indomitable Mercedes would yearn for time with her parent like any other child. He’d spent his childhood lapping up any crumb of attention from his father’s table, treasuring those rare moments when his father came out of his office to take him riding. Even now, he knew he still craved his father’s approval. He’d wanted to make his father proud of his military career.
Greer gave Mercedes a considering glance as they walked; she was so beautiful and proud it was hard to imagine she harboured the same wants as the rest of them. But she’d no more admit to it than he would, if asked. The conversational angle was played out. She would let him go no further with it. All he could do was tuck her arm through his and change the topic.
‘Have I ever mentioned how much you remind me of my superior officer, Colonel Donald Franklin? We had a secret nickname for him.’
Mercedes favoured him with a tolerant smile, the kind reserved for belligerent six-year-olds. ‘And what was that name? I’m sure you’re going to tell me whether I want you to or not.’
‘Drill