Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

BENEDICT

A nnoyance flits through my veins like razor-sharp knives slicing through my skin. Even as I sit at my pianoforte, banging against the keys, I cannot drive that wench from my mind. Her large eyes as she looked up at me, practically begging me to break her, still haunts me at every turn.

Now, I understand why Lord Hardon was so insistent I refrain from pursuing his little sister. She's not a good fit for me. She's too impressionable, too innocent. Most of all, she's too much of a liability.

Glancing over at the edge of the instrument, I growl as I spy the older correspondence I left there to mull over after each rousing piece. No outward threats, as of yet, but knowing Augusta's brother is also in the crosshairs makes the little omega all the more able to be a pawn in this coward's games.

It's what keeps me grounded. It's what keeps my cock firmly in my grasp instead of using the warmth of her body to coax it to life. Most of all, it's what keeps me in my own house instead of hers.

The meeting today should have never happened. I shouldn't have allowed my curiosity to propel me to her doorstep. In no sane world did I need to see if she still squirmed as she sat or if the pain had dissipated, allowing her to sit pretty. Though she was a vision at the pianoforte, it was a sight I need not behold for my own sanity.

With a crash of my fingers against the keys, I stand and pace, snatching up the correspondence so I can read it once more. My desperation to ascertain the sender's identity eats at me almost as much as the need to lay my hands on Augusta's pert backside again. Somehow, this girl has wormed her way into my fascination, and she refuses to let go.

But the chit is far too unknowing for her own good. It's what led her to the misfortune three days prior. Unfortunately, I cannot teach her. To do so would feed right into the blackguard's schemes. Though the missive doesn't clearly state that our houses are being watched, it can be understood.

What happens if, in her na?veté, she does something even worse? If I write to her brother and inquire as to my course of action, it will not only put him on the defensive as far as she's concerned, but he might then turn his ire to the little omega whose only crime it was to care about the fortunes of others. Bugger, what a conundrum.

Grabbing a small glass, I tip my decanter into it, watching the amber liquid swirl about before I down it in one gulp. The burn feels like hell while giving me just a small glimpse of heaven. A growl rips from my throat as I slam the glass back down and begin to pace anew.

Just as I cannot tell him of her indiscretion, I also cannot tell him of my burgeoning feelings for the girl. Especially not when they're so carnal in nature. The things I want to do to her are not fit for God's ears, let alone her brother's.

I need air. I need air and a calm head. Unfortunately, with my friends occupied, I cannot find such at their residence. As much as a bout at The Rose and Thorne would probably help set me to rights, I find myself unwilling to go and subject myself to the false air of innocence plaguing the girls.

Especially not when I have such a beguiling example, just begging me to tutor her. Groaning, I grab my jacket and head out into the chilly night. Only one thing will help quell this restless longing. At least, I can only pray it takes the edge off.

The streets of nighttime London feel almost like home as I walk amongst the denizens, sinking into the inky blackness. Women hock their wares, men look around for some bout of mischief, and music pours out of windows and doors, ushering me into the darker parts of this lovely city.

One place calls my name tonight, however, and it's a gaming hell I frequented before discovering the joys of the flesh. My feet traverse the familiar path as calmness drips over me, like starlight descending from the heavens to illuminate my soul. It's time I reclaim my mantle and don on my birthright as one to not be trifled with.

My father, his father, and his father before that, all played here. Namely, its location is far more desirable than others. It's close enough to the heart of London to be easily accessible by the nobility but common enough to let loose some inhibitions and simply enjoy the art of gambling. The Ton and Beau monde alike mix and mingle, sprinkled in with those middle class who think themselves to be able to play as fiercely as we do.

Unfortunately, many are robbed of their coin, only joining us more elite to see and be seen. With their inexperience, lack of knowledge, and lack of finesse, they soon find themselves in dire straits, beholden to men far less charitable than me. It is, however, a place for me to apply my mind to some other task other than how to grab hold of the one woman I cannot have.

As I step through the doors, my heart pounds in excitement as I glance about at all the familiar faces. Apart from The Rose and Thorne, this really is my second home. Perhaps now that many of my friends have fallen by the wayside with families to attend to, I can re-cultivate some kinship here.

Grabbing a bit of ale, I sit at a nearby whist table. The cards flit through my fingers with expert skill as my partner and I take trick after trick. Minutes flow by until I no longer think about the beautiful omega and her enormous dark blue eyes. Here, I do not have to be an instructor. I take what I want and think nothing else of it.

As my coffers grow, I find myself more at ease. That is until an odd scent snags my attention. It's faint, but there. A hint, a whiff, even. Barely noticeable in and amongst the other scents gathered in this small place, but one I cannot seem to miss.

Here, in this den of iniquity, I shouldn't be smelling ginger and spice. None of the current drinks have that concoction and nor do any of the bits of food here and there. The men certainly haven't smelled like this during the evening.

Besides, the mixture is so specific, so unique, that I'd know it anywhere. Scanning the room, I see nothing out of place. Men sit at tables, their speech indistinct murmurs as they mull over their various games. Nowhere is that insatiable minx to be found.

But then, how could she be here? This is a club for gentlemen, low brow as it is. This phantom scent must be a figment of my imagination. At this time of the night, she would no doubt be exhausted and tucked away in her bed.

Shaking my head, I do my best to dispel the apprehension threatening to climb up my spine and choke off my air. It's a silly thing. Just because she managed to find herself in one scrape doesn't mean she's in another. Besides, to sneak in somewhere like here unawares… Why, it's preposterous in the extreme.

Only men are allowed in here, unless they're a working wench. But then, I'd surmise her recognizable enough for others to know who she is. The only way in here is for her to look like a man. Which, again, is simply unthinkable.

For one, where on earth would she be able to find gentlemanly clothes to fit her? Second, despite finding said clothes, how would she manage to hide those beautiful breasts that seem to defy the logic of her dresses? She is somehow able to stay within the bounds of propriety and yet be scandalous as well.

There's no way she can hide that. The men would know in an instant. She would not be able to step one foot into the London night and remain unmolested. A frightening thought, to be sure, but accurate nonetheless.

Putting my head back down to my cards, I do my best to drive the figment away and concentrate. At the end of the current round of games, my players decide to leave, more than likely aided by my dour mood. Not that I blame them.

I stretch and roam the room, my eyes landing on the people around me. A young lad strides by, his face blank as his shoulder strikes my arm.

"There now," I chide as I steady him. "A simple pardon would suffice."

"A thousand pardons," he whispers, his young eyes widening in fear. "My head was somewhere else."

"I'd bring it back to your body before you offend someone who actually gives a damn. What has you so shaken? Lose more than you're worth?" Though I tease the lad, the look on his face says it all. "Hell and damnation. What is a young pup like you doing here, anyway? Surely there are kinder establishments?"

His lips twist into a dark frown. "I am in no need of kinder establishments. I am usually able to hold my own. Lady luck was not by my side tonight." For a moment, his gaze hazes as he stares at nothing. "For one as young as me, he is the most skilled I've seen."

Though I had planned on leaving soon, his proclamation piques my interest? "And who, pray tell, is this rake who fleeces young men of their earnings?"

With a shaky finger, he points into a back corner, nearly drowned in shadow. Ill deeds done in darkness, it seems. Nodding to the lad, I make my way over, determined to know if this player truly has incredible skill, or if this whelp is merely bad at cards.

As I get closer, the scent I've been teased with during the evening becomes stronger. It's buried beneath the stench of unwashed males, but I find the thread and follow it as if I'm being propelled forward by some unseen force. The person sitting at the table looks small, far smaller than the other men here. But it could be some runt of a beta swindling others of their coin.

With each step I take, I tell my brain some lie, some fanciful untruth that can possibly account for why this 'man' smells good enough for me to rut in front of all the others. I can't, but I try with all my might. As I get closer to the table, I hear their voice as they shuffle through the cards.

"Care to test your luck? Will fortune smile upon you or me, good sir?"

Certainly not high enough to be an omega, but perhaps not deep enough to be a grown man. A lad, for sure, could possess such a voice. Shaking my head, I slide across from him, determined to put all fanciful thoughts aside, no doubt brought upon by too much ale and brandy.

"Pick your poison, good sir. Perhaps a game of Loo? Piquet? Vingt-et-un?"

Before I can answer, he lifts his head, spearing me with his navy-blue gaze. Those eyes. Even if nothing else about Augusta looks the same, those eyes are. They are the same that haunt me at every turn, that make my balls clench and my cock ache.

What the devil is she doing in a gaming hell? And how in god's name has she disguised herself so efficiently? Glancing down, I note the jacket pulled about her shoulders, covering most of her frame. But even then, her large breasts are nowhere to be seen.

If I wasn't so furious and terrified for her, I'd marvel at her ingenuity. Yet, all I can do is gape as she sets down the cards with a trembling hand.

"Your pick?"

I lean down close enough that only she can hear. "My pick is for you to rise from this table, acting as if nothing at all has happened, and you will quit this place. Am I perfectly clear?"

She laughs, the throaty sound at odds with the tinkling giggle I've known from before. "Are you that scared of losing to me? Many others have lost their coin to one such as me. Do you dare?" Her voice is just as tremulous as her fingers, though she tries hard to hide it.

"The longer you vex me, the harder your punishment will be, little sister," I sneer. "The choice is now yours."