LITMIR.BIZ

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of them were approaching thirty, that most important age for men of their birth, when they were expected to marry and settle down. This trip might very well be their last time together as bachelors unencumbered by the responsibility of wives and children. Haviland would marry—it had already been arranged. Archer would follow. A man who loved breeding horses would surely love to breed his own children. As for Brennan? It would depend on who would have him on a more permanent basis. He was probably with a woman right now.

      The captain of the vessel approached and urged them to board, making it clear he would not wait for the rest of their party. Haviland blew out a breath after the captain left, blaming himself for Brennan’s tardiness. ‘I should have stayed with him.’

      Nolan murmured something encouraging. Brennan would be here. He had to be. Brennan was always late, always on the verge of trouble. Not too unlike himself. He was just better prepared for it. Brennan never saw it coming until it was too late. Perhaps that was why he liked Brennan, they were kindred spirits of a sort. They both had messy, imperfect lives. They both lived in the moment. Brennan wasn’t a planner and that was certainly working against him this morning. Nolan could imagine him oversleeping in some woman’s bed only to wake too late and realise he’d missed the boat.

      Waiting was a luxury they couldn’t afford. It wasn’t an issue of just catching another boat. Channel crossings didn’t run on schedules, they ran on the weather. Nolan knew they were lucky their own crossing today was proceeding like clockwork. He opted to keep spirits up. He clapped a hand on Archer’s back as the three of them moved towards the boat. ‘I’ll wager Brennan misses the boat,’ he announced with forced joviality. ‘Archer, are you in? If I’m wrong, you can win back your losses.’ Please let me be wrong. He had every hope Brennan would come dashing up at the last minute.

      They took up positions at the rail facing the dock. Nolan knew they were all hoping for a glimpse of their errant companion, but time was slipping away. He started at the sound of chains in motion. ‘They’re pulling the anchor. He’s not going to make it,’ Nolan said quietly, leaning on his arms. ‘Dammit! I didn’t want to win that bet.’ He exchanged glances with Haviland and Archer as the boat slowly nudged away from the dock. The trip was off to an ominous start.

      Then he saw it—commotion on the pier, a figure racing towards them, shirttails flapping. Suddenly, Haviland was shouting, ‘It’s him, it’s Brennan!’ And he wasn’t alone. Nolan could make out two men behind him, one of them armed as they gave very hearty chase. Whoever they were, they meant business.

      Haviland moved first, sprinting towards the back of the boat. Nolan stayed rooted where he was, his eyes focused on something else moving behind the men, something dark and swift. Next to him, Archer made it out first. ‘My horse!’

      Nolan and Archer thundered down the length of the boat behind Haviland who was waving his arms and shouting commands to Brennan. Impossible commands, really, such as ‘jump’ and ‘don’t jump here, it’s too wide, jump at the back of the boat where it hasn’t left the dock yet. Hurry!’

      It was insanity, by the time they reached the stern, even that part of the boat had left a gap between the dock and the deck. Brennan would never make the jump. If Brennan missed... There was no time to contemplate the consequences. ‘The horse, Archer, look!’ Nolan shouted. The bay had come up alongside Brennan, matching his stride to the running man.

      Archer took the idea from there, cupping his hands around his mouth. ‘Get on the horse, Bren! Jump him!’

      Nolan felt the moment suspend itself in time. He watched Brennan grab the mane and swing himself up bareback. It would be a mad jump even with stirrups and a saddle. But Brennan was an excellent rider, as good as Archer and far more reckless.

      The horse leapt.

      And landed. On its knees, on the deck.

      Time sped up again. He and Archer grappled for the reins, trying to keep the horse calm. Haviland wrestled Brennan off the downed horse. Nolan glanced back at the shore. The two men in pursuit were forced to give up their efforts, having reached the edge of the pier. One of them raised his gun. Nolan hit the deck with Archer and the horse just as Brennan shoved Haviland to the ground. The bullet whined harmlessly overhead, but, dear lord, it had been a near thing. A second or two would have made a tragic difference. If Brennan hadn’t pushed Haviland down...

      Nolan’s eyes narrowed in speculation. Deuce take it! Brennan had suspected they would fire. What kind of trouble had he got himself into this time? Haviland was already asking those questions as the group picked themselves up from the deck and brushed off their clothes. Archer marched the horse off to temporary stabling and Brennan was all smiles as he tucked in his shirttails despite Haviland’s scolding. Definitely a woman, then. It was usually a woman with Brennan.

      Clothing settled and greetings exchanged, Nolan drawled his question. ‘So the real issue isn’t where you’ve been, but was she worth it?’

      Brennan’s blue eyes were merry, his face splitting into a wide, satisfied grin as the wind ruffled his auburn hair. He laughed up at the sky and Nolan knew the answer before he even said it. ‘Always, Nol, always.’

      Nolan grinned, too. The crisis was past. The future lay spread out before them. It would be a while before he saw England again and that was fine with him. Deep down, he wondered if he’d ever see it again and was not surprised to discover he wouldn’t mind if he didn’t. Grand Tours took years and all he had was time.

       Chapter Two

      Venice, Italy—winter 1836

      All gamblers are alike in luck. They know the exhilaration of dice rattling in boxes, the adrenaline fuelled by hot tables, the decadent thrill of hinging everything on the turn of a card and when that card favours them, they know a surge of elation so great they become immortal gods in the moment of victory. But no two gamblers are alike in their fall. From the moment the cards desert them, to the moment they should have walked away and didn’t, gamblers are always unlucky alone.

      Nolan Gray knew when a man was broke and Count Agostino Minotti was very close. Surrounded by the opulence of Palazzo Calergi where every whim was anticipated by the serving staff, where no one should have any worries, Count Agostino had worries aplenty. The signs were there in the desperate sweat on his brow, in the sharpness of his eyes as his brain rapidly inventoried his assets, searching for anything left worth bartering to cover the latest hand—the one in which he was sure his luck would turn.

      Nolan knew it wouldn’t. His own hand was too good, and if there was such a thing as luck, it favoured the intelligent. Surely, the count had to know the odds of drawing the queen of spades were nearly non-existent. The count would never complete his straight. He’d been rather obviously collecting high-end spades this hand and everyone at the table knew it. Nolan didn’t suffer fools who couldn’t count cards nor did he have much sympathy for men who overplayed their funds. The count should have walked away an hour ago. Nolan only hoped the man would be able to cover tonight’s commitments. He had plans for that money.

      The count pushed the rest of his money to the centre of the table, not nearly enough to cover the bet. What else would the count offer? The count’s next words took Nolan alternately by surprise and then disgust. ‘Two hundred lire and my daughter’s maidenhead.’

      That was certainly different than the items wagered at English tables. But it made the man no less of a bastard to offer it. The principle of the matter dug sharp claws into Nolan’s sense of fair play. A gambler could risk anything he or she liked as long as it was theirs. But to risk what belonged singularly to another, to someone who was not directly involved in the play at the table and who had no say in the decision was beyond the pale of acceptability.

      A quick glance around the table indicated he was the only one who apparently held any such scruples. There was a certain irony in that considering how jaded his palate had become over the years. He’d wagered and won numerous non-traditional items of interest in his career. But never a woman

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