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The Wager
Sally Cheney
Not To Be Trusted A rogue draped in a mantle of savagery and civilization was the only way to describe Peter Desmond, she'd decided. But Marianne Trenton shuddered to realize she was dangerously intrigued, indeed, beguiled , by the very man she'd sworn to destroy! A Prize Beyond PriceMarianne Trenton was a jewel of young womanhood, shining with an innocence that radiated its own sweet allure. She'd appeared in Peter Desmond's life at the turn of a card, then turned his heart around… and he vowed to make her his own!
Table of Contents
Cover (#u43cf77a7-5098-59ea-a922-c87e887b961b)
Excerpt (#u1473ea39-a744-5bb4-b588-0e39298e17e5)
Dear Reader (#ub6fdc673-3386-5a37-81ff-40433aebe24b)
Title Page (#udfe4949f-bf50-59c1-a53b-89f19e520bec)
About The Author (#u12188166-50c6-55fa-bd89-420ae2407c4e)
Dedication (#uc15ae440-9d5a-5f2a-82fe-2dfcc2fef873)
Prologue (#u0105c7cc-751b-558a-b26f-7877dac638bf)
Chapter One (#uf13958af-5e7a-5ca8-9204-ffa1b9963120)
Chapter Two (#uf62d9201-237b-50d7-8010-6f2022d2cd7f)
Chapter Three (#ue5c543da-444e-5ac2-9481-cab6520e9070)
Chapter Four (#u6a866cfa-4d3d-5c62-8a9a-e3d624f3f5d5)
Chapter Five (#u259c72b2-7121-51bb-bf0a-e28e2958b106)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“I have given you my soul.
“Will you not give me anything in return?” Desmond murmured.
“I will play you a game of cards for it,” Marianne replied. “If you win, you may have me. I will come to your bed, willingly, wearing nothing but a smile of invitation. There will be no damnable tears.”
“And if you win?” he asked. “I get Kingsbrook.”
There was a stunned silence. One could almost see the workings in Desmond’s head as he tried to collect his faculties.
“You would get Kingsbrook?” he finally asked, very slowly and carefully.
“Or you would get me,” Marianne said. Desmond narrowed his eyelids and appeared to be considering very seriously. “You value yourself very highly, Miss Trenton, to put your worth equivalent to this grand estate.”
“Rather, Mr. Desmond,” the girl said coolly, “it is a question of how highly you value me…!”
Dear Reader,
This month, author Sally Cheney returns with her fifth historical for Harlequin, The Wager. Known for her ability to capture the flavor of 19th-century England, the author’s new title tells the story of a young woman who sets out to destroy the man who won her in a card game, only to fall in love with him in the process. We hope you enjoy it.
Beloved Outcast by Pat Tracy is a dramatic Western about an Eastern spinster who is hired by a man with a notorious reputation to tutor his adopted daughter. Affaire de Coeur recently labeled Pat as “one author definitely worth watching,” and we hope you agree. This talented author just keeps getting better and better.
Whether writing atmospheric Medievals or sexy Regencies, Deborah Simmons continues to delight readers. In this month’s Maiden Bride, the sequel to The Devil’s Lady, Nicholas de Laci transfers his blood lust to his enemy’s niece, Gillian, his future wife by royal decree. And fans of Romantic Times Career Achievement Award winner Veronica Sattler will be thrilled to see this month’s reissue of her Worldwide Library release, Jesse’s Lady. We hope you’ll enjoy this exciting story of a young heiress and her handsome guardian.
We hope you’ll keep a lookout for all four titles wherever Harlequin Historicals are sold.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
The Wager
Sally Cheney
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SALLY CHENEY
was a bookstore owner before coming to her first love—writing. She has traveled extensively in the United States, but is happiest with the peaceful rural life in her home state of Idaho. When she is not writing, she is active in community affairs and enjoys cooking and gardening.
To Ursula, in appreciation for her invaluable input
Prologue (#ulink_7b32c26a-c6bd-5f35-85a1-6e614f22ab10)
London, 1855
“One card.”
“Two.”
“I’ll play these.”
The cards were dealt around the table as requested. Finally the dealer snapped a number of cards off the deck for himself.
“Dealer takes three,” he announced.
The four men sat studying the little rectangles of pasteboard they held with expressions of varying degrees of grimness. The least forbidding of them seemed to be that of the dealer himself, his insouciance owing, no doubt, to the impressive pile of coins and banknotes on the table before him.
“Mr. Phillips, I believe the bid is to you,” he softly reminded the man at his side.
Mr. Phillips’s scowl deepened. “One pound,” he growled at last, adding a heavy coin to the kitty, challenging the player to his left with a scowl.
Mr. Abbot would have faced down his fellow gamester, despite his stern expression, if the gentleman dealing had given him one more face card, but with this hand…
Abbot sighed heavily and pushed his cards together. “Discretion dictates my retreat from the field of battle, I fear,” he said, laying the cards facedown in front of him.
“Mr. Carstairs?” the dealer prompted.
“I’m in,” the third man said sourly, removing several coins from the short stack left before him.
“The dealer meets the bet.” A banknote was added to the collection.
The four men—Phillips, Abbot, Carstairs and the dealer, Mr. Peter Desmond—were not close intimates. Friends was too strong a word. Even acquaintances was. It was not at all certain that if two of them met on the street in daylight they would recognize each other, or, if recognizing the other, would exchange greetings. They met several times a year to play cards. One or more of them always went away a loser, which did nothing to endear them to one another.
“Mr. Phillips? Do you wish to raise or call?” the dealer prompted now.
“I wish to do many things,” Phillips said. “But one’s wishes are not always granted, are they? I fold.”
“Well, Mr. Carstairs, once again it appears only you and I will play out the hand,” the man dealing said. His voice was low, his manner suave and perfectly charming.
Mr. Carstairs pictured his nose smashed and bleeding and wondered how suave and charming he would be then. Although the winners and losers varied with each game the four men played, Mr. Desmond usually left the table with money in his pocket, and Mr. Carstairs usually left with none in his.
“You have most of the money I brought with me, and I would like very much to recoup some of those losses. Let us waste no time. It is all or nothing, Desmond.”
Carstairs pushed the rest of his funds into the center of the table.
Desmond picked up the cigar smoldering in the ashtray at his elbow and put it to his lips as he carefully studied the cards he held and, even more carefully, the man sitting next to him. He squinted against the aromatic cloud of smoke he exhaled, but neither the smoke nor the squint could disguise the fact that he was a vividly handsome man, with dark brown hair, dark gray eyes and a set to his jaw suggesting an iron will.
He tapped the ash from the end of his cigar, then returned it to his mouth, holding it between his teeth. “Unfortunately, Mr. Carstairs, you are in no position to dictate terms,” he said, a silken smile on his lips. “I need only to increase your bet and you lose.”
He began to gather enough coins and bills to do exactly that, but Carstairs, almost frantically, stopped him. “Wait!” he cried. “I said all or nothing.”
“You did,” Desmond agreed. “And you have wagered all and have nothing left.”
“No, no. I have…”
“What, Mr. Carstairs?”
“I have…here, give me a piece of paper.”
“Now, Mr. Carstairs, you know our policy. We have agreed to play only for the monies we brought to the table.” The gentleman sounded genuinely grieved by the fact.
“Not money,” Carstairs murmured, finding a paper and pen on his own person and scribbling something as he spoke. “Better than money.” He reached inside his coat again, found a little pocketbook and, after rummaging through its contents for a moment, extracted a bent and tattered daguerreotype. He passed it and the paper across the table.
“Better than money? I doubt it,” Desmond said, picking up the items Mr. Carstairs had passed to him and studying them both. He raised one eyebrow and then looked up at his fellow gambler for confirmation. “Indeed?” he asked.
“I guarantee it,” Carstairs said firmly.
Desmond took the cigar from between his teeth and laid it carefully in the ashtray again. “I will admit you pique my curiosity.”
“You accept the wager, then?” Carstairs urged.
Desmond hesitated for another moment, but finally nodded. “Very well,” he said. “It might prove something of a…lark. My winnings against this.” He held up the paper and the daguerreotype. “What have you got, Mr. Carstairs?”
Carstairs smiled gloatingly and turned his cards over for the others to see.
“Full house!” he announced triumphantly, splaying the cards on the table before him.
Mr. Phillips and Mr. Abbot murmured in appropriate tones of awe.
Mr. Desmond studied the three knaves and the pair of twos and shook his head slightly.
“Well,” he said, “that beats three of a kind.” Carefully he laid down three threes.
Carstairs chuckled and reached across the table to claim the money.
