Wicked Wager
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She halted the stallion
and, before either of them could assist her, leapt down and faced them. The woman wore soiled men’s clothing, and her brown hair hung down in messy wisps around her face. “So, which one of you is the London bloke I’m supposed to wed?”
James gestured to Marcus. “This is Mr. Revington. I’m James Ludingham, his solicitor.”
The woman extended a grimy hand to Marcus. “Pleased to meet you.”
Marcus stared. “You’re Miss Montgomery?”
“Yes, but you can call me Penny, everyone does. The house is there, see.” She pointed. “Mrs. Foxworthy will offer you something if you knock. I really can’t be bothered with playing hostess. I’ve got to get back to the stables. We’re gelding the colts today, and they need me to do the cauterizing. Good meeting you though, Mr. Revington, Mr. Ludingham.” She turned and mounted the stallion, then cantered back down the lane.
“Hmmm,” James said. “What were you saying about marrying the woman sight unseen?”
Marcus swallowed. “I’ll allow she is a bit eccentric, but that hardly matters. It’s really quite simple. She’ll go her way, and I’ll go mine.” His words belied the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Gads! The chit was an utter hoyden. He’d encountered Covent Garden orange girls who had more polish than Miss Montgomery. But at least she wasn’t unattractive. Despite the dirt and her disheveled hair, she had huge blue eyes and pert, pretty features, and the masculine clothing only served to emphasize her leggy but clearly feminine form.
Wicked Wager
by
Mary Gillgannon
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Wicked Wager
COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Mary Gillgannon
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Rae Monet, Inc. Design
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
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Publishing History
First Tea Rose Edition, 2015
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0116-7
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0117-4
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my dear friends Amanda and Joanne,
for your continued support and encouragement.
Chapter One
It was like taking candy from a baby.
Marcus Revington fought to conceal his scorn as he regarded his opponent across the card table. How many times had he seen this scene re-enacted? The arrogant young sharp takes on a real gamester and discovers there’s more to winning than luck.
Marcus had disillusioned a few budding high-flyers in his day, but setting down this arrogant coxcomb would be especially gratifying. He didn’t like Adrian Withersby, with his cunning blue eyes, his green jacket and yellow waistcoat, his blond hair arranged in a perfect Brutus.
The seeds of the young dandy’s destruction had been planted. He was behind by three games and two rubbers; the baize table was littered with gambling vowels. Picquet was a game of skill as well as luck, and Withersby, who was careless in his discards and seemed to have a poor notion of figuring the odds, wasn’t an adept player.
“
Capot
,” Marcus said as he won the final trick.
Sir James Ludingham, seated to Marcus’s right, marked down the points. “Revington takes the rubber. Do you want to continue?”
A hard look came over Withersby’s face as he observed the extent of his debt. “I’m not that badly dipped.”
“What will you wager?” James asked. “I don’t think Revington should accept any more vowels.”
“My luck will turn,” Withersby muttered. “I know it will.”
“Your wager, sir?” Marcus said.
A shrewd look gleamed in Withersby’s eyes. “I have property in Hampshire.”
James pushed a piece of parchment and quill pen in front of him. “Write down the name of the estate, sir, and make your mark.”
Withersby glared at Marcus. “Do you always have your solicitor at hand?”
Marcus smiled blandly. “Ludingham is a friend. I’m certain you’ll abide by any promise you make, whether in writing or not.”
Withersby signed with a flourish. “Let us resume play.”
For a short while, it appeared Withersby’s luck had turned. He won three games to Marcus’s one and took the rubber. Gloating, he poured himself a brandy and took a deep draught.
Then Marcus’s steady skill again took its toll. When he’d won two games in a row, he said, “Perhaps we should call it a night, Withersby. Say this rubber is a draw. You honor your vowels, but keep the property.”
Withersby gazed at the pile of parchment on the table. Marcus was offering his opponent an opportunity to walk away with his dignity intact. Although it was unlikely the puffed-up young fellow would avail himself of the generous offer.
As expected, Withersby’s face grew hard with contempt. “Coward!” he flung at Marcus. “You’re afraid I’ve mastered the game! You’ve no right to deprive me of the chance to best you!”
“Don’t be a fool,” James said. “He’s showing you mercy.”
“I won’t go down like this.” Withersby glared at Marcus. “Either we continue to play, or I’ll call you out.”
Suppressing his disgust, Marcus shrugged. “As you wish.”
It seemed as if fate were punishing Withersby, for the next deal went against him. As Marcus scored
carte blanche
, then
quinte
in points, the younger man’s disdainful façade cracked. His blue eyes grew hunted, and he tugged nervously at his cravat, ruining its perfect folds.
“
Pic
,” Marcus said as he scored heavily in the first tricks.
Withersby gazed at his hand, then heaved his cards on the table.
“Do want to continue?” Marcus asked. “Have you something else you wish to wager?”
Withersby shook his head, glowering.
“Well, then.” Marcus stood and flexed his shoulders. “Let’s call it a night. Ludingham will be in touch with you regarding the transfer of the estate deed and payment on the other notes.”
Withersby got to his feet, beads of sweat glittering on his forehead. “It’s not so tidy as that. Although I control Horngate, the estate doesn’t actually belong to me. I merely act as guardian.”
James seized the note Withersby had signed and thrust it out. “Your signature is here, sir! If you didn’t have the right to wager the property, you shouldn’t have signed this!”
Marcus stiffened. Would he be forced to challenge the bastard? He had no taste for dueling, but he didn’t intend to let Withersby cheat him out of what he’d fairly won.
“Of course I have the right to wager the property!” Withersby said. “I’ve been responsible for the estate for the past five years. I ought to get something for my trouble.” He met Marcus’s gaze evenly. “The property is yours, sir, if you’re willing to marry the heiress of the estate—my cousin and ward.”
Marry! Marcus knew a moment of shock but quickly recovered. Withersby didn’t think he’d call his bluff. Well, the fool was about to discover exactly how seriously he took debts owed to him. “A minor stipulation,” he responded, unruffled. “As long as the woman agrees. If she doesn’t, I will call you out for trying to cheat me out of my fairly-won winnings.”
Withersby gaped at him. “You’d marry a woman, sight unseen, to collect a gambling debt?”
“Why not? Once I take control of the property, we can go our separate ways. It will be a marriage in name only.”
Withersby didn’t react, but James flushed with outrage. “Marcus, you can’t mean that! Withersby has no right to offer up his cousin as if she is a piece of livestock that comes with the estate. The woman must have some say!” He glared at Withersby. “Sir, how can you be certain she’ll agree to this sham of a marriage?”
Withersby looked nonplussed, but when he answered his tone was defiant as ever. “My cousin will do as I tell her.”
James turned back to Marcus. “I must advise you not to go through with this crude, ungentlemanly arrangement. No decent man would consider it.”
“Maybe I’m not decent.” Marcus had made up his mind. Withersby thought he was trapped. Well, the budding gamester was about to discover what it meant to get in too deep with Marcus Revington!
He met Withersby’s gaze with calm implacability. “I’ll need directions to the estate. I mean to waste no time in taking possession of my property.”
Withersby’s mouth twisted. “You’re a contemptible blackguard, Revington. You’ll be cut everywhere once the word gets out that you’ve taken a woman to wife as payment for a gambling debt.”
“My behavior is no more reprehensible than yours. How dare you make a wager you don’t believe can be collected?”
A hint of fear flickered in the young man’s eyes, then the disdainful look returned. “You’re collecting it, aren’t you, Revington? That makes you more of a scoundrel than me.” Withersby started for the door. “I’ll take my leave now. I wish you every pleasure of married life,” he added sourly.
“Here, now.” James followed him. “We still need directions to the estate. And then there’s the matter of the property deed.”
“You may see my solicitor for that,” Withersby called over his shoulder.
As Withersby’s footsteps echoed down the stairs of the gaming house, James returned to the card table and sat heavily. “Well, I never…in all my days… Have you ever seen a gentlemen behave in such mean, underhanded fashion?”
Marcus’s lip curled. “Gentleman? Withersby’s no gentleman. That scheming weasel didn’t even have the decency to tell me his cousin’s name.”
“Her name? You don’t mean…you can’t truly have any intention of pursuing this thing?”
“Of course I have. I’ve said as much.”
“But, I thought you were bluffing!”
“You should have learned by now, James. I don’t bluff, except at cards.”
“But how can you take advantage of an innocent young woman?”
“What makes you think she’s innocent? With a wretch like that for a cousin, she may be the most cunning and unprincipled of creatures.”
“All the more reason not to take her to wife!”
“See here, James. Who are you worried for, her or me?”
“Well, I…both of you! You’ve never met the woman, and now you mean to bind yourself to her for life. This sort of cold, emotionless transaction might be appropriate if we were talking about horses or hunting hounds, but…do you truly mean to wed this woman sight unseen?”
“I’ve said I will.”
“But what about fondness? Affection?”
“I fail to see how this is any different from the usual society marriage. Just because the woman’s mama didn’t bring her to London and parade her before the rich lords in attendance at Almack’s doesn’t make the arrangement any more shamelessly mercenary than most marriages among the
ton.
”
“If she’d come out during the Season, she would have had a chance to meet you and form an opinion of you as a potential mate.”
“Do you think she’ll find me displeasing?”
James stared at Marcus a moment. “Well, you are a handsome devil, I’ll give you that. But if the woman in question was my relative, I would be very disinclined to have her marry you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a…” James cleared his throat. “You spend all your time in gaming hells and men’s clubs. Because you haven’t been seen in the company of a decent woman in years. You’re what the ladies call a rake, a hellion.”
“And that disqualifies me as a desirable husband?” Marcus shot his friend an ironic smile.
The solicitor shook his head. “There’s the matter of your reputation. If the circumstances of this marriage are talked around, it’s bound to cause a scandal.”
“You think I give a damn what the
ton
thinks of me? I intend to marry this woman. I want my future opponents to know I take wagers seriously.”