Lady Allerton's Wager

Lady Allerton's Wager
Nicola Cornick

Even for a widow with her impeccable reputation, Lady Beth Allerton’s wager with Marcus, Earl of Trevithick was outrageous behavior. If she won, her prize would be Fairhaven, an island her grandfather had forfeited to the previous earl. But if she lost, the penalty was to become his mistress! And most shocking of all was that a small part of Lady Allerton secretly hoped she might lose….

“One throw of the dice. The winner takes all.”

Marcus hesitated. It was clear from Elizabeth’s words that she would be his prize if he won, and it was very sporting of her to offer her services free. The reckoning would come later, of course, if they suited each other: the villa, the carriage, the jewels. But if she won the wager…

“I like your terms, but what do you want from me if I lose?” he drawled. He waited for her to name her price. A necklace of diamonds, perhaps.

She moved closer until he could smell her perfume. It was a subtle mix of jasmine and rose petals, warm as the sun on her skin, and it sent his senses into even more of a spin. Damn it, whatever the price, it had to be worth it.

“I don’t want a fortune, she said sweetly. “I want Fairhaven Island.”

Lady Allerton’s Wager

Harlequin Historical

Praise for Nicola Cornick’s previous titles

The Virtuous Cyprian

“…this delightful tale of a masquerade gone awry will delight ardent Regency readers.”

—Romantic Times

“A witty, hilarious romp through the Regency period.”

—Rendezvous

The Larkswood Legacy

“…a suspenseful yet tenderhearted tale of love…”

—Romantic Times

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LADY ALLERTON’S WAGER

Nicola Cornick

To the girls.

Thank you.

This one is for you.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter One

The Cyprians’ Ball was scarcely an event that featured on the social calendar of any of the debutantes of the ton, although more than one bitter chaperon had observed that it was the only place outside the clubs where all the eligible bachelors could be found. The most unobtainable of gentlemen, who would scorn to step inside the doors of Almack’s Assembly Rooms for fear of ambush, showed far greater alacrity in striking up an intimate acquaintance of quite another sort, and a masquerade was ripe with all sorts of possibilities.

It was late in the evening when Marcus, sixth Earl of Trevithick, joined the crowds of revellers milling in the Argyle Rooms. Being neither a callow youth nor particularly requiring an inamorata, he had seen no need to hurry to be first through the door.

The room, with its elegant pillars and lavish decoration, seemed as gaudy as the birds of paradise that flocked there. Marcus knew that he was already drawing their attention. With his height, stature and wicked dark good looks it was inevitable, but he felt little pride in the fact. Once his name was whispered amongst the Cyprians he knew that some would lose interest and hunt for bigger game, for they were motivated by cupidity rather than lust. He had the looks and the title but he had little money, for he had inherited estates that had gone to rack and ruin.

‘Been rusticating, Marcus? I had heard you were still in northern parts!’

It was his cousin, Justin Trevithick, who had clapped Marcus on the shoulder. Justin, the only child of a scandalous second marriage between Marcus’s Uncle Freddie Trevithick and his housekeeper, was a couple of years younger than his cousin. The two had never met as children, for Marcus’s father, Viscount Trevithick, had disapproved of his brother’s morals and had steadfastly refused to acknowledge his nephew. When Marcus was twenty-two he had bumped into Justin at White’s and they had hit it off at once, to the amusement of the ton and the despair of the strait-laced Viscount and his wife. Now, eleven years later, they were still firm friends.

Marcus and Justin shared the distinctive lean Trevithick features, but whilst Marcus’s eyes and hair were the sloe-black of his pirate forebears, Justin’s face was lightened by the fair hair and green eyes that in his mother had captured the attention of Lord Freddie. He turned and took two glasses of wine from a passing flunkey, handing one to his cousin. Marcus grinned, inclining his dark head.

‘I have just returned from Cherwell,’ he said, in answer to Justin’s enquiry. ‘I was there longer than I had intended. The tenant there has been fleecing the estate for some time, but—’ he gave a sardonic smile ‘—it won’t be happening again!’