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Authors: Bronwen Evans

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To Wager the Marquis of Wolverstone

BOOK: To Wager the Marquis of Wolverstone
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To Wager the Marquis of Wolverstone

A Wicked Wagers Novella

Bronwen Evans

 

To Wager the Marquis of
Wolverstone
Published by Bronwen Evans at
Smashwords
Copyright © 2012 Bronwen Evans

Discover other works by Bronwen
Evans
at
www.bronwenevans.com

All rights reserved, including the right to
reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

To Wager the Marquis of Wolverstone
is
a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the
products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.

ISBN ePub: 978-0-473-21165-3
ISBN Mobi/Kindle: 978-0-473-21164-6

 

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

 

Prologue

London, England, April 1811

As the night air stroked her skin with its
soft humid fingers, Sabine Fournier embraced its warmth. It
reminded her of her lover’s touch. She giggled girlishly at the
term
lover
. They were not lovers in the scandalous sense as
they had in reality only kissed.

But
what
a kiss he had given her and
the past weeks had seen his ardor increase exponentially with each
passionate embrace. In return, his lips had set her body on fire.
He made her pulse race and her skin craved his touch. All reason
fled as his mouth took hers. They both knew he could have taken far
more than a few scorching kisses.

But he was a young gentleman. A Lord, in
fact, and a man like none other she’d ever known before. By her
eighteenth year she’d met very few men, especially one as handsome
and as debonair as the Marquis of Wolverstone. Marcus Danvers was a
man who completely overpowered all her senses.

Everyone told her he was far above her
station, but in fact her father had been a French Comte. Granted he
was a penniless one, since her family had fled revolutionary France
with little more than the clothes on their backs. But her Father
had since made a respectable living teaching French to the children
of the aristocracy. And her Father was so delighted for her right
now, for he was sure the Marquis of Wolverstone was going to
propose to his alluring daughter.

Sabine thought so too. She was sure it would
be tonight, for he’d asked to meet her here, in their secret
garden—privately. She still had his note tucked into her dress,
placed over her heart.

She made herself sit on the small bench by
the tinkling fountain, amidst the sweet smelling jasmine. Nerves
saw her grip the edge of the seat as if her life depended on it.
And in a way it did. For if she did not make a fine match, what
then would become of her parents?

That was another reason she was so giddy.
She’d found a way to restore her mother and father to their life of
ease, to make them safe in their old age, without having to give up
her happiness at the same time. Her parents had suffered too much
already. Her two brothers had died fighting for England, their
adopted country. Now it was up to her to save her elderly parents,
the only family she had left.

Finally, she heard footsteps and she rose
eagerly to her feet. Her heartbeat thudded to an erratic rhythm in
her chest and her nerves sang with a mixture of desire and
nervousness. What if he didn’t want her for his wife? What if he
was simply here to take advantage of her? What would she do if he
ruined her reputation? Her beauty and reputation was all she had to
make a good match.

No! Her heart rose in her throat. She wanted
more than a good match if she could have it. She wanted love. And
she was sure the Marquis of Wolverstone loved her—absolutely
sure.

He would never discredit her,
never
.

The footsteps drew nearer in the dark and
finally he entered the enclosed arbor.

Marcus!

God,
how
she loved him…

 

Chapter One

London, England 1821 – ten years later

They had only just made it to the bottom of
the ballroom stairs, when a servant proffered a tray with three
large balloon glasses balanced precariously upon it. Marcus
hungered for the alluring smoothness of the fine French brandy held
temptingly within, but he shook his head. He’d had enough alcohol
after the night at Whites. For a change, he wanted to have a clear
head in the morning.

He didn’t even know why he’d bothered to
come to Lady Somerset’s ball. Perhaps it was his driving need for
her enthusiastic carnal skills. He needed to take his mind off the
conversation that would occur with his mother tomorrow morning, and
Elizabeth’s mouth could do such wicked things to his body; things
that would definitely make him forget what his mother was no doubt
going to say to him.

Suddenly his companion spoke. “I’d take that
drink if I were you. Sabine Fournier is here.”

Henry’s words sent a slicing chill through
Marcus’s heart and his hand immediately grabbed a glass from the
tray in reaction. He downed the contents in one swallow and took a
second glass, determined to become completely sloshed.

Yet the heat from the smooth, rich brandy
could not replace the icy coldness invading his veins. It couldn’t
be true. Was it
really
Sabine, after all these years?

His mind flooded with thoughts of an
innocent beauty, quickly followed by the image of – a deceptive
enchantress. Sabine was the one woman who, ten years ago, had
fooled him and played him like a maestro.

He’d not laid eyes on her since.

He turned, knowing exactly where he would
find her in the three-hundred strong crowd. It was as if his body
sensed the danger. As his eyes drank her image in, she sensed him
too, for he saw her stiffen and then turn her head. Their gazes
locked and it was exactly like the first time he’d laid eyes on the
beautiful French émigré. Desire, lust and then something more
erupted within him.

Anger. Betrayal.

He tried to tell himself that he didn’t care
where she’d been or who she’d been with, but he was deceiving
himself. His heart contracted with the pain of remembrance.

She hadn’t changed. But that too was a
falsehood. For she had indeed changed. She was older and, God damn
it to hell, even more beautiful. Her fair hair was stylishly
displayed with a long curl winding sinuously over her shoulder to
settle within the V of her bountiful bosom, drawing in every red
blooded male’s eye. She was surrounded by men, of course, all
making fools of themselves while vying for her attentions.

“What’s she doing here?” he almost spat out
the words.

“I can tell you that, darling,” and Lady
Elizabeth Somerset slid her hand through his arm. She rose up on
her toes to whisper in his ear. “She’s here for you. She asked
specifically to be introduced to Marcus Danvers, the Marquis of
Wolverstone. Silly woman, she clearly has no idea that a man such
as you- never forgets and never forgives.” At his raised eyebrows,
Elizabeth added, “I always take the time to learn all about those I
share my bed with.”

Marcus locked his jaw, distressed at the
savage feelings Elizabeth’s words awakened in him. Had Sabine
really come looking for him? Why?

He had thought his need for Sabine Fournier
was long dead. Yet the raging pain running riot within him was
witness to the truth—a man never forgets, nor forgives, his first
love.

His
only
love.

He was not going to be stupid enough to
allow himself to lose his heart ever again.

He’d learned his lesson and learned it very
well.

Since Sabine, he’d had many, many women who
were just as alluring, and just as beautiful, but none had ever
touched his heart in the way Sabine had. He’d wanted her like he’d
wanted no other. He’d been willing to sacrifice everything for her—
even to deny his family, his peers... He’d given her his very
soul.

And she’d spat on it from a great
height.

Bitter memories saw him slide his arm around
Elizabeth and bend to place a scandalous kiss on the widow’s eager
mouth, all the while holding Sabine’s defiant gaze.

Sabine didn’t even flinch and for some
reason her calm indifference made Marcus’s temper soar.

He broke off his kiss and whispered in
Elizabeth’s ear, “If she wants to talk with me, she’ll have to find
me first. Come, where’s your bedchamber? Your guests can do without
you for an hour, but I cannot.”

With an eager giggle, Elizabeth began
pulling him toward the rear of the ballroom.

Marcus briefly paused at Henry’s loud sigh.
“I’ll see you later then, in the card room?”

He flashed his best friend, Henry St. Giles,
the Earl of Cravenswood, an apologetic smile. “Hold me a place. I
won’t be long.” Henry rolled his eyes and strode with determination
toward the card room, avoiding the mothers with marriageable
daughters. Henry was regarded as a fine catch, while only those
mothers desperate enough to approach a scandalous rake bothered
about Marcus.

As Elizabeth led him from the overheated
ballroom, he swore he could feel Sabine’s eyes shooting daggers at
his back. He had no idea what she wanted and he didn’t care.

He didn’t wish to hear anything she said,
for her mouth had produced only litanies of lies. Marcus cursed
beneath his breath. Sabine had vowed that she loved him and yet she
had shattered that declaration with her deceit.

He refused to look back at her. He hoped she
regretted her choice now. As for himself, he deeply regretted the
day he’d ever met her.

 

That encounter went better than Sabine had
feared; better than she had expected. At least Marcus hadn’t turned
and left the ball.

Still, her knees shook under her dress.
Fortunately, no one seemed attuned to her plight. Most did not even
know of her previous relationship with the handsome Marquis. Their
relationship, such as it was, had finished over ten years ago.
There was more current gossip to keep the braying pack at bay. Most
members of the
ton
had even forgotten that she was Sabine
Fournier. After all, back then she was nobody, a nonentity who’d
tried to enter their world and she’d paid a terrible price for that
vanity.

However, she was back. She was now a bona
fide member of the
ton
. She was the widowed Contessa Orsini,
a rich Italian widow. A widow Society had welcomed with open arms
and she would do nothing to taint her position. The revenge she
sought, Marcus would obtain for her. And after having glimpsed his
demeanor this evening, she was even more certain of this.

Marcus Danvers, the legendary rake, who went
through lovers like a dandy went through bright waistcoats. Marcus,
the man who’d stolen her heart long before; now she’d fortified it
but still her heart felt as if it was buried beneath an avalanche
of pain.

She was proud of her ability to maintain her
composure when he’d looked her over with such contempt. She refused
to let him see how much his opinion still mattered to her. She
obviously meant nothing to him. Her father had confessed in his
last letter to her that he’d written to the Marquis explaining what
had really occurred several years before, but that he’d received no
reply.

It was then that she’d realized Marcus
hadn’t really loved her. If he had, surely, even if he’d no longer
wanted her for his wife, he would have forgiven her and perhaps
even helped her.

But he was, after all, like every other man.
They wanted her for only one thing.

Until Conte Roberto Orsini, that is.

Well, she was no longer the naïve girl who
had sat waiting expectantly in the garden. It had taken her years
to cleanse the ache of Marcus from her heart. Yet it took only one
look at his stunning profile for the old yearning to return.

Her eyes filled with unwelcomed tears as she
remembered the last time she had seen Marcus. Hidden in the attic,
she watched as his two friends, Harlow Telford and Henry St. Giles
had forcibly removed him from her father’s house after he’d been
given the news of her elopement. Her father had lied to protect
her. She’d no choice then but to betray Marcus.

BOOK: To Wager the Marquis of Wolverstone
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