A Wager Worth Making (Arrangements, Book 7) Read online

  A Wager

  Worth

  Making

  by

  Rebecca Connolly

  Also by

  Rebecca Connolly

  An Arrangement of Sorts

  Married to the Marquess

  Secrets of a Spinster

  The Dangers of Doing Good

  The Burdens of a Bachelor

  A Bride Worth Taking

  Coming Soon

  A Gerrard Family Christmas

  More romance from

  Phase Publishing

  by

  Emily Daniels

  Devlin’s Daughter

  by

  Grace Donovan

  Saint’s Ride

  by

  Laura Beers

  Saving Shadow

  Text copyright © 2017 by Rebecca Connolly

  Cover art copyright © 2017 by Rebecca Connolly

  Cover art by Tugboat Design

  http://www.tugboatdesign.net

  All rights reserved. Published by Phase Publishing, LLC. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.

  Phase Publishing, LLC first ebook edition

  October 2017

  ISBN 978-1-943048-40-3

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017955321

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data on file.

  Acknowledgements

  For cheesecake, who has never let me down, will never let me down, and continues to be a constant source of support and delight in my life. We may disagree about calories, but never each other.

  And to Hannah. Because this is her favorite one, and she deserves it in so many ways. You can be Lady B if you want, I promise!

  Thanks go out to the Phase family for their epic awesomeness, to Deborah Bradseth for being the artist of my life, and to Whitney for making my writing look better than it is.

  Thanks to the Street Rats for keeping me in line when I need it and giving me all the good ideas.

  Thanks to the family for putting up with my nerdy ways and ridiculous excitement over fictional characters. Love you, weirdos!

  And to my Musketeers, I love you more than carbs. Seriously. I think. Pretty sure. Well, most carbs. Sort of.

  Index

  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

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  London, 1823

  Lucas James Riverton Sinclair, Viscount Blackmoor, did not murder his wife.

  And if anybody ever asked him directly, he would have said so. But as everyone who was anyone knew better than to directly approach a suspected murderer and question him on the said suspected murder, the discussions stayed firmly behind his back.

  Within his earshot, but behind his back.

  He’d learned to get over such things, having long since given up on ever being well favored in Society, but it hardly improved his mood or gave him encouragement. Particularly this evening, when he’d finally decided on a course of action that would change his life in a rather terrifying way.

  If he were so fortunate.

  He groaned and fought the urge to tug at his rather splendidly tied cravat, which suddenly seemed to be choking him. Ballrooms had made him chafe for years, but something about this one nearly gave him an apoplexy. His doubts and his reservations made his task impossible to comprehend, but he was determined to do it. Though the irony of so plebeian a beginning as the first ball of the Season was not lost on him and left him faintly nauseated.

  Still, it was the only way to begin.

  He could hardly call upon her without first showing some sort of inclination towards her person in a semi-public setting, not with his reputation and manner. They never moved in the same circles outside of Societal functions, and he was not one of those fops who could just call upon a young woman without any sort of preface.

  No, if he were to do this, he would do it properly.

  Though there could hardly be anything proper about it.

  Imagine the Viscount Blackmoor having finally decided upon marrying again. There were less improper thoughts in the darker corners of London, and from lower characters than he. But one’s reputation can hardly be blamed for everything in life, and he took no pains to correct the misapprehensions of his character. Most of the time, it quite suited his reserve and desires for privacy.

  It was, however, a marked hindrance to his attaining a second wife.

  There was hardly a queue of eligible females eager for a wealthy, titled, well-educated, and respectable man suspected of murder.

  But he wanted no queue.

  He only wanted one female in particular.

  And she had just entered the room.

  She could not have been more different from him. Where he was dark, she was fair. Where he was reserved and aloof, she was open and artless. Every one of his frowns could be counted against one of her smiles.

  Where he was gloom, she was sunshine.

  It made no sense for him to want her, all things considered, and he had spent a considerable amount of effort to argue against it.

  But something about her made it impossible to fight.

  They barely knew each other, even by Society’s standards. They had been introduced years ago, after he’d returned to London following Celia’s death, before the rumors had made any headway, but she had been a young miss with bright eyes and grand ideals, as she should have been. And he had been opposed to women and silliness of any kind, so he had paid no mind.

  Or tried not to, at any rate. For some inexplicable reason, he had always been mindful of her when they attended the same functions. He knew when she entered a room, and would find his gaze drawn to her repeatedly over the course of the night. She fascinated him, piqued his deeply hidden curiosity, and attracted his attention in ways he’d never experienced.

  He’d not approached her since their first meeting, but as the years passed, he’d found himself growing more and more interested, particularly when she continually went without suitors or courting of any kind. She never wanted for attention at balls or parties, and received her due praise from many at the musicales she had graced, but never once had he heard of any man pursuing her. He understood his own lack of pursuit, having sworn off marriage and female companionship for the rest of his life, but what in God’s name was wrong with the rest of the men?

  If he was correct in his estimation, this would be her fifth Season. A fifth Season typically set a woman firmly on the shelf, and the idea that she would be such a one irked him. There was no reason on earth why it should be so.

  While not as beautiful as her sister, or some other females currently fluttering about this overcrowded and over-decorated ballroom, she was still more than attractive in her own right, and had a captivating quality about her. From his years of observations, some events more observant than others, he had never seen a single person o
f either sex leave her presence with anything less than a glow.

  It was inconceivable that she should still be available.

  He had never considered going back on his private vow. Lord knew he had enough of marriage to last three lifetimes, and he had never been tempted by anyone or anything to change his mind.

  But last year, when his friend Kit Gerrard had married a woman he’d long hated and resented, and Lucas himself had not thought well of, things had changed. If Kit could marry someone he did not even like, surely Lucas could think about it, despite his past. Then the miraculous had occurred, and Kit had become happily married, in love with his wife, and the woman herself had become someone worthy of Lucas’s begrudging admiration.

  He’d considered matrimony again from then on, against his will, and Kit had tried to sway him from it, though never knowing the identity of the only woman he’d consider. Lucas had asked him why Kit had married his wife, knowing the vague details of their twisted past, and his words had struck him more forcefully than anything in recent memory.

  I just couldn’t let anyone else have her.

  Lucas had contemplated those words, and his feelings on the subject, for nearly a full year. And as the opening event of the Season had loomed closer and closer, he’d made his decision.

  He would marry again.

  And he would marry her.

  Provided, of course, that she was willing and agreeable. Which would be more than half of the battle. Observing someone from afar and making judgments and assumptions of their character was one thing, as he knew only too well. It was entirely plausible to consider the notion that this ray of sunshine might well be a terrifying inferno when outside of the careful eyes of the public.

  He doubted that was the case here, but one must be careful.

  After all, Celia had been a favorite of everyone he knew. And the hell she had brought to his life had been more poignant for its surprise.

  Surely it would not be so with her. He had even gone so far as to make discreet inquiries, and nothing had given him reason to doubt.

  So marriage was to be the outcome, provided she matched up to the idea his years of observation had planted within him.

  Faintly, his heart thumped unsteadily with the eager hope that she would.

  He cleared his throat and fought the urge to tug at his cravat again. A passing woman glanced at him, her too-thin brows raised in mocking assessment, and he frankly met her gaze, daring her to speak her obvious thoughts. He nearly smirked at the startled flush that raced into her cheeks and neck, and turned back to his unnoticed observations.

  “You shouldn’t do that,” drawled a slightly amused, mostly bored sounding voice.

  He turned to scowl at the forgettable, if handsome, face of Lord Marlowe, one of his oldest and yet most absent friends. “Do what?” he asked the simply dressed man with a striking stature.

  Marlowe half-yawned, which would have scandalized every matron in the Almack’s ballroom if they bothered to look at him. “Oh, taunt them so with your directness. You’ll only encourage the rumors.”

  Lucas snorted and shook his head. “Says the man who no one remembers.”

  A faint smirk appeared for three quarters of a second on his friend’s face. “It has its uses. I have more freedom than anyone else in the peerage.”

  “And what a crowning achievement that is.”

  Lucas turned to watch his quarry, laughing and chatting with her usual friends. She threw her head back on a jubilant laugh, and he was struck for the moment at the sight. No Society miss in her right mind would laugh with such inhibition, and even her friends seemed startled by it. But they made no effort to restrain her, or to hide their own amusement, and considering their identities, that was a surprise.

  It seemed that everyone forgot themselves in her presence.

  How he would love to forget himself for a while.

  He doubted very much he could ever love her the way a girl with sensibilities wanted to be loved, but he felt more for her than he had about anyone in years, and had the sudden idea that he did not quite know what he would do if she refused him.

  Perhaps he might never be able to love, but he could provide for her very well, give her a title, and she would always have his respect and highest regard. Surely that was enough in today’s world.

  What was he even thinking about love for? It made no difference if he could love her. Marriages were made for far more practical purposes, and not on a whim of fancy. It would be an agreeable match, if she could overlook his reputation.

  “You look rather determined,” Marlowe mused sleepily. “What are you doing?”

  “No time to talk to you, Marlowe,” he replied as he straightened and set aside his glass. “I am on a mission.”

  That drew surprised chuckle. “A mission? Dear me, how exciting. Can I help?”

  Lucas exhaled and looked over at him with a raised brow. “If I am right, and I usually am, you have more than enough missions of your own to deal with.”

  The flash of surprise on his friend’s face almost made him smile, and though it was gone in an instant, the bewilderment never left his dark eyes.

  “They approached me before you, Marlowe,” he muttered very low. “Before I was infamous. Play your part, vanish into thin air, and save the world. I have a far different task before me.”

  With a slight bow, he turned away and slowly made his way around the perimeter of the room, eyes fixed on his target, banishing the lingering doubts on this mad venture.

  He was decided, and he was determined. Mad or not, he would try for her.

  And he prayed like hell it would be worth it.

  “Perhaps this will be your Season.”

  “Yes, you mustn’t give up hope. Look at us.”

  Gemma Templeton did look, rather frankly, at both of her friends and raised a derisive brow. “Really. You, my dear Mrs. Gerrard, married a man you could not stand because you needed to be saved, and you, Mrs. Granger, were sold off like a prized cow at market to a man who ignores you.” She shrugged a shoulder, sending her blond curls dancing. “Forgive me if I hope for nothing at all, looking at the pair of you.”

  Lily rolled her eyes and shook her head at Marianne. “And everyone thinks she is such a cheery person.”

  Marianne scoffed, blue eyes twinkling, and took Lily’s hand in her own. “Leave them to their delusions. An unattached woman with married friends must have her little quirks, Lily. And in the case of our dear Gemma, she is the most outspoken, unpredictable, reckless sort of spinster to ever grace Almack’s.”

  Gemma gasped in outrage as Lily giggled behind her hand, but she soon turned it into a smile. “I suppose I deserve that, having just insulted your marriages.”

  “Oh, you were certainly right about mine,” Marianne scoffed, waving a gloved hand. “Though you must admit, it is not my case now.” She looked passed Gemma for a moment, and her smile grew warm and tender, quirking at the edges.

  “No, indeed,” Gemma drawled, knowing without having to look that Marianne’s husband had appeared and met her eyes. “You and your husband are lovesick fools, and I can barely stand to visit anymore for fear it might be contagious.”

  “No fear of that on my part,” Lily murmured, nervously moving a ringlet behind her ear.

  That sobered the group. Lily, for all her radiant beauty and charm, had the misfortune of being an heiress and had been snatched up for her fortune by the one man whom she loved beyond reason. Her father had arranged the match with Mr. Granger, whose vast fortune had been almost entirely diminished by a wild speculation. On the brink of ruin, he had gone to the Ardens and the match had been set without Lily’s consent. They had married quietly at the end of last Season, and it was a little known fact that Thomas Granger had absolutely nothing to do with his wife, and the love she once had for him was dying before his unseeing eyes.

  “At least Granger lets you do as you please,” Gemma said with a warm smile. “You can be here for the whole Season and pl
ay with us. And now Rosalind does not have to stay with your Aunt Augusta for her Season.”

  Lily smiled at that. “True, and she is ever so grateful. And you know, it could be worse. Thomas is very well thought of by everyone, so it is not as though I suffer overly much.”

  But just enough.

  The words were unspoken, but certainly felt by all.

  Poor Lily did not deserve the torment of her life. Gemma looked over at Marianne, whose eyes were also ablaze, but she only shook her head slightly. They had both done everything in their power to prevent the match, but to no avail. And it did not help that Granger was one of everybody’s favorite nobodies. Gemma would spit on his boots if she did not think half of London would spit back.

  “Oh, lord, is Rosalind dancing with Darlington?” Lily suddenly asked, her pains apparently forgotten.

  They turned to look and all winced. “Please don’t tell me she encourages him,” Marianne groaned, a hand instinctively going to her stomach, where the very faintest swell could be seen if one looked hard enough.

  “No, she doesn’t,” Lily assured them both. “She doesn’t know enough to encourage or discourage anyone. I rather hoped she might take up with Captain Riverton, but I hear he is spoken for.”

  That caught their attention and they swung back to her with rapid inquiries, for the dashing naval captain was an enviable match, particularly since his brother the viscount had married last year.