Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

“ Y our turn, My Lord.”

Christian kept his gaze fixed on his cards, but his whole body was attuned to the man at the neighboring table. The Earl of Northbridge belched loudly as he examined the cards in his hand, squinting in the dim light of the gaming hall. The three men around him were a tableau of expectation, waiting to see what might happen next.

Christian dealthis own hand while keeping a close watch on the pattern of play in the other game.

“My Lord? Are you prepared to continue?”

The Earl had little left to wager beyond his reputation. He had long since played out his purse, yet the others at the table seemed unwilling to challenge him on it.

He took another sip of his drink, already too drunk to play as sharply as he had but seemingly unaware of the decline of his faculties. Christian waited—he had always been good at biding his time.

The Earl slapped a hand on the table, and the others looked at him expectantly. “I have something new to wager.”

Christian trumped the card in front of him, letting his own game fall to the wayside as he concentrated on what the Earl would say next.

“And what is that, My Lord?”

“My daughter.”

Christian’s blood ran cold. He kept a stoic expression as he watched the other men in the room sit up straighter at the offer. Plenty of gentlemen knew of the Earl’s daughter—she had quite the reputation already. Not every lady could boast ofhaving broken a marquess’s nose.

“You would bet your daughter, My Lord? How so?”

That was the man to the Earl’s right. An odious gentleman named Mortimer, who was thirty years too old to be considering marrying a young woman of twenty-one summers.

Christian curled his fingers around his cards and remained very still.

“She is a commodity in her own right, after all,” the Earl boasted, stretching out his legs and leaning back in his chair. The man acted as though he were speaking about the weather. “I know many of you have imagined taming her after that incident last year. Quite a prize.” He belched loudly again. “What is your offer? And do refrain from insulting me with a paltry sum.”

Christian felt sick to his stomach. The man was selling his daughter to a mere acquaintance over a hand of cards—and as a mistress, no less. No man in the room wanted her as a wife. They merely wanted to crow about owning such a lady.

Either the Earl had truly lost his senses or he no longer understood the ramifications of his actions.

No matter—his ignorance will play into my plans very well.

As Christian’s game ended, he nodded to the men at his table. Rising, he gestured to a servant to refill his glass, and a decanter of brandy was brought to him as he listened intently.

“Well?” the Earl slurred. “I have already bet her dowry. What will you bet me for the lady herself? Iron fists and all.” He chuckledas though it was a glorious joke.

Christian leaned against the sideboard, swirling his glass gently and waiting for his moment. The other men at the Earl’s table were exchanging uneasy glances.

“Ten thousand,” Mortimer piped up. He had the deck of cards in his hands and was shuffling them incessantly, his beady eyes fixed on the Earl.

Northbridge snorted. “That’s less than her dowry, man. Be serious.”

“Fifteen thousand,” called a voice from the back of the room.

It seemed that their wager had sparked some interest, no matter how repugnant the terms might be.

“I’ll take no less than twenty thousand,” the Earl declared with his usual arrogance.

There was a murmur of dissent before Mortimer flicked the cards expertly to the center of the table. “Twenty thousand then, and custodial control of her trust.”

Northbridge eyed him carefully, swaying slightly in his seat.

Christian saw the moment the man made his decision and took the opportunity to saunter over to the table just before he could agree, swirling the brandy in his glass, his eyes fixed on Northbridge. He stopped beside him, waiting for the Earl to notice him.

Northbridge eventually turned to look up at him, his face contorting with thinly veiled disgust.

Oh, this will be immensely gratifying.

“What is it, Egerton?” the Earl muttered.

“It is ‘Your Grace’ to you.” Christian reached into the inner pocket of his coat and threw down the paper that had been burning against his skin for the entire evening.

Two nights ago, Christian witnessed another sorry display from this man. Northbridge had bet the deed to his townhouse at a game of piquet and lost it in as little as thirty minutes. Christian had gone to considerable lengths to buy it back for just this purpose. He watched the Earl’s eyes go wide as he recognized the paper.

“What the devil is the meaning of this?” Northbridge asked, looking up at him in disbelief.

“I’ll make a bet on your daughter, My Lord. Considering your debts, I’m not sure Mortimer’s bid will have much effect.”

There were scandalized murmurs all around the room now. Christian did not even flinch.

“If I win, you get back the home you gambled away. The home where your daughterand your wife now live. Will that do? It would be more than fair, considering you haven’t anything left to wager.”

There was a steady rumbling of voices around them now. The Earl was crimson with fury. Christian heard someone mutter, “Bad form,” from a few tables away, but he did not care for their opinion. He only wanted to retain the Earl’s attention and secure his agreement. If he could do that, he might just get what he wanted most in the world—the whereabouts of his brother and the truth of what had happened to him.

“How have you come by this?” Northbridge asked, picking up the deed and examining it for authenticity.

“I do not have long, My Lord. Are we playing or not?”

Christian took a long sip of his brandy. Mortimer was glaring at him but seemed to have thought better of his offer already. Christian sensed the amusement of the other men around the table.

The Earl had few friends left.

“Unless you want to be destitute,” Christian continued lightly. “Debtors’ prison has improved in recent years, or so I am told.”

The Earl spluttered with outrage, but he knew he had been outdone. With gritted teeth, he motioned to Mortimer to deal the cards for their game.

“You have my seat, Your Grace. The table does not favor me tonight.” The man opposite the Earl rose and left them to it.

Christian swiftly sat down, straightening his shirt cuffs as he leveled Mortimer with a hard stare, and the other two men rose and left them to their game.

“écarté ? As I say, I am pressed for time. First to five?”

“Very well,” the Earl agreed and waved a hand dismissively.

“May I?” Christian asked and received a nod as he dealt the cards.

The first round was uneventful. The Earl’s grip on his cards was tight, his eyes sharpening from their earlier stupor, but he seemed fairly certain of his gameplay.

Christian did not win every trick, but he learned his opponent’s tells fairly early on. Every time the Earl ran his teeth over his lower lip, he would play a trump, meaning he had run out of the suit in play.

As the game wore on, the Earl’s moves grew more erratic, and with each ill-advised discard, Christian’s hold on the game strengthened.

By the time they had played several rounds, the score stood at four to three in Christian’s favor. Northbridge, though brimming with bravado, looked noticeably paler than when they had started. Christian couldn’t help but wonder if the Earl might actually feel some regret for what he had done to his only child.

If that were true, he would not have bet her future on a hand of cards.

Christian kept his eyes fixed on his own hand as they continued to play. He knew the Earl was running out of options and waited until he saw his teeth skim over his lower lip, knowing Northbridge would discard as a next move.

Christian could feel the eyes in the room on them now. This type of high-stakes game was rarely played, and certainly not with such abandon.

The Earl glanced up at him as he discarded two of his cards, and Christian did the same. He watched the Earl’s mood sour further as he looked at the cards he had chosen. Christian eyed him warily. Was it genuine disappointment, or was the Earl trying to fool him?

Northbridge played his final exchange, placing the queen of spades in the center of the table with a smug smile as if the game were already won. It was a good bluff; Christian had to give him credit for that.

Northbridge looked up smugly, catching the eyes of his gang of acquaintances on the other side of the room and slowly leaning back in his chair.

“A good game,” he said loudly as many heads turned in their direction. “You almost had me there.”

Christian waited for five full seconds before he pulled the king of spades from his hand and placed it slowly over the queen. The room fell silent.

“Yes, My Lord. I did.”

The Earl’s face contorted in shock as he leaned forward, his cravat tightening around his neck as he swallowed convulsively. Christian didn’t move for a little while, enjoying the feeling of triumph that coursed through him. He had finally bested the man who had insulted him and his brother all those years ago.

I know he is to blame for what has happened to Marcus, and I will find out the truth. Nothing else matters.

Christian scooped up the deed to the house and rose to his feet. The Earl was a sorry sight, his face ashen and his eyes hooded. He would have a thick head in the morning—Christian could only hope that he wouldn’t forget their agreement.

“My club is holding a masquerade ball in two days. Bring your daughter there. And make sure you arrive on time. I do not wish to be kept waiting.”