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Almost a Bride (Almost Trilogy, Band 2) - Softcover

Buch 2 von 3: Almost Trilogy

Feather, Jane

 
9780553587555: Almost a Bride (Almost Trilogy, Band 2)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0553587552 ISBN 13: 9780553587555
Verlag: Bantam, 2005

Inhaltsangabe

In this spectacular new romance from acclaimed New York Times bestselling author Jane Feather, fate deals one stubbornly single young woman and one deceptively heartless man a shocking hand in a high-stakes bet. But is love in the cards?

Jack Fortescu gambles to win, and this time his prize is not only his rival’s lavish mansion but everything in it–
including the man’s beautiful sister! But when it comes to games, Jack has met his match. . . .

Left homeless by her brother’s escapade, Arabella Lacey has two appalling choices: pack her bags–or agree to marry the lunatic who’s taken over her house. Why would such a handsome–and outrageously wealthy–man want such an unromantic arrangement? Arabella intends to find out, and have a little fun in the process at Jack’s expense . . . literally. As Jack discovers that his reluctant bride is no ordinary beauty, he feels a stir of admiration, among other emotions, that wasn’t part of the bargain. Now he’s the one with everything to lose. . . .

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Jane Feather was born in Cairo, Egypt. She began her highly successful career after she and her family moved to Washington D.C. in 1981. She now has over eleven million books in print.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1


The slither of the cards across the baize table, the chink of rouleaux as the players placed their bets, the soft murmur of the groom porters pronouncing the odds were the only sounds in the inner chamber of Brooke's gaming club. Six men sat around the faro table, five playing against the banker. They wore leather bands to protect the laced ruffles of their shirts and leather eyeshades to shield their eyes from the brilliance of the chandeliers, whose many candles cast a dazzling glare upon the baize table. The banker's face was expressionless as he dealt the cards, watched the bets being laid, paid out, or collected at the completion of each turn. To the spectators gathered around the chamber it seemed as if winning or losing was a matter of complete indifference to Jack Fortescu, Duke of St. Jules.

But there were those who knew that it was far from the case. Something other than the usual game of chance was being played out in the elegant room, where despite the late hour the day's summer heat remained trapped, fusty with the smell of sweat mingled with stale perfume and spilled wine. The concentration at the table was focused upon a near-palpable current between the banker and one gamester, and gradually the other players dropped from the game, their supply of rouleaux diminished, their hunger for the gamble for the moment overtaken by this other battle that was being fought.

Only Frederick Lacey, Earl of Dunston, continued to place his bets on the lay out of the cards, with an almost febrile intensity. When he lost he merely thrust his rouleaux across the table to the banker and bet again. The duke, impassive as always, turned up the cards in steady rotation, laying winners to his right hand, losers to his left. Once his cold gray eyes flickered up and across the table to his opponent in a swift assessing scrutiny, then his gaze returned to the table. Neither man spoke a word.

"By God, Jack has the devil in him tonight," Charles James Fox murmured from the doorway, where he stood watching the play. Like several of the others in the room he wore the exaggerated costume of the macaroni, an impossibly tight waistcoat in bright crimson and gold stripes and a beribboned straw hat over hair that was powdered a crazy shade of blue.

"And the devil's own luck it would seem, Charles," his companion replied in the same undertone. His own costume, rich in lace, ruffles, and gold velvet though it was, was almost somber in contrast with the other's. "The luck's been running with him for months."

"And always against Lacey," Fox mused, taking a deep draught of burgundy from the glass he held. "I saw Jack win ten thousand guineas from the man at quinze last night."

"And twenty from him at hazard on Monday. It seems Jack's playing a deep game. He's not playing for the pleasure of it, there's some damnable purpose behind it," George Cavenaugh said. "If asked, I would say he's set to ruin Lacey. But why?"

Fox made no immediate response as he remembered the old scandal. No one knew the real truth of that story and it had happened so long ago now, it could hardly be relevant. He shook his head. "Ever since Jack got back from Paris he's been different." He shrugged slightly. "I can't put my finger on it. He's his usual careless, charming self, but there's something, a hardness underneath that wasn't there before."

"'Tis hardly surprising. Anyone escaping that hellhole of murderous anarchy is going to be touched in some way," George said somberly. "They say he got out by the skin of his teeth, but he won't say a word about it. He just laughs that damnable laugh of his and changes the subject." He held out his glass to a passing waiter, who refilled it.

The two men fell silent, watching the play. Frederick Lacey had but one rouleau in front of him now. His hand hovered over it for a second, his first hesitation of the evening. St. Jules caressed the stem of his wineglass between two long white fingers of an immaculately manicured hand. A large sapphire ring glowed blue fire in the candlelight. He waited.

With a short intake of breath Lacey placed his rouleau on the ace. The duke turned over the next card in the box to reveal the first, and thus the losing, card. It was the ace. Lacey's countenance was now several shades whiter beneath the raddled complexion of the heavy drinker. Without expression the duke placed the ace on the discard pile and dealt the next card from the remainder of the pack. He turned it over and the ten of spades lay faceup, seeming to mock the ashen earl. The duke slid the rouleau into the pile that glinted at his elbow. He surveyed the earl in silence. Now only three cards remained to be dealt.

Frederick Lacey fought the constriction in his chest. In the last month he had lost his entire fortune to this one man, who somehow couldn't make a bad play. The duke of St. Jules had always played deep. He had lost one fortune at the tables in his green youth, disappeared abroad to recoup, and returned several years later in possession of a second and even larger fortune. This one he had not lost, simply increased with steady and skillful play. He was a gambler by nature and yet he never again made the mistakes of his youth. Rarely if ever did he allow himself to rise from the tables a loser at the end of an evening.

Lacey stared at the two piles of discarded cards beside the dealer and at the three remaining cards in the dealer's box. He knew what those three cards were, as did everyone who had been watching and recording the discards. If he called the turn and bet on the order in which those three cards would be dealt, he had a one in five chance of being right. But if he was right, the dealer would have to pay out four to one. One last massive stake and he would recoup everything. He looked up and met the gray gaze of the man he loathed with a passion for which there were no words. He knew what St. Jules intended and he alone in this crowded, stuffy chamber knew why. But one stroke of luck and he would elude him, and not just that, he would turn the tables. If St. Jules accepted the stake and lost, he would be forced to pay out four to one, and he would be facing his own ruin.

St. Jules would accept the stake. Lacey knew that.

He slowly removed his rings and the diamond pin that nestled in the foaming lace at his throat. Deliberately he placed them in the center of the table. As deliberately, he said, "I call the turn."

"And that is your stake?" The duke's tone was faintly incredulous. In terms of what had been won and lost this evening, the wager was pathetic.

A dull flush infused the earl's countenance. "No, merely an earnest. I stake everything, my lord duke. Lacey Court, the house on Albermarle Street, and all their contents."

There was a swift indrawing of breath around the room and the spectators exchanged glances.

"All the contents?" the duke inquired with soft emphasis. "Animate and inanimate?"

"All" was the firm rejoinder.

Jack Fortescu moved his own stacks of rouleau towards the center of the table. "I doubt this sum alone would cover my loss, my lord," he said in soft consideration. He looked around the room. "How do we value the earl's wager, gentlemen? If I'm to cover it four to one, I would know precisely what I'm risking."

"Let us say two hundred thousand pounds in all," suggested Charles Fox. An addicted gambler himself, he had lost every penny of his own and had borrowed from his friends with such reckless abandon and no possibility of repayment that he had ruined many of them in turn. It seemed appropriate that such a man should come up with such a...

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Verlag
Bantam
Erscheinungsdatum
2005
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0553587552
ISBN 13 
9780553587555
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
448
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Verantwortliche Person
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