The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 1

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  Peter smiled mockingly at his discomfiture. He was about to offer to take his vowels at a substantial rate of interest, but the rest of the group were growing impatient.

  "If you have nothing left, you shall have to show your cards, and there will be an end to it," dark-haired Malcolm Branson said.

  Gerald looked from Peter to Malcolm, and laid them down on the table reluctantly. Everyone at the table laughed, and the men on either side of Peter clapped him on the shoulders.

  "Well done. He was feigning all along, thinking to face you out," Timothy Bridges said with a laugh.

  Stephens began to gather up the huge pot, looking immensely pleased despite the fact that he had just cleaned out his own cousin.

  Or perhaps because of it? The rest of the men didn't care to speculate too deeply on the family rivalry, and started to rise from the table. After all, it was a ball. They really ought to have at least a couple of dances before going home, if only to keep the ladies happy.

  Gerald was puce with embarrassment and ire. "I'm not finished yet!"

  They turned back to stare at him in astonishment.

  Malcolm, son of the local magistrate and ever a peacemaker, decided to do what he could to avoid a scene. "My dear fellow, you couldn't even match the five pounds Peter put down. Don't you think you've lost enough for one night?"

  "Enough? I've lost it all, nearly. That's why you simply have to give me a chance to get some of it back."

  They all stared at him, stunned by his admission.

  "One last bet gentlemen, please."

  "What do you have left that's of any value?" Toby Stephens asked. "You've sold everything you own inside Hawkesworth House, which is mortgaged to the hilt. What can you offer that would be of equal value to the pot on the table?"

  They watched Gerald's mind racing. Suddenly he grinned from ear to ear. "My sister Vanessa."

  A gasp went around the room.

  "Good God, man, you're drunk!" Malcolm exclaimed.

  Gerald declared above the buzz of conversation which had resumed, "I'm perfectly sober and serious. Her maternal aunt has just died, leaving her a wealthy heiress in her own right. I'm willing to bet Vanessa and her fortune against every penny on that table, and more besides, if anyone else is eager to secure a rich as well as beautiful young bride."

  Timothy Bridges sniggered. Others stared open-mouthed.

  But Malcolm could see the rather wild Gerald Hawkesworth was completely in earnest. "I say it's impossible. You can't gamble for a woman. Besides, several of the men here are already married. Even if your sister were amenable to be put up as a stake, they are not eligible to win her."

  "But there might be others willing to pay the ante to take their place around the table," Gerald urged. "With her wealth..."

  To Malcolm's horror, several of the men standing nearby nodded. He searched their faces for any sign of repugnance, but found none. "This is madness," he protested.

  "Well, I'm game," Timothy declared, rubbing his hands together. "By all accounts she's a lovely little filly. Her fortune is certainly not a mean one."

  "But Timothy, you're already engaged to the Clarence girl. Stop this folly at once!"

  Timothy turned on Malcolm. "Mind your own business. I can do as I like. The Clarence girl is ugly, and her fortune isn't nearly as good as Vanessa Hawkesworth's. Deal me in."

  "And me," said Gerald's friends James Cavendish, and his twin brother Charles simultaneously. Both gave each other a knowing look.

  Malcolm tried to appeal to their common sense. "How on earth could you even be sure Miss Hawkesworth would agree? I'm told she is a woman of discretion and good breeding."

  Gerald said haughtily, "Where family honor is at stake, she would agree. I say let the game go ahead. If anyone else wants to be dealt in or out, declare it now."

  Tall blond Clifford Stone, who had been standing in the corner silently watching his neighbor make a complete ass of himself, could now see that Gerald and the other men were completely in earnest upon this new game.

  Though he knew he was the last person the young fool would listen to, he had to try to stop this nonsense, if only to avoid a scandal for Vanessa's sake. They already gossiped about the auburn-haired young bluestocking enough as it was.

  "Gerald, are you so lost to decency that you would bargain the life of a complete innocent? Treat her as though she were some sort of slave or chattel to be disposed of at your will? She is not some poor unfortunate from Africa, to be leg-shackled at your say-so.

  "It's bad enough you mismanaging your own financial affairs through your gambling and spendthrift ways without dragging Miss Hawkesworth into this sad affair as well. Tell everyone this was just a joke, a silly parlor game, and the ball can resume."

  Gerald did not even trouble to look over his shoulder at all of the people now crowding into the doorway to see this latest piece of novel entertainment. Instead he rounded on Clifford.

  "Mind your own damned business! I shall do as I like. I'm her nearest male relative. My sister shall obey me. No one is asking you to play."

  Peter Stephens nodded. "I agree with Gerald. As her cousin, I also give my consent. It is startling, true, but not unheard of. She's bright enough, and knows how to manage an estate. I would be only too pleased to have her for my own. And since this is my ball, my home, I say let us play."

  Malcolm shook his head, and lifted his winnings from the table. The four unmarried men who had been playing cards remained, while the other three who were already married stood up and left. Peter's second brother Toby, who saw this as too good a joke to pass up, sat down expectantly.

  All had little doubt Gerald could make good his threat to force his half-sister to marry the winner. He could be charmingly persuasive one minute, volatile the next, especially when in his cups, or out amongst his special friends, as he was tonight. He had dissipated the impressive Hawkesworth fortune in less than five years through his gambling and wenching, and showed no signs of settling down.

  Vanessa was a completely different matter, genteel and obliging, even if she was somewhat too intelligent and eccentric for most men's tastes. No, this was too wonderful an opportunity to miss. Wedding Vanessa Hawkesworth would be like marrying into a gold mine.

  Clifford tried one last gambit. "But it's not decent," he argued. "She's still in mourning for her aunt, for Heaven's sake. This goes against the laws of God and man."

  "And I tell you she is biddable," Gerald insisted. "She will do as she is told, and be grateful for a good husband. So if no one else will sit to play, we shall get started."

  Clifford, desperate to stave off this disaster, looked pleadingly at Malcolm, before reluctantly sitting down in the empty chair next to Timothy Bridges.

  Malcolm stared at his old friend, stunned. Clifford never gambled! He played cards, but not for money. And certainly not for a woman! Then he saw Clifford looking fixedly at him. Next he swivelled his gaze to stare at the deck.

  Several of the most senior and prominent men in the room now began to protest in no uncertain terms. "Clifford Stone! You of all people. This is a shocking business!" Malcolm's father Geoffrey, the local magistrate at Millcote, declared.

  Normally Clifford would have been swayed by the magistrate's opinion. Tonight a cold shiver of fear gripped him, its icy fingers clawing at his gut inexplicably.

  He had never been superstitious. Yet if he didn't know better he would say he had a strong presentiment that he simply had to try to intervene on Vanessa's behalf in whatever way he could.

  Clifford's closest friend Thomas Eltham, the Duke of Ellesmere, tall, distinguished, with jet-black hair and emerald eyes, also attempted to dissuade him. "Clifford, I'm appalled. I never thought you had it in you to be so mercenary!"

  "Tommy, I have my reasons," Clifford said in an undertone.

  The Duke shook his head. "I don't care to hear them. If this is how you conduct yourself these days, I don't wish to know you. Gambling for a wife like some sort of fortune hunte
r. I'm shocked beyond words."

  "But Thomas--"

  Thomas shook his head and stalked off. He knew their service in the Peninsular War had changed them all, but this beggared belief. One of his dearest friends, whom he had thought a man of principle, a Radical like himself, playing for a woman as if she were a no better than a handful of coins, or a horse. It was more than he could bear.

  Clifford impotently watched his friend go, but could do nothing to stop him without blurting out his true opinion of Gerald's character and motives in front of the entire room.

  He was upset at his friend's abrupt departure, but Thomas didn't live at Millcote, didn't truly know Vanessa. Didn't comprehend what was actually at stake.

  He wasn't so sure he did either. All he knew was that his instincts were telling him now that he had to do something to avert this disaster before it was too late. His instincts had got him through a fair number of tight spots during the war. He valued his friends' opinions, but he had to do what he thought was right, no matter what.

  He drained his glass of sherry and sighed. He would just have to sort things out with Thomas later. He simply could not leave the table now.

  Malcolm moved to refill his glass.

  "Are you sure-" he whispered under his breath.

  Clifford gave an imperceptible nod. "Thanks, Malcolm, you're a mind reader. This is exactly what I needed." He met his friend's eye for a brief moment, then downed another mouthful of the dry amber wine and tugged at his impeccable linen cuffs.

  He now gazed fixedly at Gerald, deliberately not looking at Malcolm, and waited patiently for the game to begin.

  It was one of the most difficult things he had ever done in his life. He affected a mien of ennui, attempting to ignore the outraged sputterings of several bystanders who also thought he had taken leave of his senses, or shown his true colors at last.

  Some of the remarks cut him to the quick. He was more than grateful his own brother Henry wasn't here. He wouldn't put it past his younger sibling to try to drag him away forcibly if his sense of outrage was strong enough. He only prayed he was safely dancing outside with his lovely fiancée Josephine Jerome, and wouldn't come in until it was all over.

  "A disgrace. Blond like an angel, black-hearted like a devil to treat a woman so," one older man asserted.

  "I'm more shocked than I can say!"

  Clifford gazed at his future in-law Mr. Jerome. "Then by all means argue with Mr. Hawkesworth. After all, it is he gambling his sister, not I."

  "But Clifford, you are wagering for her," Mr. Grayson the vicar protested.

  Clifford stared at him fixedly, and said in a tone intended for his ears only, "Can you imagine wishing any female you respected to be married to any of the bucks sitting here?"

  Mr. Grayson's mouth worked up and down like a thrashing trout's. He lapsed back from the table with a resigned air.

  Clifford could not believe the way he had been rendered the villain in this piece. Could the rest of them not see that Gerald was the one behaving barbarously?

  He made no further attempt to defend himself. So far as Clifford was concerned, they could think whatever they liked about his motives so long as the lovely young woman he recalled as vividly as his own name was safe. He simply sat with his hands folded now and risked one tiny peep at Malcolm's face.

  He could see the thin sheen of perspiration on the younger Branson's refined features. He brushed a dark hair out of his eyes impatiently, and flexed his fingers in an unconscious gesture which told Clifford he had understood what was being asked of him. While he had his doubts, he would play his part in this charade until the end.

  Gerald surprised them all by beginning to dispute his nearest neighbor's presence at the table. "I don't want you to play, Stone."

  Clifford countered smoothly, "Why not? I have no wife."

  Gerald tried to stare down the tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, well-dressed Adonis he had always envied. But Clifford was not a man to be intimidated, or outmaneuvered.

  "And my money is as good as anyone else's here." Clifford pulled out his checkbook and large leather purse from his jacket pockets. He opened the drawstring and plunked the bag down on the green baize, scattering its contents in front of him.

  The sight of so many shiny gold coins won the argument in favor of Clifford remaining seated far more eloquently than mere words could have served. The dissipated young rake could barely tear his eyes away. At last he nodded, called for more wine, and reached for the deck.

  Malcolm stretched out a hand to forestall him. "Since you seem so determined to go through with this folly, Mr. Hawkesworth, the least I can do is ensure its all carried out fairly. Since we have an uneven number of players here, I suggest vingt-et-un.

  "Normally the dealer would play as well, but I refuse to gamble for your sister. So in this case, you simply have to top each other. The closest hand to twenty-one without going over is the winner. In the event of a tie, those players will be dealt a second or even third hand to determine the winner."

  Malcolm drew his chair up closer to the table, and shuffled the cards expertly several times, though not too expertly that anyone began to smell a rat. He could just imagine the even further scandal caused if he weren't careful. The magistrate's son, cheating at cards in a game where they were gambling for an innocent young woman... His family would never live it down.

  But Clifford was his friend, and the young woman clearly needed help. Principle warred with duty as Malcolm shuffled, and prayed to the Almighty for guidance.

  Clifford sensed the feelings warring in his close friend's breast. He had put him in a terrible predicament he knew, inciting one evil attempting to stave off an even greater one.

  Clifford had hoped this matter would not go so far, but everyone knew that Gerald was an inveterate gambler, and had his back up against the wall if all he and his cousins had revealed about his affairs were true.

  Though he had not seen Vanessa for several years, Clifford recalled their former childhood friendship. He could not bear the thought of her being used as a pawn, forced to endure a loveless marriage. None of the men sitting around that table were worthy of her in any way. He could only thank his lucky stars some of them were no worse, but it would be a dreadful blow for her to fall to any of them. He knew he simply could not let one of the other men lay claim to her.

  And that would be if it ever came to it. This whole situation could only get worse, he was sure, if allowed to get out of hand. He was certain the marriage would never take place, for public opinion would be outraged at such cavalier behavior with the life of a girl not yet twenty.

  Gerald would then be worse off than before, for he would have to pay back the money he won here tonight, and face other consequences as well. The Hawkesworth estate was encumbered with enough debt without someone bringing a suit for breach of promise against Gerald for his wild behavior at the ball.

  No, this could not end well if he and Malcolm didn't try to stave off further disaster before it was too late. He was thankful Vanessa was not here to witness her brother's disgraceful conduct. She might have collapsed and died of mortification right on the spot.

  Still, it would be the talk of the County and beyond by tomorrow morning. It would also be a lasting mark against the whole family if anyone around this table were vindictive enough to make trouble for Vanessa. Thus, Clifford reasoned, he simply had to play, and above all, had to win.

  Once he did so, he would give the money in the pot to Gerald. It would cover all his debts here, and there would be an end of the matter. Knowing Gerald, whatever might be left over, he would squander soon enough.

  Clifford planned to lose big on some hands just to help tide him over. This would buy her some time. Hopefully Vanessa would be out of Gerald's clutches, married well to someone worthy of her, not just any idle drunken lout only interested in her fortune, long before her half-brother burned his way through whatever winnings he would secure there tonight.

  Clifford looked ar
ound the table at the Cavendishes and young brash Timothy, and shook his head. Considered the toping Toby and pretentious Peter. No, he could not bear to see anyone as refined as Vanessa thrown away on those swine. Not to mention the fact that James Cavendish was also supposed to be engaged to Emma Jerome, his future sister-in-law. Yet he had not hesitated for a moment in joining the game.

  He gazed at the eyes glittering with avarice, and sighed despondently. Was this all the poor girl could expect from the Marriage Mart? Surely there had to be someone who would love Vanessa for herself?

  He had not seen her since her father's funeral, when she had been about fourteen, but he recalled pure white skin without a blemish, auburn hair, and the most unusual eyes, which had sparkled like amethysts whenever she had smiled. She had been like a little porcelain doll, delicately beautiful. She had had spirit and courage.