To Wager the Marquis of Wolverstone (Wicked Wagers BK2-Regency Romance) Long Novella

by Bronwen Evans

  “Because you’re a friend.”

  I laughed. “That doesn’t make me special. Annalise is everyone’s friend. Have you met her?”

  “Yes.” The answer was short. Uncompromising.

  “Then you know what I mean.”

  “But you and she are closer than most. You worked with her in her gallery for a y—”

  “I looked after the gallery,” I corrected. “Several times. But she wasn’t there. She called me in while she was recovering from a major car accident, and I’ve gone back when she needed me. If she needed to travel.”

  “Which happened recently.”

  I nodded. “Sure. Not long before I came here.”

  “Why you?”

  “I didn’t ask. She needed a favor and I was a free agent. Me helping out was advantageous for both of us.”

  He gave my words consideration. “But she didn’t come back. Weren’t you worried? Why didn’t you stay?”

  I laughed. “Why should I be worried? Annalise is an adult. Besides, I wasn’t doing her job. I was subbing for Roberto Conti—the manager. He returned from Moscow and I left.”

  “And came to England.”

  “Yes.”

  “To Charles Dayton.”

  Oh yeah. Definite distaste there. “Not immediately, but yes.”

  “And you haven’t heard from Annalise since?”

  I shook my head. “I did hear she hadn’t made her usual visit to the Paris gallery, so I called Roberto to see if she was all right. He couldn’t help me.”

  “He’s a temperamental asshole.”

  “No argument there.” Roberto had turned being a temperamental asshole into its own art form. “But Signore Moretti said she was well and traveling for a while.”

  “Her solicitor?” Stone’s shoulders stiffened. “He told me he hadn’t heard from her.”

  I shrugged. “You’re a stranger; he and I have a history. Did you try bribery?”

  His eyes glinted. “What do you think?”

  “Yes. Probably with both Moretti and Roberto. So you’re truly blessed.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning you’ve now met the only two honest men left in the world.”

  He lifted a brow. “Should I be offended?”

  He sounded more pissed off than offended.

  “No. They might be honest, but I can’t see either of them taking on a gun-wielding maniac.” In fact, the very idea of Roberto—complete with lisp, dozens of body piercings, and a hip action rivaling Tina Turner’s—standing up to Montford was enough to make anyone laugh. If they didn’t know him. And if they wanted a short life expectancy.

  “So you have no idea where Annalise is?”

  “Sorry.”

  His eyes had gone dark and hard. “Why don’t I believe you?” he murmured. “Why don’t I?”

  “Probably because you’re naturally suspicious,” I suggested. “Or possibly because you’re used to the business world where lies are embedded in the corporate culture.”

  He stared at me as though I’d just crawled out from under the lettuce leaf decorating his thousand-dollar meal. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Then again, maybe with all your wealth you’ve lost touch with the world of normal people. Not everyone spends their life creating tall tales and perjuring themselves.”

  Except in my world, but we wouldn’t go there.

  “In other words, Mr. Stone”—I leaned back in my chair—“I’ve told you all I can. End of story. And the fact you saved me from more serious injury yesterday does not give you the right to come into my home and accuse me of lying to you. You don’t know me well enough.”

  A muscle at the corner of his mouth tightened, then released. “Did Charles know you well enough? Or did you pull this ice princess routine on him too?”

  Ice princess? Ouch.

  “You see,” he continued before I could answer, “I wonder if maybe you had something on him. Threatened him—”

  “Threaten Charles?” The idea was ludicrous enough to make me smile. “Do I look suicidal to you?”

  Stone obviously had no sense of the ridiculous. “Is that,” he pursued, “why he cut his sister and niece out of his will? So you could play company director?”

  “I doubt it.” Charles might’ve possessed a twisted sense of humor, but he’d lived for his work, had a strong sense of duty toward his employees, and I’d made it clear I wanted to sit on the board of a company—any company—as much as I wanted to poke my eye out with a red-hot nail file. “But then, he didn’t discuss his intentions with me. Anyway, when was receiving an inheritance of nearly three million pounds redefined as being cut out of someone’s will?”

  “It’s a valid definition if your expectation was tenfold. How do you sleep at night? Or do you?” He gave me a sweeping glance. “Do you have the time? I believe congratulations are in order.”

  I probably looked as blank as I felt. “Congratulations?” Condolences, yes. Congratulations? Hardly.

  “On your pregnancy.” That sardonic little twist flickered over his mouth again. “Such incredible news. I understand Charles was quite bowled over. As for the timing, I’ll bet he found it hard to believe.”

  The words were innocuous enough. His tone was not, skimming south of unpleasant and heading for offensive.

  Son of a bitch. I rose. “Our business,” I said, my voice as cold as I could make it, “is concluded.”

  I started to move toward the mantelpiece and the bell, but he rose too—as fluid as a cat—and intercepted me. Fighting down the impulse to back away, I forced myself to stand straight, to face him. Calm. Expressionless. “You’re in my way, Mr. Stone.”

  “No,” he said, mouth grim, eyes hard, “you’re in mine. And trust me, you don’t want to be there. I’m familiar with women like you—beautiful on the surface but rotten at the core. You know where Annalise is or have some idea. Make no mistake, I’ll find her with or without your help. But if you imagine I’m going to dance to your tune, then you’re wrong.”

  “Am I indeed?”

  “Yes.” His voice frosted, then iced. “Imagine if certain rumors currently being whispered find their way to the tabloids. Dead millionaire’s girlfriend carries another man’s baby, for example.”

  “Be my guest.” I moved around him and pressed the bell. “And when you see the Sharrocks again, tell them they’re even more foolish than I thought them. As, Mr. Stone, are you.”

  “I’m whatever you like,” he said pleasantly. “But at least I’m not the kind of fool who’d take a rapacious bitch into my home and let myself be cuckolded by—”

  The sound of flesh striking flesh brought me to my senses. That and the pain in my hand where it had struck Stone’s face.

  Savagery rippled over his eyes like water over river gravel, raw and primal. For a heartbeat I thought he’d come after me, strike back. In fact, I hoped he would. I really hoped he would. Everything in me raged for a physical outlet for the wound he’d dealt me. Try it, I goaded him in my head. Just you try it.

  But he didn’t. Instead he inhaled the violence back into him as a smoker inhales nicotine. It faded from his face, his eyes, his body, leaving only the memory, the scent of it, on the air.

  “I apologize,” he said stiffly. “That was—”

  “Don’t.” Through a fog of thwarted fury I was aware Kendall had arrived, but I no longer gave a damn. “Don’t waste your breath. Or your apology. You can say what you like about me—anything at all—but you will speak of Charles Dayton with respect, or God help you. Now, get out of his house. And don’t come back. Kendall, Mr. Stone is leaving.”

  TAKEN BY THE SHEIKH

  Kris Pearson

  www.krispearson.com

  Excerpt…

  “So I suppose he had a busy life?” she needled, thinking of all the magazine articles she’d seen about royalty and their myriad social activities.

  “He worked impossible hours. He was devoted to his people. My people now.”

&nbs
p; Laurel stayed silent for a while before asking anything else. Rafiq had ‘people’? He seemed to be serious. But why should she believe his outrageous claim?

  “Is Rafiq your real name?”

  “One of them. I have many.”

  “Are you fighting to get the throne back? Is that why I was kidnapped? Am I a hostage so they’ll re-instate you?”

  Despite looking so tired, he roared with laughter.

  “What?”

  His chuckles subsided. “I wish it was that simple.”

  “Don’t just laugh at me,” she snapped. “I’ll have to let Mrs. Daniels know where I am. She’ll be horribly worried by now. Is there a phone?”

  He shook his dark head.

  “Do you have a mobile then?”

  “There’s no reception way out here.”

  “I’ve got to let her know somehow.”

  “Not a chance, Miss Kiwi. No-one must know where you are—for your own safely as well as my own. You’ve ended up as the meat in a most unpleasant sandwich. Not your fault in the least. But for now you must stay out of sight and out of contact with the rest of the world. It’s necessary that certain people think you are dead.”

  “I’m not the least important.”

  “As Laurel the nanny, possibly not. But as Laurel the hostage you’re vital to the success of my current mission. And many other lives hang in the balance because of you.”

  She drew her brows together. “But how? Why?”

  “Just believe that it’s so. I can’t tell you everything. It should be enough you have a King’s word.”

  She blew out an exasperated breath. “Prove you’re a King, then. I don’t know why you expect I’ll go along with that fantasy.”

  “Would you recognize my parents, the late King and Queen, if I showed you their photographs here in this house?”

  She shrugged. “I doubt it.”

  “Then I have no other way of convincing you right now. You’ll be well looked after but you’ll be staying here, out of sight and out of contact.”

  He spoke over the top of her next question. “The world won’t stop turning without you. Leave it for tonight. We’ll talk more in the morning. Yasmina!” He gestured for coffee.

  Laurel stayed poised with her mouth open, ready to object to such cavalier treatment. How dare he just cut her off like that? He’d stolen her freedom and apparently had no intention of giving it back. Taken her away from everything familiar and safe. A furious burn started at the back of her throat. She willed herself not to give in to tears.

  The servant hurried across with the coffee pot and poured two small cups of aromatic liquid almost thick enough to stand the spoons in. A brass bowl of fresh apricots followed.

  “Thank-you Yasmina. Good-night.”

  “Good-night My Lord Rafiq.”

  She tipped his injured forehead to the light, inspected the dressing one last time, and sniffed her disapproval before leaving them alone.

  “What did she call you?”

  “What she has always called me.”

  “And what’s that?”

  A slow smile spread across his handsome face. “Do you wish to call me the same, Laurel?”

  “I doubt it,” she said with spirit, somehow sensing from the unnerving gleam in his eyes that she didn’t.

  “I doubt it too,” he agreed. “Yasmina has always addressed me as ‘My Lord Rafiq’.”

  “How absolutely feudal.”

  Rafiq watched as she reached for an apricot and bit into the golden fruit. A savage bite. Her even white teeth sank into its softness and he imagined himself doing the same to her delicious flesh. A nip on her shoulder, a nibble on her earlobe, a sustained assault on her luscious lips. He would be much gentler with her than she was being with the unfortunate apricot. He would scrape and tease and torment her long and thoroughly to punish her for calling him ‘feudal’...for laughing at the possibility he was the rightful heir to Al Sounam’s throne.

  She owed him her life, and he hoped she’d realize that very soon and start behaving in a suitably grateful manner.

  He sipped his coffee, considering what he needed to do next day. Buy her some clothes. Some books perhaps. He wouldn’t keep her at the lodge for long. A fortnight at most. Perhaps if he showed her who was boss—a very accommodating and accomplished boss—she might soften like honey in sunshine and melt into his arms?

  He’d be kind to her. Kind and generous. He would flirt gently, flatter her, let her know he found her desirable. That should be enough? She was a pretty thing and would make a pleasant diversion. He had nothing urgent to do for the next little while. He’d deliver the second demand to the TV station at the end of the week and buy some more time. Every passing minute would bring greater possibilities of success—for his under-cover mission as well as his new-found personal one.

  _________________