A Gentleman's Gamble (Devilish Lords Book 3) Read online

  A Gentleman’s Gamble

  Devilish Lords

  Maggie Dallen

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  About the Author

  Prologue

  March, 1817

  Jed Cleveland stumbled out of the gaming hell and into the harsh light of day. Bloody hell, he’d had no idea it had grown so late.

  Or rather, so early.

  He squinted through gritty eyes as men and women passed him on the busy London street, looking fresh and awake and very much as though they hadn’t spent the night losing the last of their fortunes at the gaming tables.

  His stomach heaved at the thought of what he’d done. Worse, shame laced through him at what he’d very nearly done.

  But he hadn’t, he reminded himself as he shuffled one step forward and then another. He hadn’t gone through with it. That fact did little to assuage the guilt, the shame, the overwhelming feeling that he was going to retch.

  Of course, the retching part might have been due to drink.

  He stopped walking to run a hand over his face. Perhaps he could delay going home a little longer. There was no way he could face his siblings like this.

  Their parents were gone and he was the eldest—the one who ought to be taking care of them. And what had he done? He’d made a mess of it. All of it. Oh, their father might have left them in dire straits but a stronger man, a smarter man would have done things differently. If he could go back and do it all over again he would do everything differently.

  But life didn’t give second chances, did it? All that was left was to head home and face the consequences.

  Yet he couldn’t seem to pick up his feet. They were leaden and heavy and his whole body sagged with the mere effort of standing there as gentlemen dressed for business brushed past him.

  The sun seemed to chide him. Hell, the bloody birds in the trees seemed to mock him. Perhaps he ought to find a pub and have a drink or two to dull the pain.

  The idea had merit but before he could manage another shuffled step, a woman’s sharp voice had him wincing.

  “Mr. Cleveland!” the harsh voice sounded, clamoring against his brain and sending waves of crippling pain through his neck and spine. “Mr. Jed Cleveland, I know that is you.”

  Footsteps behind him grew closer and louder, and his alarm grew. He couldn’t face a lady right now, not any lady but particularly not one who was clearly angry with him for some reason.

  The lady in question moved in front of him and stopped directly in his path so he was forced to face her.

  Oh bloody hell.

  He didn’t want to deal with anyone at this particular moment, but her?

  His day had just gone from misery to despair.

  Miss Eliza Beaucraft glared at him. Her mousy brown hair was pulled back with such severity, it had to be painful, but he suspected that wasn’t the reason for her puckered lips or that formidable scowl.

  His insides twisted as a horrific thought struck him.

  She knew.

  No, no, that wasn’t possible. His shameful wager over her sister had been made only last night, and in the privacy of a gaming hell that was renowned for keeping secrets of this nature. No, she could not possibly know.

  Still, when she glared at him like that…

  She knew.

  “Miss Beaucraft—”

  “Do not speak to me,” she hissed.

  He blinked in shock at the undisguised disgust in her voice and the anger that had her trembling like a leaf before him. Her hands clenched at her sides. “Do not dare speak to me you—you cad.”

  His mouth opened but he found himself at a loss. She’d asked him not to speak—ordered him not to, really—so what else could he do?

  “I always knew you were a wastrel,” she said. “A no-good rake of the highest order. But I never thought you would stoop so low.”

  His stomach turned and the blood drained from his face. Oh yes, she knew.

  “Miss Beaucraft, I can explain.” Could he? Could he really? He had no explanations. No rationalizations. He’d very nearly used her younger sister’s childish infatuation for his own gain. How the hell did one defend such a thing?

  “Did you or did you not make a wager that you could convince Mary to wed?” she demanded.

  “I did not go through with it.” Yes, saying it aloud only made it sound that much more insipid.

  He heard her swift inhale as a flush swept up her neck and into her cheeks. “Do you expect applause?”

  He jerked back at the venom in her voice. “No, of course not. I merely wanted to explain that—”

  “That you did not set out to seduce an innocent and take advantage of her ridiculously foolish feelings for you to save your hide,” she finished. Her nostrils flared. “How very noble.”

  The shame was intolerable. There was no good excuse for what he’d done—what he’d very nearly done—but still the urge to rationalize his actions was overwhelming. As if Miss Eliza Beaucraft’s understanding and forgiveness might absolve him of his sins. As if this irate spinster-in-the-making could be the redemption he so badly needed.

  Bloody nonsense. Still, words tumbled out of him, the need to explain beating out common sense. “I would have made her happy,” he said lamely. “I care about your sister, and you said yourself she has feelings for me—”

  “You have never shown the slightest interest in Mary,” she interrupted. “Yes, we all know she makes a fool of herself over you, but you have always kept your distance. Do you really expect me to believe that now, quite suddenly, you have developed feelings of true love for my sister?”

  She said the words true love with as much scorn as he’d ever heard coming from anyone’s mouth. The bitterness in her tone made him start.

  “No,” he said. “Of course not. I merely meant—”

  “I’d wager that feeble logic you just spewed was your form of consolation,” she sneered. “It was how you could justify your actions.”

  Guilt was a poison in his veins. He’d thought he’d hit his lowest point when he’d gambled the last of his meager inheritance. Contrary to what his siblings and the rest of society believed, his father had lost their fortune long before Jed had gotten ahold of the coffers. But that did not excuse his actions. Out of desperation he’d thought to win their fortune back.

  Foolish. Utterly foolish. He knew that now. The tempting allure of the next win seduced him. He’d found himself lost to it as surely as if he’d been stricken with an illness. In some ways it was exactly the same.

  For the past year he’d walked through his life in a fog, unable to see the light through the thick stench of his own weakness. Last night it had reached its peak. The fog lifted, so to speak, in the face of what he’d nearly lost with that last wager. Not just a fortune, but his soul.

  And yes, he’d very nearly taken Mary down with him. Sweet, winsome, youthful Mary. His sister Georgie’s best friend and a girl who blushed and simpered whenever he entered a room.

  Eliza was right. He’d never seen her as marriage material before, and everyone knew that her father would not approve of him as a suitor.

  Mary and Eliza’s father, Mr. Archibald Beaucraft, had risen from obscurity and built a fortune for himself and his family. He was also notoriously strict. Everyone knew he’d set his sights on a title for his daughters. Though younger, Mary was undeniably th
e family’s greatest hope for securing a husband among the peerage. She had the beauty and the charm that her elder sister so severely lacked.

  “I never respected you, Mr. Cleveland,” the elder sister said now. “But even I never suspected you would stoop so low.” Her low voice was filled with self-righteous, well-deserved anger. She sneered at him, waiting for him to try and defend his actions.

  He could not.

  Her nostrils flared and her cheeks turned a brighter shade of red. No, Eliza had never been the pretty one. She was average, at best, and she did nothing to help her own cause. Her gowns did little to enhance her assets, whatever those might be, and she made no attempt to make herself more fashionable nor more agreeable.

  Were she sweet and amiable, one might find her fetching. She wasn’t unattractive, merely…unremarkable.

  Unremarkable except for her temper. Far from charming, the elder Beaucraft sister’s name was synonymous with a foul mood and brash behavior. Like right now, for instance. What other gently bred young lady would scold a gentleman as though it were her right?

  That thought managed to rouse him from his lethargy. Lord, what was wrong with him? Was he still so drunk that he stood here in the middle of a crowded pavement enduring a stern lecture?

  He should have turned and run at the sight of her, instead he found himself staring at her. Analyzing her as he never had before. He supposed this was the first of many punishments he’d suffer. Deservedly so.

  “Are you just going to stand there and gape at me like a halfwit?” she demanded.

  Yes. Apparently, he was. He inhaled deeply, trying to get his muddled mind functioning well enough to form an appropriate apology. Though what was the etiquette when apologizing for making a wager at one’s sister’s expense?

  This was something neither his mother nor his father had taught him. He’d add it to the list of ways his parents had failed him and his siblings.

  The list was seemingly endless.

  “I am sorry, Miss Beaucraft.” Was that his voice? It sounded scratchy and raw.

  “For considering such a dastardly wager in the first place or for getting caught?” Her gaze snapped with anger. Her entire petite body seemed to hum with it.

  But he could not fault her. If anyone had done the same to his younger sister, Georgie, who was the same age as Mary…

  Well, he couldn’t even think of it without working himself into a rage. Once again he was forced to face the true dastardly nature of his deed. He’d very nearly taken advantage of his sister’s close friend. He might as well have tried to swindle a child or corrupt an innocent.

  For Mary might be the pretty Beaucraft sister, but she was also the naïve one. She fancied herself infatuated with him, and she made little attempt to hide it. Her father would never approve, of course, even if he never learned of the true nature of the Clevelands’ financial affairs. He wanted a duke or an earl for a son-in-law, not a supposedly wealthy landowner with no title or connections.

  But that was why the other gentlemen had offered so much money in the wager. The bet was to see if he could get her to marry him. It was understood that it would be without her father’s approval. To get her to agree he would have had to seduce her…an innocent. At the very least, he would have had to speak of love, which he did not feel.

  And he’d considered it. The wager had been made after he’d lost it all. His last attempt at salvaging their fortune had vanished with a flip of the cards. His friends, if that was what he could call them, kept driving the stakes higher and higher. When it was clear he had nothing else to lose, a bet came about—he couldn’t even remember who had started it.

  Make Mary Beaucraft his wife and win it all back. All that he’d lost—it still wouldn’t restore the family’s wealth but it would have given him a chance to start over. Begin again with the measly sum his father had left after squandering it all on the women he flaunted in front of their mother. Devilish scoundrel. And now he, his son, was no better.

  Perhaps he was worse.

  Lord, but that was too depressing to contemplate.

  He needed to go. Bed was calling for him. But not home, he couldn’t go home. He’d head to his best friend’s townhouse. Nicholas always put him up when he needed a place to stay. He was the only true friend he could rely on—the only one who tried to steer him straight, for all the good it did.

  Yes, he’d go to Nicholas’s home and sleep.

  He’d almost forgotten that Miss Eliza Beaucraft was still blocking his path. Her nose was wrinkled up in disgust. “You look terrible.”

  “I feel terrible.”

  She pursed her lips and he could all but see the debate that warred within her. To assist him or to continue berating him.

  He knew what he would have done. Hell, if he were in her shoes he would have challenged him to a duel by now for dragging an innocent’s name through the mud.

  Not that anyone would learn of it. The secret was safe.

  His mind finally clicked into gear at that. Now it was his turn to study Eliza the way she was doing to him. “How did you learn of the wager?”

  She jerked back a bit, clearly surprised by the question. “I have my sources.”

  He narrowed his eyes. It took all his energy to focus on her words and what they meant. The wager had only come about yesterday evening. And sadly it had taken him hours before his conscience had finally won out over temptation. He’d only forfeited on the bet a few hours ago, yet she seemed to have known that already too.

  “How did you learn of this so quickly?”

  She arched her brows at his impudence in questioning her when he was the guilty party. “My sources are extremely efficient.”

  He eyed her appearance once more. Efficient. He did not doubt that. Everything about this woman screamed efficient, from her clipped manner of speaking to the simple, serviceable morning dress. She was clean, neat, and utterly lacking in frivolity. Yet, she was still a gently bred young woman with a notoriously overprotective father, so how in blazes had she managed to find out secret information from the bowels of a seedy gaming hell?

  “Who are these sources?” he asked, concern on her behalf nagging at him. It was bad enough that he’d nearly ruined her sister, he hardly wanted the responsibility for Miss Eliza falling in with this nefarious crowd.

  She stiffened at the question. “That is none of your business.”

  Like hell. Whoever leaked word of the wager could ruin Mary and him, and the resulting scandal was more than his siblings could take. Their chances in society would be snuffed out once and for all. “I will not have this nonsense getting about,” he started stiffly, well aware that he was in no position to be giving lectures or doling out advice. “There’s no need for Mary’s name to suffer rumors and gossip thanks to my witless and cowardly actions.”

  She drew her brows together in a manner that clearly called him a lunatic. “Of course not,” she snapped. Her gaze narrowed again and her nose wrinkled as though she smelled something foul. “Go home and clean yourself up,” she ordered before turning to join her servant who hovered meekly at the end of the street. She turned back to add, “No one will speak of this. I will see to it.”

  He believed her. As he watched her walk away, he knew she would never turn back. She’d written him off for good and rightly so.

  That sick feeling only grew stronger as he headed in the direction of Nicholas’s townhouse. His friend would welcome him. He knew the full story of his finances and had stood by his side even after the rest of civilized and proper society had turned their backs on him.

  Taking a shuffling step forward, he headed toward Nicholas’s home. First he would sleep, and then he would deal with his family.

  He only hoped they didn’t turn their backs on him like Eliza had—deservedly or not.

  Chapter One

  December 1819

  Eliza barely saw the embroidery in her hands as she listened to her sister gossip with Georgie, the Duchess of Roxborough.

&n
bsp; Title or no title, they were two silly chits, the both of them. Georgie was a sweet girl, but like Mary, she lived to laugh and gossip and chat about nonsense.

  Typically Eliza would ignore their voices, or at least attempt to, but today their gossip was of interest to her.

  Mainly because it was about her.

  “She wants an invitation?” Georgie whispered loudly.

  “Yes, that is what she said.” Mary’s voice held a world of wonder.

  “But Eliza never wants to attend society functions, least of all a house party.” Georgie apparently felt inclined to state the obvious.

  Eliza scowled down at her embroidery. She didn’t have to look up to know that her sister shrugged in response. “Yes, I know. Perhaps she’s had a change of heart?”

  Eliza bit her tongue to keep from growling. Or laughing. That statement was just too ludicrous to stay silent. But she managed. Of course she hadn’t had a change of heart. Did they really think that after a decade as a wallflower she had suddenly embraced her inner social butterfly?

  Hardly.

  If she could think of a way out of her predicament that did not involve attending a house party, she would happily pursue it, but she had gone through every option time and again. Her best and only hope lay with Mr. Jed Cleveland, the reprobate gambler and no-good rake she despised.

  And he would be at the Roxborough house party, which was to be an intimate gathering of the duke and duchess’s families and close friends.

  It had been understood that Mary would attend as Georgie’s closest friend, with Georgie’s sister Claire acting as her chaperone. Eliza typically avoided these occasions like the plague.

  But not this time.

  The only problem, however, was that this idea seemed to have stumped Mary and Georgie. The two of them were acting as though it were unheard of for Eliza to attend a social gathering. She might not be a social butterfly, but she wasn’t on the shelf just yet either.