To Challenge the Earl of Cravenswood (book 3 in the Wicked Wagers trilogy)

To live happily ever after...

Henry St. Giles, the Earl of Cravenswood, longs to find his soul mate. Now that his two best friends, both reformed rakes, are happily married, the need becomes an obsession. When they challenge him to find a wife by the end of the season or marry his neighbor, the innocently alluring Lady Amy Shipton, he can’t believe his luck. He wins, either way.  But a darkened garden, a case of mistaken identity, a drunken kiss, and a dropped emerald earring, leads Henry on a Cinderella hunt. He knows the woman he held in his arms could be the one he's searched for all his life. He just has to find her.

Lady Amy Shipton is determined to marry for love instead of sharing her husband like her mother did. So why did she let her handsome neighbor and romantic fantasy, the Sinful Saint as he's called for his bedroom prowess, seduce her in his garden? And what can she do when in the middle of their passionate encounter; he whispers another woman's name. Now Henry is hunting the owner of the earring Amy left behind, and she's determined to retrieve it before her identity is revealed. She's not about to give her father the ammunition he desperately wants to force her down the aisle.

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Read an Excerpt

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Marcus leaned forward in his chair. “I have a challenge for you.”

Harlow interrupted. “We have a challenge for you. A challenge we feel will lead to great joy.”

Henry merely stared at the two of them. His wariness grew. They looked far too pleased with themselves.
Marcus carried on. “We challenge you to find a wife by the end of season”-

-“That’s only six weeks away,” Henry felt the weight of the earring in his pocket. Hmmm. One of the reasons he’d hoped to meet these two scoundrels today, was to see if they recognised it.

Marcus feigned shocked surprise. “I know you’re out of practise but surely a rake like you can woo a woman in six weeks. Besides, you haven’t even heard the forfeit.”

“I can hardly wait,” the sarcasm made his mouth turn down. He lifted his glass, “Well, what is the forfeit, something dastardly I’ll wager.”

Marcus gave a sly smile and Harlow tried to look angelic with little success.

“If you don’t find a wife of your own choosing by the end of the season, you will offer for and marry Lady Amy Shipton.”

Henry’s drink sprayed the room as he choked on the liquid. A coughing fit ensued. “Amy Shipton!”

“Last year you thought her perfect for me,” Marcus insisted. “She’d make you an excellent wife. She’s beautiful, kind, generous, and her father’s a duke.”

 Amy was beautiful, she had the same dark, sultry beauty as Millicent. Maybe that was why he’d never considered her. It was too soon after Millie.

He feigned disinterest to ensure his friends did not scent victory. “One slight flaw in the challenge gentlemen. What if Lady Amy says no.”

“Then you’ll ensure she can’t say no.” Harlow had always been the ruthless one of the three; it came with the privilege of the dukedom.

Henry steeled his voice. “Are you suggesting I compromise a lady?”

Marcus tried to balance Harlow’s ruthlessness. “Then perhaps you best ensure it doesn’t come to that.”

Henry thumped his glass on the table. His head ached, he’d had little sleep and he had no humour for these two mischief makers. “Absolutely not. I may have decided not to honor Richard’s betrothal and marry Hilda, but I’m a gentleman. A gentleman does not compromise a lady. That is not the way to start a marriage.” Especially if he wanted a love match.

Marcus and Harlow sighed and shared a look before Marcus said, “Then you leave us no choice. Find a woman you do wish to marry and convince her to accept you or...”

A shiver of unease snaked down his spine, which he straightened. He was in the right. Nothing they could do would make him accept this challenge. “You do have a choice. You can stay out of my personal affairs.”

“If you had personal affairs we would. But you’ve been behaving like a eunuch for far too long.”

Henry felt his face heat at Harlow’s sneer.

Marcus sat back, his elbows on his knees, his fingers touching in a tripod. “Unless you accept our challenge, I’m going to Dowager Spencer and telling her you’re desperate to marry by the end of the season. In fact, we shall offer to help her arrange a fine match.”

“Christ, you bloody...” He gripped the arms of his chair so as not to punch the smug look off Marcus’s face. Ice cold fear gripped him. If Lady Dowager Spencer, the authority within the ton, and his great Aunt, heard he was seriously looking for a wife, his life would be turned upside down and he wouldn’t be left alone for five minutes. She’d make it her mission to parade every available debutante and single lady in front of him. She’d descend on Cravenswood Court and not leave until he was leg-shackled. His life would be a living hell.

“Bastards.” His so called friends didn’t even look at him with pity. They merely kept drinking with smirks on their faces.

Defeat slipped through him like a ghost. “So, let me get this right. I may choose a bride by the end of the Season, or you two reprobates, or Dowager Spencer, thrust one upon me.”

"Or you marry Amy Shipton.”

“Why are you so set on pushing me at Lady Shipton? She’s my annoying neighbour.”

Marcus’s gaze softened. “I know you both.” He slapped his chest above his heart like a warrior. “I know you’d be perfect for each other. You’re kind, generous, and honourable. That’s why I know that if you accept this challenge you’ll not renege.” He sat back and threw his arms up. “For God’s sake why not try courting her? What have you got to lose?”

The earring moved in his pocket. He did wish to marry. But marry the right woman. A woman he could come to love. A woman who had fire in her soul and hot blood in her veins. A woman like the siren in his garden. Christ he was lusting after a woman he knew nothing about. He didn’t even know what she looked like.

He cleared his throat and tried to sound as if he’d not been cornered by a rampaging bull. “As it so happens, I may have found a lady  I’m interested in.”

“Thank Christ,” he heard Harlow mutter.

“What is her name,” Marcus asked, immediately suspicious.

“I’m not exactly sure.”

Marcus’s eyes narrowed. Henry rushed on. “She did not give me her name.”

Harlow’s grin widened. “There is a story here. I bet it involves,” he waved a hand at Henry’s head wound.

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