To Wager the Marquis of Wolverstone (book 2 in the Wicked Wagers trilogy)

They Say Revenge is Sweet…

Marcus Danvers, the Marquis of Wolverstone, is renowned for his cynical demeanor.  It's rumored that long ago, a beautiful woman broke his heart. Now he lives life for pleasure. He’s the consummate, handsome rake. If anyone tries to get too close—let’s just say his bark is as bad as his bite.  That is, until the beautiful, as she is deceitful, Contessa Orsini re-enters his life with a wager he cannot resist.  When he wins, he’ll have Sabine exactly where he wants her—in his bed and at his mercy.

Forced to return to England and avenge her father’s death, Sabine knows the one person who can help her is the only man she has ever loved—Marcus.  The man who hates her with as much passion as he once loved her.  But Marcus doesn’t know that by winning the wager he’ll also be getting his revenge.  For there are some secrets best left buried…

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They had only just made it to the bottom of the ballroom stairs, when a servant proffered a tray with three large balloon glasses balanced precariously upon it. Marcus hungered for the alluring smoothness of the fine French brandy held within, but he shook his head. He’d had enough alcohol for the night before leaving Whites. For a change he wanted to have a clear head in the morning. He was meeting with his mother.

He didn’t even know why he’d bothered to come to Lady Somerset’s ball. Perhaps it was his driving need for her enthusiastic carnal skills. He needed to take his mind off the conversation that would occur with his mother tomorrow morning, and Elizabeth’s mouth could do such wicked things to his body, things that would definitely make him forget his mother.

Suddenly his companion spoke. “I’d take that drink if I were you. Sabine Fournier is here.”

Henry’s words sent a chill through Marcus’s heart and his hand immediately grabbed a glass from the tray. He downed the contents in one swallow and took a second glass, determined to become completely sloshed.

Yet the heat from the smooth, rich brandy could not replace the icy coldness invading his veins. It couldn’t be true. Sabine? After all these years.

His mind flooded with thoughts of an innocent beauty, quickly followed by the image of the deceptive enchantress. Sabine was the one woman who, ten years ago, had fooled him and played him like a maestro.  

He’d not laid eyes on her since.

His eyes turned and he knew exactly where he would find her in the three-hundred strong crowd. It was as if his body sensed the danger. As his eyes drunk her in, she sensed him too, for he saw her stiffen and then turn her head. Their gazes locked and it was exactly like the first time he’d laid eyes on the beautiful French émigré. Desire, lust and something more erupted within him.

Anger. Betrayal.

He tried to tell himself that he didn’t care where she’d been or who she’d been with, but he lied. His heart contracted with the pain.

She hadn’t changed. That too was a lie. She had. She was older and, God damn it to hell, even more beautiful. Her fair hair was stylishly displayed with a long curl winding over her shoulder to settle in the V of her bountiful bosom. She was surrounded by men, of course, all making fools of themselves while vying for her attentions.

“What’s she doing here?” he almost spat the words.

“I can tell you that, darling,” and Lady Elizabeth Somerset slid her hand through his arm. She rose up to whisper in his ear. “She’s here for you. She asked specifically to be introduced to Marcus Danvers, the Marquis of Wolverstone. Silly woman. She has no idea that a man such as you never forgets and never forgives.” At his raised eyebrow, Elizabeth added, “I always take the time to learn all about those who share my bed.”

Marcus locked his jaw, distressed at the savage feelings Elizabeth’s words awakened. Had Sabine really come for him? Why?

He thought his need for Sabine Fournier long dead. He’d thought himself over her years ago. Yet the raging pain running riot within him was testament to the truth—a man never forgets his first love.

His only love.

He was not stupid enough to allow himself to lose his heart ever again.

He’d learned his lesson. Learned it very well.

Since Sabine, he’d had many, many women who were just as alluring, and just as beautiful, but none had ever touched his heart as Sabine had. He’d wanted her like he’d wanted no other. He’d been willing to sacrifice everything for her. To deny his family, his peers…. He’d given her his very soul.

And she’d spat on it from a great height.

Bitter memories saw him slide his arm around Elizabeth and bend to place a scandalous kiss on the widow’s eager mouth, all the while he held Sabine’s gaze.

Sabine didn’t even flinch and for some reason her calm indifference made Marcus’s temper soar.

He broke off his kiss and whispered in Elizabeth ear, “If she wants to talk with me she’ll have to find me first. Come, where’s your bedchamber? Your guests can do without you for an hour, but I cannot.”