by Blue, Andie
High Stakes Chattel
Andie Blue
PUBLISHED BY:
Andie Blue
Copyright © 2013
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.
Cover photo source: Belton House. Creative commons, Brian Lincolnian
Thank you to Tracy S. for your generous help with this book and thank you to my sweet family.
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Prologue
Barrowby, England - 1890
The graveside service for Samantha Blake’s late husband stretched on endlessly and her mother-in-law’s disapproving gaze grew more frigid with each passing moment. A chill wind whipped Samantha’s long chestnut hair around her shoulders, and she realized belatedly that she should have thought to pin it up. Why could she never remember all the things a lady was supposed to know, especially today of all days?
She still couldn’t believe Henry was dead.
Though they’d only been married a few months, and it had hardly been a love match, she’d grown fond of him and would miss him. He’d blown into her life like a storm and whisked her into a new and unfamiliar world of high society. Marrying a poor woman with a farm had been a lark to him. It infuriated his family, which was undoubtedly his goal. In return, he’d offered her wealth and the ability to keep her family property and care for her ailing mother.
Unfortunately, he’d failed to leave provisions for her in his will, and since he’d not yet come into his inheritance, she’d been left with nothing. His mother, Lady Dorchester, had sent a solicitor to inform her of that fact, and had a maid pack up her belongings. She had been unceremoniously dumped out of the great house and back to the farm she came from before her husband could even be laid to rest. There had been no time to mourn or adjust to the realization that Henry was gone.
Samantha glanced at Lady Dorchester across the deep gash in the earth where Henry would be buried. Hatred filled the older woman’s reddened eyes, and she turned to whisper something to her husband. They obviously believed Henry's reckless midnight ride had somehow been Samantha’s fault.
It had not. She hadn’t seen Henry all week. He’d been on one of his gambling and drinking binges and had chosen to ride the stallion home through the dark woods, breaking his neck as he’d jumped the fence. The stallion must have stopped before the fence, throwing Henry over its head and onto the hard and unforgiving ground.
Samantha had found the horse wandering freely the next morning and managed to take him with her when she went back to the farm.
Samantha’s tears flowed harder as the only person at the gravesite who didn’t think of her as a fortune hunter reached for her hand and squeezed tightly, offering comfort. Jolene was Samantha’s oldest and dearest friend. She couldn’t imagine getting through the funeral without her.
Finally, the Vicar wound down, and Samantha stepped forward to toss a single red rose on Henry’s shiny black casket. She half-expected Lady Dorchester to accost her in some way, but the crowd dispersed, leaving her and Jolene standing alone beside the grave.
She got the message clearly. Now that Henry was dead, she was on her own.
“Jolene, what am I going to do?" Samantha asked as she and Jolene turned away and headed toward the village. “How will I keep the farm going and care for my mother?” Fresh tears flowed down her cheeks. “I’m afraid that once I let her nurse go, I’ll wake up one day to find my mother wandering down the road. I can't let that happen or she’ll end up in Bedlam. I simply must find a way to afford Mrs. Potter’s care and keep the farm.”
“Selling the things Henry bought you should cover your expenses for a while,” Jolene told her regretfully.
“Let’s get some tea at the inn before heading home. My treat.” Jolene held her arm out, beckoning her friend.
“That sounds nice. Thank you.” Samantha gratefully took Jolene’s arm and they walked over to the inn.
As they entered, Samantha saw a notice on the door for a Chattel tournament in Devonshire. Chattel was a fairly new game of dice and cards that had taken hold like wildfire. The notice said there would be a 500 pound purse awarded to the winner of the tournament.
Five hundred pounds! A small fortune like that would solve her problems for quite some time. She stared longingly at the paper, wishing women were allowed to participate. Henry had played with her several times, and she’d been every bit as good as he was. Unfortunately, even if she could get around the fact that she was a woman and not allowed to play, she didn't know if she could beat the masters of the game.
“What do you know about Lord Nico Chattel?” she asked Jolene abruptly after they sat down at a table.
“The creator of the Chattel game?” Jolene asked, her eyes widening with confusion.
Samantha nodded. The kernel of an idea was beginning to form in her mind, but she definitely needed more information.
“Well,” Jolene dropped her voice conspiratorially and gave a delighted shiver, obviously glad to share what she knew. “I’ve heard he’s rich and eccentric. He lives just over in Grantham, and I caught a glimpse of him once.” Jolene’s face lit up at the memory. “He was beautiful, with dark Mediterranean good looks, but huge and scary at the same time. Unforgettable.”
Samantha waved a dismissive hand. She could care less if the man were ugly as a troll. The last thing she wanted was to become involved with another handsome reprobate. “That’s not what I need to know. I want to seek his mentorship for the game. How do you think I would go about that?”
Jolene gave a snort of a laugh and shook her head. “You know that’s impossible. Women aren’t allowed in the game. Even if they were, you couldn’t just go up to him and ask him to mentor you. The scandal of that would make your marriage to Henry pale in comparison. Tell me you’re not serious.”
“Did you see the notice on the door?” Samantha sat forward in her chair, excitement building within her. “Five hundred pounds is a small fortune. If I won, all my problems would be solved.”
Jolene shook her head. “Yes, but you’re a woman. Even if you could get him to mentor you, they’d still never let you play, so this entire conversation is pointless.”
Eight months later
A lad shimmied over the high stone wall that protected Lord Nico Chattel’s property, landing lightly on his feet inside the perimeter. He glanced around, seeming nervous, then squared his shoulders and headed in the direction of the house.
Nico glared at the intruder, wishing he’d built the wall higher. He’d put a virtual fortress of stone around his land, yet they still managed to get in. What did he have to do to keep these people out? This was hardly the first lad who’d come sneaking over the wall hoping to gain an audience. Did they really think he’d be willing to entertain their foolish pleas for mentorship once they’d trespassed upon his property?
Fifteen years ago, as a young man of twenty, Nico had created a board game – one that took skill, strategy, deception, manipulation, and luck. When he introduced it to his friends, they became obsessed. They invited more friends, and it caught on quickly. They called it Chattel, after Nico, of course, and it became the must-attend social event of the week in every village between here and London. From farm crofters to factory workers, up to the nobility and even some royalty, everyone wanted to learn to play Chattel. Regular tournaments, which offered a hefty purse for the ultimate winner, were held in many towns.
He’d invented the game for fun, but now it was a curse to him. He didn’t have time for the dozens of young men asking to be mentored in the subtleties of winning the game.
He’d even had several letters from a girl!
With a long-suffering sigh, Nico raised his shotgun to his shoulder, longingly staring at the lad through the sights. He was sorely tempted to make good on the rumors that he simply shot everyone who trespassed upon his lands. Perhaps if he truly made an example of one of these little bastards, the rest would leave him alone.
A rusty laugh escaped him as he lowered the gun. He’d come out to hunt rabbits, not desperate young lads who thought they could change their fortunes by winning a stupid game. He’d simply go speak to the boy, give him a few encouraging words, and then send him on his way.
“You there,” he called, when he was only a few yards behind the lad. “Don’t you think I put that wall up for a reason?”
The boy stopped, glanced over his shoulder, then took off toward the house at a dead run.
Frustrated, Nico gave chase. The boy was fleet of foot but no match for Nico’s strong, solid build. Nico gained ground, finally tackling him less than a hundred yards from his home. As they rolled across the ground, the intruder’s hat came off, revealing luxurious auburn hair in long braids. Nico found himself on top, pinning the…girl to her back on the ground. He grabbed a braid and looked at the intruder for the first time, finding himself staring into a face with big, beautiful green eyes that flashed with indignation; smooth, creamy skin that was flushed with exertion; and soft, plump lips that could only belong to a woman.
“A girl?” he asked with an incredulous laugh. “Now I have girls stalking me?”
He straddled her waist, still holding her flailing hands to the ground near her head as he let his gaze sweep over her. Absolutely lovely. Her body was lithe beneath his, her lips so lush he couldn’t believe he’d been fooled, even at a distance.
She fought him for another moment, and then subsided. “Are you Lord Chattel?” she asked tentatively, sounding as though she hoped he wasn’t.
“The one and only,” he replied, intrigued despite himself. “And who might you be?”
“Samantha Blake,” she answered as she squirmed beneath him. “Can you please get off me?”
“Ah,” he said, refusing her plea to be let go. He was enjoying being on top of her far too much. “You’re the one who wrote to me.” A bit of a relief, really, that there weren’t two girls set upon such a foolhardy plan. He had to admit that her letters had touched him. He admired her spirit, and there was no doubt that she needed help. But winning a game of Chattel was not the way for her to free herself from her predicament, and he certainly was not the man to take a woman under his wing for purely altruistic reasons.
“I desperately need to win the contest,” she said pleadingly, blinking up at him with those incredibly beautiful eyes. “I’m sorry I trespassed, but I hoped that if I had the chance to make my plea in person…”
“I don’t play Chattel anymore,” he said implacably. “I don’t have the time or the desire. I invented that game years ago, when I was a foolish young man, and I’ve regretted it ever since.”
“Why do you regret it?” she asked softly, staring up at him. “It’s all the fashion. Your name will probably live on forever because of it.”
“Do you think I want that?” he cried in frustration, releasing her hands and sitting back on his heels. “I have invented dozens of things since then, important things, yet I’ll always be remembered for that stupid game.”
She looked crestfallen. “So you won’t help me?”
“I’m sorry, but no.” He pushed to his feet, leaning down to offer her a hand up.
She stared at his hand for a moment, biting her lush bottom lip, then reached out and took it, wincing in pain as she stood.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, suddenly feeling like an ass. He’d landed upon her with his full body weight.
“It’s my ankle,” she said, pain streaking across her lovely features as she once again tried to take a step. “I think I twisted it when I fell.”
He sighed, knowing he couldn’t very well send her on her way now. “Come up to the house with me,” he told her woodenly. “I’ll have someone take a look at it.”
“You’re too kind,” she murmured, ducking her head so he couldn’t see her face.
“Did you walk here?” he asked suddenly, realizing there was no other explanation.
“Yes, from the village.”
“That is quite a walk.” He frowned, sensing that his day had just gotten entirely too complicated.
She shrugged. “I needed to see you. I thought if I rode up announcing myself that you would promptly send me on my way.”
After she’d taken a few hesitant, limping steps, he shook his head, propped his shotgun against a nearby tree, and swept her up in his arms. “I’ll carry you to the house,” he told her, as she stared up at him, obviously flustered. “It’s too far for you to walk in your condition. Besides, I’m the one who hurt you.”
“I’m too heavy,” she protested, a deep flush staining her pale cheeks as he started walking.
“You’re fine,” he said dismissively. In truth, he loved the feel of her. Though she was tall for a woman, she was very slender. Her weight didn’t bother him at all. He’d been so busy with his work lately and it had been far too long since he’d been this close to a woman. She smelled heavenly, clean and fresh, so unlike the cloying perfume of most of the courtesans he tended to be intimate with, or the widow he had been courting.
After he’d taken a few steps, she tentatively wrapped her arms around his neck, anchoring herself more firmly against him. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I know I’m being a complete nuisance. I’m really sorry for climbing your wall. I just…had to try.”
“I understand,” he answered, trying to be comforting. The last thing she probably needed was for him to lecture her about her ridiculous plan. She was subdued enough already. He just had to get her to the house, and then he’d turn her over to his butler, Joseph, and let that capable bloke handle the particulars of tending to her ankle and getting her safely home.
“What other things have you invented?”
“What?” He had a hard time concentrating on her words when he was watching that gorgeous mouth of hers. What he wouldn’t give—
“Earlier you said you’d invented a lot of other things. I was just wondering what they were,” she said innocently.
He cleared his throat, hoping she couldn’t tell where his thoughts had just taken him. “I’ve invented some medical and scientific tools, nothing you have probably heard of.” He shifted her weight against him. “I am currently close to making a breakthrough on discovering the cause of certain infections.”
She looked at him with interest in her eyes. “That is a very noble ambition. It isn’t something typically pursued by an aristocrat.”
“No, not typically.” He brushed his black hair out of his face and prepared himself for the usual reaction of disgust or disinterest.
“I see now, why you’ve given up Chattel. It hardly seems significant, when you’ve got such other weighty matters to deal with.”
Her words surprised him. No other woman of his acquaintance had shown such easy understanding of his reasons for giving up the game that defined him. He stared down at her, drowning in her emerald eyes, one thought running through his mind like a siren. I have to get rid of her.
***
Samantha stared up at her reluctant host, her heart thundering in her chest. Dear Lord, but he was incredibly handsome. He was tall and powerfully built, with wide, strong shoulders and muscular thighs. His dark eyes were beautifully framed by long, dark lashes and his thick black hair brushed his crisp white collar and tended to fall across his eyes.
She’d hoped he’d be older, smaller, less intimidating, less…fascinating. Instead she’d found herself trapped beneath fourteen stones of virile, gorgeous man, completely out of her element. Lord Nico Chattel was no harmless rake like Henry. No, he was something far more attractive and dangerous.
Her fingertips tingled against his shi
rt, and she reluctantly drew her hand away as he approached the Great House. It was a solid, respectable ancestral home, built in magnificent Ancaster stone in the shape of a U, nestled into a rolling hill, overlooking a small, manmade lake. Square towers formed the corners, with long casement windows that looked down upon the entrance.
Samantha had never seen Bentley Park up close, although she had heard from many who had. Their descriptions had not even come close to the breathtaking beauty of the place. Nico heard her breath catch in her throat as they rounded the corner, and after a questioning glance, he began to tell her a little about its history.
“The land has been in my family since the late sixteenth century and the house was built in 1685 by an ancestor who was an attorney.”
“Not a Baron like you?”
“No. The family started out as a dynasty of solicitors and eventually were given various titles of nobility.”
Samantha noticed the beautiful, but unfamiliar-looking trees that lined the edge of the driveway, framing the house. There were five on each side, huddled together with twisting branches and long, thin, silvery-green leaves. She asked about them and Nico chuckled. “Those were part of my mother’s condition for coming to live in England.” She looked at him curiously and he continued, “My mother was Greek, and those are olive trees.”
He laughed at her surprised expression. “Those things have caused our groundskeeper more headaches, with him not knowing how to care for them and claiming that they are ‘unnatural’. But there they are. They have survived splendidly so far, and the olives are quite good, actually.”
As he strode up the marble steps to the portico, his muscles shifted beneath her, and she felt a bit guilty for pretending to be hurt.
She shouldn’t have told him she’d sprained her ankle, but she’d been desperate to spend a bit more time with him, and somehow convince him to take on her cause. Unfortunately, the brief conversation she’d had with him on their walk to the house had made her realize there was no persuading him. He truly had outgrown the Chattel game, and she couldn’t imagine him putting off the research that was obviously so important to him to help her with her admittedly wild plan.