The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides Book 1)

by Christi Caldwell

  Heart in her throat, Helena stood at the wood panel, and then pressed the handle.

  She blinked, giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkened space, and stepped inside.

  The air left her on a soft gasp.

  Purple blooms blanketed her room, leaving a colorful trail to her empty bed, which was covered with flowers. Tears filled her eyes, and she searched for him. A thrill of knowing, a charged connection they’d always shared, went through her, and she slowly turned.

  Robert stood framed in the doorway. “Helena,” he murmured in that mellifluous baritone that had cracked her defenses from their first meeting.

  “Robert,” she whispered. What was he doing here?

  Arms filled with several leather books, he stepped inside, and continued coming toward her, until his long-legged stride ate away the distance between them.

  Her lashes drifted closed. Surely she’d conjured him with her need to see him.

  “Do you know, Helena,” he said with such soberness, her eyes popped open. “I thought a good deal about your leaving.”

  “D-Did you?” she managed, carefully watching as he settled his armful down on the purple irises littering her bed.

  He inclined his head, and then retrieved something from his boot. “You forgot this.”

  She followed his movements and took in the ruby-studded dagger in his large hand. Helena wetted her lips, and alternated her gaze between that long-forgotten dagger and the flowers scattered about her rooms. “I-Is that why you’ve come?”

  A wistful grin pulled at Robert’s lips, as he drifted closer. He came to a stop, so only a hairsbreadth separated them. “Is that what you believe?” he asked, with a faint trace of amusement in his question. He palmed her cheek, and with that butterfly-soft caress, her lashes began fluttering.

  She leaned into his touch. “I do not know why you are here.” Or how he’d even gained entry. Again.

  “Your brothers were more obliging of my presence on the floors when I expressed my intentions,” he said, perfectly interpreting her thoughts.

  Helena’s eyes flew open. His intentions? Her heart skipped a beat.

  “Surely you did not think I’d allow you to leave so easily?” he murmured, dropping his brow to hers. He rubbed back and forth. “Not without at least properly offering for you.”

  Helena leaned into him, taking in the warmth falling off his powerful, and very much alive, frame. She breathed in the sandalwood scent that was so very much Robert Dennington. “You already did.” She’d accepted that gift, and then quickly abandoned it with reality’s intrusion.

  He made a tsking sound, and with his knuckles tipped her chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. “But I didn’t. Not truly. I offered you marriage.”

  And how desperately she wanted that future with him, one of laughter and love and children . . .

  “But I did not think of all you would be giving up.” He spread his arms wide, motioning to her chambers, and she mourned the loss of his fleeting caress. Robert retrieved the leather books he’d deposited on her bed, and held them up. “You see, Helena, I can give you what every other woman has only wanted . . . a title.” Fools all of them. “But with my crumbling estates, I can give you nothing more.”

  “I never cared about that, Robert,” she managed to whisper.

  He grinned. “Oh, I know that. You were quite clear when you stated your preference for binding yourself to Boney’s dead bones.”

  A broken laugh bubbled forth. Had she truly said that?

  “I assure you. You did.” What a synchronic harmony there existed between them. “Then, as I lay in bed, which I did.” He paused. “For a long while.” The blade of guilt twisted all the deeper. My fault. It was my fault. He tapped a fingertip along his chin. “I considered what I could offer a woman who didn’t have a desire for my title or a need for wealth.”

  Nothing. She’d needed nothing, but him . . .

  He dumped his small stack of books into her arms. Furrowing her brow, Helena glanced at the burden.

  “They are my family’s ledgers,” he went on. “I explained to my father that after a month of toiling over the numbers, we would no doubt remain in dun territory as long as Stonely handled our finances. I decided, and he agreed, only one person could make proper rights of our books.” Her heart tripped a beat. “I would turn over the bookkeeping to you, should you desire it.” He grimaced. “I’ve no doubt with your acumen, you can salvage my estates better than any man-of-affairs in the whole of the kingdom.” Again, he glanced about her room. “Or if you prefer to remain on as bookkeeper here, then I would never stand in your way. Your dowry would remain in your hands, for our children.” He held her gaze. “I would, however, ask that you allow me to live here with you.”

  Oh, God. How was it possible to fall even more in love with him? He would make that offering for her? He would trust his estates to her care? Her shuddery sob filtered about them, and she carefully set his books on her bed.

  Robert held her gaze, continuing his relentless assault on her weakening defenses. “I love you, Helena Banbury,” he said with such love radiating from his blue eyes, she sank to the edge of the bed. Helena hugged her arms to her waist and stared down at her feet, stiffening as Robert sank to a knee beside her. “If you left because you despise me and everything having to do with my title—”

  “I no longer feel that way,” she said on a tremulous whisper. Now, he was all her heart hungered for. Surely he knew that?

  Robert caressed her face with his gaze. “I thought of what I would offer you,” he continued in solemn tones that washed over her. “I’d offer you my heart, but you already know you have that, and it was not enough.”

  A teardrop squeezed from the corner of her eye and slid down her cheek. Followed by another. And another. “Is that what you believe?” Emotion hoarsened her voice.

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”

  How could he not know that her heart now beat for him, that he was her happiness and her light? Diggory’s ugly laugh echoed around the chambers of her mind with the blare of a pistol’s report. She jerked and with a sound of frustration, Helena shoved to her feet and began to pace. “You nearly died.”

  “And I’d do it again without hesitation,” he said with such calm, her control snapped.

  “But I do not want you to make that sacrifice for me,” she cried. “I want you alive and happy and . . .” the fight went out of her. “Not dead.” Helena shut her eyes, hating the weakness inside that made her want to selfishly take what he offered.

  Warm, strong hands captured hers, bringing her eyes open. “Is that what this is about?” he asked, not relinquishing his hold on her. “Protecting me.”

  There was so much tenderness and love in that question that tears flooded her eyes. She nodded jerkily. “Diggory’s men will not rest until he’s avenged.”

  “Then we’ll face it together.”

  A half laugh, half sob escaped her. How resolute he was. “I can’t, R-Robert.” Her voice cracked. How did he not yet see the peril that faced him in marrying her?

  “Oh, Helena,” he murmured, and with his thumb he captured a single teardrop as it trailed a path down her cheek. “You talk about wanting me alive and happy, and yet how can you not know?”

  Her lower lip quivered. “Kn-know what?”

  “That I’ve only ever been truly alive and happy with you in my life.”

  Oh, God.

  “Marry me, Helena Banbury,” he urged.

  “But . . .”

  He cradled her face between his hands, his eyes boring into hers. “Marry me knowing that there may be struggles and sadness, and that we, with each other’s love, will find strength and joy in one another.”

  Helena leaned into him, and slid her eyes closed. Take that gift he stretches out . . . Do not be afraid . . .

  And after a lifetime of living in the darkness, she opened her eyes, and the shadows lifted, replaced instead with the promise of love and forever in
his eyes.

  With a smile, Helena brushed a tremulous palm down his cheek. “I love you.”

  He ran his gaze over her face. “Is that a—?”

  She leaned up and kissed him, silencing his question. Pulling back she said, “I spent so much of my life hating and fearing life outside these walls. I was so convinced that I did not need anyone but myself and my work.” Her voice broke. “But needing you does not make me weak. Having you in my life only makes me stronger.”

  With a groan, Robert claimed her lips once more, and a lightness filled the darkness that had filled her for so long.

  At last—she was home.

  Acknowledgments

  Being an author, you spend countless hours plotting and writing stories. If you are fortunate, you find friends along the way who share in the joy and excitement that goes into each book.

  Eva Devon, I thank you for being one of those friends whom I was blessed to find!!

  And for my husband, Doug . . . you may not be a romance writer, but you’re always a sounding board . . . and I could not love you any more for it!

  A sneak peek at the second Sinful Brides novel, coming soon.

  Editor’s Note: This is an early excerpt and may not reflect the finished book.

  Chapter 1

  Dear Fezzimore,

  Mrs. Dundlebottom insists we remain silent through her lessons on propriety and decorum. I tried, Fezzi. I truly did. Alas, propriety and decorum are highly overrated.

  Penny, age 11

  Somewhere between Ryker Black’s rise from guttersnipe to ruthless owner of the Hell and Sin Club, the world had learned—you did not cross him, interrupt him, or interfere with his dealings.

  Ever.

  That rule went for the lords who tossed away fortunes at his tables, and the other proprietors of the club who’d proven more brother than had their blood been shared.

  That also went for Calum Dabney, the second in command of the Hell and Sin, who stood at his shoulder now.

  Standing on the fringe of the Hell and Sin, Ryker surveyed the club. Dandified fops and jaded lords in their bright silk fabrics flooded every corner like an overstuffed drawer. “Tell her to make an appointment,” he ordered, in low tones. Raucous laughter and the sharp clink of coins filled the hell, nearly deafening in its volume.

  “Your sister is here, at this hour, requesting a meeting, and you want me to tell her what?” the other man choked out, incredulity filling his tone.

  Ryker remained silent. He’d grown up on the life lesson that to say too much and to speak too loudly found you gutted on the streets with a blade in your belly. Instead, he studied three vacant places at a hazard table, and frowned.

  There was no place for anything less than excellence.

  “I am not telling Helena that,” Calum said, flexing his jaw. “I may be your second, but I’m not your blood lackey, my lord.”

  Ryker’s hackles went up. With those taunting words, his brother plucked at a frayed nerve. After saving the now Duke of Somerset from death in the Dials, Ryker had been duly rewarded for his efforts with a bloody title from the Prince Regent. A bloody title his brothers had found great humor in, and never lost an opportunity to have fun at his expense over. “Tell her whatever you wish, then,” he said icily, not rising to Calum’s baiting. He’d not allow himself to be distracted by what had brought the other man over to his side.

  Then, Calum and the others had always coddled Helena. The only sibling to share Ryker’s blood, he’d rescued Helena from the streets when she’d been a child of six. But not before she’d been scarred by life on the streets. Years later, she’d risen from master bookkeeper of the club, to now Duchess of Somerset. Ryker peeled back his lip. For all Helena’s loathing and disdain for the nobility, for having seen their mother whore herself to a duke, she’d ultimately chosen life amongst the haute ton.

  A loud shout went up, and Ryker looked to the roulette table where a cheering dandy was being slapped on the back by a fellow patron. Ryker scowled. Where the patrons reveled in their wins, there was not a sound the owner of a gaming hell detested more.

  “You sent her away,” Calum pointed out, refusing to abandon their argument. “You were the one to send her away from Diggory’s clutches, and now you’d punish her for making her way in a new world?” There was a sharp accusatory edge there.

  Diggory, the late owner of their rival club, The Devil’s Den, had been a thug who’d tormented them all on the streets. He’d extended that warfare years later, into their gaming hells. Having learned of Helena’s skill with the books, Diggory wouldn’t have rested until she was dead. In the end, Diggory had paid the ultimate price for his greed, and Helena had carved out a life amongst polite Society. Ryker rolled his shoulders. “She chose,” he said, the matter at an end.

  “She is one of us,” Calum retorted. He lifted his gaze to the glass panel that only the proprietors knew of that oversaw the gaming floor. “You owe her.”

  That handful of words left a charged tension in their wake. For in a world where he was not driven by emotion, feelings, or any sentiments that could weaken, Ryker did honor the code of the streets. For the decision she’d made to join the ton, Helena had once been a member of their street family. She’d scrapped and clawed alongside them. And more, when he, Calum, Adair, and Niall, the other members of their clan, had struggled with the skills needed to survive in their new world, Helena had proven adept in ways they never had, or would ever be able to. Her business acumen had singlehandedly helped build their empire. With a silent curse, he stalked off.

  “Adair showed her to your office,” Calum called after him. Since Helena had left, Adair looked after the books. On a good day, Adair could never be Helena with numbers on a bad day.

  Gaze trained forward, he marched through the clubs. Averting their gazes, lords hastily stepped out of his path.

  No, Ryker didn’t welcome, or accept, interruptions to his daily routines. Helena had been schooled in that. They all had. And yet, something brought her here.

  He exited the gaming hell floor, and made his way up the stairs to the offices. The wood stairs groaned in protest at his shifting weight.

  Had Diggory’s men, bent on revenge for Helena’s act that day against their revered master, found their way into polite Society? He reached his office and froze.

  A tall, broad figure stood outside his doorway. Arms clasped at his back, his brother-in-law, the Duke of Somerset, waited. “Black,” he greeted solemnly, this man who belonged to a people Ryker despised, and yet who’d also stepped in to save Helena. For that alone he had Ryker’s respect.

  Ryker inclined his head.

  “Helena is inside,” the other man murmured.

  Ryker reached past him and pressed the handle. They may be joined as families now, but he’d never call Somerset brother. Wordlessly he entered the room and closed the door.

  From where she sat perched on the edge of a chair before his desk, Helena jumped up. “Ryker.”

  “Helena,” he said tersely, and made for the sideboard. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey, he poured himself a glass. “What do you want?” he asked, carrying his drink to his desk.

  “It is lovely to see you, too,” she said with a wry twist of her lips. Unhurriedly, she reclaimed her seat.

  Ryker sat behind the cluttered mahogany piece and got to the heart of it. “Diggory’s men?”

  Her smile withered. “No. It is not that. Them,” she amended.

  Some of the tension left his shoulders, but he remained tightly coiled. To let one’s guard down meant a man’s ruin. That wariness went for those you called family, and the thieves on the street.

  Laconic as she’d always been, Helena smoothed her gloved palms down the front of her skirts, drawing his attention to the new attire she wore—elegant blue satin skirts adorned in crystal beading, befitting a duchess.

  He peeled his lip back in a sneer.

  Bringing her chin back a notch, she held his gaze. “I require a favor, and kno
w the rule on the element of surprise.”

  So that was why she came at this late hour. Cradling his glass between his hands, Ryker leaned back and inclined his head.

  “I have not been . . . completely welcomed by Society.”

  Burned on one cheek, the bastard daughter of a duke, and the sister of a club proprietor, had she expected she would be? “Oh?” he drawled.

  Her frown deepened. “I didn’t expect it would matter to you whether I find my way amongst Society.”

  She was only partly correct. Part of him, a weak, pathetic piece deep inside he’d sooner slay himself than admit to, did care. Still, he said nothing. You didn’t show your weakness. Not even to a sister, begging a favor.

  “Questions surround our family,” she went on when he still said nothing.

  He arched an eyebrow. “When did you ever give two damns what anyone said about us?” He’d raised her better than that. Disappointment filled him.

  “I don’t,” she said pragmatically. “They can all go hang.”

  If he were capable of smiling after all the sins he’d ratcheted in his life, this would have been the time for it.

  “Society wonders about you,” she explained. “You are a duke’s son.”

  “A bastard,” he said, bluntly. “I am a bastard.” He lifted his glass in salute. A child who hadn’t mattered a jot to the man who’d given him life. How easily his sister had forgotten that key distinction of her own blood, too.

  Helena drew in a deep breath, and then spoke on a rush. “They also talk about my husband. Speculate there is bad blood between you.”

  Ah, so this is why she is here. The Duke of Somerset. When he’d sent Helena away for her safety, never had he believed she would bind herself in name, forever, to one of those fancy toffs. “Ah.” Ryker turned his lips up in a humorless smile.

  “He did not ask me to come,” she said, hurriedly. “Robert said the ton could go hang with their opinions.” The duke rose another notch in his silent estimation. Helena scrambled forward in her chair and turned her palms up. “But I care, Ryker. I love my husband, and they are saying rotten things about him.” Her mouth tightened. “They say he is ashamed of you because of your birthright and role at the club.”