“I hate this hat of yours, Amariah, hated it the moment I saw you in it.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Because you hate it, Guilford, I shall henceforth hate it, too.”
“Well, then, I’ll banish the wretched thing and please us both.” He flipped open the window and, before she could protest, sailed the hat out the window and into the night.
“Guilford!” Amariah shrieked with surprise. “I cannot believe you did that! Oh, that poor, old, ugly hat!”
“Let it grace some poor, old, ugly scarecrow in a field of rye,” he said grandly. “You, my fair Amariah, deserve something far more beautiful.”
He slid closer along the swaying seat, leaning over her so that all she could see was his face in extraordinary detail: the dark lashes around his blue eyes, the way his black hair curled….
She blinked, and smiled. “You’re going to kiss me, aren’t you, Guilford?”
Acclaim for Miranda Jarrett
“Miranda Jarrett continues to reign as the queen of
historical romance.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
“A marvelous author…each word is a
treasure, each book a lasting memory.”
—Literary Times
“Ms Jarrett always delivers a memorable story
peopled with memorable characters…
You can always count on Ms Jarrett to gift us with
something intelligent, new and vibrant.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
Rake’s Wager
“A romp brimming with Regency style…
[Jarrett’s] just-right pace and likable characters
deliver a quick and enjoyable read.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
Princess of Fortune
“This story is a banquet spiced up with
period detail and well-paced drama.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
The Golden Lord
“Sexual tension runs high. There are…secrets to
be kept, mysteries to be solved and a traditional ending
in which sharing truth wins true love.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
The Silver Lord
“The characters and plotting are
very good and deftly presented.”
—Affaire de Coeur
The Duke’s Gamble
Miranda Jarrett
MILLS & BOON
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Afterword
Chapter One
Penny House
St. James Square, London
1805
I n the experienced opinion of Eliot Fitzharding, His Grace the Duke of Guilford, there were few things better contrived to reduce a sensible woman to blithering idiocy than a wedding, and the nearer the relationship of the woman to the bride, the greater the intensity of that idiocy.
This is not to say that his grace did not enjoy watching the idiocy, much the way that other gentlemen enjoyed a good sparring match in the ring. As a confirmed and practicing bachelor, he was free to watch the spectacle surrounding a wedding as the purest of spectators: emotionally uninvolved, financially uncommitted, with no other goal than to amuse himself.
Which was why Guilford was sitting alone in the back parlor of Penny House this evening, enjoying an excellent brandy while he savored the exhausted quiet after the storm of the wedding earlier that day. He didn’t mind in the least that he had the parlor to himself. Most nights, Penny House was like any other gaming club in London, vibrating with male bravado and high spirits, tempered by the despair of those who’d lost at the tables. Guilford had never seen Penny House as quiet as this, and he rather liked it. All the other guests had left long ago, and the servants seemed to have faded away for the night, too. The hothouse flowers were wilting in their vases, the fire nothing but gray ash and embers in the grate, and even the candles in the chandeliers had mostly guttered out, leaving the large, elegant room in murky shadow.
All were signs that would send most gentlemen to make their own farewells for the night and head for the door, as well. But Guilford never had been like most gentlemen, much to his late mother’s constant disappointment, and instead of leaving, he stretched out his long legs before him and settled himself more comfortably in his armchair. Why should he leave when the best show of the night still lay ahead?
A yawning maidservant shuffled wearily into the room, and with the long-handled snuffer, began to douse the last of the lit candles in the chandelier until, finally, she noticed Guilford.
“Your grace!” she cried out, adding a little shriek for emphasis. “Oh, your grace, how you started me!”
“Forgive me, sweetheart,” he said easily, his smile in the shadows enough to make the poor girl blush and fumble with the snuffer in her hands. Of course she’d recognized him; not only was he a peer, but he’d been a charter member of the club—as much from sheer curiosity as anything—and now served on its membership board. He’d also earned favored status because he cheerfully dropped the occasional large wager at the card tables, just to be agreeable.
“It’s—it’s me what should be asking forgiveness, your grace!” she stammered. “Truly, your grace!”
“Not at all.” He raised his glass to the girl by way of apology. “Frightening you was never