Christine Merrill - Paying the Virgin's Price

London, 1814

A season of secrets, scandal and seduction in high society!

A darkly dangerous stranger is out for revenge, delivering a silken rope as his calling card. Through him, a long-forgotten past is stirred to life. The notorious events of 1794 which saw one man murdered and another hanged for the crime are brought into question. Was the culprit brought to justice or is there still a treacherous murderer at large?

As the murky waters of the past are disturbed, so is the Ton ! Milliners and servants find love with rakish lords and proper ladies fall for rebellious outcasts, until finally the true murderer and spy is revealed.

REGENCY Silk & Scandal

From glittering ballrooms to a smuggler’s cove in Cornwall, from the wilds of Scotland to a Romany camp and from the highest society to the lowest…

Don’t miss all eight books in this thrilling new series!

by

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHRISTINE MERRILLlives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons and too many pets – all of whom would like her to get off the computer so they can check their e-mail. She has worked by turns in theatre costuming, where she was paid to play with period ballgowns, and as a librarian, where she spent the day surrounded by books. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.

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REGENCY Silk & Scandal

COLLECT ALL EIGHT BOOKS IN THIS WONDERFUL NEW SERIES

The Lord and the Wayward Lady

Louise Allen

Paying the Virgin’s Price

Christine Merrill

The Smuggler and the Society Bride

Julia Justiss

Claiming the Forbidden Bride

Gayle Wilson

The Viscount and the Virgin

Annie Burrows

Unlacing the Innocent Miss

Margaret McPhee

The Officer and the Proper Lady

Louise Allen

Taken by the Wicked Rake

Christine Merrill

To Annie, Gayle, Julia, Louise and Margaret. It’s been amazing, working with you, and I love you all.

The air of the Fourth Circle gaming hell was thick with the usual miasma of tobacco smoke and whisky, blended with the tang of sweat that Nathan Wardale had come to associate with failure. Another’s failure, fortunately for him. Nate stared over the cards in his hand at the nervous man on the other side of the green baize table. He was hardly more than a boy. And he was about to learn the first of manhood’s lessons.

The manchild cleared his throat. ‘If you could see your way clear…’

‘I could not,’ Nate responded without emotion, shuffling the cards. ‘If your purse is empty, then you had best leave the table.’

His opponent bristled. ‘Are you implying that my word is not good?’

‘I am implying nothing of the kind. Experience has taught me never to accept an IOU. If you have nothing of value upon your person, then play is done.’

‘It is most unfair of you to stop when I am losing.’ Though he had just come of age, the young man was also a marquis. He was used to getting his own way, especially from one so obviously common as Nate.

Nate shrugged in response. ‘On the contrary. It is most unfair of you to expect me to treat a promise of payment as a stake in the game. While I do not doubt that you would make good, I have found that gentlemen behave rashly when their backs are to the wall. Later, they regret what they have promised in the heat of play.’

The boy sneered as though what other men might do meant nothing to him. ‘And what do you expect of me, then? Bet my signet against the next hand?’

‘If you wish.’

‘It is entailed.’

‘Then you are finished playing.’

The other’s chin jutted out in defiance. ‘I will say when I am finished.’He pulled the ring from his finger and tossed it onto the table. ‘This is easily worth all that you have in front of you. One more hand.’

‘Very well.’ Nate yawned and dealt the cards. And a short time later, when the play had gone the way he knew it would, he scooped the ring forward and into his purse, along with the rest of his winnings.

‘But, you cannot,’ the young noble stammered. ‘It is not mine.’

‘Then why did you bet it?’ Nate looked at him, unblinking.

‘I thought I could win.’

‘And I have proven to you that you could not. It is a good thing for both of us that you were willing to trade such a small thing. It is only a symbol of your family’s honour. Easily replaced, I am sure. I will add it to the collection of similar items that have come into my possession from people like you, who would not listen to reason.’

The boy watched the purse vanishing into Nate’s pocket as though he were watching his future disappear. ‘But what am I to tell my father?’

‘That is none of my concern. If it were me, I’d tell him that he has a fool for a son.’

The boy slammed his fist against the table so hard that Nate feared something must break, then he sprang to his feet, doing his feeble best to loom threateningly. Nate could see that his opponent was wavering on the edge of issuing a challenge, so he prepared to signal the toughs that the owner, Dante Jones, kept ready to eject angry losers. But as Nate stared up into the young man’s eyes, he watched the other’s expression change as he weighed the possibility that Nate might be as successful at duelling as he was at playing cards.

Then the boy stood down and walked away from the table without another word.

Nate let out his breath slowly, so as not to call attention to it. He could feel the weight of the signet in his pocket, but it would not do to examine the thing while here. It would appear that he was gloating over the fallen. And though the infamous gambler Nate Dale had many faults, he did not gloat.

He was quite sure that he had taken a similar ring from the boy’s father, not two years ago. The current ring was not a true part of the entail, but a duplicate, made to hide the loss of the original. The real ring was in a box on Nate’s bed chamber dresser. It was just one small part of a collection of grisly trophies to remind him what men might do when the gambling fever was upon them and they were convinced that their luck was about to turn.

He wondered what that feeling was like, for he had never had it. It had been years since there had been a doubt in his mind on the subject of table luck . There had been bad hands, of course. And even bad days. But things always came right again before he felt the sting of loss. He had but to remain calm and wait for the tide to turn. To all and sundry, he was known as the luckiest man in England.

So it was with cards or dice. And as for the rest of his life? He had learned to content himself with the fact that it was unlikely to get any worse.