Julia Justiss - Wicked Wager

A MOST UNCONVENTIONAL MATCH

‘Justiss captures the true essence of the Regency period in this sweet, gentle romance. The characters come to life with all the proper mannerisms and dialogue as they waltz around each other in a “most unconventional” courtship.’

— RT Book Reviews

ROGUE’S LADY

‘With characters you care about, clever banter, a roguish hero and a captivating heroine, Justiss has written a charming and sensual love story.’

— RT Book Reviews

THE UNTAMED HEIRESS

‘Justiss rivals Georgette Heyer…by creating a riveting young woman of character and good humour…[The] complexity and depth to this historical romance, and unexpected plot twists and layers also increase the reader’s enjoyment.’

— Booklist

THE COURTESAN

‘With its intelligent, compelling characters, this is a very well-written, emotional and intensely charged read.’

— RT Book Reviews

MY LADY’S HONOUR

‘Julia Justiss has a knack for conveying emotional intensity and longing.’

— All About Romance

MY LADY’S TRUST

‘With this exceptional Regency-era romance, Justiss adds another fine feather to her writing cap.’

— Publishers Weekly

Spurring his horse to a gallop, he reached Jenna before her groom even noticed his mistress had fallen.

Quickly he secured his horse and limped as fast as he could to where she lay, still ominously unmoving.

Jenna moved at last. Eyes still shut, she murmured and nestled against him, as if snuggling into his warmth. Or as if, slowly rousing from sleep, she were seeking her lover.

His body stirred at the thought and, despite his worry, he had to grin. Often as he’d dreamed of having Jenna Montague in his arms again, he’d never envisioned it happening quite like this…

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JULIA JUSTISSwrote her first plot ideas for a Nancy Drew novel in the back of her third-grade notebook, and has been writing ever since. After such journalistic adventures as publishing poetry and editing an American Embassy newsletter she returned to her first love: writing fiction. Her Regency historical novels have been winners or finalists in the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart™, RT Book Reviews magazine’s Best First Historical, Golden Quill, National Readers’ Choice and Daphne Du Maurier contests. She lives with her husband, three children and two dogs in rural east Texas, where she also teaches high school French. For current news and contests, please visit her website at www.juliajustiss.com

Novels by the same author:

THE WEDDING GAMBLE

THE PROPER WIFE

MY LADY’S TRUST

MY LADY’S PLEASURE

MY LADY’S HONOUR

A SCANDALOUS PROPOSAL

SEDUCTIVE STRANGER

THE COURTESAN

THE THREE GIFTS (part of A Regency Lords & Ladies Christmas anthology)

THE UNTAMED HEIRESS

ROGUE’S LADY

CHRISTMAS WEDDING WISH (part of Regency Candlelit Christmas anthology)

THE SMUGGLER AND THE SOCIETY BRIDE (part of Silk & Scandal mini-series)

A MOST UNCONVENTIONAL MATCH

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AS LORD ANTHONY NELTHORPE, formerly captain in the 1st Royal Dragoons, stepped across the threshold of his London townhouse one foggy fall morning, a giggling, mostly naked woman burst onto the upper landing and fled down the stairs. A balding, half-naked man followed, eyes focused owlishly on his hand clutching the rail as he maneuvered the steps and then lurched off after her.

“So, Carstairs,” Tony remarked to the retainer in threadbare livery who had opened the front portal for him, “I see my father is engaged in his usual pursuits.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man replied, his age-spotted hand trembling as he struggled to close the heavy door. Tony turned to assist him, remembering only at the last minute that this wasn’t the army anymore, where a man in battle helped another man, regardless of rank. Carstairs would be as embarrassed as he was shocked, should his master’s son and heir lower himself to assist the butler.

Curling the fingers he’d extended toward the servant into a fist, Tony turned away. “I expect the earl will be too…preoccupied to receive me this morning. At a more opportune moment, would you tell him I’ve arrived—and have some beef and ale sent to the library now, if you please?”

The butler bowed. “At once. On behalf of the staff, may I say ‘welcome home,’ Master Tony.”

“Thank you, Carstairs.” At his nod, the old man shuffled down the hall in the direction of the servants’ stairs.

Mouth setting in a thin line, Tony watched him retreat, noting the hall carpet was as worn as the butler’s uniform and dirty besides. Shifting his weight painfully, he limped toward the library, noticing as he went the layer of dust that veiled the few pieces of furniture and the ornate arches, which in his youth had sheltered exquisite Chinese vases set on French marquetry tables. Long gone now, of course.

Evidently Tony’s esteemed father, the Earl of Hunsdon, still preferred to squander whatever income could be wrung from his heavily mortgaged estates on liquor and the company of lovelies such as the one who’d recently tripped down the stairs, rather than keep his house in good order.

Welcome home, indeed.

Gritting his teeth, he made himself continue the rest of the way down the hall, sweat popping out on his brow at the effort. The surgeons who’d put the pieces of his shattered knee back together had predicted he’d never walk again. He still wasn’t very good at it, he admitted as he reached the library door and clung to the handle, panting. Thank God riding was easier.

A high-pitched squeal interrupted him, followed by a rapid pad of footsteps. The bawd ran into view, pausing with a shocked “oh, la!” when she spied him.

With matted hair dyed an improbable red that matched the smeared paint upon her lips and nipples, powder caked in the wrinkles of her face and beneath her sagging breasts, she was not an enticing sight, even had he been in better shape to appreciate the appeal of a mostly naked female. But then, with his ugly limp and post-hospital pallor, he was none too appealing himself.

Still, he’d seen his father unclothed, and Tony was twenty-five years younger besides. Not wishing to give the tart an opportunity to change targets, he ducked into the library, slammed the door and limped toward the desk.

With a groan, he collapsed in the chair. Well, Tony, despite the carnage of war, you made it home, he thought. No longer a captain, but once again Viscount Nelthorpe—whoever the hell that is.

Certainly not the self-absorbed, vain aristocrat so confident of his position in the world who’d left this house one drink-hazed night three years ago. Having lost more gaming than he could borrow to repay, he’d staggered home to ask his father for a loan. When that gentleman consigned him to the devil, with the threat of debtor’s prison hanging over him, he’d had little choice but to leave his debts of honor unpaid and flee England, taking with him only the clothes on his back, his horses, and a commission in Wellington’s Fighting Fifth Infantry—won in a card game.