The Captain's Wicked Wager Read Free

will neither harm you nor hurt you. I have already seen enough cruelty to last me a lifetime. Come then, I’ll have them call my carriage.”
    What had she done? What on earth had she let herself in for?

Chapter 2
    Sitting beside Ewan in the carriage as they rattled their way along the cobblestones towards the imposing, recently-built mansions of Cavendish Square, Isabella tried to quell her jangling nerves. Whatever happened now, she reminded herself, she had secured the funds she needed. But it was not this, the much longed for achievement, which caused the fluttering in her stomach.
    The carriage lurched over a hole in the road surface, throwing her against Ewan. A strong arm righted her. She could see his eyes glowing in the soft light. Nervousness turned to anticipation. Guiltily, she realised that the prospect of winning was not the only option which held allure. She had the sense to realise she had best keep such thoughts to herself.
    An impassive servant opened the door to them. Handing over his hat and sword stick, Ewan gave him his instructions in a soft undertone before leading the way to a small saloon upstairs. Long curtains of heavy green damask were drawn against the night. A fire crackled in the grate, the light from the many candles reflected in the two long mirrors hung on the walls between the windows.
    The reality of her situation struck Isabella with the force of a hammer. Whatever happened now, it was irrevocable. She was not sure she could go through with it. She knew she should not.
    Something of her panic showed in her face. “You do not have to do this,” Ewan said abruptly…“I will understand if you want to reconsider now, before it istoo late.”
    “No,” she said with a defiant tilt of her chin, throwing the last seeds of caution to the wind. “I will not renege on our terms—you need have no fear of that.”
    “I don’t,” Ewan replied, confident now that the rules of engagement were understood between them.
    His touch sent a shiver up her arm. His extraordinary amber eyes glinted down at her. Desire. Confidence. Knowledge. As his gaze flickered over her face down to the neckline of her dress, Isabella flushed. Her breathing quickened.
    “Shall we,” he said seductively. “You may have the honour.”
    Isabella picked up the dice, running her tongue over her full bottom lip, where traces of rouge lingered. “Five,” she called, throwing a six and a three. Ewan was watching her, catlike. Devoured. She would be devoured, she thought with shocking relish.
    “Six”, Ewan called with assurance before he threw. A five and one rolled obligingly onto the table.
    Expressing neither surprise nor disappointment Isabella turned towards him, her eyes almost navy blue, dark with the rush of anticipation. “You win.”
    Without a word he led her from the room, along the corridor and through a doorway at the end into another room. Candles were lit on the mantel, another branch on the large inlaid chest which stood in the corner. A bottle of champagne and two glasses sat waiting atop a small table as Ewan had requested, so confident had he been of victory. A chair and a chaise-longue sat atright angles to each other in front of the grate. Crimson hangings covered the windows. The polished floor was strewn with rugs, soft silk and rich wool. The room was dominated by a large four-poster bed, the hangings of silk damask the same colour as the curtains, the counterpane of velvet strewn with tasselled cushions.
    Isabella sat on the chaise and took the glass of champagne he poured, her hands trembling.
    “Wait here,” Ewan said, opening a door in the panelled wall which presumably led to his dressing room.
    She sipped on the ice-cold drink, feeling the bubbles sparkle and burst in her mouth. The unaccustomed alcohol relaxed her. She felt as if she was in a dream, observing herself from a distance. Disconnected. Isabella waiting in the background to see what Belle would do in the fore. She poured