A Marquess’s Bet on Love

Prologue

The bitter tang of smoke greeted Thaddeus Harrow as he entered the club. He rolled his shoulders, tense from the long day, and peered through the smoke and the low lights for Henry and Cassian.

He’d sent them ahead while he’d seen his mother and sister home after the funeral. His mother had told him it wasn’t necessary, but he’d insisted.

The funeral had been hard for all of them, and he wanted the reassurance of seeing them home safely.

The dimness made it difficult to find his close friend and his younger brother, however.

“Harrow!”

Cassian’s voice cut through the smoke and his own pensive thoughts, and he looked toward the voice to find his friend waving him toward a table. He waved back in acknowledgment and started approaching them.

Just as he got to them, a shout went up from a nearby table. Thaddeus glanced over, and Benedict Crowley caught his eye.

His brown hair was a mess, and his face was predictably flushed with drink. He was speaking to another man at the table, an older gentleman whose red face matched Crowley’s. Thaddeus squinted at the second man, trying to place him.

“I suppose it was too much to hope for a quiet evening at the club,” he said ruefully as he settled into the seat next to Henry.

“Fighting to see who can lose their most money the fastest. Fools,” Cassian said, disdain dripping from his voice.

Thaddeus threw another glance at the table. Crowley’s father had died recently as well, and Crowley had inherited his viscount title and the wealth that presumably came with it.

The Crowley that Thaddeus had known at school had always had more entitlement than sense, and from the look of the tableau in front of him, nothing had changed.

“I can’t seem to place the other man,” he said to Henry, nodding at the other man at the table. The sense of familiarity was nagging him.

“Viscount Fairchild,” Henry replied. “Their estate runs alongside ours, along the meadow.”

The pieces slotted into place, and Thaddeus had a sudden memory of a girl with auburn hair and bright blue eyes, sitting under a tree and smiling at him. She was Fairchild’s oldest, a girl several years younger than Thaddeus. He furrowed his brow, trying to recall her name.

“You’ve got nothing more to bet with,” Crowley was sneering at Fairchild, clearly enjoying himself.

“I have,” Fairchild slurred. “I’ll bet my eldest daughter’s dowry.”

A murmur rippled through the room, and Henry muttered, “Surely he’s not serious,” but Thaddeus hardly heard him. He felt a rush of anger at Fairchild’s recklessness, and underneath that, a more poignant emotion, a sense of kinship with Fairchild’s daughter.

It had been years since they’d met, but he remembered feeling that perhaps she was as trapped in her house as he was in his. His heart sped up, and suddenly he was on his feet, moving toward the table.

Crowley was perhaps not as drunk as he seemed, for now he was leaning forward with a sharp look in his eyes.

“To have your daughter’s dowry, I’d have to have your daughter. Is that what you’re betting, Fairchild? Your daughter Isolde’s hand in marriage?”

Isolde. That was it. The full memory rushed back to him, as if her name had unlocked it. He had been running away from his tutor, sick of history, the stuffiness of his room, and the man’s droning voice.

He’d snuck away after lunch and gone racing through the meadow, enjoying the sun on his skin and the fresh air. He’d nearly fallen over her, lying in the grass looking up at the sky.

He’d stammered out an apology, and she’d only laughed. He remembered how she seemed as bright as the sun.

His tutor had come out of the house at that moment, shouting his name. She’d looked him over carefully and then grabbed his shirt sleeve. “This way,” she whispered, and pulled him further through the meadow to hide behind a huge oak.

They’d dropped down behind the tree, their shoulders brushing together, bark pricking their skin through the fabric of their clothes.

They’d hidden there for a long moment, not saying anything, just grinning and enjoying getting away with a small rebellion as only children can.

The sound of a young girl calling her name had broken the spell. Isolde had stiffened, suddenly looking older and more serious. “Oh! That’ll be my sister, I must go!” she’d said and hurried away.

Even now, years later, he could still keenly feel the warmth of the day and the disappointment at watching her run away from him.

Henry’s hand on his arm brought him out of his reverie.

“Let’s find another room,” he proposed, diplomatically. He was right. This was none of their business. And yet …

“That’s right!” Fairchild practically bellowed, “I bet my daughter’s hand in marriage, with her dowry.” Crowley grinned like a cat that got the cream.

“Surely someone should stop this …” Thaddeus murmured, smoke stinging his eyes and his heart pounding even harder. He couldn’t let this stand.

“On what grounds?” Cassian asked, having come up beside him as well. “None of it’s illegal, strictly speaking.”

“But it is immoral,” Thaddeus hissed. “And shameful, to bet with a young woman’s future like this …”

“Leave it, Harrow,” Cassian said, sounding bored. “If he doesn’t lose the girl’s dowry tonight, he’ll lose it another night. All of Oxford knows he’s a recalcitrant gambler.”

“I’m inclined to agree, Thad,” Henry added, though Thaddeus could tell he felt similar misgivings. “What could you do? Short of breaking up their game and starting a fight?”

What could he do, indeed? And yet he felt a strong desire to do something. To save the poor girl from her reckless father and Crowley’s designs. Knocking the smug look off Crowley’s face would be satisfying, as well.

An idea occurred to him, and without waiting to think it through, he acted on it.

“Gentlemen,” he said, stepping closer to the table. “Perhaps I can join your game?” He couldn’t hide the disgust in his voice, but he doubted either was sober enough to notice.

Crowley shifted his attention to glare at him.

“Harrow,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “this doesn’t concern you.”

“But it could,” Thaddeus said, keeping his voice light. He nudged one of the onlookers aside and sat down at the table. Fairchild stared at him, confused, and then seemed to grasp the possibilities of the situation.

“What’ll you bet?” he asked, the money on the table apparently his only priority.

“Hmm,” Thaddeus pretended to think, although he’d already settled on a number that would be sufficiently enticing but wouldn’t ruin him were he to lose. “It seems to me that 10,000 pounds ought to be enough to buy in.”

He felt cheap as he said the words, and at the same time, wondered what had come over him. He hadn’t seen the girl in probably a decade – why should he put so much on the line for her sake?

A hush fell over the room, and he felt Henry grip his shoulder tightly. He saw twin gleams of greed in both Crowley and Fairchild’s eyes.

“Agreed,” said Fairchild promptly. Crowley nodded, perhaps a bit more hesitant, but unable to resist the chance at such a prize.

“I’ll deal you in, Harrow,” he said, reaching for the cards.

“Wonderful. Ah, and I must add one more condition,” Thaddeus said, enjoying the way his interjection obviously needled Crowley.

“Should I win, you forfeit Miss Fairchild’s hand and the dowry, but you’ll do the gentlemanly thing and return the rest of your winnings to Fairchild.

” Whispers shot around the room, and he heard Cassian snort behind him.

He’d get a lecture later about being too noble for his own good.

“Suit yourself,” Crowley replied with a shrug and a smirk. “I’m afraid I’ve been on quite the winning streak, though.” And he dealt the cards.

At first, Thaddeus was afraid Crowley was right, and he’d made a huge mistake. Luck did seem to be on Crowley’s side.

The room felt stifling, and he felt sweat start to bead at the back of his neck. But as they played on, the other men’s inebriation betrayed them, making them careless. Thaddeus was not a frequent player, but he played well, and soon a possibility of victory emerged.

He held his breath as the rounds passed, and finally, the right card came his way. Relief flooded through him as he tucked the card in between the others. His hand was now nearly unbeatable.

The other two gentlemen laid down their cards first. Fairchild revealed a miserable hand with a downtrodden look to match, knowing he had lost; Crowley, smug, spread out his cards with an unearned surety.

It was a decent hand, but Thaddeus had a better one. He finally let out his breath as he lay it down.

Shock and excitement rippled through the crowd that had gathered, followed by a smattering of applause. Crowley’s jaw dropped, and Fairchild’s face brightened through the drunken haze.

“We should play again,” Crowley sputtered, too surprised to hide his desperation. “I’ll bet you twice the amount for …”

“Ah, it’s a shame, but I must be getting home,” Thaddeus interrupted him, smiling as he smoothly stood from the table.

“Lord Fairchild, I shall call tomorrow to further arrange matters with you. Crowley, by your leave.” He nodded to both gentlemen, Fairchild seemingly struggling to fully comprehend his swiftly changing fate, and Crowley still babbling about continuing the game.

Several men gathered around to clap him on the back and shake his hand. More than one whispered congratulations laced with obvious jealousy as they mentioned his future wife – dear God, what had he done?

If the grim set of his mouth was any indication, Henry was thinking the same question. Cassian, too, looked a bit put out, which was mystifying. He might roll his eyes at Thaddeus interfering in certain affairs, but he rarely cared enough to be upset.

Of course, he did not intend to actually marry Fairchild’s daughter. That was a ridiculous idea, and he was not inclined to marry anyone.

He had only insisted on the dowry’s inclusion with the vague idea he might be able to offer that money to Isolde, for her to make a match of her own choosing. For her freedom.

All of which had seemed much simpler in the heat of the moment.

“At least this will stop Mother from nagging me about getting married,” Thaddeus murmured to Henry as they made their way out of the club. Henry’s only answer was a heavy sigh.

It was a quiet carriage ride home, and though the cold night air seeped into the carriage, part of him lingered in the warmth of that summer’s day in the meadow.

They had only been children then, but he had heard – through the years, and just now in the congratulatory messages of his peers – of how the eldest Fairchild girl had grown into a beauty.

A beauty he was now engaged to wed.