A Novel Engagement (The Gentlemen’s Gamble #4)

Prologue

Rowan

Ifaced certain death, so agreeing to marry a woman I despised in a harmless bet could hardly be held against me.

The arm of the Atlantic Ocean was royally throttling our small packet ship, and I daresay my six comrades and I were incapable of thinking sensibly under the sound beating.

None of us cared to be leg shackled, yet a marriage wager seemed to be the only form of distraction any of us could imagine.

The boat pitched, and I clung to my berth to keep from rolling off.

Leonard was lying in the short bunk opposite me, scowling at the wall, and my leg just stopped him from going over the edge.

It was my turn to commit to the bet, and I planned to do it before we capsized.

“If I live, I swear I’ll do my duty by Miss Delafield.

” I had to yell the words to be heard over the roar of the storm.

“You’ll never marry her,” Leonard growled, his mood especially foul.

“She hates you, or did you hit your head too hard to remember?” Thomas—the man I had to thank for this asinine bet—hollered back with a laugh from the berth opposite mine.

His dark hair was matted in sweat, with only a straw-filled pillow between him and Ambrose—who we affectionately called Rosie.

Rosie, always the planner, looked ill, and it was hard to say if his shiver was from the icy December temperatures or the talk of marriage.

Standing beside the bunk, Andrew—always responsible—desperately tried to keep the lantern swinging from the deck head from going out.

There were only three beds in our cramped private cabin, but once the storm hit fever pitch, we somehow squeezed all seven of us into the crowded room.

If we were going to die, we would die together.

Such a loyal and well-crafted sentiment brought Shakespeare to mind. What would he say to this madcap plan of ours? I thought of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act 1, Scene 1, “The course of true love never did run smooth.”

“The storm has settled my mind on the subject, gentlemen. I will marry her.” I gave a half-smile, half-grimace.

Now that I had finally said the words out loud, I knew I couldn’t take them back.

I would wed Miss Delafield. It was Mother’s dearest wish, and if I lived, I would see it realized.

Times like this made a man see what really mattered in life, and I didn’t want to die before I started a family.

The ship heaved once more. My body was thrown back, deeper into my berth, my shoulder slapping the wood.

The pain only strengthened my decision. It had taken me to the brink of death to acknowledge what mattered most to me, and honoring the memory of my mother was my only grounded thought on this storm-tossed ship.

Miss Delafield and I had been promised since her infancy, and though I had fought it with all my might, it was time to humble myself.

“But can you beat the rest of us to the altar?” Tristan said, nudging his twin brother Charles as the ship righted. He was the charmer and Charles the adventurer of the group.

Charles nodded and laughed, although not even he could hide the stress from his voice.

They sat on two stools nailed to the floor against the wall, and they had a valid point.

Regardless, I had no intention of playing the loser and paying ￡100 to each of the others.

While my verbal pledge had committed me, how soon could I bring myself to marry?

We were nearing the end of our tour of the continent, hardly free from the leading strings of university life. Was there any rush for any of us?

“Time will tell,” I muttered. The ocean’s thunder drowned out my words as its furious fist slammed into us once more.

If we lived through this insanity, I would require more than just time. I’d need an abundance of courage to go with it. For I knew a different sort of fear—one with long legs and an infuriating tongue.

Miss Delafield was a tempest all on her own.