By Cecilia Grant

A seductive attractiveness turns the tables on a gentleman gaming for the guiltiest of pleasures during this wealthy and sensual Regency romance.
 
Lydia Slaughter knows the video games males play—both out and in of the bed room. no longer afraid to bend the foundations to fit her wishes, she fleeces Will Blackshear outright. The Waterloo hero had his personal bold schedule for the gaming tables of London’s gentlemen’s golf equipment. yet now he antes up for a bet of wits and hope with Lydia, the streetwise temptress who retains him at arm’s length.
 
A saved lady in determined straits, Lydia has a pointy brain and a head for numbers. She gambles at the sly, hoping to win adequate to assert her independence. An alliance with Will on the tables could be a profitable proposition for them either. however the association comprises dicey odds with emerging stakes, sweetened with unstated promise of fleshly delights. And any sleight of hand may possibly locate their hearts making a bet on whatever neither can find the money for to chance: love.

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Her cloak slipped her clutch and flew out sideways in imitation of his coat. He became. If he felt any shock on the sight of her, it didn’t express from this distance. He basically thought of her, as if she have been yet yet one more characteristic of the panorama he’d been learning. Then he lifted one hand and mimed tipping a hat. She’d long gone out hatless too, inspite of the clouds that threatened extra rain. They made old fashioned replicate photos, either one of them underequipped for the elements, their coats whipping out to the south. They hadn’t spoken in 11 days. She amassed her cloak around her back, and went to him. “You can scent the sea here,” he acknowledged whilst she reached him. No greeting. He pivoted back in order that they stood part through aspect, either having a look eastward to the place the sloping eco-friendly met a curtain of mist. “It’s no longer a ways. In friendly climate it makes a very good day trip. ” Did that sound frivolous, to a guy who’d crossed the Channel to struggle in a struggle? He didn’t say so. After a second he angled his head. “Are you not likely to church with the others? ” a hurry of laughter threatened. “No, Mr. Blackshear. ” She folded her palms tight around the lapped edges of her cloak. “A harlot remains to be a harlot on Sundays. ” “Other girls are going, I’m convinced. And the gents who continue them. ” He stored his eyes on what might be visible of the horizon. “That’s their affair. I take it you won’t be between them. ” He shook his head. “I’m much less healthy for it than you. ” “How do you assert so? You’re the main upright guy of this complete corporation. ” “Forgive me for listening to that as faint compliment. ” a grin stuck at his mouth. He didn’t flip to proportion it together with her, and in one other moment the wind chased it away. “A assassin continues to be a assassin on Sundays. ” With cautious precision he shaped the phrases. “I think my sin may trump yours if we got here to reckoning up our arms. ” “Murder! Do you confer with what you probably did within the warfare? ” One heard of it occasionally, squaddies who by no means got here to phrases with taking lives. The reasoning wasn’t solely with out common sense. younger Frenchmen left grieving moms and sisters too. “I do. ” His jaws moved barely enough to allow these syllables out. He persevered to stare into the space, yet she may possibly think him awaiting her reaction. They have been conversing back. via a few miracle of the Essex air, they have been discovering the way to depart each tough factor in the back of and simply speak. and she or he knew what reaction to make. “You did your responsibility. You preserved your existence and the freedom of britain, and that i doubt you took any excitement in killing. ” “No excitement in any respect. ” One shoulder flicked, as if he have been shaking off a reminiscence. “There is the adaptation among us. ” She set her ft to stand him. “Repentance. I contend you’d be extra welcome than I in any church. ” His head became and he checked out her with an expression she couldn’t learn. And by surprise there has been anything she had to say. “Will, I’m sorry. For that evening at Oldfield’s,” she further whilst his glance went quizzical. “Don’t. ” He shook his head, a good, minimum movement, and his eyes stayed quick to hers. “I’m the one that all started it.

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