Review
"Mary Spencer is a wonder!"
--Romantic Times
"Ms. Spencer is one of the top historical romance writers today."
--Affaire de Coeur
Don't miss Mary Spencer's acclaimed romances Dark Wager and
Lady's Wager, available from Bantam Dell
--Romantic Times
"Ms. Spencer is one of the top historical romance writers today."
--Affaire de Coeur
Don't miss Mary Spencer's acclaimed romances Dark Wager and
Lady's Wager, available from Bantam Dell
Book Description
He'd lost the woman he loved in a careless gamble...now he would stop at nothing to win her back.
You've been eagerly awaiting Lad Walker's story, and this irrepressible rogue will not disappoint. In Mary Spencer's sumptuous, unforgettable new novel, Lad is more charming, intriguing, and irresistible than ever....
A price paid in passion....
It has been three long years since Diana cast her beloved husband from her life, banishing him from Castle Kerlain. In a night of drunken foolishness, Lad Walker gambled away the land that was his birthright--and the only home she knew.
It has been three long years...and Lad has spent many a cold winter night alone, thinking of ways to collect money so he can earn back his estate and his wife's forgiveness. Now that he's made a fortune by wagering on the love matches among the ton, he's returned home determined to make Diana his wife once more. But first he must wear down her resistance and convince her that during his time away, he'd dreamed only of her...desired only her. Now he vowed to claim his part of the bargain...in her bed. And he would settle for nothing less than all Diana had to give.
You've been eagerly awaiting Lad Walker's story, and this irrepressible rogue will not disappoint. In Mary Spencer's sumptuous, unforgettable new novel, Lad is more charming, intriguing, and irresistible than ever....
A price paid in passion....
It has been three long years since Diana cast her beloved husband from her life, banishing him from Castle Kerlain. In a night of drunken foolishness, Lad Walker gambled away the land that was his birthright--and the only home she knew.
It has been three long years...and Lad has spent many a cold winter night alone, thinking of ways to collect money so he can earn back his estate and his wife's forgiveness. Now that he's made a fortune by wagering on the love matches among the ton, he's returned home determined to make Diana his wife once more. But first he must wear down her resistance and convince her that during his time away, he'd dreamed only of her...desired only her. Now he vowed to claim his part of the bargain...in her bed. And he would settle for nothing less than all Diana had to give.
From the Back Cover
"Mary Spencer is a wonder!"
--Romantic Times
"Ms. Spencer is one of the top historical romance writers today."
--Affaire de Coeur
Don't miss Mary Spencer's acclaimed romances Dark Wager and
Lady's Wager, available from Bantam Dell
--Romantic Times
"Ms. Spencer is one of the top historical romance writers today."
--Affaire de Coeur
Don't miss Mary Spencer's acclaimed romances Dark Wager and
Lady's Wager, available from Bantam Dell
About the Author
Mary Spencer, who also writes as Susan Spencer Paul, is the author of eleven historical romance novels, three of which have been honored with K.I.S.S. awards from Romantic Times. Devil's Wager is the third novel in the Wager Trilogy, which includes Dark Wager and Lady's Wager. Mary lives in southern California with her husband, Paul, a registered nurse at the world-famous City of Hope Cancer Medical Center, and their three beautiful daughters, Carolyn, Kelly, and Katharine.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Prologue: England, June 1818
How easily a dream could turn into a nightmare, even a dream that already held no claim to pleasure.
Diana.
She heard him saying her name, and chided herself for a fool. Three years he'd been gone, and still he haunted her. But she was done with being foolish, just as she was at last done with him.
Was she sleeping? With an effort, Diana moved, feeling the deep ache in the muscles of her shoulders and lower back. She must have fallen asleep in the chair, she realized dimly, groaning with stuporous dismay. She'd been so determined to remain awake, to spend each precious moment during her last night at Kerlain with full awareness, and to see the sun dawning on the day that would bring an end of all that she'd known and loved, of her very freedom.
"Diana."
That voice. That tone. She felt a bleary aggravation that he should sound so irate. He didn't have the right to be angry over anything after all he'd done.
With a great effort, she opened her eyes and blinked into the darkness of the room. She felt drugged, exhausted, so heavy and weary that she couldn't possibly make her limbs move. Parting her lips, she drew in a long, easing breath, exhaled it slowly, and let her eyelids drift shut once more.
"Sleeping beauty, is it?" He sounded amused now. She heard footsteps nearing the chair and struggled to open her eyes again. Cold fingertips brushed lightly against her cheek. "Then I suppose I must be your Prince Charming." His voice was nearer, as if he were bending closer. "Shall I wake you with a kiss?" he asked more softly.
"No," she murmured, turning her face away from his touch. It couldn't be him. Not now, when it was too late. For three years she had waited for his return, prayed for it. Hours she'd waited and looked for him. Days. Months. Gazing out the highest window at Kerlain just to see his approach, convincing herself that he'd come riding into view any moment if she only kept looking.
"No?" he repeated, still amused.
She groaned again, lifting a numb, leadened hand to rub at her eyes. Drawing in another breath, she forcibly pushed the last dregs of slumber aside and made herself come fully awake. Several moments of silence passed as she collected her wandering thoughts and made her vision focus. She wasn't dreaming. She'd heard Lad's voice.
The room was dark, but not so dark that she couldn't see the tall figure standing beside her. Diana straightened in the chair, lifting her head to gaze up at him and was instantly filled with alarm. The voice had somehow tricked her into thinking that the earl had returned, but everything else about the man was completely unfamiliar. His stance, his manner of dress--everything. This wasn't Lad. Did she even know who he was? she wondered, straining to make out his features in the darkness. But no, she realized with a shiver of fear. He was a stranger.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice unsteady. Ske lifted her hand again to push the hair back from her face. "How do you dare to come here, to my chamber?"
"I dare very easily," he replied calmly. "Stay where you are." He moved away from the chair.
Diana leapt out of it, every nerve fully alive and tingling now. One good scream would have servants running from every quarter, but she'd rather he leave without creating a scene that would overset one and all, especially tonight of all nights. She pulled her robe more tightly about herself and demanded, "How did you manage to get into the castle?" Neither Swithin nor any of the footman would have allowed a stranger to cross the threshold at this time of night. "What have you come here for?"
He was turned away from her, striking a flint on a tinderbox to light a candle. The candle caught flame, and the light glowed about his broad shoulders and shapely head, revealing hair the color of gold--a gold such as Diana had seen only once before in her life, on only one person. Her eyes widened at the sight, and she murmured, in disbelief, "Lad?"
Holding the candle aloft, he turned to face her.
"Do you know me now, Diana?"
She stared at him for a long, still moment, then slowly began to shake her head.
"No," she whispered.
His green eyes were solemn, searching her face.
"I've changed a great deal since last we met, Lady Kerlain," he said, his tone cultured and polite, just as if he'd been born and raised in England, rather than his native Tennessee, "but I believe this will be welcome to you. I have fully claimed that name and title that you so insistently pressed upon me. You do not deny that you know who I am?"
She had used up so many tears over him that she'd thought she had none left, but she was wrong. Grief, which had been her constant companion for the past three years, was as nothing compared to what she felt now. Tears pricked at her eyes, but Diana made no effort to check them. Even his voice had changed. That voice, which had once poured over her as slowly and sweetly as warm honey, now sounded as clipped and perfect and cold as that of any other English aristocrat. For that alone, she might have wept, but so much else of him had been lost as well.
"Yes," she murmured. "I know who you are."
She took him in from the top of his perfectly groomed head, down the length of his elegantly fashionable clothes, to the toes of his brilliantly polished Hessians, which gleamed even in the candlelight. He was every inch a nobleman, in his stance, in his demeanor, in the slightly bored expression on his utterly handsome face. She had read a great deal about the Earl of Kerlain in the papers that came from London and knew that he was considered to be one of that city's most accomplished and admired gentlemen. Women threw themselves at him, men strove to copy his manner of dress, and the ton vied mightily to claim his presence at their parties and balls.
He was looking at her in much the same way, assessing her with narrowed eyes.
"You appear to be well, my lady. My absence has clearly been of no account. I imagine Viscount Carden is the one to thank." He looked pointedly at the cases that were packed and waiting near the door. "You were very certain that I wouldn't return, it seems. Or, perhaps, you were merely eager to join your lover at his estate. But, no," he said before she could remonstrate, "that isn't likely, is it, Diana? You'd never leave Kerlain of your own free will, would you? Kerlain is all to you, and no man could ever compare. Not even your dear viscount."
"There was hardly any word," she told him, still staring at him with amazement. "Only two or three notes in three years, and nothing more. I thought that you had . . . that you wouldn't return."
"Did you?" he repeated. "Indeed, there was little comes prudence--from you, though I hoped in vain. But the matter is too far beyond us to be remedied now. I have met the requirements you set for me, Diana, to make amends for my many sins. Now I have returned--to claim what is rightfully mine."
He stepped forward, slipping one elegantly manicured hand inside the coat he wore, pulling out from somewhere within a folded document.
"Three years I spent, gaining this for you," he said softly, moving forward to lay the document upon a nearby table. "It's a bank draft, made out to Viscount Carden, dear wife, in the amount you commanded of me. Down to the last farthing."
Diana remembered the sum she'd named on that night of anger and pain three years past. It had been an impossible amount of money, more than a man might dream of making in a lifetime, much less three years. She had known he'd never be able to fulfill her requirements, and yet there had been no other way. He was the one who had thrown their lives into the fire; she had done what was necessary to snatch them out again.
"You've had many wealthy lovers," she murmured, surprised to hear the words coming from her lips. He would know that she'd kept track of him, that she'd read the London papers to discover where he was, what he was doing, and who he was doing it with. The highly popular Earl of Kerlain had spent the past three years living a life of ease and pleasure, while his people had struggled to get by. "This is the manner in which you meet the demand laid upon you? This is what you bring to me--an insult for your own sins?" Anger flowed through Diana, steeling her. Three years he had dallied and played, while she had died a thousand times over for the lack of him. And now he came to her with this, an affront so vile she could hardly credit it.
"I bring what you demanded of me," he said in an even tone. "Three years of my life I gave for it. Now you will keep your part of our bargain, Diana."
"My part? . . ." She wasn't sure she understood him. He couldn't mean . . . not now, when he had returned to her so completely a stranger.
He nodded and reached up to untie the cravat about his neck.
"Three years is a long time for a man to go without his wife, and I don't intend to go another night--another hour, I vow without mine."
She looked at him as if he were crazed.
"I'll not share a bed with you this night!" she declared angrily. "Not after all you've done . . . all your faithlessness! "
He uttered a low, dark laugh and shrugged out of his coat, tossing it aside.
"My faithlessness, or what you may perceive as such, has certainly been far less dire than your own, Lady Kerlain. I wouldn't allow your sensibilities to worry overmuch on what's in the past, for I assure you I'll not let myself think of your dalliance with Viscount Carden--which is now at an end." With slow, measured steps, he nea...
How easily a dream could turn into a nightmare, even a dream that already held no claim to pleasure.
Diana.
She heard him saying her name, and chided herself for a fool. Three years he'd been gone, and still he haunted her. But she was done with being foolish, just as she was at last done with him.
Was she sleeping? With an effort, Diana moved, feeling the deep ache in the muscles of her shoulders and lower back. She must have fallen asleep in the chair, she realized dimly, groaning with stuporous dismay. She'd been so determined to remain awake, to spend each precious moment during her last night at Kerlain with full awareness, and to see the sun dawning on the day that would bring an end of all that she'd known and loved, of her very freedom.
"Diana."
That voice. That tone. She felt a bleary aggravation that he should sound so irate. He didn't have the right to be angry over anything after all he'd done.
With a great effort, she opened her eyes and blinked into the darkness of the room. She felt drugged, exhausted, so heavy and weary that she couldn't possibly make her limbs move. Parting her lips, she drew in a long, easing breath, exhaled it slowly, and let her eyelids drift shut once more.
"Sleeping beauty, is it?" He sounded amused now. She heard footsteps nearing the chair and struggled to open her eyes again. Cold fingertips brushed lightly against her cheek. "Then I suppose I must be your Prince Charming." His voice was nearer, as if he were bending closer. "Shall I wake you with a kiss?" he asked more softly.
"No," she murmured, turning her face away from his touch. It couldn't be him. Not now, when it was too late. For three years she had waited for his return, prayed for it. Hours she'd waited and looked for him. Days. Months. Gazing out the highest window at Kerlain just to see his approach, convincing herself that he'd come riding into view any moment if she only kept looking.
"No?" he repeated, still amused.
She groaned again, lifting a numb, leadened hand to rub at her eyes. Drawing in another breath, she forcibly pushed the last dregs of slumber aside and made herself come fully awake. Several moments of silence passed as she collected her wandering thoughts and made her vision focus. She wasn't dreaming. She'd heard Lad's voice.
The room was dark, but not so dark that she couldn't see the tall figure standing beside her. Diana straightened in the chair, lifting her head to gaze up at him and was instantly filled with alarm. The voice had somehow tricked her into thinking that the earl had returned, but everything else about the man was completely unfamiliar. His stance, his manner of dress--everything. This wasn't Lad. Did she even know who he was? she wondered, straining to make out his features in the darkness. But no, she realized with a shiver of fear. He was a stranger.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice unsteady. Ske lifted her hand again to push the hair back from her face. "How do you dare to come here, to my chamber?"
"I dare very easily," he replied calmly. "Stay where you are." He moved away from the chair.
Diana leapt out of it, every nerve fully alive and tingling now. One good scream would have servants running from every quarter, but she'd rather he leave without creating a scene that would overset one and all, especially tonight of all nights. She pulled her robe more tightly about herself and demanded, "How did you manage to get into the castle?" Neither Swithin nor any of the footman would have allowed a stranger to cross the threshold at this time of night. "What have you come here for?"
He was turned away from her, striking a flint on a tinderbox to light a candle. The candle caught flame, and the light glowed about his broad shoulders and shapely head, revealing hair the color of gold--a gold such as Diana had seen only once before in her life, on only one person. Her eyes widened at the sight, and she murmured, in disbelief, "Lad?"
Holding the candle aloft, he turned to face her.
"Do you know me now, Diana?"
She stared at him for a long, still moment, then slowly began to shake her head.
"No," she whispered.
His green eyes were solemn, searching her face.
"I've changed a great deal since last we met, Lady Kerlain," he said, his tone cultured and polite, just as if he'd been born and raised in England, rather than his native Tennessee, "but I believe this will be welcome to you. I have fully claimed that name and title that you so insistently pressed upon me. You do not deny that you know who I am?"
She had used up so many tears over him that she'd thought she had none left, but she was wrong. Grief, which had been her constant companion for the past three years, was as nothing compared to what she felt now. Tears pricked at her eyes, but Diana made no effort to check them. Even his voice had changed. That voice, which had once poured over her as slowly and sweetly as warm honey, now sounded as clipped and perfect and cold as that of any other English aristocrat. For that alone, she might have wept, but so much else of him had been lost as well.
"Yes," she murmured. "I know who you are."
She took him in from the top of his perfectly groomed head, down the length of his elegantly fashionable clothes, to the toes of his brilliantly polished Hessians, which gleamed even in the candlelight. He was every inch a nobleman, in his stance, in his demeanor, in the slightly bored expression on his utterly handsome face. She had read a great deal about the Earl of Kerlain in the papers that came from London and knew that he was considered to be one of that city's most accomplished and admired gentlemen. Women threw themselves at him, men strove to copy his manner of dress, and the ton vied mightily to claim his presence at their parties and balls.
He was looking at her in much the same way, assessing her with narrowed eyes.
"You appear to be well, my lady. My absence has clearly been of no account. I imagine Viscount Carden is the one to thank." He looked pointedly at the cases that were packed and waiting near the door. "You were very certain that I wouldn't return, it seems. Or, perhaps, you were merely eager to join your lover at his estate. But, no," he said before she could remonstrate, "that isn't likely, is it, Diana? You'd never leave Kerlain of your own free will, would you? Kerlain is all to you, and no man could ever compare. Not even your dear viscount."
"There was hardly any word," she told him, still staring at him with amazement. "Only two or three notes in three years, and nothing more. I thought that you had . . . that you wouldn't return."
"Did you?" he repeated. "Indeed, there was little comes prudence--from you, though I hoped in vain. But the matter is too far beyond us to be remedied now. I have met the requirements you set for me, Diana, to make amends for my many sins. Now I have returned--to claim what is rightfully mine."
He stepped forward, slipping one elegantly manicured hand inside the coat he wore, pulling out from somewhere within a folded document.
"Three years I spent, gaining this for you," he said softly, moving forward to lay the document upon a nearby table. "It's a bank draft, made out to Viscount Carden, dear wife, in the amount you commanded of me. Down to the last farthing."
Diana remembered the sum she'd named on that night of anger and pain three years past. It had been an impossible amount of money, more than a man might dream of making in a lifetime, much less three years. She had known he'd never be able to fulfill her requirements, and yet there had been no other way. He was the one who had thrown their lives into the fire; she had done what was necessary to snatch them out again.
"You've had many wealthy lovers," she murmured, surprised to hear the words coming from her lips. He would know that she'd kept track of him, that she'd read the London papers to discover where he was, what he was doing, and who he was doing it with. The highly popular Earl of Kerlain had spent the past three years living a life of ease and pleasure, while his people had struggled to get by. "This is the manner in which you meet the demand laid upon you? This is what you bring to me--an insult for your own sins?" Anger flowed through Diana, steeling her. Three years he had dallied and played, while she had died a thousand times over for the lack of him. And now he came to her with this, an affront so vile she could hardly credit it.
"I bring what you demanded of me," he said in an even tone. "Three years of my life I gave for it. Now you will keep your part of our bargain, Diana."
"My part? . . ." She wasn't sure she understood him. He couldn't mean . . . not now, when he had returned to her so completely a stranger.
He nodded and reached up to untie the cravat about his neck.
"Three years is a long time for a man to go without his wife, and I don't intend to go another night--another hour, I vow without mine."
She looked at him as if he were crazed.
"I'll not share a bed with you this night!" she declared angrily. "Not after all you've done . . . all your faithlessness! "
He uttered a low, dark laugh and shrugged out of his coat, tossing it aside.
"My faithlessness, or what you may perceive as such, has certainly been far less dire than your own, Lady Kerlain. I wouldn't allow your sensibilities to worry overmuch on what's in the past, for I assure you I'll not let myself think of your dalliance with Viscount Carden--which is now at an end." With slow, measured steps, he nea...
