The St Nicholas Day Wager begins just before mindnight strikes the beginning of ST Nicholas' Day in 1818. It's a night that will change the lives of the Viscount Eastden and Lady Gabriella forever.
Blurb
As the clock
in White’s hallway chimes midnight on St Nicholas’ Day morning, Lord Nicholas,
Viscount Eastden makes a stupid wager. Somewhat foxed, he agrees to a wager
which states that he can marry the spinster sister of the Earl of Thornwich by
Christmas eve. If Thornwich wins the wager and Eastden fails in his quest to
marry her, he will get ten thousand pounds and vice versa. Having grown up on
neighbouring estates, Nicholas can’t figure out why a nice girl like Gabriella
failed for so many seasons on the marriage mart.
Gabriella
appreciates the viscount’s honesty when he explains the wager. Knowing the dire
straits of her family’s finances and her brother’s addiction to gambling, it
seems that marriage to Nick may be the only option. But can she overcome his
cruel words from their childhood when he taunted her about the strawberry
birthmark on her face which blights her appearance?
After such a
rocky start, can the Spirit of Christmas find its way into the lives of Nick,
Gabriella and their families or will injury and grievances from the past keep
them apart forever?
Excerpt
Nick has been injured by thugs in the street and although he is staying at his own rooms in Brook Street, a kindly friend brought his back to his parents house where his betrothed, Gabriella, is staying. She is supposed to be being chaperoned by her maid while Nick's father sees to his mother who is understandably overset that her son has been attacked. Nick has a badly sprained and bruised knee, injured ribs and a cut to the head.
“Gah!” Nick
roared as Gabriella lifted his knee gently, holding it until her maid placed a
pillow under it and then let it down slowly. The pain was so intense it made
him want to cast up his accounts there and then. But he would not show himself
up in front of her.
“I am
sorry,” she whispered, “but it does need to be elevated.” She placed cold, wet
cloths over the knee he was sure was twice the size it was supposed to be.
“Shall I
take the dirty water down to the kitchen, my lady?” asked the maid, scowling
into the large bowl of water he assumed to be somewhat bloody given the state
of his head.
“Yes please,
Molly. I shall use the bowl on the side there but please bring up some more
cold water.”
“Yes, my
lady.” Molly bobbed a curtsey as Gabriella placed a hand on either side of his
face and pushed his face into her bosom so she could inspect the wound at the
crown of his head. His body reacted instantly. The poor girl was clearly not
thinking about the situation she was currently in as she ran a damp cloth over
the head wound.
He sucked
in a breath at a sharp sting and placed his hands on her waist. It wasn’t that
the head wound itself was sore, but he was already nauseated from the pain in
his knee.
Damn, she
had luscious breasts. Every part of his being, and one part in particular,
wanted him to stick out his tongue and lick the skin just under his lips. Thank
heavens for the fischu. It seemed to taunt him and remind him of his need to be
honourable at this moment.
Meanwhile the throbbing in his knee reminded him he
could hardly tumble the girl even if he wanted to. And the new ache in his
groin told him he desperately wanted to.
“It has
nearly stopped bleeding,” she remarked as another sting made him suck in a
breath, filled with her scent of lavender. Involuntarily his hands moved
higher. His manhood was straining at the fall of his breeches and she still had
no idea what kind of predicament she was in.
He brushed
the knuckles of his thumbs along the underside of her breast and she gasped. Was
it a gasp of pleasure or one of outrage, he was not sure. He moved his thumbs
again.
“My lord,”
her voice was husky.
More desire
than protest then.
He smiled
against her décolletage and pursed his lips, dropping a kiss to the one bit of
spare skin her fischu did not cover. She stepped away, biting her lip. “My
lord, that is wholly inappropriate,” she said, the censure in her voice
somewhat lacking.
“Did you
like it though, Gabby?” he asked.
Her throat
worked as she swallowed and looked anywhere but at him. “My lord, we are not
yet married.”
“No, we are
not. But I asked if you liked it. Did you?”
Her cheeks
were crimson, almost hiding the strawberry birthmark. She nodded slowly.
“Me too.” He
grinned.
“My lord!”
she chastised.
“Oh don’t
‘my lord’ me, Gabby. You were the one who stuck my face in your bosom. I just…took
advantage of it.”
“I did and
I am sorry.”
“I am not
sorry. It took my mind off the pain in this blasted knee.”
“Well I am
afraid my bosom will no longer be acting as a distraction for you, Nicholas.”
“Oh my
darling Gabby, even from here it is a delightful distraction.”
You can buy The St Nicholas Day Wager Here
About the AuthorEm was born and brought up in the Central Belt of Scotland and still lives there. She was told as a child she had an over active imagination--as if that is a bad thing. She's traded her dreams of owning her own island, just like George in the Famous Five to hoping to meet her own Mr Darcy one day. But her imagination remains the same.
You can buy The St Nicholas Day Wager Here
About the AuthorEm was born and brought up in the Central Belt of Scotland and still lives there. She was told as a child she had an over active imagination--as if that is a bad thing. She's traded her dreams of owning her own island, just like George in the Famous Five to hoping to meet her own Mr Darcy one day. But her imagination remains the same.
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