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      CHRISTINE MERRILL lives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons and too many pets – all of whom would like her to get off the computer so they can check their e-mail. She has worked by turns in theatre costuming, where she was paid to play with period ballgowns, and as a librarian, where she spent the day surrounded by books. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.

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      REGENCY Silk & Scandal

       COLLECT ALL EIGHT BOOKS IN THIS WONDERFUL NEW SERIES

       The Lord and the Wayward Lady

      Louise Allen

       Paying the Virgin’s Price

      Christine Merrill

       The Smuggler and the Society Bride

      Julia Justiss

       Claiming the Forbidden Bride

      Gayle Wilson

       The Viscount and the Virgin

      Annie Burrows

       Unlacing the Innocent Miss

      Margaret McPhee

       The Officer and the Proper Lady

      Louise Allen

       Taken by the Wicked Rake

      Christine Merrill

      To Annie, Gayle, Julia, Louise and Margaret. It’s been amazing, working with you, and I love you all.

      Chapter One

       February, 1814. London

      The air of the Fourth Circle gaming hell was thick with the usual miasma of tobacco smoke and whisky, blended with the tang of sweat that Nathan Wardale had come to associate with failure. Another’s failure, fortunately for him. Nate stared over the cards in his hand at the nervous man on the other side of the green baize table. He was hardly more than a boy. And he was about to learn the first of manhood’s lessons.

      The manchild cleared his throat. ‘If you could see your way clear…’

      ‘I could not,’ Nate responded without emotion, shuffling the cards. ‘If your purse is empty, then you had best leave the table.’

      His opponent bristled. ‘Are you implying that my word is not good?’

      ‘I am implying nothing of the kind. Experience has taught me never to accept an IOU. If you have nothing of value upon your person, then play is done.’

      ‘It is most unfair of you to stop when I am losing.’ Though he had just come of age, the young man was also a marquis. He was used to getting his own way, especially from one so obviously common as Nate.

      Nate shrugged in response. ‘On the contrary. It is most unfair of you to expect me to treat a promise of payment as a stake in the game. While I do not doubt that you would make good, I have found that gentlemen behave rashly when their backs are to the wall. Later, they regret what they have promised in the heat of play.’

      The boy sneered as though what other men might do meant nothing to him. ‘And what do you expect of me, then? Bet my signet against the next hand?’

      ‘If you wish.’

      ‘It is entailed.’

      ‘Then you are finished playing.’

      The other’s chin jutted out in defiance. ‘I will say when I am finished.’He pulled the ring from his finger and tossed it onto the table. ‘This is easily worth all that you have in front of you. One more hand.’

      ‘Very well.’ Nate yawned and dealt the cards. And a short time later, when the play had gone the way he knew it would, he scooped the ring forward and into his purse, along with the rest of his winnings.

      ‘But, you cannot,’ the young noble stammered. ‘It is not mine.’

      ‘Then why did you bet it?’ Nate looked at him, unblinking.

      ‘I thought I could win.’

      ‘And I have proven to you that you could not. It is a good thing for both of us that you were willing to trade such a small thing. It is only a symbol of your family’s honour. Easily replaced, I am sure. I will add it to the collection of similar items that have come into my possession from people like you, who would not listen to reason.’

      The boy watched the purse vanishing into Nate’s pocket as though he were watching his future disappear. ‘But what am I to tell my father?’

      ‘That is none of my concern. If it were me, I’d tell him that he has a fool for a son.’

      The boy slammed his fist against the table so hard that Nate feared something must break, then he sprang to his feet, doing his feeble best to loom threateningly. Nate could see that his opponent was wavering on the edge of issuing a challenge, so he prepared to signal the toughs that the owner, Dante Jones, kept ready to eject angry losers. But as Nate stared up into the young man’s eyes, he watched the other’s expression change as he weighed the possibility that Nate might be as successful at duelling as he was at playing cards.

      Then the boy stood down and walked away from the table without another word.

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