Prologue

London, 1816

William Dunford snorted with disgust as he watched his friends gaze longingly into each other's eyes. Lady Arabella Blydon, one of his best friends these past two years, had just gotten herself married to Lord John Blackwood, and now they were looking at each other as if they wanted to eat each other up. It was revoltingly cute.

Dunford tapped his foot and rolled his eyes, hoping they would be able to tear themselves apart. The three of them, along with Dunford's best friend, Alex, the Duke of Ashbourne, and Alex's wife, Emma, who happened to be Belle's cousin, were on their way to a ball. Their carriage had met with a mishap, and they were presently waiting for a fresh one to be brought around.

At the sound of wheels rolling along the cobbles, Dunford turned. The new carriage pulled up to a halt in front of them, but Belle and John didn't appear to notice. In fact, they almost looked as if they were ready to throw themselves into each other's arms and make love on the spot. Dunford decided he had had enough. "Yoo-hoo!" he called out in a nauseatingly sweet voice. "Young lovers!"

John and Belle finally tore their eyes off one another and turned, blinking, to Dunford, who was making his way toward them.

"If the two of you can stop making verbal love to each other, we can be on our way. In case you hadn't noticed, the fresh carriage is here."

John took a deep and ragged breath before turning to Dunford and saying, "Tact, I take it, was not emphasized in your upbringing."

Dunford smiled merrily. "Not at all. Shall we be off?"

John turned to Belle and offered her his arm. "My dear?"

Belle accepted his gesture with a smile, but as they passed Dunford, she turned and hissed, "I'm going to kill you for this."

"I'm sure you'll try."

The quintet was soon settled into the new carriage. After a few moments, however, John and Belle were gazing rapturously at each other again. John laid his hand on hers and tapped his fingers against her knuckles. Belle let out a little mewl of contentment.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Dunford exclaimed, turning to Alex and Emma. "Will you look at them? Even the two of you weren't this nauseating."

"Someday," Belle said in a low voice, her finger jabbing at him, "you're going to meet the woman of your dreams, and then I'm going to make your life miserable."

"Afraid not, my dear Arabella. The woman of my dreams is such a paragon she couldn't possibly exist."

"Oh, please," Belle snorted. "I bet that within a year you'll be tied up, leg-shackled, and loving it." She sat back with a satisfied smile. Beside her, John was shaking with mirth.

Dunford leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'll take that bet. How much are you willing to lose?"

"How much are you willing to lose?"

Emma turned to John. "You seem to have married a gambling woman."

"Had I known, you can be sure I would have weighed my actions more carefully."

Belle gave her new husband a playful jab in the ribs as she leveled a quelling stare at Dunford and asked, "Well?"

"A thousand pounds."

"Done."

"Are you crazy?" John exclaimed.

"Am I to assume that only men can gamble?"

"Nobody makes such a fool's bet, Belle," John said. "You've just made a wager with the man who controls the outcome. You can only lose."

"Don't underestimate the power of love, my dear. Although in Dunford's case, perhaps only lust will do."

"You wound me," Dunford replied, placing his hand dramatically over his heart for emphasis, "assuming I am incapable of the higher emotions."

"Aren't you?"

Dunford's lips clamped together in a thin line. Was she right? He really had no idea. Either way, in a year's time he'd be a thousand pounds richer. Easy money.

Chapter 1

A few months later Dunford was sitting in his salon, taking tea with Belle. She had just stopped by to chat; he was glad for this unexpected visit since they didn't see quite as much of each other now that she was married.

"Are you certain that John isn't going to come barging over here with a gun and call me out?" Dunford teased.

"He's too busy for that sort of nonsense," she said with a smile.

"Too busy to indulge his possessive nature? How odd."

Belle shrugged. "He trusts you, and more importantly, he trusts me."

"A veritable paragon of virtue," Dunford said dryly, telling himself he was not the least bit jealous of his friend's marital bliss. "And how—"

A knock sounded at the door. They looked up to see Whatmough, Dunford's unflappable butler, standing in the doorway. "A solicitor has arrived, sir."

Dunford raised a brow. "A solicitor, you say. I cannot fathom why."

"He is most insistent, sir."

"Show him in then." Dunford turned to Belle and gave her a what-do-you-suppose-this-could-be shrug.

She smiled mischievously. "Intriguing."

"I'll say."

Whatmough ushered the solicitor m. A graying man of medium stature, he looked very excited to see Dunford. "Mr. Dunford?"

Dunford nodded.

"I cannot tell you how glad I am to have finally located you," the solicitor said enthusiastically. He looked at Belle with a puzzled expression. "And is this Mrs. Dunford? I was led to believe that you were not married, sir. Oh, this is odd. Most odd."

"I'm not married. This is Lady Blackwood. She is a friend. And you are?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Most sorry." The solicitor took out a handkerchief and patted his brow. "I am Percival Leverett, of Cragmont, Hopkins, Topkins, and Leverett." He leaned forward, adding extra emphasis when he said his own name. "I have very important news for you. Most important indeed."