The Wager (Ruthless Regency Dukes 1)

By Carole Mortimer

THE WAGER (Ruthless Regency Dukes 1) is the first book in USA Today and Amazon International #1 Bestselling Author, Carole Mortimer’s, NEW Regency Romance series.

Six Dukes, bound together by their friendship and loyalty to The Crown. Then one of them is killed at the Battle of Waterloo, splintering the friendship of the five left behind, as they blame themselves and each other for their friend’s death. Until they learn he didn’t die in battle at all, he was murdered. The search for the killer begins!

Everyone knew that entering into a wager, with the cold and ruthless Grayson Vaughn, the Duke of Flint, was pure madness.

Losing that wager even more so.

But that is exactly what Chastity has done.

Now she must pay the ruthless duke’s price.

NEXT in this series – The MISTRESS (Ruthless Regency Dukes 2) – Coming Soon

Other books by Carole Mortimer

Ruthless Regency Dukes Series
The Wager (Ruthless Regency Dukes 1)
The Mistress (Ruthless Regency Dukes 2)
More books to come in this series

Kingston Security – Contemporary Romance Series
Kingston’s Ransom (Kingston Security 1)
Kingston’s Captive (Kingston Security 2)
More books to come in this series

Regency Men in Love – MM romance written as C A Mortimer
HIDDEN LOVER (Regency Men in Love 1)
HIDDEN DESIRE (Regency Men in Love 2)
HIDDEN PASSION (Regency Men in Love 3) Coming Soon
Dance with the Devil – Contemporary Romance series:
MATTEO (Dance with the Devil 1)
LEON (Dance with the Devil 2)
KILLIAN (Dance with the Devil 3)
JERICHO (Dance with the Devil 4)
KIERAN (Dance with the Devil 5)
Series now complete

Regency Scandal
WANTON (Regency Scandal 1)
WILD (Regency Scandal 2)
WAYWARD (Regency Scandal 3)
SINFUL (Regency Scandal 4)
Series Complete
Russian Dragon Heat
VLADIMIR (Russian Dragon Heat 1)
VAUGHN (Russian Dragon Heat 2)
VIKTOR (Russian Dragon Heat 3)

Regency Club Venus:
Bks 1-5 Series now complete

Steele Protectors contemporary romance Series:
Bks 1-6 Series now complete

Regency Lovers Series:
Bks 1-6 Series now complete

Dragon Hearts:
Bks 1-8 Series now complete

Regency Sinners Series:
Bks 1-8: Series now complete

Regency Unlaced Series:
Books 1-9: Series is now complete

Contemporary Romance Knight Security Series – spin-off to Alpha Series:
Books 0.5–6: Series is now complete

Contemporary Romance Alpha Series:
Books 1-8: Series is now complete.

Carole Mortimer has written over 270 books, in contemporary romantic suspense, Regency romance, MM Regency romance & paranormal romance. She became an indie author in 2014. In May 2017 she received a Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times. She is the Recipient of the 2015 Romance Writers of America’s Lifetime Achievement Award. Is an Entertainment Weekly Top 10 Romance Author—ever. Carole is a 2014 Romantic Times Pioneer of Romance. She was also recognized by Queen Elizabeth II in 2012, for her “outstanding service to literature”.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carole Mortimer
• Release date: Mar 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781914336027

Carole Mortimer

Carole Mortimer was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and seventy books for Harlequin Mills and Boon®. Carole has six sons, Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Lincoln House, London

An evening in early March, 1816

The fashionable black carriage barely had time to come to a standstill before Grayson Vaughn, the Duke of Flint, opened the door himself rather than waiting for his groom to do it. He then stepped briskly down onto the cobbled road. Having done so, he instantly recognized the ducal seals on the three other coaches standing outside Lincoln House as belonging to his friends, the Dukes of Bristol, Oxford, and Melborne.

He had expected to see the other gentlemen here, of course, when he’d received his own invitation to call upon Lincoln at his London home at eight o’clock this evening.

Nevertheless, it was still a jolt to have that expectation confirmed and for Grayson to know that he was about to come face-to-face with his four closest friends, together for the first time in months.

Nine months, to be exact.

Oh, all of them had made half-hearted attempts at the five of them meeting up, as they used to do several times a week, but for one reason or another, none of those attempts had ever come to fruition, and eventually, they had all stopped trying.

Which was why, when an invitation from Hunter St. John, the Duke of Lincoln, had been delivered to Flint House earlier today, Grayson had sensed its import and reacted accordingly.

Obviously, the fact Bristol, Oxford, and Melborne were already here meant they had responded more promptly than he had, the time being a little after the specified eight o’clock.

They all knew why they had been avoiding each other’s company, of course, even if none of them had verbalized that reason.

For them to meet up as a group in any way would mean acknowledging one of their number was missing. All these months later, since the Battle of Waterloo, and none of them were yet ready to talk of Plymouth’s demise.

Until now, it seemed.

Grayson was greeted by Stokes, Lincoln’s butler, and relieved of his hat and cloak before being shown into the library by that same gentleman.

Their host stood in front of his huge oak desk, the other three gentlemen seated in chairs placed in a half circle in front of him. They all turned toward the door when Grayson entered, their expressions differing greatly at his tardy arrival.

Lincoln looked at him with reproof.

Tardiness is hardly a punishable offense, Grayson mentally dismissed.

The enigmatic Melborne’s expression gave nothing away, as usual.

Arrogant bastard, Grayson acknowledged affectionately.

Then came the steely-eyed Oxford and the haughty Bristol.

Not a smile in bloody sight from either of them either, Grayson accepted ruefully.

But they were exactly the same four gentlemen, including that lack of warmth at seeing him again, whom Grayson had expected he might encounter.

Except…there was a fifth man in the room. A slightly hunched figure seated in the shadows at the back of the library. A hat was pulled down over his face, his long and unkempt hair more gray than black, his ragged clothing as unappealing as the rest of his appearance.

I am glad you were finally able to join us, Flint, Lincoln said abruptly into the silence.

Grayson shrugged off the implied criticism. It is only a few minutes after eight o’clock, and your note did not say the matter was urgent.

It did not say it was not either, the other man returned evenly.

Grayson sighed his irritation as he stepped farther into the awkward stillness of the room. It was as if none of the men had spoken a word since their own arrival and before his own, but rather been shown into the room by Stokes, taken a seat, and then silently sat waiting until they were all here.

If so, then it was a sad state of affairs for the men to have fallen into who had been friends for as long as they had.

The six of them had met at university fifteen years ago when they were all aged eighteen. They had quickly formed an invincible alliance they had eventually named the Ruthless Dukes. Until the Battle of Waterloo and Plymouth’s death had proven, beyond a doubt, that they were not invincible at all.

Grayson threw himself onto the one chair left vacant in the center of that half circle in front of Lincoln. Well, get on with it, man. He slouched down to rest the heel of one of his highly polished boots on the opposite knee.

Lincoln’s green eyes narrowed as a warning not to bait the temper that went with his auburn hair. As you may have noticed, there is a sixth person present at our meeting—

In bloody poor taste under the circumstances, if you ask me, Melborne muttered.

Lincoln’s eyes became icier still. I did not ask you.

Well, I, for one, wish you would get on with it, Bristol snapped.

Is some lucky lady of the night expecting your arrival? Melborne taunted.

No, Bristol answered flatly.

If Bristol had been feeling anything like Grayson had these past nine months, then there wouldn’t have been any women, lucky or otherwise.

As Grayson had discovered, it was difficult to get so much as a cockstand with a guilty conscience constantly looking over a man’s shoulder, let alone maintain one long enough to actually perform.

His right hand had been providing his only bed sport, and even that only rarely.

I advise you tell us why we are here, Lincoln, before some of us actually come to blows. Oxford sounded disinterested in either outcome.

Lincoln gave a weary sigh. I am sorry to see that our friendship has disintegrated into such a state as this. But perhaps I have something—not a solution as such—but a common cause that might once again unite us.

Grayson was the first to break the lengthy silence that followed Lincoln’s statement. A silence during which none of the men had looked directly at each other. As you can see, none of us think that likely. Unless that is Plymouth skulking about in disguise at the back of the room? he added scathingly.

Unfortunately not, Lincoln said sadly. But my reason for asking you all to come here this evening does have something to do with Plymouth. He glanced toward the unkempt figure in the shadows. If you would like to stand up and step over here beside me, sir? Can I ask that you also remove your hat? he requested once the stranger stood beside him.

The man was dressed in a ragged shirt that might once have been white but was now a dingy gray, and breeches that were ripped in several places where the fabric had worn thin.

If the removal of the man’s equally disreputable hat was supposed to result in some sort of denouement, then it fell tragically flat when the four gentlemen seated in the semicircle all continued to look baffled by the gesture.

Except…

Grayson believed there was something slightly familiar about the short and too-thin man, the latter appearing to have come about from a sudden and prolonged lack of sustenance if the loose skin about his face and jowls was an indication.

If the more-gray-than-black hair was trimmed, and the loose skin filled out again—

Good God, is that you, Stanley? Grayson pushed his chair back noisily as he rose to his feet in his astonishment.

It is, sir, and I thank ye for knowing it.

It had been a close thing, if Grayson were being honest: the man before them bore very little resemblance to the rotund and dapper valet they had once known.

"My God, it is Stanley. Melborne also rose to his feet, although less noisily than Grayson. I would recognize that pleasant Somerset burr anywhere."

The bedraggled man nodded. I thank ’e, sir.

We thought you dead alongside Plymouth, man. Bristol spoke with his usual lack of tact or diplomacy, all of them aware that James Stanley had been both Plymouth’s valet and manservant.

But the James Stanley they had known had been a cheery-faced and portly man aged in his mid-forties, his hair short and black rather than the now bedraggled mess that didn’t look as if it had seen clean water or a brush in months. Considering his overall dirty appearance, Grayson would not be surprised to learn Stanley’s hair and clothing were infested with lice.

We did look for you once the fighting stopped, Oxford put in. To no avail, obviously.

So I ’as been informed by ’is Grace, the Duke of Lincoln, Stanley said sadly. And may I say ’ow sorry I am for all of us as loved ’is Grace, the Duke of Plymouth.

None of them seemed to know how to answer that sentiment, so once again, silence fell. It quickly became an uncomfortable one.

One Stanley decided to break. As you know, I was at ’is Grace’s side for ten years or more, and to see ’im struck down in such a way… He gave a shake of his head. Only the thought of revenge ’as sufficed to keep me going these past nine months.

It might be a little difficult to exact revenge upon the whole of the French army, Grayson pointed out.

Whilst it was gratifying to know Stanley had survived that last bloody battle after all, Grayson failed to see why Lincoln thought it necessary to bring them all together in this way. In order to celebrate that survival, perhaps? If so, it would have been kinder to all concerned if Lincoln had just given Stanley money and assistance to set the man back upon his feet, rather than the valet’s unkempt presence acting as further emphasis of Plymouth’s absence.

They had all joined Wellington’s army for the last five years of the fighting against Napoleon, and as was the custom, and with those men’s agreement, all had taken their valets with them to act as their manservants. Melborne’s man had been shot in the arm during a battle early on. But he had quickly recovered, and other than that, they had all remained unscathed.

Until Waterloo.

No one had expected that Napoleon would escape his incarceration on Elba, let alone with the intention of returning to France and resuming his role of emperor.

But that was exactly what the Corsican had done, resulting in the recall of Wellington’s army and a return to France to prevent a coup from happening a second time.

Would the six Ruthless Dukes have volunteered to return to France if they had known one of their number would not survive that last bloody battle?

None of them had been able to answer that question since, to themselves or each other.

Got nothing to do with the French army and everything to do with the English officer as raised ’is sword and struck ’is Grace down dead, Stanley scoffed.

What the…! Grayson was as shocked by this announcement as three of the other men in the library appeared to be, Lincoln obviously already being aware of what Stanley had been about to say. The rest of them stared at the valet with varying degrees of shock. I— You— That is a strangely specific accusation to have made. Grayson finally managed to speak coherently.

Because that’s the truth of it, Stanley stated firmly. I saw it with my own eyes. Never would have believed it otherwise.

"You’re sure it was an English officer you saw strike Plymouth?" Melborne rasped.

I believe I know a red uniform from a blue one, Your Grace, the older man confirmed bitterly.

Did you recognize the officer? Oxford pressed.

Stanley shook his head. I didn’t see ’is face, only the gold braid on ’is uniform as marked him as an officer, when ’is sword arm came down and struck ’is Grace.

Grayson winced at the imagery. But what possible reason could an Englishman have for wanting to kill Plymouth?

He had to admit it was not something that had occurred to any of them before now. Why should it have done? They had all been caught up in that bloody battle, determined to rout the Corsican usurper once and for all. Many men had died during that long day of battle. Until now, they had all believed Plymouth to be amongst that number.

I’ve ’ad months to think on the subject, Your Grace, Stanley answered him. "The only person I could think of as might want the duke dead was mayhap ’is Grace’s cousin, as ’e’s the one