Page 1 of Trapped with her Cruel Duke

CHAPTER 1

“Your turn, My Lord.”

Christian kept his gaze fixed on his cards, but his whole body was attuned to the man at the neighboring table. The Earl of Northbridge belched loudly as he examined the cards in his hand, squinting in the dim light of the gaming hall. The three men around him were a tableau of expectation, waiting to see what might happen next.

Christian dealthis own hand while keeping a close watch on the pattern of play in the other game.

“My Lord? Are you prepared to continue?”

The Earl had little left to wager beyond his reputation. He had long since played out his purse, yet the others at the table seemed unwilling to challenge him on it.

He took another sip of his drink, already too drunk to play as sharply as he had but seemingly unaware of the decline of his faculties. Christian waited—he had always been good at biding his time.

The Earl slapped a hand on the table, and the others looked at him expectantly. “I have something new to wager.”

Christian trumped the card in front of him, letting his own game fall to the wayside as he concentrated on what the Earl would say next.

“And what is that, My Lord?”

“My daughter.”

Christian’s blood ran cold. He kept a stoic expression as he watched the other men in the room sit up straighter at the offer. Plenty of gentlemen knew of the Earl’s daughter—she had quite the reputation already. Not every lady could boast ofhaving broken a marquess’s nose.

“You would bet your daughter, My Lord? How so?”

That was the man to the Earl’s right. An odious gentleman named Mortimer, who was thirty years too old to be considering marrying a young woman of twenty-one summers.

Christian curled his fingers around his cards and remained very still.

“She is a commodity in her own right, after all,” the Earl boasted, stretching out his legs and leaning back in his chair. The man acted as though he were speaking about the weather. “I know many of you have imagined taming her after that incident last year. Quite a prize.” He belched loudly again. “What is your offer? And do refrain from insulting me with a paltry sum.”

Christian felt sick to his stomach. The man was selling his daughter to a mere acquaintance over a hand of cards—and as a mistress, no less. No man in the room wanted her as a wife. They merely wanted to crow aboutowningsuch a lady.

Either the Earl had truly lost his senses or he no longer understood the ramifications of his actions.

No matter—his ignorance will play into my plans very well.

As Christian’s game ended, he nodded to the men at his table. Rising, he gestured to a servant to refill his glass, and a decanter of brandy was brought to him as he listened intently.

“Well?” the Earl slurred. “I have already bet her dowry. What will you bet me for the lady herself? Iron fists and all.” He chuckledas though it was a glorious joke.

Christian leaned against the sideboard, swirling his glass gently and waiting for his moment. The other men at the Earl’s table were exchanging uneasy glances.

“Ten thousand,” Mortimer piped up. He had the deck of cards in his hands and was shuffling them incessantly, his beady eyes fixed on the Earl.

Northbridge snorted. “That’s less than her dowry, man. Be serious.”

“Fifteen thousand,” called a voice from the back of the room.

It seemed that their wager had sparked some interest, no matter how repugnant the terms might be.

“I’ll take no less than twenty thousand,” the Earl declared with his usual arrogance.

There was a murmur of dissent before Mortimer flicked the cards expertly to the center of the table. “Twenty thousand then, and custodial control of her trust.”

Northbridge eyed him carefully, swaying slightly in his seat.

Christian saw the moment the man made his decision and took the opportunity to saunter over to the table just before he could agree, swirling the brandy in his glass, his eyes fixed on Northbridge. He stopped beside him, waiting for the Earl to notice him.

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