Page 3 of The Billionaire's Accidental Legacy

To truly begin again.

Or rather, for the first time. A life that was theirs. Truly theirs.

It was Maren who had caught wind of tonight’s game. A secret poker game being played at an old English estate house out in the countryside.

Invitation only.

Maren’s special skill was her softness. She was lush and pretty and had wide, round eyes that always looked just a little bit wounded. Men loved a wounded bird. She would sigh and listen to them and express sympathy, and they would give her the world.

She’d been working at a gentlemen’s club when she’d heard about the game.

She’d taken the job for information, of course. It could never be said that she or Maren had ever done anhonestday’s work in their lives.

Honest work didn’t pay well enough.

Maren had the ability to get info out of anyone, using her soft voice and very large eyes. She was so good at seeming stupid. But then, was it their fault people often perceived the hallmarks of femininity as less? Maren used that, and she used it well.

She wasn’t a siren; she was the sweet, childlike one who needed to be shepherded along. And if she could be shepherded to lucrative poker tournaments...then all the better.

They weren’t pickpockets. That was base.

And far too small.

With feigned interest, and a couple of well-placed giggles, Maren had found out aboutthisgame.

And about the invitation. And with her photographic memory, had committed the layout of the invitation to memory. As well as the particulars of how the invitations were disseminated and whether or not they would be able to make a counterfeit.

In the end, Jessie had taken the information and contacted the assistant of the organizer of the event, and managed to convince her to send out an invitation to her and her sister’s aliases, on the pretense that their uncle had told them about the game. Of course, they had all of their fake uncle’s details as well. Including the serial number on the ticket.

She smoothed her silver dress, and it shimmered over her curves like liquid metal.

Maren was in gold tonight, all the better to set off her red hair—fake, of course.

They were not there to look like sisters. Jessie had naturally dark brown hair, which for the night had been dyed black.

Maren’s hair was a lighter shade of brown that skewed cinnamon nicely.

They would be playing in different halls tonight, at different tables. There was no point competing against each other.

Jessie knew just who she wanted to play today.

Ewan Kincaid. The Duke of Kilmorack.

Aduke. It was so archaic and hilarious. He had spent the past few years whoring his riches out to any old table, disgracing his title and his father’s name. He won vast sums, and was considered by many to be the best card player in high-stakes games. He was a wretched playboy. A debauched, dissolute gambler.

And absolutely the most beautiful man Jessie had ever seen.

She did her best not to think of him, but God help her, she did. Ever since she’d seen him for the first time in person.

She’d seen photos of him before, of course—he was infamous. Which was why that day on the casino floor fourteen months ago, she’d known instantly who he was.

But she hadn’t been prepared for the impact of him.

Hadn’t been able to forget.

He had been on the casino floor, not in a closed back room but in public for all to see. He liked a show. She did not. She’d been haunting the edges of that particular casino, hoping to sneak into a high-roller room, and there he was.

Head and shoulders above everyone around him, dressed in a close-cut black suit that showed off broad shoulders and a lean waist. He was devastating to her sanity. To her desire to be something other than what she had long feared she might be.

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