The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(98)

Her lower lip quivered. “Kn-know what?”

“That I’ve only ever been truly alive and happy with you in my life.”

Oh, God.

“Marry me, Helena Banbury,” he urged.

“But . . .”

He cradled her face between his hands, his eyes boring into hers. “Marry me knowing that there may be struggles and sadness, and that we, with each other’s love, will find strength and joy in one another.”

Helena leaned into him, and slid her eyes closed. Take that gift he stretches out . . . Do not be afraid . . .

And after a lifetime of living in the darkness, she opened her eyes, and the shadows lifted, replaced instead with the promise of love and forever in his eyes.

With a smile, Helena brushed a tremulous palm down his cheek. “I love you.”

He ran his gaze over her face. “Is that a—?”

She leaned up and kissed him, silencing his question. Pulling back she said, “I spent so much of my life hating and fearing life outside these walls. I was so convinced that I did not need anyone but myself and my work.” Her voice broke. “But needing you does not make me weak. Having you in my life only makes me stronger.”

With a groan, Robert claimed her lips once more, and a lightness filled the darkness that had filled her for so long.

At last—she was home.





Acknowledgments Being an author, you spend countless hours plotting and writing stories. If you are fortunate, you find friends along the way who share in the joy and excitement that goes into each book.

Eva Devon, I thank you for being one of those friends whom I was blessed to find!!

And for my husband, Doug . . . you may not be a romance writer, but you’re always a sounding board . . . and I could not love you any more for it!





A sneak peek at the second Sinful Brides novel, coming soon.

Editor’s Note: This is an early excerpt and may not reflect the finished book.





Chapter 1


Dear Fezzimore,

Mrs. Dundlebottom insists we remain silent through her lessons on propriety and decorum. I tried, Fezzi. I truly did. Alas, propriety and decorum are highly overrated.

Penny, age 11



Somewhere between Ryker Black’s rise from guttersnipe to ruthless owner of the Hell and Sin Club, the world had learned—you did not cross him, interrupt him, or interfere with his dealings.

Ever.

That rule went for the lords who tossed away fortunes at his tables, and the other proprietors of the club who’d proven more brother than had their blood been shared.

That also went for Calum Dabney, the second in command of the Hell and Sin, who stood at his shoulder now.

Standing on the fringe of the Hell and Sin, Ryker surveyed the club. Dandified fops and jaded lords in their bright silk fabrics flooded every corner like an overstuffed drawer. “Tell her to make an appointment,” he ordered, in low tones. Raucous laughter and the sharp clink of coins filled the hell, nearly deafening in its volume.

“Your sister is here, at this hour, requesting a meeting, and you want me to tell her what?” the other man choked out, incredulity filling his tone.

Ryker remained silent. He’d grown up on the life lesson that to say too much and to speak too loudly found you gutted on the streets with a blade in your belly. Instead, he studied three vacant places at a hazard table, and frowned.

There was no place for anything less than excellence.

“I am not telling Helena that,” Calum said, flexing his jaw. “I may be your second, but I’m not your blood lackey, my lord.”

Ryker’s hackles went up. With those taunting words, his brother plucked at a frayed nerve. After saving the now Duke of Somerset from death in the Dials, Ryker had been duly rewarded for his efforts with a bloody title from the Prince Regent. A bloody title his brothers had found great humor in, and never lost an opportunity to have fun at his expense over. “Tell her whatever you wish, then,” he said icily, not rising to Calum’s baiting. He’d not allow himself to be distracted by what had brought the other man over to his side.

Then, Calum and the others had always coddled Helena. The only sibling to share Ryker’s blood, he’d rescued Helena from the streets when she’d been a child of six. But not before she’d been scarred by life on the streets. Years later, she’d risen from master bookkeeper of the club, to now Duchess of Somerset. Ryker peeled back his lip. For all Helena’s loathing and disdain for the nobility, for having seen their mother whore herself to a duke, she’d ultimately chosen life amongst the haute ton.

A loud shout went up, and Ryker looked to the roulette table where a cheering dandy was being slapped on the back by a fellow patron. Ryker scowled. Where the patrons reveled in their wins, there was not a sound the owner of a gaming hell detested more.

“You sent her away,” Calum pointed out, refusing to abandon their argument. “You were the one to send her away from Diggory’s clutches, and now you’d punish her for making her way in a new world?” There was a sharp accusatory edge there.

Diggory, the late owner of their rival club, The Devil’s Den, had been a thug who’d tormented them all on the streets. He’d extended that warfare years later, into their gaming hells. Having learned of Helena’s skill with the books, Diggory wouldn’t have rested until she was dead. In the end, Diggory had paid the ultimate price for his greed, and Helena had carved out a life amongst polite Society. Ryker rolled his shoulders. “She chose,” he said, the matter at an end.