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  THE BET

  To Honour A Wager Series

  Book One

  by

  REBECCA KING

  THE BET

  TO HONOUR A WAGER SERIES

  By

  Rebecca King

  © Rebecca King 2017

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TO HONOUR A WAGER SERIES

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  EPILOGUE

  THE ARRANGEMENT

  TO HONOUR A ROGUE

  OTHER BOOKS BY REBECCA KING

  TO HONOUR A WAGER SERIES

  THE BET (BOOK ONE) – Out Now

  TO HONOUR A ROGUE (BOOK TWO) - Available July 2017

  FROM THIS DAY FORWARD (BOOK THREE) - Available 2017

  UNTIL DEATH US DO PART (BOOK FOUR) - Available 2017

  THE LORD’S REGRET (BOOK FIVE) - Available 2017

  PROLOGUE

  Estelle stood on the bluff and stared out at the vast expanse of ocean before her. She watched a small sail boat bob and dip in the gentle swell while above it a gull swooped on the winds with effortless grace.

  It would be wonderful to be able to lean forward, far over this rocky precipice, and fly on nature’s bounty like that, she sighed as she watched the bird race the wind. To be without a care in the world or heart for anything was something she needed right now, if only to bring some peace to her disordered life. She would not feel so restless then she was sure of it.

  The wind teased the long tresses of her hair out in a golden ribbon flying on the wind of change behind her. She made no attempt to tame it and instead revelled in its unbound glory. Its wildness was a testament to the hidden part of her she couldn’t explain to anyone. Not at the moment, when her thoughts were as chaotically uncertain as her life. All alone on the highest bluff in the village, she felt in as much disarray as her hair. The world had just issued her a cruel twist of fate which had rendered her entire being unstable, and she needed a relief from the heavy burden of grief it brought her. She was bereft; at odds with everything about her. There was no telling what the future held in store for her and it was terrifying. As unnerving as looking down at the jagged rocks below knowing they would steal her life as swiftly as her parents lives had been taken only a few weeks ago. But she couldn’t think about that. She didn’t want to. It brought her too many doubts, fears, and uncertainties and, of course, tears.

  Right now, it was all she could do to maintain her stance upon the high clifftop. The urge to flee was strong; so strong that she teetered on the balls of her feet, but she had nowhere else to go. This was her home now. At least the small village she had moved to afforded her moments like this. On the cliffs, there was nobody else in the world. Not a care to worry her. Not a fear to haunt her unless she allowed it to. Not a damaging memory, doubt, or concern to torment her soul.

  She desperately needed the freedom from everything – if only she could breathe – just for a little while. The air was cool but soothed the burning deep within her lungs. The urge to cough was strong; a nagging reminder of what had happened to her that was locked inside her body she couldn’t escape from. She knew it was the result of the cloying smoke that had beleaguered her lungs during the fire. How long she was to endure it she didn’t know, but the fresh air helped, which she drew in gratefully on a sigh.

  Unsurprisingly, as it usually did when she began to relax, the horrifying sound of the crackling pops of the wood as it gave in to the ravenous fury of the flames that had stolen her house flooded her with memories. It was a haunting echo of the fateful night not but a few weeks ago resurrected to torment her once more. She wished she could blank it out; that she could push it to one side and refuse to allow it to darken her day, but she wasn’t that strong. The memory of standing in the darkness watching the brilliant glow of the orange and golden flames consume everything she had once held dear was an image she knew would remain with her for the rest of her life. It had changed everything. Not just her but the world around her because it had not only consumed the house she had once called home, but had taken her parents lives as well.

  Estelle had no idea why she had been spared, or what had woken her up that night; the urge to cough maybe? Had it been an instinctive realisation that something was seriously wrong? An inner sense of self-preservation she never knew she possessed? Whatever it was had driven from her bed in the dead of the night in search of the doorway. The only warnings that something was not right had been the unusual warmth beneath her feet and the strange noises all around her that she hadn’t been able to identify. Beneath that noise was a deathly silence; an absolute stillness that had been unnerving. Together with the complete inability to see anything, and the awful stench of the house being consumed in a ravaging fire that tortured her oxygen starved lungs, Estelle faced a danger she knew would kill her.

  It had only been when she had reached safety that she had realised her parents hadn’t been so lucky.

  Estelle tipped her head back and closed her eyes when she felt the sharp sting of tears. She forced the memories away and tucked them away for another day. When she had herself back under control, she opened her eyes and stared blankly at the grass beneath her feet.

  If only forgetting was just as easy, she mused with a sigh but she knew it never could be. Being able to ignore what had happened was tantamount to trying to ignore who she was. It was impossible.

  “Somehow, I have to find a way to deal with the life I have left. I just don’t know how yet,” she whispered.

  “Are you alight, my dear?”

  Estelle looked over her shoulder at her grandma. There was something almost soulless in the gaze she turned on her aged relative that made the older woman suck in a deeply worried breath and study her grand-daughter with growing concern.

  “It will be alright, you know,” Wynne assured her.

  Estelle’s lips curved in a rough parody of a smile, in spite of the urge to rage at her grandma that nothing could ever be alright again. She didn’t say a word, merely turned back to stare out across the ocean. It was painful to look at but she did anyway. The brilliant morning sunshine reflected on the wind-tipped waves making the sea sparkle like a thousand jewels. Estelle couldn’t bring herself to be parted from it, not yet. It felt like it was a part of her now. Deep inside, she knew that as long as she remained near it she would be able to find the rest of her somehow.

  “You will settle in. It just takes time,” Wynne assured her gently.

  Estelle smiled, and realised then that her grandma had heard what she had said. She didn’t want to alarm her but Estelle couldn’t bring herself to lie to her either. It didn’t seem right. Not after everything Wynne had done for her. If she hadn’t turned up a few days after the fire, Estelle had no idea where she would have ended up.

  In a poor house no doubt, she mused.

  As it was, she had initially been confined to bed in the doctor’s house, unable to deal with anything beyond moving blindly through each day, focusing on nothing more than basic function to get through each night. The kindness of the doctor had been the only beacon of light in a world of grief-stricken darkness. It had kept her going. It had given her safe refuge while she tried to assimilate what had happened, and how
she had been the one to keep her life. For her grandma to appear and insist on accompanying her to the small fishing village in Cornwall she called home had been something that at first Estelle had resisted. It had only been when she had visited the ruins of home that she had realised there was really no reason for her to remain in the area. There was nothing in Blandshalt for her, anymore. It certainly wasn’t a home now, and so she had agreed to travel the length of the country to a small village in a tiny inlet just a few miles south of Padstow.

  “Why don’t you come on inside and have some of this cake I have just made?” Wynne prompted when Estelle seemed lost in a world of her own and continued to watch the boats. There was a faraway expression on her face that made it impossible to know what she was thinking, but Wynne suspected she knew.

  Estelle sighed. The dull aching around the region of her heart eased a little as she thought about her grandma’s favourite pastime. She had never enjoyed so much freshly made bread, pies, and cake in her life, and could well understand why most of the villagers in Port Artur had taken to trading goods and wares with her grandma in exchange for her delicious cakes. With the promise of the sweet treat to brighten her day, Estelle smiled at her relation.

  “I will be along in a while,” she replied gently. “I just need to clear my lungs a little.”

  “Do they still hurt?” Wynne asked, her wrinkled face wreathed in a scowl of concern.

  The dull ache was something Estelle knew she had started to become accustomed to, but she knew if she confided as such with her grandma, Wynne would pester her until she went to see the village’s doctor. To be poked and prodded, and asked a lot of intrusive questions, none of which she could – or would – answer honestly would achieve nothing other than irritate her and cause her grandma even more worry.

  “It is nothing I cannot live with. The sea air helps a lot,” Estelle replied honestly. “I am fine, honestly. The breeze makes it easier somehow.”

  She didn’t go into any further detail. Estelle knew that her relative, as wonderful, kind, and caring as she was, wouldn’t understand. There were some things words couldn’t convey, and Estelle’s current emotional turmoil was something she couldn’t express to anybody. She was even struggling to understand it herself.

  “I will be along in a moment,” she added when Wynne continued to look doubtful and didn’t budge. Estelle forced herself to widen her smile. “Go and cut me a large piece of that wonderful cake of yours. I will make some tea when I get in. I just need a few minutes more.”

  Wynne, still frowning, opened her mouth to speak but had second thoughts about what she was going to say. Instead, she sighed and turned around. Estelle watched her grandma make her way back to the small cottage they both now called home. Although she was over seventy, Wynne descended the narrow trail with the surety of someone who had trodden the path many times since childhood and could do so with eyes closed in the worst kind of weather. Estelle wondered if she would be able to do the same if she remained in the village at her age.

  “Steadley,” she sighed as she studied the small village nestled at the base of the cliffs.

  Would it ever be home? She wasn’t sure. When she woke up in a morning she still had the feeling of being a visitor; someone who was just passing through. How long it would last for she had no idea but it didn’t help to ease her restlessness.

  You have only been in the village for three weeks, a small voice chided her. Give it time.

  She knew she should, and wanted to. There was no choice, really, because she had no place else to go. Aware of her grandma’s concern, Estelle threw a regretful look at the sea and slowly began to make her way along the high cliff path toward home – and cake.

  “Good morning.”

  The sound of the rich, masculine voice made her jump. Her eyes widened when she whirled around and saw the man behind the startlingly mesmerising voice.

  “M-morning,” she replied, a slight frown of consternation on her face at the sight of the stranger standing just a few feet away. She had not heard the huge beast of a horse he rode approach her. She looked at the russet-coloured, glossy mane shining with good health and high-breeding, and studied the clothing the man wore. Aware that she was being lapse and should mind her manners, she curtseyed and lowered her gaze. This man, whoever he was, was aristocracy. The cut of his clothing could only be described of elegantly expensive. The arrogance in his stance, with one hand clutching the reins of his horse while the other held the hat he had taken off in her presence, spoke volumes. He was a man sure of his world. He was in control of everything about him. He knew who he was, where he was going, and had no doubts about his capability of achieving whatever it was he wanted to achieve.

  Everything inside her was screaming at her to step out of his way, to keep her gaze lowered respectfully and remember her place, but she felt compelled to take a look at him again, a quick peek, just to see if her first impressions of him had been accurate.

  Drat, she mused silently when her gaze slid upward. They were not accurate. My first impressions hadn’t taken in the full extent of his man’s very masculine presence.

  He was what she could only describe as handsome. There was a no-nonsense air about him that lay in contradiction to him being just an ordinary dandy or aristocratic snob. There was something almost down-to-earth about this aristocrat that set him apart to the rich and titled she had seen before now. And she used the term ‘seen’ because they had usually been riding comfortably atop hugely expensive horses which cost more than her home, just like his beast was.

  Aware that she was being scrutinised just as intently in return, Estelle tipped her chin up and waited for him to look her in the eye. As far as she knew she had not done anything to warrant the man’s undue attention, but he was looking at her as though he had never seen her species before. It was starting to grate on her.

  What on earth could have offended him so?

  “I don’t believe we have met before,” the man murmured, his voice betraying no hint of the heavily accented Cornish the locals used.

  “I am new to the area,” she replied carefully. She didn’t go into further detail or try to break the stilted awkwardness that settled over them. Mainly because she had no idea what to say.

  What do I talk about? How much should I tell him? Should I just take my leave and go?

  Whatever she should do, Estelle was compelled to remain where she was. However, she was also aware that her grandma was expecting her to return home, and would fret even more if she didn’t turn up at the house soon.

  Myles glanced at the village she kept looking at, and tried hard to keep his face impassive and his demeanour as casual as possible. He daren’t venture any closer to this wild creature in case she fled from him. The thought that he might never find her again if she left appalled him. He couldn’t allow it. He was too intrigued with her. Politeness dictated that he get back onto his horse and go about his business. In any other circumstances he would have done, but he had been watching her for the last several minutes and was entranced. The vision she had created standing on the bluff being buffeted by the winds, her hair cascading about her in wild abandon, had been truly magnificent. She had reminded him of a siren of the sea; someone who could vanish in an instant, probably back into the sea whence she came. He had found her to be completely mesmerising. Now that he had taken a good look at her wonderful good looks, he was now unable to tear himself away. It was ridiculous. He didn’t know her. There was no reason for him to behave this way toward her, or any other woman for that matter. But, whenever he contemplated just climbing back onto his horse and turning around he just couldn’t bring himself to move.

  “You live in the village I take it?” he asked when she glanced over her shoulder at the small group of houses again.

  “Yes,” she replied politely.

  He nodded. His eyes fell to her clothing. It was clean and serviceable but most definitely not haut ton. Neither did she appear to be one of the maids at the ta
vern. Who was she then? Where had she come from? Unlike most women, her dishevelled appearance only emphasised her stunning features. He judged her to be around four and twenty, certainly no older than five and twenty. Youth was still evident on the unlined oval of her face which, when combined with the untameable quality she possessed, was captivating. She was unique. He didn’t doubt that she was a woman who would never fit in amongst the ballrooms of the ton. He suspected she would object vociferously to being confined in a routine of soirees, afternoon walks around the park, and society gatherings the likes of which most aristocrats entered into with all the joyous abandon of bulldogs gnawing on a meaty bone. Myles knew that this young woman would be happier walking around the lush landscape or standing on the clifftop, staring out across the stormy wilds of the Cornish coastline as she had.

  When he had first clapped eyes on her he had wondered if she was a figment of his imagination or trickery played on him from the sea and sunshine. He had been compelled to venture closer to get a better look and in doing so reassure himself that she truly was real. Now that he had, and she was indeed alive, he had no idea what he should do next. He baulked at the idea of just letting her go, but unless he was going to throw her over the back of his horse and take her home with him, he had no choice.

  He nodded to the village. “Is she a relation?” He nodded to the narrow path the old lady had just taken.

  Estelle sternly reminded herself it was rude to stare and forced herself to tear her gaze away from the extremely long length of leg lovingly encased in knee-high breeches, and thick riding boots evidently made of highly polished, and extremely expensive leather. Glancing at the village, she sighed when she realised she could no longer see her grandma.