The Wedding Wager
What had she agreed to? Leonora Freemantle had wagered high stakes that book learning, not birthright, produced a gentleman, but now with the roguish Sergeant Morse Archer under her tutelage, she was no longer sure of the outcome. Would it be polish, passion…or public outrage?If Leonora Freemantle couldn't spruce him up enough to pass muster with the Society swells at Bath, she'd be hastily married off. But not if he could help it, Rifleman Morse Archer vowed, for this beautiful bluestocking with her highbrow ideals and innocent charm was effortlessly teaching him the true language of love…!
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“If we must dawdle in the library, let’s make it for a worthwhile purpose.”
Caught off balance, Leonora lurched into his lap. Though part of him would have liked to throttle her, another part thrilled to the sensation of her in his arms. In a deft motion that would have done credit to a trained pickpocket, he plucked the spectacles from her nose and the combs from her hair, tossing them onto the table.
“I’ve worked hard for you this week, Miss Freemantle. I think I deserve a reward.”
He hushed her inarticulate sounds of protest with a forceful application of his lips.
She froze in his embrace, her whole body going temporarily slack. Surrendering before his onslaught. Falling open. Inviting him deeper.
Then, with a shift so sudden it robbed him of breath, Leonora pried herself from his arms and slapped him soundly.
“How dare you, Morse Archer!”
The Wedding Wager
Harlequin Historical #563
Acclaim for Deborah Hale’s recent books
The Bonny Bride
“…high adventure!”
—Romantic Times Magazine
A Gentleman of Substance
“This exceptional Regency-era romance includes all the best aspects of that genre…Deborah Hale has outdone herself…”
—Romantic Times Magazine
“…a nearly flawless plot, well-dimensioned characters, and a flame that will set your heart ablaze with every emotion possible!”
—Affaire de Coeur
My Lord Protector
“Invite yourself to this sweet, sensitive, moving and utterly wonderful tale of love from the heart.”
—Affaire de Coeur
#564 THE MARSHAL AND MRS. O’MALLEY
Julianne MacLean
#565 THE SEA SPRITE
Ruth Langan
#566 THE VIRTUOUS CYPRIAN
Nicola Cornick
Available from Harlequin Historicals and
DEBORAH HALE
My Lord Protector #452
A Gentleman of Substance #488
The Bonny Bride #503
The Elusive Bride #539
The Wedding Wager #563
For my parents, Ivan and Marion MacDonald,
who taught me so many important lessons, and for my sons, Brendan and Jamie Hale, who picked up where they left off.
Contents
Chapter One
Bramleigh Military Hospital for
Enlisted Men
1812
The whole place smelled of men.
Leonora Freemantle could almost feel her nose twitch and her muscles tense, like a hare or hind scenting predators on the wind. Looking neither left nor right, she strode down the ward behind Matron. As she passed bed after bed of convalescing soldiers, she sensed their covert glances, heard their muttered quips.
“Looks like Matron’s got a new dragon-in-training, lads.”
“D’yer reckon she’s sucking on a lemon?”
“Puts me in mind of me old drill sergeant.”
The derisive snickers dogged Leonora’s footsteps. Thrusting out her chin and stiffening her spine, she fiercely resisted the urge to adjust her spectacles and straighten her bonnet. They might take it as a sign of weakness. Never would she give them the satisfaction of thinking she cared for their opinion in the least.
Still, she could not quench the blistering blush that seared her face. How long had some of these men been without a woman? Yet they still found her laughably unappealing.
At least they were honest about their feelings. One could not say the same for most of their sex. That, Leonora had learned from bitter experience.
Matron veered into a small common room, heading straight for a clutch of men crouched in one corner. Leonora heard the muted click of dice tumbling along the hardwood floor. A shout went up, followed by a flurry of muttered curses.
“Knicked-it again, Archer!” cried one of the spectators in tones of grudging admiration. “Damned if you ain’t the luckiest elbow-shaker I’ve ever seen.”
At the mention of that name, Leonora perked up her ears. If this was the Sergeant Archer she’d come to see, it was encouraging to know he liked gambling.
The thrower scooped up his ivories with a practiced motion. “Luck’s got naught to do with it.” A note of teasing laughter warmed his words. “It’s skill, my boy, simple as that.”
“Ser’nt Archer!” Matron descended on the players like a terrier into a chicken coop. “How m’ny times have I told ye? Thar’s to be no gamblin’ in the hospital!”
The sergeant rose to his feet, unfolding the long, lean-muscled body of a Rifleman. For an instant he winced, as though the movement hurt him. Then his features blossomed into a smile of devastating charm, which he fixed upon Matron.
Leonora’s sensible, bluestocking heart began to flutter in a most unnerving fashion. Nothing in Cousin Wesley’s letters from the Peninsula had prepared her for the sight of his sergeant.
Stop it! she willed herself. Stop this foolishness, at once!
Her traitorous body mutinied. Her breath quickened.
Why should the sight of this man affect her so? Leonora asked herself as she watched him jolly Matron into a mood of exasperated tolerance. She hoped an intellectual consideration of the problem might bring her insurgent emotions back under control.
