His Wicked Christmas Wager. ANNIE BURROWS

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      “The point being,” she replied, “that no matter how low you have sunk, your family still care about you. They love you, though you would deny the emotion exists. They want you to be there to celebrate the event with them.”

      He knew that! His brother had done all he could to prevent his downward slide. Even when he’d sunk about as low as a man could get, Seb had taken pains to get word to him that the door would always be open.

      And part of him yearned to go back.

      If only she weren’t going to be there, this wedding would be the perfect opportunity to start mending fences.

      “It would mean so much to them if you could just…” She gave him an exasperated look. “…clean yourself up, and pretend, just for a few days, that there is still some remnant of the gentleman left in you.”

      He glared into his empty tankard—a remarkably apt symbol of his life.

      “Oh,” she said, in such a way that he braced himself for what was coming next.

      “It has not occurred to anyone that you might not be able to afford to purchase decent clothes, let alone stand the cost of travelling all the way to Berkshire. Is that the case Crispin? If so, I can give you the money…”

      “Damn you, Caro,” he growled, slamming the empty tankard down on the rough table that separated them, his face contorted with fury. “Do you think I would touch a penny of the money that bastard Fallowfield left you?”

      “Probably not,” she conceded. “But I had to at least try.”

      “Why?”

      “You know why. You would not have gambled away your entire fortune, and be living like this if I had not…” She could not look him in the face, any more than she could end that sentence.

      And so her eyes were gazing into the fire as he ended it for her, in a low voice that throbbed with hatred. “Shown yourself to be a mercenary, scheming, deceitful jade?”

      She opened her mouth to refute the allegations he’d levelled at her before. But would he be any more willing to hear her side of the story now? She’d been a widow for the best part of two years. If he’d really wanted to know the truth, he’d had plenty of time to find her and ask her to explain. But he had not.

      Which meant he didn’t really care.

      And if he didn’t, then neither did she.

      “If I am so worthless, then there is nothing to keep you away, is there?” She smiled at him with the smile she had perfected through the years of her marriage. The one that told the world she cared nothing for its opinion—that, in fact, she rather despised it.

      “There is no reason you should not be reconciled to your family. Even if the wedding itself is so offensive to you, remind yourself that it is also Christmas. The one time of year when even someone who has sunk as low as you can be justified for attempting to make a fresh start.”

      My God, but she was patronizing. He laughed harshly. “Did you really think preaching me a sermon would have any impact upon me?”

      She leaned back and sighed.

      “Not really. But I had to try.”

      He leaned forward and glowered at her. “You thought you would only have to stroll in here and crook your little finger, and I would come panting to heel, like some kind of…lap dog, didn’t you?”

      “No…I…”

      “Listen to me, Caroline, and listen well. I am not your plaything. It will take more than a few words and a couple of coy smiles to bend me to your will these days.”

      She sat forward, too. “How much more? What would it take, Crispin? What could I do to make you consider putting aside your animosity to me, and travelling to Hatton Hall for your brother’s wedding?”

      Stay away from it. So that he wouldn’t have to pretend that the sight of her wasn’t wrenching what was left of his mangled heart out of his chest. If only he could think of some way to run her off, without letting her suspect the truth…

      And then it hit him.

      And he smiled.

      “Well, isn’t that just what I should have expected from you?”

      “What?”

      But after only a second or two, the lascivious way he was looking her up and down revealed exactly what he had thought she’d meant. He had assumed she was offering herself to him.

      And he was interested. For he had that hooded, hungry gaze men got when they were imagining what you’d look like naked.

      The hard smile that followed when they started thinking about what they would like to do once they got you into that state.

      It didn’t look as though it would be anything pleasant, at least not for her. He was probably thinking up ways he could punish her. For all that he denied believing in love any more, at one time he’d accused her of breaking his heart by marrying another man, after she’d vowed she loved him. And would only ever love him.

      No wonder he was thinking up ways he could make her pay.

      “If you really want me to come to Hatton Hall,” he said, “and play at being a functioning part of one big, happy family, then you are going to have to make it worth my while.”

      Something shrivelled up and died inside her. Something she had not even known still existed, until this moment. The belief that he was different. That he was not like other men. To be specific, like her husband.

      “Am I, indeed?” Years of practice meant her voice showed no trace of her disappointment. She might have been discussing the weather, her tone was so bland.

      “Oh, yes. If you want to change my mind, what you ought to do is offer me something that interests me.”

      “Like what?” Though she knew. And the very thought of it chilled her. What men liked best was dominating and humiliating a woman to compensate for what they considered the weakness of desiring them in the first place.

      “A wager,” he said.

      A wager? That was not what she had expected him to say at all.

      “You say I have become a notorious gambler, so what other way did you expect to impress me, but by offering a wager that would interest me? Something…a bit different. Something that will provide me with adequate compensation for giving up a large portion of my time in order to please our respective siblings. And something to compensate me for spoiling my plans for this evening, too.” His eyes flickered across the room to where Molly was draping herself over another potential customer.

      She hadn’t brought enough money. She’d thought it sensible to bring only a very little with her, so that if she was robbed, at least she would not lose much.

      “I…I have little to stake,” she confessed.

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