“There is one more thing I must tell you,” she said, trying to catch her breath.

“You may tell me anything, Syrine,” he said. “Anything at all. What is it?”

It was difficult to speak, but she must trust her heart. And trust Tarek.

“I love you.” She whispered the words at first, they felt so fragile. So new.

“Beloved.” He kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, then her lips.

“I love you, Tarek.” Her voice was stronger this time.

“And I love you.” There was no doubting the sincerity in his eyes.

Sara glanced around the gazebo, to see that Aunt Eugenie had gone outside and was admiring the blaze of sun on the white and orange petals of the lilies. The pond sparkled like diamonds, and the creak of a frog added a commonplace note to the scene.

She could not quite believe that an afternoon which had begun so wretchedly had ended in this quiet, soul-shaking perfection.

“Shall we go find your mother?” Tarek asked. “I’m sure she’s anxious to know how our afternoon went.”

“Yes.” Sara laced her fingers through his and smiled at him as they stepped out into the light. Together.

The End

More from Anthea Lawson

Find all Anthea’s books at anthealawson.com

Discover more passionate Victorian romantic adventure from Anthea Lawson in the Passport to Romance series.

FORTUNE’S FLOWER

Passport to Romance Book 1

Miss Lily Strathmore has made a desperate bargain. One last adventure abroad with her botanist uncle and his family, and then she will do as her parents bid and wed the proper (and boring) viscount her mother has selected as Lily’s ideal husband.

James Huntington is on a mission. Retrieve his grandfather’s lost journals from the wilds of Tunisia, and win the estate and fortune he so desperately needs. This quest will be the making of him—or his ruin.

Thrown together on a botanical expedition, James and Lily’s attraction is immediate, and impossible. Despite every reason to keep their distance, the two find themselves inexorably drawn together as they race to reach a hidden valley before their enemies can bring all their dreams crashing down.

"A lush, exotic tale of romance and adventure." - Sally MacKenzie, USA Today bestselling author

~NOVELS~

Sonata for a Scoundrel

Mistress of Melody

Fortune’s Flower

To Heal a Heart

~COLLECTIONS~

Kisses & Rogues

Regency Sweets

Music of the Heart boxed set

~SHORTER WORKS~

To Wed the Earl

A Countess for Christmas

A Duke for Midwinter

Five Wicked Kisses

Maid for Scandal

The Piano Tutor


About the Author

~USA Today bestselling author and two-time RITA nominee~

Anthea Lawson's books have received starred reviews in Library Journal, and in Booklist, who named her "one of the new stars of historical romance." She lives with her husband and daughter in the Pacific Northwest, where the rainy days and excellent coffee fuel her writing. In addition to writing historical romance, she plays the Irish fiddle and pens award-winning YA Urban Fantasy as Anthea Sharp.

Visit her at  http://anthealawson.com and join her mailing list for all the news about upcoming releases and reader perks!


LORD OF CHANCE

by Erica Ridley


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ISBN: 1943794030

ISBN-13: 978- 1943794034

Copyright © 2016 Erica Ridley

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

Chapter 1

Scotland, 1817

Mr. Anthony Fairfax might not be the lord of a manor, but he was king of the gaming hells. Or had been. He should resume his throne at any moment. His luck was already turning back around, right there in a humble inn on the Scottish border. Anthony slid another look toward a certain young woman seated alone in the shadows.

Making her acquaintance was almost as tempting as winning the next hand of Speculation.

To feign disinterest in the twitches and tells of the other three men at the card table, Anthony lifted his untouched glass of brandy to his lips and leaned back in his chair. Careful to keep a watchful eye on the other gamblers, he glanced about the inn while he waited his turn.

This particular inn was a bit dear, given the unpredictable condition of Anthony’s purse, but he’d chosen it for that very reason. Rich guests meant higher profits at the gaming tables.

Bored gentlemen—after all, who stopped at a small village on the border between Scotland and England save those on a long, dusty journey?—meant virtually every soul present had wandered into the guest salon after supper to be entertained for a moment or two.

For Anthony, the most interesting of all was the intriguing woman in the corner. She drank nothing. Spoke to no one. Seemed uninterested in the bustle of life about her. Yet she was not.

Light from a nearby candle reflected in her eyes every time she looked his way.

Anthony was certain she was the catalyst for his phenomenal luck this evening. As a lifelong gambler, he was accustomed to both long stretches of near-invincibility as well as dry spells of dashed fortune. From the moment he’d laid eyes on this mysterious woman, every trump that turned up matched the cards in his hands.

She was his talisman. His saving grace.

Her moss-colored gown was simple muslin, but the blood-red rubies about her neck and dangling from her ears indicated wealth. A nondescript bonnet bathed her face in shadow. Were it not for a rogue ringlet slipping out the back, he would not have known her hair was spun gold.

“Fairfax?” prompted Leviston. “You in?”

“Absolutely.” Anthony placed a dizzying sum of money on the corner of the table. Thirty pounds was more than he’d seen in months—and far more than he could afford to lose. But with Lady Fortune gazing in his direction, he knew he could not fail.

Smugly, Mr. Bost tossed his final card onto the table, face-up. Mr. Leviston and Mr. Whitfield groaned as they displayed their cards.

As Anthony had expected, their cards were no match for his. Not tonight. He turned over the last of his cards without fanfare.

Bost gasped in dismay. “You are positively beggaring me tonight, Fairfax!”

Anthony gazed back impassively as he tucked his winnings into his purse. He knew a thing or two about being beggared. It was what had chased him from London to Scotland—but only temporarily. He would recover his losses.

Beau Brummell might be able to hide in France the rest of his life, but Anthony had friends and family in England. Friends and family who would welcome him back with open arms once his vowels were paid.

Tonight was the night. He could feel it. Fate had been on his side from the moment Leviston had suggested a game of Speculation. Anthony could not possibly have resisted.

He had always preferred games of chance over strategy. His strength was not in counting cards or doing figures, but in being incredibly lucky. Any gambler experienced periods of soaring highs and devastating lows but, in Anthony’s case, fortune favored him so often that his winnings at the gaming tables had been his family’s sole income for years.

True, he had recently suffered agonizing losses but, as any gambler knew, a windfall was always a mere turn of the cards away.

All he needed was one big win.

Whitfield shook his head. “Demme, I should never have believed the rumors of your luck running out. You’re unsinkable! Think you’ll ever retire from the gaming tables and leave a few pence for us mortals?”

Anthony twisted his face into a comical expression of horror. “Never!”

Chuckling, Whitfield gathered the remaining cards and began to shuffle.

Anthony sent a quick smile toward his shadowy Lady Fortune. She was his charm, his muse. He had won that last round simply because she’d gazed upon him.

“I see our would-be adversary has caught your eye,” said Whitfield.

“She wagers?” Anthony asked in surprise.

“She’d like to,” Leviston answered dryly, “but Bost wouldn’t let her join us.”

Bost drained his brandy and waved his empty glass at a barmaid. “What do women know about cards? Her husband should pay more attention to the purse strings.”

Whitfield’s eyes glittered. “And if she hasn’t got one, she should just say the word and I’ll be happy to step in for the night.”

Anthony’s lips flattened in distaste. “Leave her alone.”

“Why?” Bost crossed his arms. “You have claims on the lady?”

“You never know, do you?” Anthony countered icily. It was a nonsense rejoinder, but at least his tone served to silence the blackguards.

Good. He needed to keep winning. A brawl over Lady Fortune’s honor would have ruined everything.

“Your wine, my lords.” The harried barmaid refilled the other gentlemen’s glasses, then turned toward Anthony. “Anything for you, sir?”