High Stakes Chattel

Prologue

Barrowby, England - 1890

The graveside service for Samantha Blake’s late husband stretched on endlessly and her mother-in-law’s disapproving gaze grew more frigid with each passing moment. A chill wind whipped Samantha’s long chestnut hair around her shoulders, and she realized belatedly that she should have thought to pin it up. Why could she never remember all the things a lady was supposed to know, especially today of all days?

She still couldn’t believe Henry was dead.

Though they’d only been married a few months, and it had hardly been a love match, she’d grown fond of him and would miss him. He’d blown into her life like a storm and whisked her into a new and unfamiliar world of high society. Marrying a poor woman with a farm had been a lark to him. It infuriated his family, which was undoubtedly his goal. In return, he’d offered her wealth and the ability to keep her family property and care for her ailing mother.

Unfortunately, he’d failed to leave provisions for her in his will, and since he’d not yet come into his inheritance, she’d been left with nothing. His mother, Lady Dorchester, had sent a solicitor to inform her of that fact, and had a maid pack up her belongings. She had been unceremoniously dumped out of the great house and back to the farm she came from before her husband could even be laid to rest. There had been no time to mourn or adjust to the realization that Henry was gone.

Samantha glanced at Lady Dorchester across the deep gash in the earth where Henry would be buried. Hatred filled the older woman’s reddened eyes
, and she turned to whisper something to her husband. They obviously believed Henry's reckless midnight ride had somehow been Samantha’s fault.

It had not. She hadn’t seen Henry all week. He’
d been on one of his gambling and drinking binges and had chosen to ride the stallion home through the dark woods, breaking his neck as he’d jumped the fence. The stallion must have stopped before the fence, throwing Henry over its head and onto the hard and unforgiving ground.

Samantha had found the
horse wandering freely the next morning and managed to take him with her when she went back to the farm.

Samantha’s tears flowed harder as
the only person at the gravesite who didn’t think of her as a fortune hunter reached for her hand and squeezed tightly, offering comfort. Jolene was Samantha’s oldest and dearest friend. She couldn’t imagine getting through the funeral without her.

Finally
, the Vicar wound down, and Samantha stepped forward to toss a single red rose on Henry’s shiny black casket. She half-expected Lady Dorchester to accost her in some way, but the crowd dispersed, leaving her and Jolene standing alone beside the grave.

She got the message clearly. Now that Henry was dead, she was on her own.

“Jolene, what am I going to do?" Samantha asked as she and Jolene turned away and headed toward the village. “How will I keep the farm going and care for my mother?” Fresh tears flowed down her cheeks. “I’m afraid that once I let her nurse go, I’ll wake up one day to find my mother wandering down the road. I can't let that happen or she’ll end up in Bedlam. I simply must find a way to afford Mrs. Potter’s care and keep the farm.”

“Selling the things Henry bought you should cover your expenses for a while,” Jolene told her regretfully.

“Let’s get some tea at the inn before heading home. My treat.” Jolene held her arm out
, beckoning her friend.

“That sounds nice. Thank you.” Samantha gratefully took Jolene’s arm and they walked over to the inn.

As they entered, Samantha saw a notice on the door for a Chattel tournament in Devonshire. Chattel was a fairly new game of dice and cards that had taken hold like wildfire. The notice said there would be a 500 pound purse awarded to the winner of the tournament.

Five hundred
pounds! A small fortune like that would solve her problems for quite some time. She stared longingly at the paper, wishing women were allowed to participate. Henry had played with her several times, and she’d been every bit as good as he was. Unfortunately, even if she could get around the fact that she was a woman and not allowed to play, she didn't know if she could beat the masters of the game.

“What do you know about Lord Ni
co Chattel?” she asked Jolene abruptly after they sat down at a table.

“The creator of the Chattel game?”
Jolene asked, her eyes widening with confusion.

Samantha nodded.
The kernel of an idea was beginning to form in her mind, but she definitely needed more information.

“Well,
” Jolene dropped her voice conspiratorially and gave a delighted shiver, obviously glad to share what she knew. “I’ve heard he’s rich and eccentric. He lives just over in Grantham, and I caught a glimpse of him once.” Jolene’s face lit up at the memory. “He was beautiful, with dark Mediterranean good looks, but huge and scary at the same time. Unforgettable.”

Samantha waved a dismissive hand. She could care less if the man were ugly as a troll. The last thing she wanted was to become involved with another handsome reprobate. “That’s not what I need to know. I want to seek his mentorship for the game. How
do you think I would go about that?”

Jolene gave a snort of a laugh and shook her head. “You know that’s impossible. Women aren’t allowed in the game. Even if they were, you couldn’t just go up to him and ask him to mentor you. The scandal of that would make your marriage to Henry pale in comparison. Tell me you’re not serious.”

“Did you see the notice on the door?” Samantha sat forward in her chair, excitement building within her. “Five hundred pounds is a small fortune. If I won, all my problems would be solved.”

Jolene shook her head
. “Yes, but you’re a woman. Even if you could get him to mentor you, they’d still never let you play, so this entire conversation is pointless.”

Eight months later

A lad shimmied over the high stone wall that protected Lord Nico Chattel’s property, landing lightly on his feet inside the perimeter. He glanced around, seeming nervous, then squared his shoulders and headed in the direction of the house.

Nico glared at the intruder, wishing he’d built the wall higher.
He’d put a virtual fortress of stone around his land, yet they still managed to get in. What did he have to do to keep these people out? This was hardly the first lad who’d come sneaking over the wall hoping to gain an audience. Did they really think he’d be willing to entertain their foolish pleas for mentorship once they’d trespassed upon his property?

Fifteen years ago, as a young man of
twenty, Nico had created a board game – one that took skill, strategy, deception, manipulation, and luck. When he introduced it to his friends, they became obsessed. They invited more friends, and it caught on quickly. They called it Chattel, after Nico, of course, and it became the must-attend social event of the week in every village between here and London. From farm crofters to factory workers, up to the nobility and even some royalty, everyone wanted to learn to play Chattel. Regular tournaments, which offered a hefty purse for the ultimate winner, were held in many towns.

He’d invented the game for fun
, but now it was a curse to him. He didn’t have time for the dozens of young men asking to be mentored in the subtleties of winning the game. He’d even had several letters from a girl!

With a long-suffering sig
h, Nico raised his shotgun to his shoulder, longingly staring at the lad through the sights. He was sorely tempted to make good on the rumors that he simply shot everyone who trespassed upon his lands. Perhaps if he truly made an example of one of these little bastards, the rest would leave him alone.

A rusty laugh escaped him as he lowered the gun. He’d come out to hunt rabbits, not desperate young lads who thought they could change their fortunes by winning a stupid game. He’d simply go speak to the boy, give him a few encouraging words,
and then send him on his way.

“You there,” he called, when he was only a few yards behind the lad. “Don’t you think I put that wall up for a reason?”

The boy stopped, glanced over his shoulder, then took off toward the house at a dead run.

Frustrated, Nico gave chase. The boy was fleet of foot but
no match for Nico’s strong, solid build. Nico gained ground, finally tackling him less than a hundred yards from his home. As they rolled across the ground, the intruder’s hat came off, revealing luxurious auburn hair in long braids. Nico found himself on top, pinning the…girl to her back on the ground. He grabbed a braid and looked at the intruder for the first time, finding himself staring into a face with big, beautiful green eyes that flashed with indignation; smooth, creamy skin that was flushed with exertion; and soft, plump lips that could only belong to a woman.

“A girl?” he asked with an incredulous laugh. “Now I have
girls
stalking me?”

He straddled her waist,
still holding her flailing hands to the ground near her head as he let his gaze sweep over her. Absolutely lovely. Her body was lithe beneath his, her lips so lush he couldn’t believe he’d been fooled, even at a distance.