A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

The baron was so ashamed of his extramarital liaison he refused to acknowledge Juliet publicly. So why arrange a marriage to a gentleman when clearly he would have to explain the nature of his relationship to the bride?

“May I ask whom I am to marry?”

“Have I not already told you?” the baron snapped. “The gentleman is more than an acceptable match for you, my dear.”

“Even if he is an odious beast.” Hannah snorted.

“A beast?” Juliet prayed Hannah was teasing. No doubt her sister had a hand in picking the suitor. “Is he old and grouchy, then?”

Not that it mattered. She would have to dissuade her father from such a ridiculous notion. Perhaps she could run away. But where would she go? If they had paid her for her domestic services, then she might have ferreted away a few shillings.

“I believe the gentleman is twenty-five or thereabouts.” The baron pushed aside his plate, steepled his fingers in front of his chest and studied her with a level of scrutiny that almost made her knees buckle. “Though I will not lie, he is rather a huge fellow, and the match will look frightfully odd.”

Huge? No doubt he had a paunch large enough to act as a tea tray.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” Hannah said with her usual air of superiority. “When he sees you he’s bound to change his mind, which is exactly what Papa hopes.”

“Not necessarily,” the baron corrected. A sly grin graced his thin mouth. “It would serve me well to have an ally in Drake’s household.”

“Mr Drake?” Juliet said with some confusion. Was this some

sort of game for their amusement? The gentleman had been dead for three years. “But Mr Drake is no longer with us.”

No, the poor fellow had been attacked by footpads on Wimbledon Common. And while many questioned why a man of such prominence would wander the wilds at night, a witness had come forward to suggest nefarious motives.

“We are not speaking about that revolting letch,” Hannah chided.

Ambrose Drake had not been revolting when Hannah accepted his marriage proposal. He had not been revolting when Juliet spied them sharing a passionate kiss in the garden.

Hannah shivered visibly. “I always knew there was something strange about Ambrose Drake, though I did not expect him to have such a fondness for gentlemen.”

“Enough, Hannah. I will not have you speak of such obscenities around the dining table.” The baron met Juliet’s gaze. “You’re marrying his younger brother, Devlin Drake.”

Devlin Drake?

Juliet clasped her hands in front of her as she fought the urge to drop to her knees and beg for clemency. They expected her to marry a man whose name bore a striking similarity to Satan’s? They expected her to marry a man who must surely hold a grievance against her half-sister. After all, Hannah had sat with her friends in the drawing room and slandered Ambrose Drake in the vilest way possible.

“And Mr Drake has agreed to the match?” Juliet couldn’t understand why any man would want to marry the illegitimate daughter with elfin features when they might offer for the legitimate beauty.

The baron shuffled uncomfortably in his chair.

“Mr Drake won you on the throw of the dice,” Hannah said in a tone brimming with excited mockery.

“He won me?” Good Lord. The shocking revelation left her aghast. “In a bet?”

“Well, Mr Drake believes he has won my hand, but Papa would never permit me to marry such a brute.” Hannah clapped her hands. “Oh, isn’t it marvellous? I can just picture the disappointment on his face.”

The hard lump in Juliet’s throat grew to boulder-size proportion. Her chest tightened until she could hardly breathe. Painful knots in her stomach almost brought tears to her eyes, eyes blinded by bright flashing lights.

It wasn’t her father’s recklessness that hurt—many gentlemen made foolish wagers. It wasn’t the thought that Mr Drake would find her inadequate—she lacked everything an aristocratic gentleman required in a wife.

No.

Knowing her family had used her as a pawn in this game cut to the bone. No one cared for her feelings. She was a commodity to discard without thought. Oh, it was foolish to imagine her father might feel some affection for her—but the dream had shone in her breast like the night star, and now a black cloud had swallowed all hope.

“And if I refuse?” Juliet asked, mentally scrambling to maintain her composure.

The baron stared down his nose. “Then I must assume you lack the loyalty I require in a daughter. Your lack of gratitude for taking you in when your mother died will force me to throw you from this house into the gutter.” His ice-cold tone sliced through the air between them.