A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

Once confident he was not likely to dart across the desk and throttle the baron with his bare hands, Devlin looked up and met Miss Duval’s gaze. While she, too, tried to keep her chin high and shoulders square, he could see a wealth of pain hidden behind her vibrant green eyes.

How was he to protest without making the woman feel more worthless than she already did? It was clear from her dress, her name, the way she stood behind her family like the hired help, that the baron cared nothing for Miss Duval’s welfare.

Devlin exhaled slowly. “Miss Duval is your illegitimate daughter?” he attempted to clarify.

How the hell had he missed something so vital?

How was it society knew nothing about this lady?

The baron nodded. “The details of her birth are hardly worth mentioning. I have done more for the girl than most would expect under the circumstances. She received a reasonable education. Understands what it takes to run a large household.”

Miss Duval pursed her lips.

The longer Devlin sat opposite the arrogant lord, and the longer he had to listen

to Miss Bromfield’s mocking snorts and chuckles, the more the blood in his veins burned. His heart thumped against his ribcage. His hands throbbed with the need to inflict pain, to punish, to maim.

“One might argue that you deliberately deceived me when making the wager,” Devlin said evenly, though he wanted to rant and rave and rip the place apart. “Some might consider your deception enough to warrant a call for satisfaction.”

The baron shrugged. “You cannot hold me accountable for your lack of clarity. Should the gentleman who offered the wager not stipulate exactly what is at stake? You won the hand of my daughter, and I have come to pay the debt.”

“And you expect me to accept?”

God damn. He’d spent three years dreaming of Miss Bromfield’s demise. The only reason he’d settled on marriage was to make the lady’s life a misery and discover the truth about Ambrose.

“You are under no obligation to accept payment.” Baron Bromfield sat forward. “We can call the matter satisfied, and both agree that we were hasty in our decision to gamble. The slur against my daughter is offset by her inferior bloodline and lack of connections.”

Devlin was of a mind to agree.

He’d risk everything—his home, his reputation—if it meant marrying for love. But he had no need to shackle himself to the subdued creature hovering behind her father. No doubt when he rose from the chair, the sight of his large frame would terrify the girl.

But then something unexpected happened.

Miss Duval smiled at him and inclined her head. The look in her eyes spoke of compassion and understanding, and before Devlin knew what he was about, he said, “Before I make my decision may I have a moment alone with your daughter?”

The baron appeared surprised, almost as surprised as Devlin. “Certainly.”

Devlin pushed out of the leather chair and straightened to his full height. Miss Duval inhaled sharply as her gaze scanned the breadth of his chest and then climbed higher, higher still. A flash of fear replaced her brief look of shock.

“My butler will attend you in my absence, and you will both remain here while I speak to Miss Duval.” Devlin had no intention of leaving the Bromfields alone with his private papers. He turned to Miss Duval. “I trust you are happy to accompany me out into the garden?” Outside, they were in no danger of anyone hearing their conversation.

Miss Duval nodded. “Indeed.”

“Very well.” Devlin rang for Copeland. He gave the butler strict instructions not to leave the study and then escorted Miss Duval into the drawing room and out through the terrace doors. “Would you care to sit? There’s a stone bench at the end of the path, or we may walk if you prefer.”

She craned her neck and looked up at him. “For fear of causing myself a permanent injury, I think it is best we sit.”

Her voice breezed over him, soft and sweet. Her elocution was faultless, held not a trace of artifice, unlike her sister’s. And she seemed less timid than she had in the study.

“Some find my size somewhat overpowering.” It was a polite way of saying people thought him a beast.

“I imagine they do,” she said, and he found he appreciated her honesty. “While being rather small in stature myself, some think they may ride roughshod over me. My father included.”

That had nothing to do with her height and everything to do with the character of the man determined to use her as a pawn.

Devlin led Miss Duval along the gravel path. They walked in silence. He wasn’t sure why he’d asked her to step outside, wasn’t sure how to phrase his objection without causing offence.

“So, you live with the baron?” he said as they arrived at the bench. He brushed the dead leaves onto the ground and waited for her to sit before dropping into the space next to her.