A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

The words left his lips, but his mind became engaged in counting the tiny freckles on Miss Duval’s nose. Her lips were rosebud pink, her eyes a penetrating jade green. There was something otherworldly about her, something bewitching.

“I believe my sister inherited her cold heart and callous manner from my father,” she said, oblivious to his musings.

“Then I must assume you inherited your pleasant manner from your mother.” He was not a man to partake in even the mildest flirtation, yet there was a smooth tone to his voice that sounded foreign to his ears.

“I like to think so, and I thank you for noticing, sir.”

Devlin considered her appealing countenance, her kind face and warm eyes. Perhaps this lady had value after all. Perhaps he, too, should attack the baron from the flank rather than plot a frontal assault. Miss Duval had an intimate knowledge of her father’s household, knew Miss Bromfield’s habits. Devlin had no hope of trapping Miss Bromfield into marriage now, but he could find other ways to ruin her, to gain the information he required.

“So let us return to the predicament that plagues us both,” Devlin said in a logical tone far removed from any notions of fancy. “Are we to wed or not?”

Miss Duval jerked her head back, somewhat surprised. “You are considering an alliance?”

“Why not?” Devlin shrugged.

She seemed confused, bewildered.

“But you cannot accept.” She shook her head numerous times. “They despise me. There is villainy afoot, and it suits their purpose to trap us both in a sham of a marriage. No. You won your bet, Mr Drake. If you know what is good for you, sir, you will not force your claim.”

Devlin took a moment to absorb her impassioned speech. “Do you speak out of concern for my welfare or your own?”

“Why yours, of course.” She blinked rapidly in surprise. “I’m simply a servant in my father’s household. Abused. Tormented daily. One cannot help but dream of escape.”

Hatred for the baron filled Devlin’s chest. He despised those who preyed on the innocent. His pulse rose more than a notch, and he resisted the urge to storm into the study and take a letter opener to the lord’s throat.

“But it would be unwise to shackle yourself to me,” Miss Duval continued. “I have nothing to offer a gentleman of your elevated status, nothing to bring to the marriage.”

The lady might not have money, but she had something far more valuable—integrity. To Devlin, that was worth a king’s ransom.

Miss Duval glanced nervously back over her shoulder as if expecting the evil baron to jump out of the shrubbery. “I have seen the wicked glint in my father’s eyes when he mentions your family name and must advise caution.”

It wasn’t the lady’s concern for his welfare that stunned him. It was that sh

e thought her father had the power and the means to intimidate him. Yes, Devlin might not look so threatening when seated on the stone bench, but could she not see the brawn and muscle that made him a man to fear? Could she not see the darkness in his eyes, the ugly bitterness radiating from his soul?

“Perhaps I do have a reason to shackle myself to you,” he said.

Now was the moment to explain that he planned to ruin her sister’s reputation. Now was the moment to tell Miss Duval that she would prove useful to him in this game of vengeance. A lady possessed of such rectitude deserved honesty.

And yet he could not bring himself to utter the words.

Miss Duval studied him. Suspicion flashed in her eyes. “And what possible reason might you have, Mr Drake?”

Devlin searched his mind for some semblance of the truth. “I think we will suit.”

She had the courage to look him in the eye. That was a good start. Once away from her family, all signs of timidity had dissipated. She spoke with heart and feeling, with a depth of passion he’d never seen. An excitement for life radiated from every fibre of her being, and he wanted to feel it flowing through his veins, too.

“I admire your strength, Miss Duval,” he continued. “I admire the fact that you seem not the least bit intimidated by what some would regard as my beastly countenance.”

“Oh, I am not intimidated, sir, though I will admit to being unnerved.”

“Your honesty is perhaps your greatest asset, Miss Duval.” Along with her vibrant red hair, sweet lips and green eyes that had somehow managed to shine a little light into his tainted soul.

“The fact that you see it as such tells me all I need to know of your character, sir.”

Devlin inclined his head. “Then shall we marry? Can you bear to leave your family behind and take your place as mistress of Blackwater?”

“Blackwater?” Her bottom lip trembled. She remained silent for a brief time. “Yes, Mr Drake. I believe I might bear it very well.”