A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

“Why walk alone when you can walk with me?”

Juliet’s stomach performed another feat of acrobatics. “But that is not the done thing, sir.”

“Perhaps not, but neither of us cares much for propriety.”

Hannah muttered something derogatory, but Mr Drake’s penetrating gaze never faltered.

He reached for Juliet’s hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. “From this moment forward, you need never walk alone again. From this moment forward, anyone who attempts to hurt you must answer to me.”

Oh, every word that left his mouth eased the crippling loneliness within. She clutched the hard muscle above his elbow, looked up at him and smiled. “Then lead the way, sir.”

The private chapel comprised of six box pews, a carved oak pulpit and a small altar situated at the foot of a less than majestic stained-glass window.

The reverend, dressed in his white surplice, raised a ginger brow as they approached.

“You may begin the service, Reverend Fisher,” Mr Drake said as they came to a halt before the altar. “I wish this matter concluded with haste.”

While Mr Drake’s tone held a hint of frustration, nerves left Juliet desiring a swift conclusion, too.

After a moment’s pause, the Reverend Fisher cleared his throat and bestowed a serene smile on the two undeserving people seated in the pew. “Dearly beloved …”

Hannah sniggered. “Oh, please.”

Even the Lord was not worthy of her respect. She gave another snort of contempt when the reverend sought confirmation that there were no impediments to the marriage.

The Reverend Fisher ignored the rude interruptions and continued to speak in the loud and lofty tone often used to address a packed congregation. He addressed the groom, spoke of comfort and love and honour.

Mr Drake’s black eyes turned a deep chocolate brown when he said, “I will.” Not once did he stutter or flounder.

And then the reverend turned to Juliet and asked if she would obey this man, this tall, dark stranger. Would she serve him, love him, give herself unto him? Juliet’s pulse raced. How could she lie before God? How could she promise to care for a man she hardly knew?

Silence ensued.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

Heat rose to her cheeks.

The baron glared at her and mouthed a demand for her cooperation.

Mr Drake bent his head. “Trust in fate,” he whispered before straightening again.

Fate?

Fate had hardly been kind to her thus far.

This day would prove to be either the best or worst of her life. He was asking her to jump into a fast-flowing river without knowing its depth, without knowledge of the dangerous undercurrents lurking beneath.

Juliet glanced at the only two people in the world she could call family. Compared to living with Hannah and the baron, the prospect of sharing her life with Devlin Drake did not seem so daunting.

“I will,” she blurted before logic intervened.

Mr Drake’s broad shoulders relaxed.

“And who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” The reverend’s serene gaze drifted to the baron.

The muscle in her father’s cheek twitched. Standing abruptly, he marched over to them and snatched Juliet’s hand with such force it would undoubtedly leave a bruise. “I do,” he snapped.

Mr Drake pinned her father with a hard stare. “That’s the last time you’ll manhandle her,” he whispered through gritted teeth as he captured Juliet’s hand and cocooned it between his large, hot palms.