A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

“Oh, no.” She waved her hands at him. “Please do not go to any trouble on my account.”

“Then allow me to go to the trouble for my own sake.” He’d not have his wife walking about looking like the hired help. “You’ll need various dresses, gowns, nightclothes—”

“Nightclothes? But I never wear—” She stopped abruptly, and her cheeks flushed berry-red.

“Never wear what?” Devlin asked despite knowing exactly what she was about to say. “Nightclothes?” His pulse raced at the thought. “Not even in the dead of winter?”

“I hate to feel encumbered,” she said though could not look him in the eye. “And I should tell you now that I do not ride or dance, so there is no need to go to extra expense.”

An image of her assisting the maids in the scullery flashed into his mind. While Juliet lived in the shadows, her sister rode in the park during the fashionable hour, danced in silk gowns, wore diamonds at her throat.

“Then I shall teach you to do both.” He had always been one to root for the less fortunate. “There is nothing like riding to get the blood pumping.” How easy it would be for this conversation to turn salacious.

“Oh, no.” Juliet swallowed. “I fail to see how someone so small might command such a large beast.”

“Are you referring to your husband or the horse?” he said, unable to resist teasing her.

Juliet’s eyes widened. “You are not a beast. You’re just … just a rather large man.”

They stared at each other for a moment until a deep, powerful bark and the sound of crunching gravel drew a muttered curse from his lips.

“Damnation,” Devlin said, glancing over her shoulder. “Do not be afraid.”

Juliet jerked her head back. “I’m not afraid of you, Mr Drake. I find your size a tad unnerving but—”

“I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about my dog.” Devlin caught sight of the monstrous animal bounding towards them. “I suggest you turn around. Do it slowly else you might end up in a heap on the floor.”

Juliet turned to witness the hound’s approach. Her eyes grew wide, and her chin hit her chest. “Good Lord!” She stumbled back, her outstretched arms grasping for something stable to help keep her upright. “That’s not a dog. That’s a … that’s a …”

“Beast?” Devlin wrapped his arm around her shoulder and drew her close to his side. “He’s harmless. I can assure you.”

“To you perhaps. Forgive me for being somewhat apprehensive when a dog is tall enough to look me in the eye.”

“Rufus, stay.” Devlin raised his hand in command, but the black hound galloped towards them, ears flapping, eager to meet his new friend. “Rufus!”

In a panic, Juliet shuffled behind Devlin. She clutched the back of his coat as the dog charged at them. The athletic animal jumped up and almost took Devlin clean off his feet.

“There’s a boy.” Devlin stroked the dog’s ears and then tried to force the muscular creature back onto all fours. “Now sit so you may meet your new mistress. Rufus, sit.”

Rufus climbed down but was more interested in what his master was hiding behind his back. He bounded behind Devlin, leapt and bounced on his hind legs in a bid to get closer to Juliet.

“Arghh, get down, Rufus.” Juliet gasped as she released Devlin’s coat. “Rufus. Good heavens. No. Stop it. That’s enough.”

Devlin swung around to offer his assistance and had to purse his lips at the comical sight.

Rufus stood on his back legs, his front paws draped over Juliet’s shoulders as she struggled under the strain. She winced as he licked her face, and then pulled her head back to prevent him from repeating the friendly gesture.

“Rufus!” Devlin shouted in the harsh voice that made men quiver. But the dog had been without his master for five years and struggled to follow commands. “Let me help you.”

“No, wait.” Juliet wrapped her arms around the dog’s chest, stroked and tickled his back affectionately. “If he thinks I need you to fight my battles, he’ll jump at me every time he wants your attention.”

The lady might be slight of frame, but she had a backbone of steel.

He liked that.

The dog slobbered over her, left mud stains on her blue pelisse. She looked up at Rufus—whose head was twice the size of hers—stared him in the eye and said in a firm but kind voice, “Get down, you daft dog, so I may stroke you some more.”

Surprisingly, the hound obeyed.