A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

So why had he given it to her?

Why give the inferior choice such an expensive, such a breathtaking piece of jewellery? Regardless of his reason, she couldn’t help but feel flattered. But his answer raised another important question. Why make a wager in the first place when one was repelled by the prize?

“Dariell taught me to listen to my intuition,” her husband continued. “It felt right to give you the ring. The fact it fits confirms it was a wise decision.”

If the ring was meant for her, then there must be some higher force at play. The knowledge that fate would guide their way was like a reassuring arm around her shoulder.

“You mentioned meeting my brother,” Mr Drake said as he stood and performed the duties of the footman: moving the china bowls and serving a selection of food from the silver platters.

“Yes, I met him many times.”

“So you bore witness to his relationship with Miss Bromfield?”

“Indeed.” Whatever it was he wanted to know, these evasive tactics would not work. “What are you asking? If they loved one another? Because I can tell you the answer is no.”

Mr Drake took his seat at the head of the table. She was rather glad as it eased the pressure on her neck.

“You seem confident in your answer.”

“Hannah couldn’t possibly love anyone as much as she loves herself.” Loving someone meant making sacrifices, meant a willingness to compromise. “Had she loved your brother she would never have slandered his character, even if he did break her heart.”

His expression darkened. “And you know of the vile things she said, about his fondness for—” He stopped abruptly, a frown marring his brow. “Did you just say Ambrose broke her heart?”

Juliet nodded. “Hannah was most upset when your brother ended their betrothal.” She remembered the night clearly. The argument started in the garden, went on for an hour or more. It was the only time Hannah had ever cried herself to sleep. “Though I am the only person who knows the truth.”

Mr Drake sat forward, intrigue playing in his eyes. “But everyone believes Miss Bromfield was the one who decided they would not suit.”

“As a gentleman, perhaps your brother did not wish to cause her any embarrassment. Perhaps my father threatened him, insisted Ambrose do something to save her reputation. I don’t know.” A rumble in her stomach drew her gaze to the sumptuous meal before her. “Do you mind if we eat now?”

“Not at all.” Mr Drake glanced at her plate. “You will need your strength if you plan to train the hound.”

While Juliet slipped a piece of cold lamb into her mouth, Mr Drake sat in an odd meditative silence, the tips of his steepled fingers touching his lips.

“Were you party to their private conversations when Ambrose came to call?” he suddenly said in the suspicious tone one might expect from a barrister attending in the Old Bailey. “Do you know why my brother decided against marrying Miss Bromfield?”

Something about his brother’s death troubled him deeply. It went beyond grief. Was it that he had been absent in his brother’s time of need? Was it the vile things people said? Did Mr Drake feel it necessary to try to salvage his brother’s ruined reputation?

For now, she would answer his questions. But she needed to conduct a more in-depth enquiry.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. I remember hearing various snippets of their conversation but you can hardly expect me to recall them three years later.” Juliet drew on the few mental pictures stored in her mind. “But theirs was a volatile relationship.”

“Volatile? How so?”

Juliet’s cheeks grew hot. She could hardly tell him that she spied on them, that at times she was a little envious of the romantic connection they shared. She could hardly tell him Hannah had slapped Ambrose’s face so hard it had left an angry red welt.

“Oh, they would kiss with a passion that would affect anyone who saw them. It is why I find it difficult to believe your brother had a distaste for women.”

“Trust me. Ambrose was not interested in men.”

“No. I am inclined to agree.”

A relieved sigh breezed from his lips. “Passion can be all-consuming.” His obsidian eyes roamed over her face. “It can rob a man of all logical thought.”

“Only a man?” The odd stirring in her breast when he slipped the ring on her finger suggested otherwise.

“I am sure women possess the same propensity for lust.” He watched her as he brought the glass of claret to his mouth, sipped the wine and licked the burgundy residue from his lips.

The air thrummed with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. She imagined him kissing her, touching her, believed she might actually come to enjoy the experience.