A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

Valentine, being a highly intelligent man, one proficient in hearing the unspoken, gave a curious hum. “And yet I cannot help but sense fear plays a part in your problem.”

Damnation.

As one of Devlin’s closest friends, Valentine knew his hopes and dreams, knew of his minor insecurities, his weaknesses and doubts.

“I’ll not bed a woman who shows the slightest sign of fear,” Devlin reiterated. “You know that.” He hauled himself from the chair over to the row of decanters on the side table. “Brandy?”

“Need you ask? But you are attempting to steer me off topic.” Valentine raised a brow. “I am not speaking about your wife’s fear. I am speaking about yours. What could a man with your strength and power possibly be scared of, Drake?”

After filling two crystal tumblers, Devlin returned to thrust one at Valentine. His friend accepted the drink, but his mocking smile only made Devlin restless. He couldn’t sit still in the chair for it offered a perfect view of his delectable wife playing games with Rufus. Juliet looked so happy, so carefree, not as nervous as she was in his company.

“Well?” Valentine continued. “Are you going to ignore my comment?”

Valentine possessed a persuasive charm one could not ignore.

“What is it you want me to say? That I’m scared of hurting her? You know damn well that’s the case. You can see how small and fragile she is.”

“Good God, you speak as if your wife were a child.” For a man who displayed cool indifference for most things, Valentine surprised him by raising his voice. “She’s a grown woman. Anyone can see that.”

Jealousy stabbed Devlin’s heart. Valentine only had to look at a woman and she was panting. “You’ve had the gall to peruse my wife’s assets?”

“What virile man does not admire the female form?” Valentine was taunting hi

m, seeking a reaction, out to prove a point.

“Then you would have had to look hard to notice anything in that unflattering dress.”

A wicked glint flashed in Valentine’s bright blue eyes. “I’m a master at most things, Drake, you know that. I have an immense ability to use my imagination, though I do believe that in paying your wife a compliment I have struck a nerve.”

“Perhaps you should worry about your own affairs. Did you not come home to convince Lady Durrant that you’re a man capable of commitment?”

A look of uncertainty passed across Valentine’s face, but he soon replaced his mask of indifference. “I gave her a reason to doubt me once before, and she married someone else. Now the lady is widowed, I have no intention of making the same mistake.”

“And you believe her lack of loyalty provides a solid foundation to forge a relationship?”

Sometimes, when it came to women, intelligent men failed to see the flaw in their logic. Yes, Valentine needed a strong woman who refused to pander to his whims. Someone his equal in intelligence and mental agility. The last thing he needed was a woman who manipulated men and played the coquette.

Valentine needed someone unlike any other woman he had ever met—a bluestocking with the seductive wiles of a courtesan. If such a lady did indeed exist.

Just thinking about unique women drew Devlin’s gaze back to the window. His heart sank when he found no sign of Juliet or Rufus on the lawn. The urge to hunt them down, to join them in mindless frivolity took hold. He wanted to smile, to laugh, to love, to feel something other than bitterness.

“Five years ago, I left Lady Durrant no choice but to seek a husband elsewhere.” Valentine swallowed the remains of his brandy and snorted. “But it seems I am not alone in seeking the lady’s affection. A Mr Kendall is eager to pursue her hand, and the lady is taking full advantage of the situation.” Valentine shook his head, the indolent wave that followed suggesting an end to that particular conversation. “It is of no consequence. I came to see how you were faring with the vicious harlot. I came to offer my support, only to find you married a kind-hearted beauty instead.”

Devlin contemplated the bizarre turn of events. “Perhaps we all thought we knew what we wanted when we decided to come home. But perhaps we’re not being true to ourselves and fate has intervened.”

“It is not like you to offer such a philosophical appraisal,” Valentine said with a chuckle. He proffered his empty glass to prompt Devlin for a refill.

“No. I find I am not myself of late.” Devlin’s gaze flitted back to the window. It was not like him to lose focus when he’d set his mind on a task. It was not like him to pine after a woman, either.

Chapter Eight

“Don’t you ever grow tired?” Juliet patted Rufus’ head as they stopped to rest on the stone bridge. Rufus sat obediently at her side, his long tongue lolling as he panted for breath, and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at her accomplishment.

And yet part of her wished she would fail in her mission to tame the hound. The desire to learn what Devlin Drake would ask for should he win the wager burned in her chest.

Was it wrong to hope he might dare ask to spend the night in her bed?

For three nights she had sat with him at dinner. They’d spoken about the theatre, about his lengthy travels abroad, and she had barely been able to contain her excitement when he described the exotic food, the strange languages, the stifling heat. Whenever it was her turn to speak, his obsidian eyes devoured every inch of her face and body until she was so hot she almost believed she might be thousands of miles away in India.