A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

During the hours spent in conversation, she felt his equal in every regard. She forgot about the difference in size, forgot about her inferior bloodline, forgot that they had somehow felt obliged to marry.

He had been watching her today as she played on the lawn with Rufus. Her awareness of him grew more acute by the day. Her need to bring comfort, to ease the tiredness that lingered in his eyes grew with each new day, too.

Rufus’ whine brought Juliet’s thoughts back to the present.

“What is it now? Have I not given you enough attention?” Juliet tickled the spot beneath the hound’s ear, and his eyes flickered closed in response. “If only your master reacted to me so easily.”

If only she had the skill to tame the mysterious man who proved elusive after dark.

Rufus stood and nudged her leg with his head whenever her attention waned.

Two earth-trembling barks and she knew the dog needed to spend his insatiable energy.

“Come on. We could run from Land’s End to John o’ Groats, and still, you’d want more.” Juliet wrapped her cloak more firmly around her shoulders and broke into a jog while Rufus galloped on ahead. “I shall certainly sleep well tonight.” At least then she wouldn’t feel quite so inadequate when her husband failed to come to her bed.

As they crossed the field that ran parallel to the boundary wall, Juliet wondered if Mr Drake regretted his decision to marry. Perhaps the thought of siring an heir with a woman who society deemed inferior was part of the problem.

But he had been tempted to knock on her door.

Only last night, she heard his heavy footsteps pace the landing before coming to a sudden stop outside her bedchamber. For one long, drawn-out minute Juliet had waited for the turn of the doorknob. But her wait was in vain.

Clearly he was determined to probe her mind about his brother’s relationship with Hannah, but the conversation always left him in a sullen mood, and she had started to avoid mentioning her devious sister.

The clip of horse’s hooves on the lane beyond the low stone wall captured her attention. Juliet stopped to catch her breath. At first, she wondered if it might be Lord Valentine returning to London. Mr Drake’s friend was an incredibly handsome man, although not to her tastes. He was more angel than devil, and she had developed a sudden fondness for the dark, brooding type.

The horse trotted past, though the rider did not raise his hat, did not even glance in her direction. Miserable blighter. And she’d heard country folk were far friendlier than those in town. Then again, with Mr Drake’s commanding countenance there was no telling who he’d upset.

Pushing the thought from her mind, Juliet found a stick, called Rufus to her side and then threw it as far as she could manage. The hound bounded off to retrieve it, but rather than return with his prize, he charged into the distance.

“Rufus! Come back here.” Juliet braced her hands on her hips as the animal bolted towards a small cluster of trees. “Damn that daft dog. Rufus!”

She was so preoccupied calling Rufus, that she failed to hear the pad of footsteps behind her until it was too late. Juliet swung around, shocked to come face-to-face with the gentleman who had passed by on the horse.

“Heavens, you scared me out of my wits.” The tremble in her voice supported her claim, as did her racing heart. Anyone capable of trespass was someone to be feared.

“I was told you’d be expecting me.” The man looked not the slightest bit familiar. His accent bore the coarse tones of someone who hailed south of the Thames. Beneath his greatcoat, his clothes looked to be of reasonable quality, though not the expert tailoring that might mark him a gentleman. “Why else would you be alone and so far from the house?”

Juliet’s throat grew tight. “Who are you, and what do you want?” She managed to keep her voice even while silently wishing Rufus was at her side.

“I come at Lord Bromfield’s behest. On account that I work for Mr Middle, his man of business.”

“Oh, I see.” Juliet felt a little more at ease knowing who had sent him, although when her father said he expected to see results in three days, she didn’t think he meant it. “I imagine he wishes to learn of my progress concerning the matter of spying.”

“I’ve been sent to retrieve the letters. To take back any you’ve found.”

“Then you have had a wasted journey, Mr …”

?

?Biggs.”

While Mr Biggs was nowhere near as tall as Devlin Drake, he looked down on her with the same air of condescension as her father.

“I have searched the house numerous times,” she lied, “and have found nothing of interest.”

For a second, Mr Biggs looked appeased, but then the menacing glint in his eyes suggested otherwise. He gritted his teeth and scowled, grabbed her by the elbow so tightly a stabbing pain shot up her arm.

“You’ll find those damn letters no matter what the cost.” Mr Biggs shook her roughly. Letters? So she was looking for more than one. “And I’m here to make sure you do.”