A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

She turned her head and kissed his palm, kissed his large, ugly hand, a hand made for fighting, for maiming. “I don’t want to traipse along dark corridors to find you.”

Devlin studied her face as a warm sensation flooded his chest. She was like a flower in the height of summer, open, stretching for the sun. There was no artifice, nothing hidden, nothing deceitful or devious. Never had he admired a woman more.

“If it pleases you, I shall have my things moved this afternoon.” His voice sounded somewhat fractured, uncharacteristically high.

“Only if it pleases you.”

Lord, surely after all that occurred last night, she knew how much he wanted her.

“It would please me immensely.”

A wide, beaming smile illuminated her face. “Then it’s settled.” She stepped away. “It’s good that we can be honest with each other.”

Guilt surfaced.

It was a perfect opportunity to broach the subject of his original motive for marrying her.

“Juliet.”

“Yes?” She moved to the window, excitement radiating from her like a bright beacon as she considered the lush landscape beyond.

Devlin tried to form the words but all the air in his lungs dissipated. He cleared his throat. “In the years since my brother’s death, I have grown somewhat obsessive, somewhat desperate to clear his name. It formed the basis of my decision to return. It formed the basis of my decision to … to marry.”

Juliet’s gaze drifted from the window, and he became the subject of curious examination. “You wish to disprove Hannah’s account of your brother’s character?”

Hell, she was as sharp as a hunter’s blade. Perhaps she already understood the reasons why he’d felt compelled to marry her.

“It was my intention to ruin her name enough to discredit her opinion.”

Juliet’s face revealed nothing of her thoughts, yet she remained fixed at the window. “How did you propose to do that?”

“As her husband, I would have had ample opportunity to make her rue the day she spouted her vicious lies. I would have controlled every aspect of her life with an iron hand.” Bitterness dripped from every word. For the first time in days, he felt like the savage beast men feared.

“And because Hannah despised your family, the only way to achieve your goal was to make the wager with my father.”

“Indeed.”

A frown creased her brow, and he silently begged her to ask the only question that mattered. “I cannot blame you for despising her, and revenge had to be your motive. While many men will forgo character if a woman is beautiful, you are not one of them.”

He did not deserve the compliment woven within her statement.

“What I fail to understand,” she continued, “is why you were willing to sacrifice your own happiness in the process. Is your need for satisfaction so great? Do you think Hannah’s ruination would have eased the pain of your brother’s death?”

God, it was like listening to Dariell. The probing questions forced him to bolster his defences. “One must seek justice for those deprived of a voice.”

“How noble. Would parliament not be a better place to serve your needs, acting on behalf of those who truly suffer?”

Anger stirred from its slumber. “Every man’s life has value. Just because Ambrose lived a life of privilege does not mean he suffered less. Besides, one must have one’s own house in order before tackling the problems of the world.”

A weary sigh left her lips. She offered a curt nod. “You’re right. Forgive me. If Hannah orchestrated your brother’s downfall out of spite, then she deserves to pay. But since you were denied the opportunity to make her your wife, I suspect finding any answers to account for the odd turn of events will prove difficult.”

Ask me the damn question.

Did you plan to use me to achieve your goal?

Why was she stalling?

“If I’m to discover the truth I need your help.” Devlin studied the language of her body. Her stance was stiff, the vivacious energy that captivated him had dissipated. “You are the only one who bore witness to the conversations they shared. You’re the only one who can offer any insight.”