A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

She remained silent for a time, her gaze fixed on the hem of her plain brown dress. He could feel her withdrawing, shrinking into the shadows, far away from him. The muscles in his stomach twisted into painful knots, and in his head, he cried, Don’t go.

“Juliet.”

“Yes?” She looked up, but her eyes lacked vitality.

“Is there anything you wish to ask me?”

“No. Your motives are clear.”

The tension in the air was stifling. “I meant everything I said the day I offered marriage in the garden. We suit better than I could ever have hoped.”

She nodded. “Your offer was generous for a woman like me, and I am truly grateful.”

Devlin did not want her gratitude. He wanted things infinitely more precious. He wanted her trust, her respect. He wanted her love. The thought shocked him.

“And in recompense for offering me a glimmer of happiness,” she said though she sounded far from content, “I shall do everything in my means to help you.” She straightened and cast him a weak smile. “Finding the letters must be a priority, and at dinner tonight you must—” She broke on a gasp, her head shooting back to the window.

Panic flashed in her eyes. She wore her sudden terror like a masquerade mask, hiding all innocence and beauty. All thoughts of how he might salvage something after this awkward conversation abandoned him.

“What is it?” Devlin wanted to reach for her, to take her in his arms and soothe away her fears, but a wall existed between them now, and he wasn’t sure how to break it down.

“Tonight!” She clasped her hand to her chest. “How did I forget?”

“Forget what? You are not making any sense.”

“The fountain.” She touched the sleeve of her dress, the place that hid the evidence of her bruises. “I’m to meet Mr Biggs at the fountain at midnight.”

Panic gripped Devlin by the throat. “Like hell you will.”

“If I fail to bring the letters as requested, he promised to punish you.” A tear trickled down her cheek, and Devlin couldn’t help but think that their early conversation was the cause.

“You’ll not leave this house,” he said, the command carrying the full weight of his authority. “Is that clear?”

In a voice barely louder than a whisper, she muttered to herself, accident the only coherent word.

“Juliet.” When she failed to meet his gaze, he repeated, “Juliet. I shall meet Mr

Biggs at the fountain.” Blood rushed to his hands until his fingers throbbed with the need for satisfaction. “And when I do, you may trust that he shall not darken our door again.”

Chapter Twelve

“Are you certain you’re feeling well?” Devlin put down his cutlery and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “You’ve hardly eaten anything this evening. Are you worried about my impending confrontation with Biggs?”

“Partly.” A myriad of thoughts flitted about in Juliet’s head. Their lack of success in finding any letters from Hannah proved frustrating. And while she had every confidence her husband possessed the strength and ability to tackle a rogue like Mr Biggs, it took one mistake, one random shot with a pistol to end a man’s life.

The tension in the air was palpable.

She was at fault.

Disappointment hung like a lead weight in her chest, dragging her down. She was not naive enough to think Devlin Drake had married her for her wit or beauty. He had married her to prove a point to her father, and because she had the integrity Hannah lacked. Oh, one could not deny desire had sprung to life from practically nowhere, but it hurt to hear that his only motive was to use her as a source of information.

But when one married for the wrong reasons what else could one expect?

Another man might have punished her, abused her to get what he wanted. For all his faults, Devlin acted like a caring husband which only confused matters all the more.

“How many times must I tell you?” Devlin reached across the table and touched her arm. “Four men would struggle to take me down. One flick to the throat is all it takes to render Biggs helpless.”

For a man of Devlin Drake’s size, it was easy to imagine him in the midst of a violent brawl. Only last night, she had run her hands over hard, bulging muscle, excited by the raw power contained beneath his bronzed skin. She had witnessed the darkness in his eyes, felt the angry undercurrent that invaded his aura, which made him a man to fear.