A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

The tension in the air lifted. Any awkwardness melted away, replaced by the thrum of suppressed desire. She felt the brush of his leg against hers beneath the table. But as much as she burned for his touch, all thoughts turned to Mr Biggs. Until her father had the letters, he would hound them to the ends of the earth. There was no telling what he would do if she defied him.

The chime of the long-case clock in the hall only heightened her anxiety. Juliet counted each sombre strike.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Another four hours until Devlin confronted the rogue.

Another four hours of uncertainty.

“Stop thinking about my midnight appointment,” Devlin said as he sank his knife into a piece of venison pie. “You should eat something. You’ll need your strength as there might well be more dancing once I’ve disposed of Biggs.”

Devlin Drake defied all logic. Did he not fear the outcome? Was he not the least bit concerned that they might have underestimated the threat?

“How can you think of dancing when we have grave dealings ahead?”

A devilish smile graced his lips, one that spoke of hot lust and sin. His molten gaze slid down her body. “I have spent every minute of the day dreaming of dancing with you tonight.”

Oh, Lord!

“Is … is that what you plan to tell Mr Biggs when he demands to see the letters?”

Devlin swallowed his food and straightened. “After Biggs has had a painful conversation with my fist, I doubt there will be anything left to say.” A dark, sinister grin obliterated all traces of his amorous mood.

“What good will that do? Is it not better to press him for information?” It would help if they knew what they were looking for. Was it a matter of libel? Was it something more vindictive? “What if Hannah blackmailed Ambrose over his fondness for men?”

“Ambrose did not pursue relations with men. I would have no objection if that were the case. Everyone deserves happiness, but it goes against everything I know of his character.”

From the little she knew of Ambrose, Juliet had to agree. “Knowing Hannah as I do, blackmail is within the realms of her capabilities. And her arguments are rarely based on fact.”

Oh, she could picture Hannah’s ugly sneer upon delivering her vile threats, contempt written over her—

A sudden thought hit Juliet like a sharp gust of wind, forcing her to draw

her head back.

Hannah’s words bombarded her mind.

Only wallflowers have time to write letters. Society ladies prefer less mundane pursuits.

During the six years she’d lived with Hannah, not once had Juliet seen her sister sitting at the escritoire. Her mornings involved studying the latest fashion plates from Paris or gossiping about another lady’s lack of womanly wiles. Expressing her thoughts in ink was out of character. But had Ambrose refused all requests to meet and given her no other option?

If you hope to play a role in this family, you will find the letters.

I want all letters written in a feminine hand.

Juliet had believed that her father’s odd request stemmed from the need for caution, the need to protect Hannah at all costs. But now she wasn’t so sure. Perhaps Mr Biggs might provide a clue to help solve the mystery.

“I have an idea,” she said, her voice laced with a smooth, sensual undertone for she expected her husband’s fierce objection. She reached out and touched his arm, stroked back and forth with obvious affection. “I have a plan that might improve our hand in this game.”

Devlin’s coal-black eyes fixed her to the chair. “And you think you might seduce me into submission?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then I must assume your idea is foolish, and that you hope my passion for you will overrule my sense of logic.”