A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

She came apart in seconds. “Devlin … yes …” Violent tremors shook her body, the shudders reaching her toes. “Devlin. I …” The word love clung to the tip of her tongue, but she chose to hold on to it for a while longer.

Three slow, measured strokes and her husband’s head fell back. His guttural growl filled the room. He thrust inside her one last time, clutched her hip and held her there while he gasped for breath.

“This is the only place I belong.” Devlin’s muttered words were barely coherent.

His muscular arm snaked around her back, held her firmly in position as he collapsed back into the chair, taking her with him. Their bodies remained joined even when he softened inside her.

Juliet placed her head on his shoulder while still straddling his body. “I keep expecting to wake from this dream and find myself staggering down Bond Street overladen with Hannah’s parcels.”

“I share your sense of relief that we’ve both been spared such a cruel fate.”

“Yet I cannot help but think the worst.” An uncomfortable sense of foreboding refused to be tempered. “My father will stop at nothing to get what he wants.”

Devlin sighed. “Then our next move must be strategic.”

“Strategy involves having some knowledge of the game. In this instance, it would help if we understood my father’s motive for making such demands.”

Devlin fell silent for a moment before offering a curious hum. “Then tell me again of your plan for Mr Biggs.”

Chapter Thirteen

Black clouds crept across the night sky to obscure the waning moon. With the absence of any natural light to illuminate her way, Juliet relied only on the small lantern to guide her through the garden. Gusts of wind attacked the flickering flame, making it impossible to hold the lamp aloft. The sound of trickling water drew her down the three stone steps leading to the lower tier and the ornate fountain—the place of her midnight assignation.

A frisson of fear rippled across her shoulders. She glanced back at the sprawling mansion, thought she saw someone watching from her bedchamber window, but Devlin had left the house thirty minutes earlier on a quest to find the perfect place to hide.

Juliet shook her head in a bid to focus on the task at hand and continued her journey towards the strange shadows she knew to be the trimmed topiary. Like soldiers on sentry duty, the cone-shaped trees flanked all sides of the magnificent water feature, and yet she knew her husband would not hide in such an obvious place.

But Devlin was out there somewhere, lurking in the depths of the darkness. She could feel the intense heat of his gaze following her every movement.

Mr Biggs was not waiting at the fountain.

Minutes passed.

The hoot of an owl and an odd scurrying sound forced her to squint at the eerie silhouettes in the distance. The sharp autumnal wind whipped her cheeks. Dead leaves blustered about her feet. The snap of a twig drew her frantic gaze to the path leading down to the brook.

A figure appeared—an ominous black shape that swayed in time with the trees.

The mass moved ever closer.

Oh, she should have brought Rufus, but she couldn’t trust the dog to obey her commands, hadn’t the strength to hold him on a leash. And the last thing they needed was to send Biggs fleeing in fright.

“The baron will be pleased to hear you’ve finally proved your worth,” Biggs’ gritty voice cut through the crisp night air. He cam

e to a halt a few feet away.

“Family loyalty is everything, is it not?” Juliet kept the sarcasm from her tone. It would not do to aggravate a man who thought nothing of beating a woman. If Biggs put a grubby hand on her, it would be the end of all conversation. Devlin had made that clear.

“You have the letters then?”

“I have one letter. Despite an endless search that is all I could find.”

Biggs bared his gritted teeth. “One? One! Wait till the baron hears about this.” He closed the gap between them, looming large. “Happen I’ll need to give you a reminder of what’s expected.”

Juliet flinched. Her pulse thumped hard in her throat. “Don’t you want to see the letter first?” she said, trying to buy more time before Devlin charged out from his hideaway and beat Biggs to a pulp. “It might prove to be exactly what my father seeks.”

“Let me see it.” The rogue beckoned her to hand over the letter. “For your sake, you better hope you’re right.”

Juliet placed the lantern on the ground, reached into her pelisse and withdrew the missive she had written an hour earlier. The ink was too dark, the paper not nearly creased enough. It lacked the potent smell of neroli that clung to everything Hannah touched, a scent that lingered for months if not years.