Biggs snatched the letter but did not peel back the folds to scan the contents. He turned it over in his hand, examined the name on the front and the broken wax seal, then brought the paper to his nose.
“This isn’t it.” Strong fingers scrunched the letter until it was a ball in his fist. He threw it to the ground, rubbed his hand over his bristled chin and cursed.
“How do you know when you haven’t read it?” Juliet clenched her hands at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she waited for his violent outburst. She had to press him for more information. “That was a letter written by Miss Bromfield and sent to Ambrose Drake. It details her ugly threats, her attempt at blackmail. Is that not exactly the thing my father seeks? Or is there something else he considers more valuable?”
Tell me, tell me something.
“You ask too many questions.” Biggs snarled and stabbed his finger at the mansion behind. “Are you tellin’ me that’s the only letter you could find in a house that size?”
So this had nothing to do with the disparaging gossip hurled at Ambrose Drake.
Did it have something to do with him breaking the betrothal?
“You’re welcome to search the house yourself once you’ve explained the nature of your enquiry to my husband. Though I doubt he will permit you to set foot over the threshold.”
Biggs seemed undeterred by the warning. “And while I’m there, happen I’ll tell him his wife is a spy.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you. Mr Drake has quite a temper.” Or so he had led her to believe. “He can kill a man with a simple flick of the wrist.”
“Not with a broken neck he can’t. Now get back to the house and bring me what I need else you’ll feel the flick of my wrist across that pretty face of yours.” Biggs offered a menacing grin as he raised his hand in warning.
The moment you feel threatened call out.
Devlin’s instructions flitted through her mind, but she needed more information from Biggs.
“Dare lay a hand on me, and it will be the last thing you do.” How she found the confidence to challenge him, she would never know.
“We’ll see about that.” Biggs curled his fingers into a fist just as a loud, ear-piercing howl rent the air. The thug froze as his frantic gaze scoured the gardens. “Wh-where’s that blasted dog?”
“Rufus? He’s about somewhere. But he is trained to wait for my signal.” If only that were true, but the hound lacked discipline and refused to bow to authority.
Biggs shook his head and trained his beady eyes on her. “You’ve until tomorrow to bring me what I ask. I suggest you search amongst her ladyship’s trinkets.”
Her ladyship?
“And let this be a warnin’ to you.”
The backhanded slap took her by surprise. The power of it caused her to stumble back.
A thunderous roar echoed all around them. Bloodthirsty. Savage.
In a sudden panic, Biggs swung around and around, searching for the source of the brutal battle cry.
Juliet could see nothing but a host of shadows. And then, like a devil in the darkness, she saw her husband’s hulking form appear behind Mr Biggs. A brief sliver of moonlight illuminated a section of Devlin’s face to reveal a menacing mask of rage. His large, muscular arm slipped around the scoundrel’s throat. “One wrong move and I shall snap your bloody neck.”
Anger burst through Devlin’s veins—hot and molten. Fury almost blinded him. The need to extinguish all sign of life from the bastard who had the audacity to strike his wife vibrated through every taut, tense muscle.
He couldn’t look at Juliet. To do so would render him helpless, would serve to bury the blade deeper into his heart. He should never have agreed to her plan, but the woman held him captive with her honest eyes and beguiling smile.
Biggs’ strangled croak encouraged Devlin to tighten his hold. The man would know how close he’d come to losing his life. Devlin squeezed until Biggs punched and slapped his arm, begged for mercy, until he choked and spluttered.
“You have five seconds to tell me what the hell the baron wants from my house.” Devlin relaxed his grip but kept hold of his prisoner.
Biggs coughed, the wracking sound like music to Devlin’s ears. “Go … go to hell.”
“Very well.” Devlin tightened his grip, this time lifting the blackguard clean off the ground. Biggs kicked and thrashed for freedom but to no avail. “I shall ask you again. If you’re not looking for the letters from Miss Bromfield, what are you looking for?”
He gave Biggs another opportunity to speak.