A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

“I don’t know what the baron … what the baron wants.”

Frustration only enraged Devlin further.

“Then let me see if I can be a little more persuasive.”

Juliet stepped forward, drawing his attention. “What do you intend to do with him?” The sight of the red mark on her face brought bile bubbling to his throat.

“I intend to throttle the bloody life out of him until he spills his guts.” And then he would partake in a form of self-flagellation, penance for permitting his wife to meet with the blackguard.

Juliet blinked rapidly. “Oh, and if he refuses?”

“He won’t.”

Desperate to try a different tactic, Devlin grabbed Biggs by the back of his collar and dragged him backwards across the lawn. Arms flailing, the fiend staggered. He slipped on the dew-soaked grass and hit the ground hard, but Devlin continued to haul him to the brook.

“Get the hell off me,” Biggs complained. “Let me stand, and I’ll walk.”

“Did you show my wife the same courtesy when you struck her so viciously?” The memory of the incident flamed the fires of vengeance.

“I’m only following the baron’s orders.”

Devlin cursed. “And in a moment you’ll be following mine.”

Having played in the brook many times as a boy, Devlin was well aware of its depth. He pulled Biggs down the bank and into the water. The man splashed and spluttered when his head went under.

Juliet stopped on the grass verge, watching him intently. “You mean to drown him?”

“I do.” The water lapped around Devlin’s thighs as he wrestled Biggs onto his front. He grabbed the scoundrel by the hair and forced his head beneath the murky depths.

Biggs thrashed.

Devlin gritted his teeth, the muscles in his arm bulging as he used his strength to keep Biggs down.

“Release him!” Juliet cried. “He’s been under for far too long.”

Not wanting to cause his wife any more distress, Devlin hauled the sopping wet figure up. “Tell me what the baron really wants.”

Rivulets of water ran down Biggs’ face. Droplets clung to his lashes. “

The letters,” he said, gasping for breath. “The baron wants the letters. That’s all I know.”

“The letters written to Ambrose Drake?”

“No … not those.”

“What other letters would be of interest to him?” Had it something to do with business dealings? Had Ambrose taken the baron’s investment and died before legal proof could be established?

“I can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Devlin thrust Biggs’ head under the water once again and held him until the air in his lungs had surely diminished, until the burning pain in his chest proved excruciating.

“Devlin,” Juliet called. “Enough of this. He doesn’t know.”

“He knows something.”

Juliet gasped suddenly. She hurried down the bank and rushed into the brook despite crying out in shock as she hit the cold water. “Let … let me speak to him.”

“Good God, woman. You’ll catch your death.”