A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

“And the silver brush and mirror on the dressing table, the clothes in the armoire, they all belonged to Charlotte Drake?” Knowing the lady had died in the room did little to ease Juliet’s anxiety.

“Everything is exactly as it was on the morning the mistress passed.”

Conversation flowed a little easier now. Mrs Barbary’s fondness for Charlotte Drake was evident in the tender tone of her voice. And so Juliet found the courage to ask the questions burning on her lips.

“And what of the lady’s correspondence? Did she keep her private letters?”

“Her private letters?” Mrs Barbary cast a look of suspicion before lifting her chin. “If they’re not in the escritoire in the sitting room, then I don’t know what she did with them.” Her abrupt tone suggested she had better things to do than answer silly questions. “She may have used them for fire kindling.”

They were not in the escritoire, nor any of the drawers, nor in a box under the bed. Juliet had spent the first few lonely nights at Blackwater growing accustomed to her new apartments.

She was still contemplating the housekeeper’s reply when the bedchamber door burst open and Devlin marched into the room. Raw, masculine energy followed him, emanated from every fibre of his being. Water dripped from his clothes onto the wooden boards. His dark gaze skimmed past the housekeeper to settle on Juliet’s bare shoulders. Purely to save Mrs Barbary any embarrassment, Juliet wrapped her arms across her chest.

“Let me call Mr Jasper, sir.” Mrs Barbary moved to shield Juliet’s naked form. “You must get out of those wet clothes before the cold seeps into your bones.”

“I’ve spent five years dressing myself and have no need to wake the man at this late hour.” Devlin shrugged out of his coat. The fine lawn of his shirt clung to the bulging muscles in his arms. The riveting sight banished all thoughts of the cold.

“You should take a hot bath,” Juliet said, wishing there was room in the tub for two. “Mrs Barbary will alert Mr Jasper.”

“I intend to take a hot bath.” Devlin cast a sinful smirk. “Though I confess I lack the strength of will to remove myself from your bedchamber.”

Mrs Barbary sucked in a breath. Juliet could feel her burning disapproval. The mistress of the house should not tempt the master. The mistress of the house should act with decency and decorum.

Devlin met the housekeeper’s gaze and said, “Leave us. I shall attend to Mrs Drake.”

“As you wish, sir.” Head bowed, the woman left the room without a word or backwards glance.

Devlin locked the door.

“Please tell me you didn’t murder Mr Biggs.” Juliet scanned his face and hands looking for scratches or cuts or bruises, though in the firelight it was impossible to see in any detail.

“The man may have a cracked rib,” he said as he stripped out of his clothing, “but he was breathing when we parted company at the gate.”

“And you think you can trust Mr Biggs to keep his word and not mention our conversation to my father?” Juliet swished warm water over her shoulders to distract her wayward thoughts as her eyes feasted on Devlin’s naked form.

“If Biggs has any sense, he’ll be on the first coach to Edinburgh.” He came and knelt down beside the tub and began tracing teasing circles on the surface of the water. “I doubt the man has a trustworthy bone in his body, and imagine he’ll say whatever suits his purpose at the time. Pity though, I hoped your father’s account ledger might provide us with a clue.”

“Mr Biggs is in fear of his life. I doubt he will make a return visit.”

“I agree.”

Juliet remained silent while she watched her husband draw patterns in the water. Every muscle in her body wrung tight while she waited to discover where his fingers might venture next.

“What a shame the tub isn’t big enough for two,” Juliet said to tempt him to touch her.

“Most ladies would find the idea of sharing bathwater abhorrent.”

“I am no

t most ladies,” she said with a seductive grin. “And I could think of nothing more pleasing than settling between my husband’s thighs as he massages my back with soap.”

A hum left Devlin’s lips. “Then first thing tomorrow I will send word to London and have Nash dispatch one of his architects to Blackwater. We’ll have a Roman-inspired bathhouse built. One made just for two.”

A sudden rush of love for her husband filled Juliet’s heart.

Despite her wet hand, she cupped his cheek. “You would do that for me?”

Devlin gave an amused snort. “Well, as you require nothing but honesty from me, I admit that my own needs play some part in the decision, too.”