A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

“Can we have statues of Roman gods in the alcoves, and sconces on the walls with torches?”

“We can have whatever your heart desires.”

Her heart desired but one thing—him. She would bathe in the icy brook if it meant being enveloped in his strong embrace.

Juliet drank in the sight of his broad shoulders, of the lock of ebony hair hanging over his brow. The orange glow from the fire’s flames enhanced the brown flecks in his eyes, and his lips were a faint shade of … of blue!

“Heavens,” she said, shooting up out of the water. “You must be frozen to your bones. Quickly, step into the tub.”

Devlin stood, gripped her hand and assisted her out of the copper bath.

Before she knew what she was about, he dragged her into his arms and devoured her mouth. Desire pooled low and heavy in her loins, but concern for his welfare overruled all thoughts of seduction.

“Get into the bathtub, Devlin,” she said, reluctantly tearing her mouth from his. “I shall kiss you once you’re immersed in warm water.”

He smiled. “And will you wash me as well?”

“You want me to massage soap over your back?”

“My back, my chest, a few other parts of my anatomy that need your caring touch.”

Oh, he really was incorrigible.

But while she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in a moment of bliss, a nagging thought in her mind refused to be tempered.

“Climb into the water. When you’re warm, I will assist you with your ablutions.”

After kissing her once more on the lips, he obeyed her command. He was so tall he had to bend his knees to submerge his feet. Juliet grabbed her robe, slipped into the garment and then returned to kneel beside him.

“I spoke to Mrs Barbary a moment ago about your grandmother Charlotte,” she said.

Devlin relaxed back as best as a man of his size could in such a confined space. “Did you ask her about the letters? I seem to recall that Mrs Barbary was once my grandmother’s lady’s maid. If anyone can shed any light on her private affairs, it is our housekeeper.”

He said our as if they were equals in every regard.

Juliet had spent her whole life dealing with some form of inadequacy—she’d lacked a father growing up, lacked a mother much later, and consequently lacked love.

And yet the love she felt for this man was ready to burst from her in a tidal wave of emotion. She would tell him soon. Once she’d bolstered her courage.

“I asked, but Mrs Barbary knows nothing about your grandmother’s correspondence.” Previously, the housekeeper had mentioned that the mistress read her letters on the bench by the brook. Was that an important clue?

Oh, Juliet’s mind was in a muddle.

“Despite the fact she had a close relationship with my grandmother,” Devlin said, “Mrs Barbary is in her sixties. Too young to have born witness to the letters your father seeks.”

“That doesn’t mean she wasn’t aware of their existence.”

“Granted. Perhaps she thought you were prying. She was always quite protective of my grandmother.” Devlin shivered visibly. “My shoulders are numb. Do you think you might warm them until the blood flows freely again?”

“Of course.” Juliet scooped the warm water into her cupped hands and poured it over his shoulders, repeating the action numerous times. “There is something that bothers me about your grandmother.”

“And what is that?”

While Juliet’s palms pulsed as she rubbed her hands over her husband’s shoulders, the sudden pang in her chest stemmed from an apprehension to speak her mind.

“Do you not find it odd that your grandmother died around the time Ambrose broke his engagement to Hannah? Is it not odd that he died so shortly afterwards?”

A frown creased Devlin’s brow. “She was old. Perhaps her passing forced Ambrose to reconsider all that is important in life. He wrote to inform me of her death, but by the time I received his letter he was dead, too.”