A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

“My thoughts exactly.” Devlin leant back against the copper rim. “But there’s no need to hurry. You have all night to work on the task.”

Juliet dipped her hands into the water and then worked the bar soap between her palms. A faint whiff of cloves and lemon wafted past her nostrils. She lathered Devlin’s chest first, enthralled by the way her hands slipped over the hard contours, fascinated by the way his nipples peaked at the slightest touch. He was magnificent, all muscle and maleness.

“Does that feel better?” Juliet’s voice dripped with lust and longing.

“Much better. But I’m a large man, Juliet.” Those midnight eyes devoured her. “There are plenty of other areas vying for your attention.”

&n

bsp; “Any in particular?” she said, lathering the soap.

“Why not use your intuition?” His velvet voice slid over her skin to tease her senses.

Feeling far braver than she’d ever felt before, Juliet delved beneath the water. Her hand came to rest on the solid length of his manhood.

“I don’t think you have to worry about the cold affecting you here,” she teased as she wrapped her fingers around his shaft and massaged in slow strokes.

A pleasurable hum left her husband’s lips. “When it comes to chills, it is wise to take precautions.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Valentine, he has told me what happened at the gaming table.” Dariell stood at the window in the drawing room, hands clasped behind his back as he stared out into the darkness. He wore his usual blue tunic and relaxed trousers—the dress worn by men in hotter climates—his hair tied back in a queue.

Devlin swallowed a mouthful of brandy and leant back in the chair. “And I’m sure he told you about the fateful event that followed.”

“I didn’t need to tell him,” Valentine said from his fireside chair. “Apparently, you were never destined to marry Miss Bromfield.”

Dariell turned and offered Devlin a knowing smile. “This is true.”

“Then why the hell did you not say so before?” During the last three years, Dariell had listened patiently to Devlin’s plans to ruin the harpy’s good name.

Dariell shrugged. “I gave you enough clues as to your destiny.”

He spoke of the mysterious ring, of his constant reminders that vengeance tainted the soul, that love would find him if only he followed his heart.

Lydia, Lady Greystone, placed her sherry glass on the side table and settled back into the sofa so that Greystone—who draped his arm over the back in a languid fashion—could continue stroking her neck.

“Thank the Lord you’re not married to that dreadful woman,” Lydia said, and it was evident by her disgruntled tone that Greystone had told her of Miss Bromfield’s slanderous lies.

“No one is more thankful than I.” Devlin glanced at the ceiling and sighed. That dreadful woman was currently occupying one of the bedchambers. Perhaps it was a mistake to invite the Bromfields. “Juliet is rather anxious about having them to stay.”

They had arrived late. Miss Bromfield complained about the road, the weather, the lack of notice. And then the snake’s eyes slithered over Valentine and she hissed with pleasure. Try as she might, she failed to lure him into a hypnotic trance. It took a damn sight more than a pretty face and full breasts to tempt Valentine.

Still, Miss Bromfield would slink around him for the duration of her stay.

The baron appeared less hostile though reeked of insincerity. Being acquainted with Valentine’s mother, Bromfield asked after the lady’s health, spoke briefly to Greystone about his interests in shipping.

Dariell had hovered in the background, silently assessing the scene. The Frenchman knew a devil upon sight. A corrupt soul leeched into the air, looking to cling on to the weak, eager to suck the life out of its unsuspecting victims.

“As your friend, I will not tolerate their disrespect.” Greystone’s words dragged Devlin from his musings.

“You may have to tolerate it to a certain degree. As I said, I need the baron to remain here for the night.” Be that as it may, Devlin would throttle the lord if he dared to insult Juliet. “What Miss Bromfield does is of no consequence.”

“You have willpower beyond that of any man I know,” Greystone said with a hint of admiration. “You want to murder the baron for the way he has treated your wife, want to shame Miss Bromfield for what she did to Ambrose, and yet tonight you will break bread with them both.”

“Juliet’s safety is paramount.” The thought of losing her chilled Devlin’s blood. “That blackguard will stop at nothing to get what he wants, and if I continue stumbling about in the dark, how am I meant to protect her?”

“The enemy at the door is easier to defeat,” Dariell said in the wise tone that made one stop and take note.