A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

Devlin bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. “He was gentleman enough to tell everyone you ended the betrothal when we all

know the opposite is true.”

Miss Bromfield’s cheeks flared red. She swallowed numerous times but struggled to maintain her composure. It was ungentlemanly of Devlin to mention the affair openly, but he didn’t care what they thought of him, and Miss Bromfield deserved her shame for the way she had spoken about Juliet.

Had they been anywhere else, the baron would have retaliated with a cutting quip, would have removed himself and his daughter from the house. Outraged. Insulted. The fact he said nothing only supported Devlin’s theory that the lord was desperate to remain at Blackwater.

“Greystone,” the baron said, clearly eager to change the subject, “I hear it won’t be long until you own your father’s shipping company in its entirety.”

Greystone stared down his nose. “Foolish men make it easy for others to succeed,” he replied in a tone sharp enough to slice through the baron’s facade.

The creak of the door drew everyone’s attention.

Juliet entered the room.

For a moment Devlin struggled to catch his breath.

Dazzling them in emerald-green silk that enhanced the hue of her eyes to perfection, his wife stepped forward. She smiled though he could sense her nerves. The soft curve of her breasts swelled above the neckline of her gown. With her vibrant red curls styled in a fashionable coiffure, it drew his eye to the elegant column of her throat, to the porcelain skin he longed to kiss.

“You appear to have married an angel,” Greystone whispered. “No wonder I’ve not heard from you this last week.”

“I have been busy.”

“Dariell is right. While her clothes enhance her beauty, it is her smile and honest eyes that are thoroughly captivating.”

“Dariell is always right.”

Greystone patted Devlin on the back. “You can close your mouth now.”

His wife looked ravishing, enchanting, and a host of other words that bombarded his mind, that made lust throb in his loins, that made his heart sprout wings and take flight. She deserved the best life had to offer, and he wanted to be the one to satisfy every dream, every desire.

“Good evening,” Juliet said in the kind voice that sent his head spinning. He wanted to reach out to her, take her in his arms and tell her not to worry. “I did not mean to keep you all waiting.”

She offered their guests an exuberant smile, and Devlin knew then he was lost. Lost in a blissful euphoria. Lost in a whirl of powerful emotions. Lost in abiding feelings of love.

The neckline was too low, her stays too tight, the gown far too flimsy for an autumn night such as this. Juliet forced a smile as she greeted their guests though it took a tremendous effort to prevent her heart from bursting out of her chest. Seven pairs of eyes stared, scanned her from head to toe. While Devlin’s friends looked upon her with an air of wonder, the same could not be said for her father or Hannah.

The baron held a detached gaze, the look he cast his servants to show they were in his house to provide a service—nothing more. Hannah had the look of a wildcat on the hunt—back arched, claws extended ready to attack. She glared at Juliet as if she might scratch out her eyes and use them to lure the crows.

Could Hannah not find it in her heart to be happy for the girl who had served her faithfully these last six years? Could she not find it in her heart to hide her true feelings, just for tonight?

Feeling a sudden flutter of nerves, Juliet looked at Devlin, and her anxiety drifted away like petals in the wind. While he, too, looked upon her in awe—and something vastly more licentious—his admiration stemmed from somewhere beyond his penetrating gaze, from somewhere deep inside. Indeed, it was as if his soul stretched across the space between them to touch and twine with hers.

The power of it invigorated her spirit. It gave her the confidence to straighten her shoulders, to look at Hannah directly and smile.

Devlin cleared his throat, but the other lady in the group rushed forward, hands outstretched.

“Forgive me, but I lack the patience to wait for introductions.” The lady took Juliet’s hands and clasped them tightly.

“You must be Lady Greystone. My husband speaks fondly of you.”

“Does he?” she said with some surprise. “I must admit that I was rather rude to him when we first met. And please, you must call me Lydia.” The lady held Juliet’s arms wide, her bright blue eyes gleaming as she studied Juliet’s dress. “Your modiste has outdone herself. You look captivating.”

“Thank you.” A blush crept up Juliet’s cheeks for she was unused to accepting compliments.

“And your sister looks positively green with envy,” Lydia whispered.

“Does she? Oh, I’m afraid she struggles to cope when the attention is not directed her way.”