A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords 2)

“Mrs Drake?” The housekeeper glanced at the letters again. “I’ve not seen Mrs Drake since she took Rufus for a walk.”

“And where does she usually take him?” A gnawing feeling of dread settled around him when the long-case clock struck the half hour.

After the incident in the brook, the hours spent in the church last night and now the lengthy time spent out of doors, Juliet would be lucky if she caught just a chill.

“Mrs Drake takes him far from the house so that he might run and expend his energy.”

God damn, she could be anywhere.

He dragged his hand down his face and sighed. “Have a hot bath drawn in her chamber. Have Tilly warm her bed with a pan. And ask Cook to make a tisane. I shall see if I can find her.”

There was no time to wait for the housekeeper’s reply. Indeed, he was at the study door before a prickle of awareness forced him back to the desk. He gathered the letters together and stuffed them into the inside pocket of his coat.

Mrs Barbary watched his every move.

Devlin was already out past the orchard, staring at the vast expanse of fields when he decided the search would be easier on horseback.

Then another thought struck him.

Would Juliet have ventured so far after what happened with Biggs? The blackguard had not returned to Blackwater and was probably hundreds of miles away by now. Still, would she have taken the risk?

The icy wind whipped at his hair and stung his cheeks to remind him that time was precious, and he could not linger about too long.

Heading back through the orchard, he took the shortest route via the walled garden. As he passed the potting sheds, he heard scratching and whining. Sad eyes and a slobbering mouth met him as he stared in through the small window. Rufus! No doubt the wayward dog had darted into the shed, and the door had closed behind him.

“You have a lot to answer for,” Devlin said as he turned the knob.

The door was locked.

He looked around, hoped to glimpse one of the many gardeners or groundsmen who serviced the estate, but to no avail.

Rufus barked. The hound scratched at the door as if the air was swiftly diminishing and he couldn’t catch his breath. In the end, Devlin had no choice but to barge the door with his shoulder until it burst open and almost came clean off its hinges.

As soon as the dog was free of his prison, he bounded off towards the gravel path that snaked around the grounds.

Devlin cursed the damn animal. He took a moment to ensure Juliet was not trapped inside the shed and then he broke into a run, chased Rufus as far as the manicured lawns.

The dog stopped and waited.

Was this just a game?

Did he take pleasure in running his master and mistress around ragged?

No sooner had Devlin reached the dog than he ran off again. This time, Devlin refused to follow, but the hound returned to bite and tug his coattails.

“What is it?”

Was Rufus trying to tell him something?

Would he lead Devlin to Juliet?

Devlin swallowed his annoyance. “Then take me to her. Show me where she is.”

He curbed his temper when the dog bolted towards the icehouse, ignored the urge to shout when Rufus flew down the stone steps and sat patiently in front of the iron gate.

The day was already bitter. If Rufus thought to take him into the underground chamber, he could think again. But when Devlin failed to open the gate, Rufus pawed the ground as if he intended to dig his way under.

The gate was unlocked.