A Wicked Wager (Avenging Lords Book 2)

by Adele Clee

  Hannah gave a wry smirk. “You’re not married to Mr Drake yet. Until he says ‘I will’ you’re still my servant.”

  “Does the fact that I’m your sister mean nothing to you?” Once, Juliet hoped they might be the best of friends.

  “You’re my father’s by-blow,” Hannah said, thrusting her button nose in the air. “You’re a mistake. A stain on our family’s reputation. And I for one will be glad to see the back of you.”

  Juliet was about to say the feeling was mutual, but they were suddenly cast in shadow. She turned to the door to find Devlin Drake’s large frame filling the narrow space.

  He cast Hannah a menacing glare. “Opinions are subjective, Miss Bromfield.” Mr Drake’s words hit like an arctic chill. Ice cold. Cold enough to freeze the flaming fires in hell. “Perhaps it is you, with your vile tongue, who is the blight of the Bromfields.”

  Hannah shivered, but it took more than a frosty tone to unsettle the ice queen. “Well, Mr Drake,” she began, thrusting her fingers more firmly into her gloves, “after the disreputable way your brother behaved, you are hardly one to cast aspersions.”

  A volatile energy clawed at the surrounding air. Mr Drake ground his teeth and looked like a jaguar ready to pounce.

  Juliet cleared her throat. She looked up into Mr Drake’s onyx eyes, knowing it would take more than a few chosen words to break through the hard layers. “Pay her no heed, sir. These last six years, she has used every means possible to ruin my day. But I refuse to let her ruin this one.”

  Mr Drake met her gaze, those dark eyes softening just a fraction. A shiver of awareness shot through Juliet’s body. Her stomach flipped more than once, and she felt suddenly breathless.

  Mr Drake inclined his head. “Then let us proceed, Miss Duval. Your father has taken a seat in the pew and seems determined to remain there.” His gaze drifted over her face, settled on her lips for longer than was deemed appropriate. “But you do not need his arm to lean on.”

  The hint of admiration in his tone gave her a rush of confidence. “No, Mr Drake. I am more than capable of walking down the aisle on my own.”

  “Why walk alone when you can walk with me?”

  Juliet’s stomach performed another feat of acrobatics. “But that is not the done thing, sir.”

  “Perhaps not, but neither of us cares much for propriety.”

  Hannah muttered something derogatory, but Mr Drake’s penetrating gaze never faltered.

  He reached for Juliet’s hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. “From this moment forward, you need never walk alone again. From this moment forward, anyone who attempts to hurt you must answer to me.”

  Oh, every word that left his mouth eased the crippling loneliness within. She clutched the hard muscle above his elbow, looked up at him and smiled. “Then lead the way, sir.”

  The private chapel comprised of six box pews, a carved oak pulpit and a small altar situated at the foot of a less than majestic stained-glass window.

  The reverend, dressed in his white surplice, raised a ginger brow as they approached.

  “You may begin the service, Reverend Fisher,” Mr Drake said as they came to a halt before the altar. “I wish this matter concluded with haste.”

  While Mr Drake’s tone held a hint of frustration, nerves left Juliet desiring a swift conclusion, too.

  After a moment’s pause, the Reverend Fisher cleared his throat and bestowed a serene smile on the two undeserving people seated in the pew. “Dearly beloved …”

  Hannah sniggered. “Oh, please.”

  Even the Lord was not worthy of her respect. She gave another snort of contempt when the reverend sought confirmation that there were no impediments to the marriage.

  The Reverend Fisher ignored the rude interruptions and continued to speak in the loud and lofty tone often used to address a packed congregation. He addressed the groom, spoke of comfort and love and honour.

  Mr Drake’s black eyes turned a deep chocolate brown when he said, “I will.” Not once did he stutter or flounder.

  And then the reverend turned to Juliet and asked if she would obey this man, this tall, dark stranger. Would she serve him, love him, give herself unto him? Juliet’s pulse raced. How could she lie before God? How could she promise to care for a man she hardly knew?

  Silence ensued.

  Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

  Heat rose to her cheeks.

  The baron glared at her and mouthed a demand for her cooperation.

  Mr Drake bent his head. “Trust in fate,” he whispered before straightening again.

  Fate?

  Fate had hardly been kind to her thus far.

  This day would prove to be either the best or worst of her life. He was asking her to jump into a fast-flowing river without knowing its depth, without knowledge of the dangerous undercurrents lurking beneath.

  Juliet glanced at the only two people in the world she could call family. Compared to living with Hannah and the baron, the prospect of sharing her life with Devlin Drake did not seem so daunting.

  “I will,” she blurted before logic intervened.

  Mr Drake’s broad shoulders relaxed.

  “And who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” The reverend’s serene gaze drifted to the baron.

  The muscle in her father’s cheek twitched. Standing abruptly, he marched over to them and snatched Juliet’s hand with such force it would undoubtedly leave a bruise. “I do,” he snapped.

  Mr Drake pinned her father with a hard stare. “That’s the last time you’ll manhandle her,” he whispered through gritted teeth as he captured Juliet’s hand and cocooned it between his large, hot palms.

  Juliet’s throat grew tight. Not because of nerves this time, but because she suddenly felt safe. Whatever happened between her and Mr Drake, she believed he would protect her until his dying breath. And that brought a brief smile of satisfaction to her face.

  Hope fluttered to life in her breast as she examined the mysterious man standing before her. In a moment of fancy, she imagined he loved her. That she, a woman so small and insignificant, could tame this wild, fascinating creature. Was it possible for such a powerful man to feel something other than anger? Was it possible that an oddly matched couple might make a meaningful connection?

  Feeding her fantasy, Mr Drake took her right hand and promised to love and cherish her.

  When it was Juliet’s turn to do the same, she couldn’t help but smile again for her hand seemed so tiny and fragile against his. As she told him she would love and cherish him, too, she spoke with conviction—she had to believe it was possible. And although her body paled in comparison to Mr Drake’s hulking form, her heart was large enough for both of them.

  Somehow, she would come to care for him.

  Somehow, she would find a way to make her marriage work.

  The Reverend Fisher plucked an odd-looking ring from the open Book of Common Prayer. He handed it Mr Drake, whose eyes held a brief look of wonder as he took the black ring with gold engraving. A smile touched his lips as he slipped it onto the end of Juliet’s finger.

  The striking design distracted her temporarily. Gold leaves and flowers covered the black enamel. Tiny crystal teardrops made up the petals. It sparkled when the light caught the stones. It was a ring like none she’d seen before—exotic, breathtaking, far too unusual for a wedding band.

  But were they not an unusual pairing?

  “Do you like it?” Mr Drake said softly.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “I wish I could say I chose it myself, but my friend Mr Dariell deserves the credit.”

  Prompted by the reverend, Mr Drake pushed the ring slowly down past her knuckle. The sensation caused heat to flare in her stomach. There was something sensual about the way he claimed her finger, made all the more seductive by his pledge to worship her body.

  Judging by the look in his eyes, they were both surprised by the snug fit. Perhaps Mr Dariell had the gift of second sight.
Perhaps he could predict the future, knew Mr Drake would marry a woman half his size.

  Mr Drake kept hold of her hand when they knelt to pray. Tingling started in Juliet’s fingers, journeyed up her arm to her heart. Twice, she felt Devlin Drake’s searing gaze. Did he feel these odd sensations, too?

  “… and may ever remain in perfect love and peace together …” The reverend’s words struck Juliet like a bolt from the heavens.

  What hope had they of finding a perfect love when everything about the match screamed of imperfection?

  He was dark and dangerous. She was loyal and loving but had been forced to suppress it. They were marrying for all the wrong reasons—spite, revenge, to prove a point, to settle a wicked wager.

  But it was too late for regrets.

  The mistake was made.

  The reverend bid them to rise, placed his hand over theirs and pronounced them man and wife.

  For a moment, Juliet forgot how to breathe.

  Thankfully, matters proceeded to the signing of the parish register. Despite having such thick fingers, Mr Drake possessed an aristocratic flare when it came to skill with a quill pen. Hannah scratched her name reluctantly, moaned and groaned that they had forced her to witness such a sham.

  When all was done, Devlin Drake captured Juliet’s hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. They left the church in silence. There were no cheers from a waiting crowd, no rose petals thrown to wish them good luck. No chariot to whisk them away to begin an exciting new adventure.

  Mr Drake drew Juliet aside, away from the door. “While it is customary for guests to share a meal with the bride and groom, would you rather we were alone?” He towered above her, yet his voice held a hint of warmth that made him appear less threatening.

  “I would hardly call our witnesses guests. They are here purely out of necessity.”

  “Then you have no objection if I send them home?”

  Juliet glanced at the door as her father and Hannah exited the church. Never had she seen such stern faces. Six years was more than enough time to spend with people who despised the ground you walked upon.

  “You may do as you see fit, Mr Drake.”

  “Devlin,” he corrected. “I want no formality between us, Juliet. As my wife, I seek your counsel on this matter. Do you have any objection if I am rude to your family?”

  How was she supposed to answer when her heart jumped about like a spring hare? Hearing her given name spoken in such a rich, deep voice was enough to raise her pulse a notch. Being referred to as his wife roused some rather odd sensations in an intimate place.

  Gathering her wits, Juliet raised her chin. “I have no desire to listen to their constant criticism or ugly threats.”

  “Threats?” Her husband straightened to his full height.

  “It’s nothing.” She had no intention of rummaging through his private correspondence. What could the baron do? Surely he wouldn’t see any harm come to her over one of Hannah’s foolish letters? “My family often uses intimidation to manipulate situations to their advantage.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Devlin captured her hand and held it in a firm grip. He led her over to her father, who was engaged in a heated discussion with Hannah.

  “You’ll do as I say and that’s—” The baron stopped abruptly upon noting their approach. His gaze settled on their clasped hands and he snorted. “Now you’re wed, I suppose you intend to force us to sit through a nauseating wedding breakfast.”

  “On the contrary.” Devlin squeezed Juliet’s hand in gentle reassurance. “I expect you to leave Blackwater immediately and never return.”

  Hannah stared down her nose. “Thank the Lord. I have no intention of staying a moment longer.”

  Deep furrows formed between her father’s brows. “You intend to prevent me from visiting my own daughter?” He pursed his lips. “I know you married the girl out of spite, but to punish her on her wedding day. It’s outrageous.”

  “As outrageous as spreading vile gossip about my brother?”

  “The truth is often vile,” Hannah blurted.

  “Be quiet, girl,” the baron snapped. He focused his beady stare on Devlin. “If revenge is your game, you have married the wrong daughter.”

  “Or so you think.”

  Juliet listened to the exchange, her head swirling in a cloud of confusion. Both men spoke as if she were insignificant, worthless. A pawn in their petty squabbles. Yet Devlin continued to stroke his thumb back and forth over her fingers. The act suggested he was her protector, supported the fact he’d told her no one would ever hurt her again.

  “Leave!” Devlin glared at the baron. “Get the hell out now else I shall grab you by the collar and drag you to the gate.” He stepped forward, taking Juliet with him.

  Hannah and her father had no option but to retreat along the path. They ambled at first, the pair snapping and sniping at each other as they went. Juliet and Devlin walked behind though she had to jog to keep up with his long strides. Still, Devlin pressed on, forcing the baron to quicken his pace.

  “Slow down,” Juliet whispered, tugging on his hand. “I cannot keep up with you. And if you continue to hold my hand so tightly, I’ll lose the use of my fingers.”

  “I’ll not rest until I’ve seen them off my property.”

  “Then go ahead without me.”

  “You want to abandon your husband when we’ve only been wed for five minutes?” He cast her a sidelong glance, scanned her from head to toe. The corners of his mouth curled up into a faint smile. “Forgive me, but there is only one way to solve this problem, and I’ll be damned before I permit your family to wander unsupervised around the grounds.”

  Without warning, Devlin Drake scooped her up as if she were as light as a child. The bulging muscles in his arms almost split the seams of his coat.

  “Mr Drake, put me down. You cannot carry me in public.” Her complaint fell on deaf ears, though she had to admit she felt a flutter of excitement at being held in such a strong embrace. Satisfaction settled in her chest, too, at the look of shock on Hannah’s face. “You’re giving them every reason to call you a heathen.”

  “Mrs Drake, accept that I’m a man who cares nothing for propriety. The sooner you understand that I do as I please, the easier life will be.”

  Juliet twined her arms around his neck though she was in no danger of falling. “But you have a wife to think of now.”

  “Did you not swear to obey my every command?”

  “I also swore to love you and so I hardly think we can lend weight to either statement.”

  “Granted,” he said as they crossed the stone bridge. “Both of us are wise enough to know we had no hope of marrying for love.”

  “No, but we must make the best of the situation.”

  “Agreed.”

  As they followed the baron to his carriage parked in the courtyard, Juliet considered the way Mr Drake’s dark eyes masked all emotion. She considered the stubborn set of his jaw, the errant lock of black hair falling across his brow and realised he did terrify her.

  It had nothing to do with his powerful build or commanding countenance, and everything to do with the way he held her close. What terrified her most was that she could easily grow to care for him. She could easily grow to love him.

  Chapter Five

  Still cradling Juliet in his arms, Devlin stood beneath the portico and watched the baron’s chariot rumble away down the drive. He stared at the vibrant yellow conveyance—silently cursing the occupants to hell—even after it trundled through the iron gates and turned into the lane.

  The next time he saw Miss Bromfield, she would not be wearing the same smug expression. The next time he saw the baron, he wondered if he’d thank him for tricking him into taking a different bride. Despite the fact Bromfield cared little for his illegitimate daughter, something about the ease in which he accepted the situation bothered Devlin.

  The baron’s parting words to Juliet echoed again in Devlin’s mind.

/>   Remember what I said.

  Something told him not to ask his new wife what the devious lord meant. They were practically strangers, had been married for less than an hour, and it would serve neither of them if she felt forced to lie. No. Devlin would bide his time, encourage her to confide in him, divulge any secrets.

  God, he was the worst sort of hypocrite for he had chosen not to reveal the reason he’d slipped the ring onto her finger and made her his bride.

  “Well, do you intend to put me down or will you carry me around as some matrons do their pugs?”

  Devlin couldn’t help but smile at her comment. “That all depends. Will you bite me if I tickle your chin?”

  “Most definitely. And I shall yap relentlessly if I grow tired and bored.”

  A chuckle burst from his lips. He could not recall the last time he’d found a woman so amusing. One thing was certain, his wife piqued his interest.

  “You’re not yapping now,” Devlin said, looking into eyes that reminded him of the rare jade stones he’d seen on his travels. “Does that mean you like being held in my arms?”

  Dariell once told him that jade brought good luck. That it symbolised a unity of mind and soul. His insightful friend was always right, and the thought brought a sliver of optimism.

  Her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. “It means I’m still unsure how best to deal with my master.”

  Devlin felt his smile slip. “I’m not your master, Juliet. You have free rein over this house, these lands. Make your demands, and you will discover I am not so disagreeable.”

  “Why would I think you disagreeable when you have been nothing but obliging?”

  He lowered her gently to the ground, missed the warmth of her body instantly. In his arms, they seemed equal. Now, as he towered above her, she looked so delicate, so fragile. Fragile enough that the urge to protect her held him in a vice-like grip. They had been married for less than an hour, and already chivalrous thoughts entered his head.

  The irony was that he would be the one to hurt her.

  When a man lived for vengeance, he lacked the capacity to love. Had a heart filled with nothing but bitterness and hatred. Like her father, he intended to use this innocent lady for his own gain.