by Adele Clee
Juliet turned to face him, her honest eyes alight with enquiry. “And you slept in here because you believed I would feel safer knowing you have to navigate two long corridors to reach my chamber?”
“I slept in here because it is important that you feel comfortable.” It was not a lie, just not the whole truth.
“Comfortable at night?” she asked as she closed the gap between them and placed her dainty palm on his chest. Just like the rest of him, his heart kicked against his ribcage as he relished even the smallest contact. “Comfortable enough that I don’t fear you charging into my apartments to claim your husbandly rights?”
“Indeed.”
Juliet held his gaze. The air crackled and sparked to life. Her hand snaked up over his chest, up to tangle in the hair brushing his nape.
“And now,” she whispered, her voice more a seductive lilt, “does it not occur to you that I might feel safer knowing you’re close?”
God, he’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her. Was it because she belonged to him that he had the overwhelming need to join with her? Was it because she smiled at him when his mood turned morose, chuckled when he was overly stubborn? Was it because she made him feel strong, her protector, not clumsy and awkward?
“What are you saying?” Devlin cupped her cheek. “That you want me to move into the adjoining suite of rooms?”
She turned her head and kissed his palm, kissed his large, ugly hand, a hand made for fighting, for maiming. “I don’t want to traipse along dark corridors to find you.”
Devlin studied her face as a warm sensation flooded his chest. She was like a flower in the height of summer, open, stretching for the sun. There was no artifice, nothing hidden, nothing deceitful or devious. Never had he admired a woman more.
“If it pleases you, I shall have my things moved this afternoon.” His voice sounded somewhat fractured, uncharacteristically high.
“Only if it pleases you.”
Lord, surely after all that occurred last night, she knew how much he wanted her.
“It would please me immensely.”
A wide, beaming smile illuminated her face. “Then it’s settled.” She stepped away. “It’s good that we can be honest with each other.”
Guilt surfaced.
It was a perfect opportunity to broach the subject of his original motive for marrying her.
“Juliet.”
“Yes?” She moved to the window, excitement radiating from her like a bright beacon as she considered the lush landscape beyond.
Devlin tried to form the words but all the air in his lungs dissipated. He cleared his throat. “In the years since my brother’s death, I have grown somewhat obsessive, somewhat desperate to clear his name. It formed the basis of my decision to return. It formed the basis of my decision to … to marry.”
Juliet’s gaze drifted from the window, and he became the subject of curious examination. “You wish to disprove Hannah’s account of your brother’s character?”
Hell, she was as sharp as a hunter’s blade. Perhaps she already understood the reasons why he’d felt compelled to marry her.
“It was my intention to ruin her name enough to discredit her opinion.”
Juliet’s face revealed nothing of her thoughts, yet she remained fixed at the window. “How did you propose to do that?”
“As her husband, I would have had ample opportunity to make her rue the day she spouted her vicious lies. I would have controlled every aspect of her life with an iron hand.” Bitterness dripped from every word. For the first time in days, he felt like the savage beast men feared.
“And because Hannah despised your family, the only way to achieve your goal was to make the wager with my father.”
“Indeed.”
A frown creased her brow, and he silently begged her to ask the only question that mattered. “I cannot blame you for despising her, and revenge had to be your motive. While many men will forgo character if a woman is beautiful, you are not one of them.”
He did not deserve the compliment woven within her statement.
“What I fail to understand,” she continued, “is why you were willing to sacrifice your own happiness in the process. Is your need for satisfaction so great? Do you think Hannah’s ruination would have eased the pain of your brother’s death?”
God, it was like listening to Dariell. The probing questions forced him to bolster his defences. “One must seek justice for those deprived of a voice.”
“How noble. Would parliament not be a better place to serve your needs, acting on behalf of those who truly suffer?”
Anger stirred from its slumber. “Every man’s life has value. Just because Ambrose lived a life of privilege does not mean he suffered less. Besides, one must have one’s own house in order before tackling the problems of the world.”
A weary sigh left her lips. She offered a curt nod. “You’re right. Forgive me. If Hannah orchestrated your brother’s downfall out of spite, then she deserves to pay. But since you were denied the opportunity to make her your wife, I suspect finding any answers to account for the odd turn of events will prove difficult.”
Ask me the damn question.
Did you plan to use me to achieve your goal?
Why was she stalling?
“If I’m to discover the truth I need your help.” Devlin studied the language of her body. Her stance was stiff, the vivacious energy that captivated him had dissipated. “You are the only one who bore witness to the conversations they shared. You’re the only one who can offer any insight.”
She remained silent for a time, her gaze fixed on the hem of her plain brown dress. He could feel her withdrawing, shrinking into the shadows, far away from him. The muscles in his stomach twisted into painful knots, and in his head, he cried, Don’t go.
“Juliet.”
“Yes?” She looked up, but her eyes lacked vitality.
“Is there anything you wish to ask me?”
“No. Your motives are clear.”
The tension in the air was stifling. “I meant everything I said the day I offered marriage in the garden. We suit better than I could ever have hoped.”
She nodded. “Your offer was generous for a woman like me, and I am truly grateful.”
Devlin did not want her gratitude. He wanted things infinitely more precious. He wanted her trust, her respect. He wanted her love. The thought shocked him.
“And in recompense for offering me a glimmer of happiness,” she said though she sounded far from content, “I shall do everything in my means to help you.” She straightened and cast him a weak smile. “Finding the letters must be a priority, and at dinner tonight you must—” She broke on a gasp, her head shooting back to the window.
Panic flashed in her eyes. She wore her sudden terror like a masquerade mask, hiding all innocence and beauty. All thoughts of how he might salvage something after this awkward conversation abandoned him.
“What is it?” Devlin wanted to reach for her, to take her in his arms and soothe away her fears, but a wall existed between them now, and he wasn’t sure how to break it down.
“Tonight!” She clasped her hand to her chest. “How did I forget?”
“Forget what? You are not making any sense.”
“The fountain.” She touched the sleeve of her dress, the place that hid the evidence of her bruises. “I’m to meet Mr Biggs at the fountain at midnight.”
Panic gripped Devlin by the throat. “Like hell you will.”
“If I fail to bring the letters as requested, he promised to punish you.” A tear trickled down her cheek, and Devlin couldn’t help but think that their early conversation was the cause.
“You’ll not leave this house,” he said, the command carrying the full weight of his authority. “Is that clear?”
In a voice barely louder than a whisper, she muttered to herself, accident the only coherent word.
“Juliet.” When she failed to meet his gaze, he repeated, “Juliet. I shall meet Mr
Biggs at the fountain.” Blood rushed to his hands until his fingers throbbed with the need for satisfaction. “And when I do, you may trust that he shall not darken our door again.”
Chapter Twelve
“Are you certain you’re feeling well?” Devlin put down his cutlery and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “You’ve hardly eaten anything this evening. Are you worried about my impending confrontation with Biggs?”
“Partly.” A myriad of thoughts flitted about in Juliet’s head. Their lack of success in finding any letters from Hannah proved frustrating. And while she had every confidence her husband possessed the strength and ability to tackle a rogue like Mr Biggs, it took one mistake, one random shot with a pistol to end a man’s life.
The tension in the air was palpable.
She was at fault.
Disappointment hung like a lead weight in her chest, dragging her down. She was not naive enough to think Devlin Drake had married her for her wit or beauty. He had married her to prove a point to her father, and because she had the integrity Hannah lacked. Oh, one could not deny desire had sprung to life from practically nowhere, but it hurt to hear that his only motive was to use her as a source of information.
But when one married for the wrong reasons what else could one expect?
Another man might have punished her, abused her to get what he wanted. For all his faults, Devlin acted like a caring husband which only confused matters all the more.
“How many times must I tell you?” Devlin reached across the table and touched her arm. “Four men would struggle to take me down. One flick to the throat is all it takes to render Biggs helpless.”
For a man of Devlin Drake’s size, it was easy to imagine him in the midst of a violent brawl. Only last night, she had run her hands over hard, bulging muscle, excited by the raw power contained beneath his bronzed skin. She had witnessed the darkness in his eyes, felt the angry undercurrent that invaded his aura, which made him a man to fear.
“I know how conniving my father can be when he wants something,” she said, staring at the asparagus spears on her plate. “Based on his actions so far, I cannot help but think this amounts to more than a few malicious comments written in a note.”
Devlin fell silent for a moment. He sipped his wine though his dark eyes remained trained on her over the rim of his glass.
“And correct me if I’m wrong,” he began, “but I suspect your solemn mood stems from more than our failure to find the letters.”
Juliet daren’t look at him. She was not one who sought pity and had tried to pretend that learning of his motive for marriage hadn’t changed things somehow.
“Juliet.” Devlin’s rich voice caressed her.
“Yes?”
“Look at me.”
“Must I?”
“Unless you want me to straddle your lap at the dining table.”
She glanced at the footmen who held their stone-like expressions.
“I would consider that unwise unless you want to break the chair legs. I doubt either of us wishes to end up in a heap on the floor.”
“It did not seem to bother you last night.”
The comment brought the memories of their passionate encounter flooding back. Her body reacted instantly, sending pulses to the intimate place that craved his touch. When she found the courage to look at him, her stomach flipped.
“Nothing would have bothered me last night,” she said.
“Then perhaps we should retire to the music room and converse in there.” Devlin swallowed another mouthful of wine, and his lips curled into a sinful grin. “I will have the truth from you even if I have to tease it from your mouth.”
Juliet’s heart fluttered up to her throat. While her body relished the prospect, her mind focused on the two words that rendered her helpless—the truth.
“I’m not a naive chit at her come-out ball, but, foolishly, I imagined you’d experienced the same sense of connection when you suggested marriage. I am simply trying to come to terms with the fact that I appear to be somewhat gullible.”
Devlin leant back in the chair, a smile touching his lips. One jerk of the head and both footmen left the room.
“Would you have had me lie to you this morning?”
“Of course not.”
“Did you not marry me because I offered a means of escape?”
Juliet blinked. “Well, yes. But that was not the only reason.”
Devlin raised a curious brow. “And what other reason possessed you to shackle yourself to a stranger?”
The stark reality of the situation hit her. Since the day he’d pushed the magical band onto her finger, nothing but romantic notions filled her head. He was her protector, her saviour, the only one ever to unlock these sweet sensations that plagued her mind and body. She trusted him, cared for him.
“You made me feel safe, comfortable. I liked that we were different in so many ways. It sounds silly and perhaps a little conceited, but I had the overwhelming sense that you needed me, that we needed each other.” She stopped to take a breath. “And that is why I married you, Mr Drake.”
The smile slipped from his face only to be replaced with the same heated look she’d witnessed when in the throes of passion. Fire flashed in those dark eyes. “Besides needing to address the situation with Ambrose, I married you for exactly the same reasons.”
Her heart swelled in her chest. “I was hurt earlier, that is all.”
“I know. And I will make sure I never hurt you again.”
“Then there are no more secrets between us?”
“None.”
The tension in the air lifted. Any awkwardness melted away, replaced by the thrum of suppressed desire. She felt the brush of his leg against hers beneath the table. But as much as she burned for his touch, all thoughts turned to Mr Biggs. Until her father had the letters, he would hound them to the ends of the earth. There was no telling what he would do if she defied him.
The chime of the long-case clock in the hall only heightened her anxiety. Juliet counted each sombre strike.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Another four hours until Devlin confronted the rogue.
Another four hours of uncertainty.
“Stop thinking about my midnight appointment,” Devlin said as he sank his knife into a piece of venison pie. “You should eat something. You’ll need your strength as there might well be more dancing once I’ve disposed of Biggs.”
Devlin Drake defied all logic. Did he not fear the outcome? Was he not the least bit concerned that they might have underestimated the threat?
“How can you think of dancing when we have grave dealings ahead?”
A devilish smile graced his lips, one that spoke of hot lust and sin. His molten gaze slid down her body. “I have spent every minute of the day dreaming of dancing with you tonight.”
Oh, Lord!
“Is … is that what you plan to tell Mr Biggs when he demands to see the letters?”
Devlin swallowed his food and straightened. “After Biggs has had a painful conversation with my fist, I doubt there will be anything left to say.” A dark, sinister grin obliterated all traces of his amorous mood.
“What good will that do? Is it not better to press him for information?” It would help if they knew what they were looking for. Was it a matter of libel? Was it something more vindictive? “What if Hannah blackmailed Ambrose over his fondness for men?”
“Ambrose did not pursue relations with men. I would have no objection if that were the case. Everyone deserves happiness, but it goes against everything I know of his character.”
From the little she knew of Ambrose, Juliet had to agree. “Knowing Hannah as I do, blackmail is within the realms of her capabilities. And her arguments are rarely based on fact.”
Oh, she could picture Hannah’s ugly sneer upon delivering her vile threats, contempt written over her—
A sudden thought hit Juliet like a sharp gust of wind, forcing her to draw
her head back.
Hannah’s words bombarded her mind.
Only wallflowers have time to write letters. Society ladies prefer less mundane pursuits.
During the six years she’d lived with Hannah, not once had Juliet seen her sister sitting at the escritoire. Her mornings involved studying the latest fashion plates from Paris or gossiping about another lady’s lack of womanly wiles. Expressing her thoughts in ink was out of character. But had Ambrose refused all requests to meet and given her no other option?
If you hope to play a role in this family, you will find the letters.
I want all letters written in a feminine hand.
Juliet had believed that her father’s odd request stemmed from the need for caution, the need to protect Hannah at all costs. But now she wasn’t so sure. Perhaps Mr Biggs might provide a clue to help solve the mystery.
“I have an idea,” she said, her voice laced with a smooth, sensual undertone for she expected her husband’s fierce objection. She reached out and touched his arm, stroked back and forth with obvious affection. “I have a plan that might improve our hand in this game.”
Devlin’s coal-black eyes fixed her to the chair. “And you think you might seduce me into submission?”
“Perhaps.”
“Then I must assume your idea is foolish, and that you hope my passion for you will overrule my sense of logic.”
Rather than feel frustrated by his sharp intellect, a warm glow of pride filled her chest. “You are extremely alert and quick-witted.”
“As my friends will tell you, my skills in negotiation are legendary. Coupled with my intimidating manner, I always walk away from deals with more than I want.”
A tickle of excitement sparked to life in Juliet’s belly. It gave her an opportunity to forget about the threat from Mr Biggs, if only for a short while. She rose slowly from the chair, moved to stand behind Devlin and placed her hands on his broad shoulders. Even through his coat, the muscles flexed beneath her palms.
“I do not profess to have your skill for negotiation,” she said in a husky voice she could not recall ever using before. “But perhaps I might at least tempt you to consider my proposal.”
