Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons Book 4) Page 10

  Prudence gestured to the newspaper. “Why, I’ve never known one to read a paper upside down before.”

  Patrina pointed her eyes to the ceiling as though she’d not been the same vexing, troublesome bit of baggage herself a mere handful of months ago.

  Juliet leaned close to Prudence and whispered something for the girl’s ears alone. His sister’s mouth tightened, and then quite shockingly, she fell silent.

  Feeling eyes upon him, Jonathan glanced around to find his mother’s stern gaze trained upon him. A frown marred her ageless face. Jonathan snapped his paper closed, and tossed it down onto the table. He returned his gaze to Juliet.

  She colored prettily and dropped her gaze to her plate. Ah, the sweet minx might prefer to maintain a façade of indifference, but her kiss and the blush upon her cheeks spoke to her desires.

  “Miss Marsh, perhaps we might meet at the beginning of each week and discuss your plans for the girls.”

  Juliet’s head whipped around to face his mother with such alacrity he imagined her neck muscles ached like the devil. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to cross over to her and run his palms over the sweet, satiny softness of her flesh.

  “I thought to begin with watercolors and charcoal, my lady. If that meets with your approval.”

  “It does,” Jonathan interjected. He picked up his cold coffee and took another sip. “Perhaps we might spend this day shopping for any items you might require to deliver your instruction.” Usually loath to shop in London, he found he preferred the intimate time it afforded him with his new governess.

  “You want to shop again?” Prudence shot back incredulously. She shook her head. She and Patrina spoke in unison. “You never want to shop.”

  Prudence continued on. “First the ribbons, and now the…”

  He fixed his eyes on her from over the rim of his glass of coffee. She lowered her brows. He stared back intently.

  “Er, I meant to say how very fortunate we are to have a brother as you,” she said with a nauseating sweetness.

  He stole a glance at his mother to find whether she’d detected the patent insincerity in his sister’s words, but her face remained set in the smooth, unbothered lines he’d come to expect of the graceful countess. Instead, she remained focused on Juliet. “You are proficient in art, then, Miss Marsh?”

  Juliet hesitated a moment, and then nodded once. “I am proficient, my lady, particularly with charcoals.”

  Mother wrinkled her brow. “Charcoals, you say? That is rather unconventional,” she said as if more to herself.

  Juliet inclined her head. “It is, my lady. I began when I was Poppy’s age.” Then she looked to Jonathan. “Nor do I require any supplies at this time, my lord. I have an adequate amount of materials for each of the girls.”

  He absently swirled the contents of his glass. Like hell she did. A trio of groans sounded about the table at the end of the girls’ dream of a shopping trip. He frowned as with their dreams went his hope of an additional meeting with the lovely Miss Marshville. “I insist, Miss Marsh.”

  Alas, she demonstrated a warrior’s determination. Juliet leaned forward in her seat. “And I insist that we do not require anything at this time. My lord,” she added almost as an afterthought.

  Mother cleared her throat. Juliet and Jonathan jumped. “It is settled then, I believe, Jonathan.”

  The hell it was. Jonathan took a final sip of his coffee and set it down. He tipped his head in Juliet’s direction. “Very well, Miss Marsh. If you, however require anything of me, if you are in need of anything you can but ask and I’ll see your desires met.” From the heightened hue upon her cheeks, his clever Juliet had clearly followed the double entendre behind his very deliberate words.

  She shoved back her chair and surged to her feet so quickly, the delicate wood scraped upon the wood floor. “Shall we begin then, my ladies?”

  Poppy and Penelope stared at her like she’d sprouted a second head, whereas Prudence… His frown deepened. Whereas Prudence had a knowing glint in her entirely too young eyes.

  Jonathan gave a quick clap of his hands. “I bid thee good day, my lovely sisters.”

  Penelope pointed at him. “You’ll promise to take us shopping though?”

  “Of course,” he assured her with deliberate somberness. He marked an X upon his chest. “I am a brother of his word.”

  His three sisters looked between one another, and seemed to come to a silent, unspoken consensus for they all nodded in unison and trotted after Juliet like a bevy of Prinny’s pugs.

  Jonathan shifted in his seat to better avail himself to his view of Juliet’s sweetly rounded, departing derriere.

  “Jonathan!” his mother snapped.

  He forced his attention back to his mother’s suspicious stare. “Hmm, uh-yes, Mother?”

  “Now that we’ve addressed the matter of the governess…”

  Now that he’d addressed the matter…

  “There is the matter of your future countess.”

  Patrina inclined her head looking entirely too much like Mother. One mother was quite enough. Two was not to be countenanced. “And it is a very important matter, Jonathan.”

  He bit back a curse and reached for his coffee. He peered into his glass with a frown. Empty. Jonathan sighed and set it back down. “It is not enough that I’ve found us Miss Marsh?” He drummed his fingers upon the mahogany surface of the table.

  “It is certainly not.” Mother placed her folded hands in front of her. “Miss Marsh will not secure the Sinclair line.”

  Except with those eight words uttered all manner of wicked thoughts paraded through his mind; wicked thoughts that involved Miss Marsh upon his bed and her sweet thighs spread wide in invitation as she secured the Sinclair line.

  His mother continued, fortunately unaware of his desirous thoughts involving the delectable Juliet. “I understand you courted the Duke of Somerset’s niece, but the young lady is now married. Her cousin would make you an excellent match.”

  He snorted. Her cousin? As in the Lady Beatrice Dennington. With her golden ringlets and soft-spoken, well-modulated tone she could not be more different than the vibrant, spirited Juliet Marshville. No, Lady Beatrice could not hold a candle to Juliet’s effervescent glow.

  “Do not make that face, Jonathan.”

  “And what face is that, Mother?” he drawled.

  She motioned toward him. “The one that suggests you find Lady Beatrice dull.”

  He spread his hands before him. “It would be ungentlemanly for me to say such a thing about a lady.”

  She smiled with motherly approval.

  “Which is why I rather appreciate your saying it for me,” he finished, motioning a servant over.

  The footman rushed forward to provide Jonathan a fresh, warm glass of coffee.

  Mother tossed her arms up despairingly. “Then the Lady Diana Shorington. She is a diamond of the first water.”

  Ah, yes, but what living, breathing man would desire a mere diamond when he could have a crimson ruby?

  “You must at least promise to begin taking your responsibilities as earl seriously.”

  “Don’t I always, Mother?”

  “No, you don’t,” she said bluntly.

  Jonathan blew on his steaming coffee. “You wound me, Mother. I did find Miss Marsh.” It was only a mere technicality that he’d in a way, won her at a game of cards. He took a sip.

  She sighed. “You did find, Miss Marsh, I suppose,” she granted.

  Which proved the perfect reprieve. He took a final sip, wincing as it scalded a path down his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, Mother? Patrina?”

  “Where are you off to?” they called after him.

  “I merely want to see how my three sisters are getting on with their lessons.”

  More specifically, he cared to see Juliet. He grinned in anticipation of seeing the young lady who’d captivated him since…hell since she’d climbed up into his carriage, nothing more than a stranger.

&nb
sp; Jonathan made his way through the house, toward the Ivory Parlor his sisters took their lessons in. His footsteps beat a quiet path along the thin red carpet lining the corridors. He studied that red carpet, never having appreciated just how dull the shade was…until Juliet. The young woman could set a room ablaze with her courage and crimson beauty.

  He slowed to a halt as he reached the closed door, and turned his head sideways against the wood panel. Not that he was eavesdropping per se, but rather…

  Oh, hell, he was eavesdropping.

  He listened close for Juliet’s tears, prepared to storm the room and give his sisters a dressing down for their unruly behavior. By God, they would not drive her from this house. If they did, they’d not set foot in another shop, he’d swear it upon the title Sinclair. The door muffled what sounded much like a giggle. Or was it a whimper? Another giggle-whimper.

  Jonathan listened closer.

  Poppy peeked over Penelope’s shoulder. “That is horrid.”

  Penelope frowned and studied the page in front of her. “It is not.” She growled. Then with a “humph” she tore the page out, crinkled it into a neat little ball, and tossed it to the floor.

  Amidst an ever growing pile.

  Juliet stared at the mound for a moment with pained regret. She’d assured Jonathan they had enough supplies, but that had been before Penelope had made her way through most of one of Juliet’s sketchpads. “It is not horrid, Lady Penelope,” Juliet assured her.

  “Aren’t you supposed to instruct us on how to sketch?” Prudence called out from her spot beside Poppy on the ivory sofa.

  Juliet walked over to the seat, trailing her fingertips along the richly upholstered furniture. “Is that what you would like, Prudence? Would you like me to tell you what to sketch?”

  “Well, isn’t that your role?” Prudence tossed back. “Isn’t that what governesses do? Instruct young ladies on what is expected of them?”

  Instruct young ladies on what is expected of them. Yes, Juliet suspected their well-ordered world had very specific expectations of a young lady. What to paint…how to dress…how to laugh, even. Juliet leaned down and said softly, close to the girl’s ears. “But where is the fun in that?” The one joy she’d found in life had come at the freedom Papa had given her to express upon the blank pages of numerous sketchpads.

  “If you’re a proficient artist, Miss Marsh, then why’ve we not seen your work?” Penelope said with a heavy dose of skepticism.

  Juliet’s lips twitched. “Would you like me to provide samples of my work?”

  The three girls exchanged a look. Prudence nodded for them.

  Juliet slid into the vacant King Louis XIV chair and reached for a sketchpad. She shuffled through the pages until she came upon a blank sheet. She sat there in silence for a long while running her charcoal across the sheet. “You see girls, I can tell you what to sketch or paint,” she murmured as her fingers danced upon the page. “I can tell you that ladies sketch floral arrangements.” Her fingers stilled, and she glanced up at the trio of enrapt stares. “Floral arrangements that a lady is, of course, expected to arrange.” She resumed her work, adding lines to the page. “I can demand you sketch that which I demand you sketch, but what would that serve to accomplish?” Juliet paused a moment to study the page with a critical eye. “You’ll despise me for stifling your ability to creatively express yourself, and more, you’ll detest art. You won’t see the beauty in it.” She added a line. “You won’t see the freedom in it.” She shifted the book on her lap and rubbed the charcoal back and forth. “You see, I far prefer these young ladies,” she turned the page out for the girls to examine.

  Prudence, Penelope, and Poppy all wordlessly leaned forward in their seats to examine the animated girls captured upon the page. Wide, unabashed smiles wreathed their cheeks, merriment danced in their eyes.

  “Bloody hell, you’re marvelous, Miss Marsh.” Poppy breathed.

  “Language, Poppy,” Juliet reminded her gently. “You see, I prefer these girls,” She tapped the page. “To these,” she turned to a sketch she’d completed last evening, an imaginary moment with the three seated, stone-faced, stoic, and expressionless upon the same upholstered sofa they now rested on. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” Because they needed to understand. If she left today, and they learned nothing else from her, not to sing, or play pianoforte, or dance, they should know to never, ever lose a joy and love for life.

  Penelope scratched at her head. “You prefer us mischievous?”

  Juliet laughed. “I prefer you lively.”

  “Mother says gentleman do not prefer a lively lady,” Prudence said, and by the way she hovered at the edge of her seat, Juliet suspected her next words would matter very much to the girl.

  She held Prudence’s gaze. “Then I imagine such a gentleman would not be worth wedding.”

  Prudence smiled, the first real smile, sincere and innocent, devoid of all suspicion and ill will.

  Poppy tossed a hand over her brow, and the moment was shattered. Prudence’s lips fell into their familiar, hard line. “We shall never find a husband. Mother says if we do not conduct ourselves in a manner like Lady Beatrice Dennington then we’ll remain forever spinsters.”

  “We’ll become forever spinsters. Become. Not remain,” Penelope groused from under her breath.

  Juliet furrowed her brow. “Lady Beatrice Dennington?”

  Penelope and Poppy shared a look. Poppy broke the silence. “Sin’s intended.”

  The bottom fell from Juliet’s stomach and she unwittingly gripped the edges of her page so tight, they wrinkled in her hand. Oh God, there was a woman who would be Jonathan’s wife. She supposed with her oft-used logic and reason she should have considered there would come a day when the roguish, charming Jonathan Tidemore, Earl of Sinclair wed…wed a woman of elegance and grace and sophistication. But she’d not considered the day he’d set his marital cap upon a deserving young lady.

  It didn’t matter. It couldn’t. It shouldn’t. She told herself all of that, and mentally lashed herself with the truth of the girls’ words, to no avail. Her heart twisted.

  Penelope and Poppy carried on, seeming unaware that they’d somehow, in a way Juliet could not understand, tossed her world off-kilter. Penelope nudged her elbow into her sister’s side. “She is not his intended.”

  Juliet’s eyes slid closed a moment and a giddy sensation filled her chest, a sensation that felt remarkably like relief. When she opened her eyes, she found Prudence studying her with a knowing glint in her hazel eyes.

  “Not yet,” Prudence directed those two words and her pointed stare at Juliet. “But Mother says it is but a matter of time before they wed.”

  “Before who weds?”

  The four ladies emitted like shrieks and their heads turned.

  Jonathan.

  Chapter 10

  Jonathan had stumbled into something, that much was clear by his sisters’ guiltily, averted eyes, and the manner in which Juliet refused to meet his stare. He scowled. What was this? His Juliet was as bold as brass and wholly unrepentant. She was not this…this… Her chin ticked up a notch, and she met his stare. He grinned. Ahh, there you are sweet, Juliet.

  “Er, we were discussing our future husbands,” Penelope said at last.

  Jonathan strolled into the room. He paused beside the arm of Poppy’s chair and tugged at a loose black curl. “Is that right, Poppy?”

  “Er, yes, absolutely,” she said entirely too quickly.

  He wandered over to the vacant seat beside Juliet and sank into it. He stretched his legs out in front of him, and hooked them at the ankles. “Well then, let’s hear of this gentleman. What have we decided?” Because he’d already decided he couldn’t hope to find one worthwhile gentleman, let alone four worthwhile gentlemen for his sisters. He shuddered at the prospect of them each making their Come Out. Patrina was quite enough for now.

  “Miss Marsh believes we should be mischievous,” Poppy supplied.

 
He quirked an eyebrow in Juliet’s direction. Now, that certainly didn’t sound of the Miss Juliet Marshville he’d come to know. “Is that true, Miss Marshville?”

  “Miss Marsh,” Penelope corrected.

  He blinked. “Beg pardon.”

  “You called Miss Marsh, Miss Marshville. Her name is Miss Marsh,” Penelope explained.

  Christ.

  Juliet blushed furiously.

  He cleared his throat. “My apology, Miss Marsh. So, what is this of encouraging—?”

  “I’ve not encouraged them to be mischievous. I encouraged them to be lively.”

  Jonathan cocked his head. “Aren’t they one in the same?”

  “That’s what I said,” Penelope muttered.

  Juliet shook her head. “They certainly are not.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Enlighten me then, Miss Marsh.”

  Juliet wet her lips in that delicious way that had him longing to toss her over his shoulder like the first Earl of Sinclair surely had done of years past; carry her through the halls of his house, up to his chambers, strip the clothes from her body, and make sweet love to her until she was incapable of using those delectable lips for anything but moaning his name. “Well,” she began. “A gentleman should value honesty and forthrightness. I merely encouraged your sisters to be ladylike but also to be free with their thoughts.”

  “Free with their thoughts,” he repeated. A grin pulled at his lips. Which immediately earned him four matching frowns.

  “Yes. Their thoughts, my lord,” she said slowly as though speaking to a child. “They are the ideas that move freely through a person’s head…”

  He swiped his hand across his mouth burying a laugh, and schooled his features. “Carry on.”

  Juliet gestured to his sisters. “I explained they should find a gentleman who values and cares for them as they are, and not one who’d shape them into something they’re not.”

  “Which would be respectable ladies,” he muttered beneath his breath.

  Prudence swatted him on the arm. “Hush, Jonathan.”