Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons Book 4) Page 17

  “I do,” Penelope insisted. “You’re ever so lovely and kind and talented.” She beat her sketchpad against her thigh. “Mother will have him wed one of those landscape sketching misses, I’m sure of it.”

  Even at the tender age of thirteen the clever girl had already realized the truth of their world. Earls wed genteel young ladies, not those women who encouraged free thought in young girls. “Penelope, you shouldn’t say such things,” she murmured.

  Penelope slashed her sketchpad through the air. “Bah, why? I imagine you care for him.”

  Her cheeks blazed.

  “And do you know how many times he’s visited us in our studies prior to you, Miss Marsh?” She didn’t wait for Juliet’s response. “Not once. Now he’s taking us shopping for ribbons.” She caught Juliet’s gaze. “Ribbons! And he detests shopping. Yet, he eagerly joined us because of you, I’m sure of it.”

  “Penelope,” she chided. Jonathan wasn’t the sort of gentleman to join his sisters on a shopping expedition solely for the purpose of Juliet Marshville’s company. “Your brother is merely being attentive.”

  Penelope snorted “Attentive to you, perhaps.” She planed her arms akimbo. “Do you care for him?” she asked baldly.

  Juliet choked. “Penelope!”

  “You do!” The girl’s eyes widened. “I was certain of it.”

  She could not afford to have the girl’s scandalous charge reach the Countess of Sinclair. “No,” Juliet said hurriedly, because it would be tantamount to disaster if the sisters took it upon their head to play matchmaker between their roguish nobleman of a brother, and her, their governess. Information in these girls’ hands, even if well intentioned by one or two of them would be ruinous. “You are wrong.”

  Penelope studied her for a moment. She lowered her eyebrows. “You do not care for him, then?”

  I love him. Juliet shook her head. “He is my employer, Penelope,” she said with a gentle firmness. She was saved from saying anything further on the dangerous subject, for the door flew open so fast it bounced off the wall and nearly hit Poppy in the face. She kicked the door closed behind her.

  I really must begin instructing the girls on the proper way to enter and exit a room.

  “Poppy, you mustn’t just barge into a person’s chambers,” Penelope scolded, sounding more a young governess than young girl.

  “Stuff it, Penny,” her sister muttered. She began to pace a frantic path at the entrance of the room.

  Juliet bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling at the ever-dramatic Poppy. She’d come to learn the girl would reveal her thoughts all in due time, no prodding necessary.

  Poppy paused mid-stride and flung a forearm across her brow. “It is a disaster. A complete and total disaster. We must do something. Anything.”

  Penelope rolled her eyes nearly to the back of her head. “Oh, Poppy, must you—”

  “It’s Sin.”

  Juliet’s heart paused. She wet her lips. She should gently discourage the girl from gossiping about her brother. She should guide her back to her chambers. Alas, she had increasingly of late seemed incapable of doing, as she should. “What is it, Poppy?"

  Poppy slammed her fist into her open palm. “That Lady Beatrice,” she said between gritted teeth. “Simpering and fawning.” The girl proceeded to titter behind her hand, and dropped her gaze to the floor in what Juliet suspected was a rendition of the young lady.

  A dull pain built in Juliet’s chest. She rubbed at the spot, to no avail.

  “What of Sin?” Penelope demanded.

  God love the girl for asking the question Juliet daren’t ask.

  Poppy growled. She stalked over to Juliet’s bed and collapsed upon it, arms spread wide, gaze fixed up on the canopy above her head. “He’s…he’s…flirting with her in return,” she said on a lamentable moan.

  Of course he was. A rogue of the first order, a gentleman like the Earl of Sinclair was incapable of anything less. Only, Juliet knew of the likelihood of a match between Jonathan and the Lady Beatrice. This was no mere flirtation. And worse, knew there was every likelihood that this Lady Beatrice would in fact become the future Countess of Sinclair. Her heart cracked and bled. She glanced down stunned to find no crimson mark of her despair upon her modest ivory wrapper.

  “She’s gone all quiet,” Poppy whispered, and shoved herself up on her elbows.

  Penelope shook her head. “Of course she did, you ninny. She cares for him.”

  Juliet shook her head, Penelope’s words sinking into her brain. “No!” she exclaimed, and then, “No.” There, vastly more steady than that first exclamation.

  The sisters shared a look.

  “I do not care for your brother,” Juliet said quickly. The girls’ lips turned down in matching frowns. “Er, that is, as anything more than a benevolent employer.” The implications of the girls’ pronouncement robbed her of coherent thought. If these two, innocent, inexperienced young girls should have detected her feelings for Jonathan then surely the countess had, and worse… Her eyes slid closed.

  Jonathan must know.

  She folded her arms across her midsections and squeezed tight. I don’t believe we’ve spoken of marriage.

  “Is she all right?”

  She dimly registered Poppy’s whispered question to her elder sister, whose response was lost to the ringing in Juliet’s ears. Suddenly the folly in having ever sought out the devilish Earl of Sinclair outside his scandalous clubs, and agree to his terms of employment slammed into Juliet with all the force of a boulder being dropped upon her chest. What had she been thinking?

  At the time, well, Rosecliff Cottage had seemed the most important thing of all. She’d seen the home she’d grown in as a small girl, had imagined the solitude and peace found in that modest, stone-front dwelling. Yet, in the time she’d come to know Jonathan, really know him, how often had she thought of that modest, stone-front dwelling? Not at all. And it was all because of him. Because he’d robbed her of her logic and reason…and worse, her heart.

  He’d stolen her heart.

  Penelope touched a hand to her shoulder, and she jumped. “Miss Marsh, are you all right?” she whispered.

  “I’m fine. Just tired.” Terrified. “You girls should be abed. You shouldn’t be sneaking about your brother’s dinner party. So, off with you now,” she said gently but firmly. She crossed over the front of the room and pulled the door open.

  The girls exchanged one last look, and then filed out of the room one after the other.

  Juliet nearly had the door closed when Penelope stuck her sketchpad inside to keep it from shutting. “You’re certain you are all right, Miss Marsh?” She leaned her head in through the crack in the door. “I would… Please do not leave. Not because of Sin. Or Prudence. Or that horrid Lady Beatrice. Stay for Poppy and I.”

  She managed a tremulous smile. “I’m fine, Penelope,” she assured the girl. “Good night, sweet.”

  Penelope frowned, and then pulled her sketchpad out of the door.

  Juliet closed it behind the girl, and turned the lock. She leaned against the wood panel and shook her head. Penelope, wise beyond her years, had seen something Juliet herself hadn’t…until the girl had breathed the words to life. Her chest heaved as she struggled to draw in breath. She could not remain here. In a short time she’d grown to love Jonathan’s sisters, but with each passing day, a bigger and bigger sliver of her heart fell away. If she did not leave soon, then nothing would remain.

  Soon, the day would come when Jonathan would make a formal offer of a lady. It might not be Lady Beatrice, but it would be another, and when that day came to pass, what remained of her heart would die in her breast.

  Damn you, Jonathan Tidemore. Damn you.

  Chapter 16

  For Juliet, as the daughter of a baronet, during her life, Sundays had signified the day to march to church for sermons alongside her papa and brother. It had signified a day her family had spent visiting the village. Now, having begun work as a go
verness, Sundays signified something entirely different. It signified a day that belonged to no one but her.

  She’d packed up her sketchpad and charcoals and made her way for Hyde Park, never having known the freedom of going about the world as she pleased. For the expectations and responsibilities she carried as a governess, there was something liberating in being mistress to no one but herself—even if it was but for a single day.

  Juliet set her sketchpad down and glanced around the secluded copse, which overlooked Long Water. For the better part of an hour, an unpleasant sensation had churned in her belly. Some of which had to do with Poppy and Penelope’s visit in her rooms last evening. Nay, a large part of which had to do with their visit, and more—what Poppy had revealed about Jonathan and Lady Beatrice.

  She looked down at her sketchbook, to the smiling couple captured on the page; he, sinfully dark, and possessed of a wicked smile, she, demure, with artfully arranged golden ringlets.

  Juliet tore the page from the book. She crumpled it into a ball and tossed it to the edge of the water, knowing her actions childish and immature but still delighting in the small measure of comfort found in destroying the image of them if even just upon the page.

  The oddest sense of being watched came over her—studied like she were a prize fawn that a practiced hunter intended to take down, and she gave her head a clearing shake at such foolish musings. Juliet raised her knees up to her chest, and leaned back against the thin trunk of the silver birch tree. She stared out at the glimmering Long Water which emptied into Hyde Park from the Serpentine.

  Sheer madness had possessed her to come out, alone, unguarded so soon after her near encounter with Lord Williams. She plucked a too-long strand of grass from the earth, and studied the green blade.

  Her brother surely owed Lord Williams a vast sum for Albert to consider making her the vile baron’s whore. These past days, she’d prided herself on having set out on her own and made a life, independent of her brother’s machinations. Last evening, the precariousness of her situation had resonated in the grand chambers that belonged to the Earl of Sinclair. Her hope for the security and safety Rosecliff Cottage represented hinged upon Jonathan’s benevolence. He’d demonstrated himself to be a loyal and loving brother, a dedicated son, and a fair employer. But with one word, or worse marriage to Lady Beatrice, he could turn her out and then where would she be? Humbled and shamed, forced to return to Albert until she could access her inheritance in another three years.

  Juliet held the blade of grass to her lips and gently blew at the thick strip. It fluttered, and a faint breeze caught it and carried it out upon the shimmering waters. She stared at the green strand contemplatively as it floated upon the rippling water.

  Perhaps, she could return to her brother’s home. Lord Williams had surely moved on from the thought of her. After all, a proud gentleman such as the baron would hardly appreciate revealing to the world that a young lady had rebuffed his advances and laid him out cold. Considering the thick crystal candelabra she’d clouted him with, well, it was a wonder he’d even survived.

  A gust of wind stirred the canopy of green leaves above her head. Juliet tilted her neck back as sunlight filtered through the trees, and bathed her in a soft, comforting warmth. A dry branch cracked. She yanked her head up so swiftly, she wrenched the muscles of her neck.

  Then that sadistic, cruelly mocking voice she’d hoped to never again hear shattered her solitude and hard-won peace. “‘Ahh, sweet Juliet. These violent delights have violent ends. And in their triumph die, like fire and powder. Which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey. Is loathsome in his own deliciousness. And in the taste confounds the appetite.’”

  Her stomach dipped, churned, and twisted, as she met Lord Williams’ cold stare.

  He held his hand out. “We meet again, sweet Juliet.”

  She stared at his cruel fingers extended toward her and remembered the feel of him as he dug at the soft, skin of her thighs. His punishing touch as he’d squeezed her breast. Oh, God. Juliet swallowed. Her legs turned to granite beneath her, making it impossible to stand.

  “Tsk, tsk, Juliet. Will you not properly greet me?”

  The only proper greeting would involve her fist in his face and a knee in his groin. He stood before her, toying with her like the mouse held between a cat’s paws. And, she knew the fate of those poor creatures.

  “Lord Williams.” She prided herself on the steely strength to that greeting.

  A frown formed on his face, a beautiful face that hid a brutal soul. “Come, Juliet, allow me to help you to your feet.”

  Her gaze flitted momentarily to a point beyond his shoulder, even knowing all hope of escape was futile. He’d proven victorious. He’d found her. And now would continue to play whatever game this was. Juliet forced her eyes back to his and tilted her chin up a notch. Then, very deliberately shoved herself to her feet.

  The baron let his hand drift back to his side and looked at her through the narrowed slits of his eyes. “Never tell me you are not as elated to see me as I am to see you, my crimson beauty?”

  “What do you want?” she asked bluntly.

  He pressed a hand to his broad chest. “This is all you would say to me?”

  “We didn’t last meet under the most pleasant of circumstances.” She didn’t know where she found the strength to hurl the damning reminder in his taunting face.

  He laughed. “Come, sweet Juliet, after all we’ve shared, can you not call me by my name?”

  Gooseflesh dotted her arms. “What we shared?” She scoffed. Did he believe she should have been honored by the indecent proposal he’d put to her. “You are mad.”

  He brushed the backs of his knuckles along her jawline.

  She stiffened at his abhorrent touch, the antithesis of Jonathan’s gentle, soothing caress. “Do not touch me, my lord.”

  Lord Williams froze mid-stroke, and angled his head down.

  She cringed as his brandy-scented breath transported her back to the parlor in her brother’s townhouse when he’d pressed his mouth to hers and forced his tongue inside.

  His eyes glazed over, and she knew with a woman’s intuitiveness that his mind had traveled the same path, as her own. “I have missed you, Juliet,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “I wanted to make you mine.”

  “You wanted to make me your whore,” she spat bitterly.

  “My mistress,” he continued, his voice laden with desire. “You would have wanted for nothing.”

  “Nothing with the exception of my good name.” His offer, no different than Jonathan’s would cost her all she held dear. My honor, my integrity, a family of my own. In the end, Lord Williams had cost her the opportunity of a family anyway. She damned both him and Jonathan just then for wanting nothing more than her warm body in their beds.

  “You were a naughty girl, though, weren’t you? Assaulting a peer as you did. You do know what happens to those that assault a peer?”

  She took a step backward.

  “Why, they find themselves in Newgate, Juliet.”

  She continued to retreat until the edge of the Long Water licked the heels of her boots and quashed her unwitting attempt at escape. “I acted in self-defense,” she forced past numb lips.

  “It wouldn’t matter. One such as you wound find herself with her legs spread for all the guards in the prison.”

  Her breath grew ragged. “You would have raped me.”

  He made a move and she sprung forward on her heels.

  Lord Williams closed the distance between them in several long strides. He lowered his head, his lips a hairsbreadth from her own. “You would have wanted it. You would have wrapped your sweet thighs around me and begged—” The crack of her palm meeting his cheek split the quiet of the sheltered space. He touched a hand to the stark white imprint on his face. “You should not have done that, Juliet.” He stroked his palm over her cheek.

  She recoiled at his fingers upon her person.

  “Your brot
her owes me a small fortune.”

  “That is not my business.” Albert’s mistakes were his own. She’d not pay the penance for his crimes.

  She stiffened as the baron made a sudden movement, but he was only reaching into the front of his jacket. He pulled out a small bag and held it out to her. Juliet glanced down at the drawstring bag. “What is this?”

  “Go on,” he urged and pressed it into her hand, the contents heavy in her palm.

  She opened the bag and gasped.

  “Familiar, Miss Marshville?”

  Her throat worked. The emerald and diamond earbobs and necklace that had belonged to her mother. Her bastard of a brother had wagered them away to this fiend. Was nothing sacred with Albert? Then, if he’d sell her virtue to settle his gaming debts, what should small tokens which had belonged to their mother matter?

  He took the bag from her numb fingers and pulled out the necklace.

  “What…?”

  He stepped behind her and looped the bauble around her neck. The cool metal and weighted diamonds and emeralds somehow damning. His breath fanned her skin and she shuddered. She made to take a step backward, but it only brought her into closer contact with his body. Her back thumped against his chest. “There will be more, Juliet. If you but let me, I’ll shower you with the finest jewels.”

  “Go,” she begged. Please leave, and let me live my life.

  He continued to run the back of his knuckles over her cheek. Back and forth. Back and forth. “And what? You’ll remain Sinclair’s whore?” Lord Williams may as well have driven a dagger into her heart. “Tsk, tsk, did you think I’d not find out the details of your arrangement? Albert is quite livid with you.” Juliet took a step forward and backed away from him. He remained rooted to the spot, eying her through hooded lashes. “I’m not at all pleased you gave yourself to Sinclair. Not when I wanted to be the first to lay you down and make love to you.”

  Nausea churned in her gut at his words. She bit back the denial that sprang to her lips. She would not defend her virtue to this lecherous bastard. “I want you to leave. I’ve nothing to say to you.” Juliet hesitated a moment, then reached up and loosened the clasp at the back of her neck. With her free hand, she caught her mother’s necklace before it tumbled to the ground. She eyed it in silence; this one small link to the woman who’d given her life. A woman she no longer remembered. Her throat worked reflexively. She couldn’t remember the shade of her mother’s hair or the sound of her voice, but she believed she could say that her mama would never have wanted her daughter to sacrifice her virtue for the small, albeit precious keepsake. She handed it back to him. “Go.”