Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons Book 4) Page 21

  Penelope stepped directly into his path, having clearly interpreted his intentions. “You need food, Jonathan.”

  Poppy plugged her nose. “And a bath. You smell horr…er, as though you’ve slept with the horses for the past four days.”

  “I need to find her,” he said harshly.

  They both nodded. “Yes.”

  “But you need food and a bath if you’re to do Miss Marshville any good,” Penelope added.

  Jonathan cursed and marched around Penelope.

  “Where are you going, Jonathan?” she cried.

  “I’m going to have my bath and a meal,” he called over his shoulder. And then he was going to find Juliet. He hurried from the room and nearly bowled Prudence over. She stood poised in the center of the hall. Tears filled her eyes. Jonathan stepped around her, short on patience for the sister who’d slandered Juliet’s name. All of Juliet’s previous charges, her claims that he overindulged his sisters and tolerated ill-behavior flooded to the surface. Never before had the flaws in raising his sisters been more glaring than in this moment, with her gone, and his mind numbed with fear for her.

  “Jonathan,” Prudence cried softly and raced after him. She tugged his arm and forced him to stop.

  “What is it?” he asked, his tone harsher than he’d ever used with any of his sisters.

  Her lower lip trembled. She held her palms up. “I-I’m s-sorry. Not because y-you expect m-me to say as much, but b-because I am. I was deliberately cruel to M-Miss Marsh, and I’m so very sorry.” She buried her face into her hands and wept. Her shoulders shook under the force of her tears.

  Jonathan dashed a hand over his face. He’d never been able to bear the sight of his sisters’ suffering. He took Prudence by the arms and forced her to look at him. “I’ve failed you, Pru,” he said quietly. He wasn’t sure where or when. Sometime after father had died, and she’d been a sobbing little girl of three with hopelessly big blue eyes.

  “No, Jonathan. Penny and P-poppy are correct. I-I’m horrid. Miss Marshville was the most wonderful thing to e-ever h-happen to us, and I just let h-her go, and n-now my life will n-never be the s-same.”

  He cradled her to his chest as she wept copious amount of tears over the front of his heavily rumpled coat. She is the best thing to ever happen to us, and I just let her go. His eyes slid closed.

  Ah, God, truer words were never spoken. Had he truly never told Juliet what she’d come to mean to him? Had he ever bothered to tell her that with her in his life, he smiled more and laughed more?

  “F-find her, Jonathan. Y-you m-must,” she begged.

  His jaw hardened. “I intend to, Pru.”

  A large chunk of bread and a quick bath later, Jonathan found his way to Drake and Emmaline’s townhouse. He pounded on the front door for a third time. He knew it was unfashionably late to pay the family a call.

  He pounded harder. But Juliet had been turned out.

  He knocked again. And if he didn’t find her, he’d go mad.

  The door opened, and the air left him on a swift sigh of relief. He didn’t wait for the butler to grant him admittance, but instead pushed his way inside. “I need to see—”

  “You look like hell.”

  Jonathan glanced up as Drake strode down the stairs. If he looked like hell now, then his friend should have seen him before the bath and change of attire.

  Drake reached the foyer. Jacketless, and with his shirt hanging open, his friend clearly hadn’t been expecting or wanting visitors this evening. However, the somber set to his face indicated he’d been expecting this particular visitor.

  Jonathan ran a shaking hand through his hair. Drake jerked his chin toward the corridor leading to his office. “I gather you know the reason I’m here,” Jonathan muttered, as they started down the hall.

  “I strongly suspect I have the why of it.”

  They reached Drake’s office and he motioned him inside. He closed the door behind them.

  “Where is she?” Jonathan demanded without preamble. “Poppy and Penelope said you’d escorted Juliet somewhere. Where did—?”

  Drake held a hand up. Then wordlessly, he crossed over to the crystal decanters on the table in the far back corner of his office, and poured two glasses of whiskey. He held one out to Jonathan.

  “I don’t need a bloody drink.” Except, he took the glass his friend carried over to him.

  “She’s Sir Albert Marshville’s sister, Sin. You won her home in a game of cards and then put her to work as your governess.”

  Jonathan winced at the damning words spoken by his friend. Put in those harsh, succinct terms, he couldn’t help but be ashamed. “It wasn’t…she approached me…” He went silent. Because with Drake’s tangible disappointment, he realized there were no words to condone his treatment of Juliet.

  Drake studied him over the rim of his glass, and cursed. “You made her your mistress, didn’t you?”

  “No!” the denial burst from Jonathan’s lungs. “I didn’t make her my mistress,” he said, his voice quiet. He could not admit even to his friend the truth—he had wanted Juliet in his bed. He’d promised her jewels and trinkets. Now, with her gone, and all that remained was the memory of her, he nearly choked on the offer he’d put to her. A woman of Juliet’s honor and integrity would never have been swayed by a desire for material possessions. He gripped his glass hard. “I didn’t make her my mistress,” he repeated. Because she said no.

  Drake set his glass down. “Do you love her?”

  Jonathan studied the contents of his glass. He knew his heart ached at the prospect of never seeing her again. He knew if he failed to find her, the light would go out of his life. He knew that with her he smiled more and laughed more and hurt more and…

  Liquid splashed over the sides of his glass and he stiffened as Drake removed the tumbler from between his hands. Oh God help me. I love her. I love her, and she is gone, and I do not know where she is.

  Drake didn’t press him for an answer, perhaps because he was Jonathan’s closest friend and as such didn’t need confirmation of his question. Perhaps Drake knew Juliet was entitled to those words, first. “Sit down,” his friend commanded.

  Jonathan sank into the nearest seat, a leather sofa.

  Drake dragged a nearby King Louis XIV chair over opposite Jonathan. “Your mother summoned me after you set out in search of Patrina.”

  He would have felt uneasy if anyone else discovered of Patrina’s actions, but he trusted Drake implicitly.

  “Your mother did not believe Marshville intended to elope with your sister.” Unlike Jonathan who’d been so very certain the couple had been off for Gretna Green. “Your mother believed Miss Marshville knew where her brother intended to take your sister.”

  “Rosecliff Cottage.” Of course, a sister for a sister, and where else should the exchange take place but at the home Sir Albert had lost in a game of faro to him. His heart thumped loudly in his ears. “She remained with Marshville?” he asked hoarsely.

  Drake hesitated a moment, and then gave a brusque nod. “She insisted upon it.”

  Of course she would. His intrepid, bold Juliet who’d propositioned him in the seediest streets of London and demanded her precious cottage returned would think nothing of trading herself for Patrina.

  Four days. She’d been with that bastard who’d tried to whore her out to cover his gaming debts, for four, nearly five days now. The same dastard who’d tossed her from a tree when she’d been a small child. If Sir Albert Marshville had treated a small girl so vilely, what would he do to the woman who’d thwarted his attempt to use her body as compensation for a lost wager? His gut churned with nausea. “Oh, God,” he whispered. He surged to his feet, and dragged Drake up by his shirtfront. “Where is she? Where are they? How could you?” he raged.

  How could I? He’d offered her a place in his bed, when what she’d truly deserved was an honorable offer as his countess. She should be his wife, even now. A strangled half-sob tore from his throat. As though
he’d ever been worthy of her. Jonathan released Drake, and staggered backward. “I have to find her.”

  “I suggest you speak to Marshville,” Drake said quietly.

  “Thank you. For everything. For your discretion with Pat—”

  Drake waved off his gratitude. “Don’t thank me, Sin. You’re my friend,” he said with the steely strength of a military man.

  Jonathan’s jaw set with determination. He would find her and he would convince her of his worthiness. He would spend the remainder of his life making amends for all the wrongs he’d committed against Juliet.

  “I’ve taken the liberty these past days of having one of my servants follow Sir Albert Marshville’s going-ons.” He glanced across the room at the long-case clock. “By my accounts thus far, you should be able to find the gentleman at Guilty Pleasures around this time, and probably for the duration of the night. That is, if he’s winning. He’s usually losing, however.”

  Jonathan nodded. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. As he took his leave of Drake and set out in search of Sir Albert Marshville, he considered all the time he’d spent with Juliet. Now, sitting in the closed confines of his carriage, he stared at the opposite bench and remembered back to when she’d climbed into his carriage, bold as you please.

  You sir, have taken my cottage and I would see it returned.

  He’d wanted her from the moment he’d set eyes upon her. He’d loved her since he’d held her palm and read the future he’d dreamed of for her—a future, he hadn’t realized until this very moment that he desperately wanted to be part of. He peeled back the red velvet curtain and stared absently out into the passing streets. The carriage pulled him further and further away from the fashionable districts and deeper into the underbelly of London. Juliet had sacrificed her happiness, the possibility of owning Rosecliff Cottage all to help Patrina, and to spare his other sisters’ reputations. What other woman would be so wholly selfless?

  And how could he ever be worthy of her?

  The carriage rocked to a sudden halt in front of a relatively modest establishment that concealed all manner of sin within its walls. He didn’t bother waiting for his driver. Instead, he opened the door himself and leapt to the ground. Jonathan strode with purposeful steps toward the doors of Guilty Pleasures, the notorious gaming hell that catered to the most immoral members of Polite Society.

  A servant pulled the doors open. The din of raucous laughter and the shuffle of cards filled the air around him. He scanned the noisy hall. His gaze moved with methodical precision over each table. And narrowed on two specific gentlemen. Jonathan started toward them, ignoring the greetings shouted his way.

  He knew the moment Sir Albert registered his appearance. The ginger-haired man blanched, and his gaze darted about as if in search of escape. He jumped to his feet so quickly, his legs knocked against the table.

  Lord Williams, seated beside the baronet, grumbled in protest as their cards and wagers were tossed about the table. Then he looked at Jonathan and smiled a cold, heartless grin.

  Jonathan’s clenched his hands tight. This was the bastard who’d offered to make Juliet his mistress and then put his hands on her body.

  Lord Williams rose somewhat unsteadily, his voice slurred from drink. “To what do we owe—?”

  Jonathan drew his arm back and planted his fist into the smug bastard’s grinning face. The man crumpled into a heap on the floor, amidst the shocked gasps and shouts from the tables around them. Jonathan leaned over the man’s prone form, and shoved his face close to Lord Williams’. “That was for Juliet,” he said on a flinty whisper.

  Lord Williams pressed his hands over his nose and winced. Blood spurted between his fingers, those fingers that had dared to touch Juliet. “Y-you b-broke my n-nose,” he wailed.

  “Consider yourself fortunate that is all you’ve suffered.” Jonathan straightened. He looked about for the second reason for his visit.

  An ashen Sir Albert searched around as if looking for an escape.

  He forced a hard grin. “Sir Albert, join me. We have several matters to discuss.”

  The baronet’s throat bobbed up and down.

  Jonathan flung an arm around the bastard in a forced jocundity and guided Juliet’s brother from the hall.

  The sniveling coward tossed a backwards glance longingly at the coin he’d left behind. “I had a winning hand this time, Sinclair. P-perhaps w-we might s-speak later?” He winced when Jonathan squeezed him hard about the shoulders.

  The majordomo opened the door, and as soon as it closed behind them, Jonathan shoved the other man down the three steps onto the pavement.

  Sir Albert tumbled forward and landed hard upon his hands and knees with a grunt. Juliet’s brother cried out when Jonathan yanked him to his feet, and pushed him in the direction of Jonathan’s carriage. He turned a sickly shade of white and allowed Jonathan to all but throw him inside the waiting carriage. Jonathan’s driver closed the door behind them. Sir Albert huddled in the corner, a cowering, whimpering pathetic excuse of a man. Not like his sister Juliet who’d sat on that very bench and boldly demanded the return of her home.

  Grief scissored through him at the memory of that night. Jonathan sat there; his hands braced upon his legs and studied Juliet’s brother. He tried to find even a glimpse of Juliet in this shell of a being.

  Sir Albert tugged at his rumpled cravat, his throat quickly moving up and down. “Wh-what—?”

  Jonathan narrowed his gaze, immediately silencing the other man. His eyes remained focused on those hands; hands which had shoved Juliet from a tree all those years ago, forever injuring her splendidly beautiful legs.

  Had those hands dared to touch Patrina?

  “You have now taken two people I love more than anything,” Jonathan said on a silken whisper. “We shall begin with the matter of my sister. If you even so much as breathe Patrina’s name, if you make mention of anything that transpired between you, there will be no place far enough for you to hide. I will track you down like the rodent you are and destroy you. I will do it deliberately and gleefully. I will ruin you financially, and I will ruin your name beyond repair. And then, I will kill you. Are we clear?” His mother had begged him not to duel the other man, and he would honor that promise, but if Sir Albert bandied Patrina’s name about, Jonathan would have little choice.

  Sir Albert quaked in his seat, and nodded jerkily.

  Only…

  For the wrong he’d done Patrina, Sir Albert was still Juliet’s brother. Could he bring himself to face him in a duel? He feared he didn’t know the answer to that. Fortunately, Sir Albert didn’t know the moral battle that waged internally within Jonathan. After all, a man so lacking a conscience should not know even a hint of his inner strife. “Then there is the matter of Juliet,” he said softly. “Where is she?” he repeated.

  Sir Albert sat up straighter, seeming to know he had a foothold over Jonathan, at the mention of Juliet. He gave a tug on his coat. “Go to hell, Sinclair.”

  A primal growl climbed up Jonathan’s throat.

  The other man recoiled. He made a quick lunge for the door. Jonathan closed his hand so hard about Sir Albert’s wrist, the baronet cried out. “Y-you’ll b-break it, S-Sinclair!”

  Jonathan squeezed all the tighter. “Out with it, you bloody bastard. Where is she?”

  Sir Albert’s eyes snapped fire. “She said she doesn’t want to see you again.”

  Jonathan released him so quickly he collapsed against his seat. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. His Juliet was not vindictive and bitter. She’d had every right to be with the life she’d known, but she was neither of those things.

  The other man smoothed the rumpled fabric of his coat. “You act so high and mighty, Sinclair. You act so indignant, when in truth, you’re just like me.”

  “The hell I am, Marshville,” he hissed.

  “Oh?” Sir Albert arched a ginger eyebrow. “Aren’t you? I used your sister to accomplish my goals, and well, you did the same with J
uliet. So therefore, I consider us squared where our sisters are concerned.” With his free hand, he motioned to Jonathan. “You come here outraged and ready to call me out, and yet your intentions toward my sister were never honorable. Your governess,” he sneered. “Wager me this right now. I would wager all the remaining land and wealth I possess, you tried to make my sister your whore. If I’m wrong, it is all yours.”

  Silence filled the carriage. Never before had Jonathan hated himself more than he did in that moment.

  “It is as I thought, Sinclair. So, what was the difference, you or Lord Williams? Both of you wanted her for the same purpose.”

  Agony knifed at his gut at the loathsome fiend’s charges. Because the one, singular difference between him and Lord Williams was that Jonathan had fallen helplessly and hopelessly in love with Juliet. Yet, even with that, he’d not offered her marriage.

  God help him—Sir Albert was correct. He wasn’t different.

  Bile climbed up his throat and threatened to choke him. “Where is she?” This time, he didn’t demand, but rather asked.

  For a moment, Sir Albert opened his mouth as if to reply, but a cold grin turned his lips. With a surprising show of fearlessness, he opened the door and jumped out of the carriage. He spit onto the pavement. “Go to hell, Sinclair.”

  I’m already there.

  Jonathan stared blindly at the opened door until the driver slammed it closed, jerking him out of his reverie.

  All the steely determination to find Juliet left him as he confronted the ugly truth of Albert Marshville’s words. Jonathan didn’t deserve her. He’d never been deserving of her. With his dishonorable intentions he would have ruined her reputation as surely as Albert had ruined Patrina’s.

  No, he’d taken her home and…

  Rosecliff Cottage.

  His heart sped up. She was at Rosecliff Cottage. Of course! His undaunted, independent Juliet would lay claim to her childhood home like a lady defending her keep from outside invaders.