Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (24 page)

He’d been a smug, self-serving bastard who’d seen in the beautiful stranger a mistress for himself and a governess for his sisters. She had seen him as nothing more than a self-indulgent scoundrel who toyed with her life and her girlhood home.

Just then he detested himself.

“I learned one day,” she continued, jerking him from his tortured musings, “the absolute precariousness of my situation.”

Jonathan glanced down at her. She worried the flesh of her lower lip with her teeth. With his teasing words, and his talk of kisses, in her mind, she’d surely seen him as no different than the gentleman who would have forced himself upon her.

She deserved to be cloaked in diamonds and sapphires, and draped in the finest French silk, not as some gentleman’s mistress but as an honorable gentleman’s wife.

Staring at her, studying the smattering of freckles, her bow-shaped lips, he acknowledged the truth—a rogue such as him could never be worthy of Juliet.

Juliet attempted to decipher the inscrutable expression worn by Jonathan but his face may as well have been carved of stone.

She looked to him, needing there to be truth between them. “You asked what I’m hiding from. I’m hiding from the gentleman who made me that indecent offer. Not because he made it,” she said on a rush. Baron Williams had deserved her well-placed knee in his groin for such a scandalous proposition, but that had not been what caused her to clout him over the head with a candelabra. “I nearly killed him.” The damning whisper circled around them, and chilled, even in spite of the warm afternoon sun.

Jonathan stood silent, as though he knew there was more to her admission, and unwilling to find her guilty. It gave her the courage to continue.

“He…” She took a deep breath and pressed on. “He nearly raped me. He grabbed me here,” she touched a hand to her breast and then warmed with embarrassment for what had befallen her that day. “He ripped my gown. He kissed me here.” She touched a finger to her neck, and her breath quickened in panicked remembrance of the moment he’d raised her skirts. “And, I hit him over the head. I just reached for the nearest item. I didn’t intend to kill him, just to stop him. I didn’t think anything beyond stopping him from…from touching me.” Her jumbled words ran together, nearly incoherent, but she could not stop them from coming, feeling at last freed by the admission.

Jonathan scrubbed his hands over his face, and when he dropped them at his side, she staggered back a step under the icy hardness that sharpened the harsh, angular planes of his face. A muscle ticked at the corner of his eye. “Who was he?”

She angled her head, suddenly nervous of this fierce stranger she’d never before encountered.

“I want his name, and he will regret having dared to put a hand upon you.”

And in that moment, she fell in love with him all over again. She knew it imprudent, and hopeless as nothing could ever come of anything with Jonathan, the Earl of Sinclair, but she loved him. A man who believed her without reservation, who wanted to protect her like she was a cherished young lady in need of protecting—when no one had looked after her in so very long. Juliet swallowed hard.

Jonathan’s back straightened, and his head whipped toward the entrance of the copse, from which Lord Williams had disappeared a short while ago. “It was him. That day in Hyde Park, when you claimed to have dropped your kerchief, you were in fact hiding from him, weren’t you?”

She hesitated, and knowing any further attempt at prevarication futile, nodded once.

His eyes narrowed into near-impenetrable slits. “He propositioned you, didn’t he? That is why he came for you this afternoon.” An edge, hard as the steel press of a blade, underlined his question.

Juliet rocked back and forth on her heels. “He spoke of Newgate. He suggested—”

“You aren’t going to Newgate,” he cut in with the bold conviction that could only be evinced by a man in possession of a lofty age-old title.

“You can’t prevent him from seeking justice, Jonathan.”

“Justice? There would be no justice in that.” He shook his head, and a black lock tumbled over his eye, the only softening to this stone-faced earl. “I will protect you. No harm will come to you as long as you belong to me.”

Her heart skipped several beats, and then settled in a fast, pounding rhythm. He spoke so effortlessly of protecting her; of her belonging to him. But in what way? In no way that could ever be honorable. He spoke with all the resilient determination of a man who’d not known the desperation of being alone, at the mercy of those around him. He pledged to protect her, but his were not the words of a gentleman seeking marriage to her.

Or were they?

“Are you offering marriage?” The lone cry of a kestrel above was her only response. She smiled sadly up at his unflinching face. “I didn’t believe so, Jonathan. You would make me your mistress, but I’ll never become your lover.” It would take her heart apart piece by piece to spend the fleeting days as his lover, knowing he’d wed, and one-day tire of her.

His jaw flexed. “I would take care of you, Juliet.”

“I don’t want to be with a man solely because he’ll take care of me," she interjected in hushed tones. “I want to marry a man because he cares
for
me, because he loves me.” She held her palms up. “I’d wed a gentleman because he can’t live a life without me.” She somehow gathered the words on his lips before he even uttered them. “I’d not have a man outside the bonds of matrimony. I have too much respect for myself, Jonathan.”

Something stirred to life in his eyes; something powerful and harsh.

Juliet winced at the curse that burst from his lips.

He held his arm out. “This is not finished, Juliet,” he said between gritted teeth.

A sad smile turned the corners of her lips downward as she placed her fingers on his coat sleeves and allowed him to escort her home.

It had been finished before it had ever truly begun.

Chapter 17

Jonathan and Juliet made their way inside the townhouse, silent, unspeaking. Tension thrummed through his body. He glared at her from the corner of his eye.

She’d rejected him. He had offered her protection. As his mistress, she’d want for nothing…and she’d replied with a curt no.

No.

She’d said bloody no.

If someone had told him a fortnight ago that he, Jonathan, Earl of Sinclair, unrepentant rogue, and Sin to all Society would be sulking like a petulant child all because a woman had rejected him, he’d have had a bloody good laugh in their face. If that same someone had told him a spirited
governess
would reject his offer, well, he probably would have—

“Jonathan,” his mother cried. She all but sprinted toward the foyer, her skirts swirled wildly about her feet. “I must speak to you at once.” She skidded to an ungraceful halt as her gaze caught Juliet.

“Not now,” he said curtly.

Juliet bowed her head like she was a damned servant and hurried above stairs.

His mother’s gaze, steeped in loathing and outrage, took in Juliet’s fast-retreating form. “Jonathan, there is a matter of urgency demanding your attention.”

He cursed roundly. Her eyes went wide. “Whatever it is, it can wait,” he bit out. He needed a stiff whiskey, two or three of them, and a trip to his clubs. He did not need to attend business, and more, he did not need to be under the same roof with Juliet Marshville this afternoon.

“It is a matter of urgency, Jonathan!” As if to punctuate his mother’s dramatic exclamation, Poppy appeared above stairs, tear streaks upon her face, lower lip quivering. All his pent-up frustration and hurt shifted at the sight of his sister.

Mother and Poppy shared a look, and they both promptly burst into tears.

“Oh, it is hor-, Sin, utterly aw-awful.” Her voice broke. “M-Miss Marsh implored u-us to not use the word horrid any longer, and so I shan’t for her. Even if it is h-horrid,” she began to weep, and then took running down the hall.

What in hell? Two or three drinks forgotten, Jonathan spun to face his mother. “What—?”

“Not here,” she said on a tremulous whisper and dashed a hand across her tear-stained cheeks.

Jonathan redirected his course and made for his office. Mother hastened her step to match his stride. A steady panic built slowly in his chest. For all his sisters’ dramatic outbursts through the years, Mother tended to demonstrate calm, decorous behavior. When they were at last closeted away in his office, he repeated his earlier question. “What’s happened?”

She held up an ivory sheet of velum. “H-here.”

He took it with numb fingers. The unfamiliar ink seal had been broken. He unfolded the note, and scanned the contents. His heart stopped.

“I told you,” she spat at him. “I w-warned you that someone h-had ensnared her attention.”

And he’d been so consumed by his need for Juliet he’d not heeded Mother’s warning. Nausea roiled in his belly.

“Th-that f-fiend has her. They’ve eloped, Jonathan! Your sister, your sole clearheaded, rational sister would do something as…as reckless,” she said on a shuddery cry. Then glanced back at the closed door. For though she spoke to the loyalty of her servants with great frequency, hint of elopement would be utterly ruinous.

Sinclair,

I would trade you a sister for a sister. If you choose to ignore my request for Juliet, then you’ll find yourself with a new brother-in-law.

Signed simply,

AM

He crumpled the velum in his hands. “When did this arrive?”

“Shortly after you l-left this morning.” Fire snapped in her eyes. “To follow your Miss Marsh,” she spat.

He scrubbed his hand across his eyes.
Christ
.

“Where has he taken her, Jonathan? He gives no indication as to where she is.” She buried her face into her hands and wept. “Sh-she is r-ruined. Her sisters will have little hope of a respectable match. How could you let this happen?”

“I’ll find him,” he said with steely determination. And when he found the blackguard, he would separate his limbs from his body.

“Oh, you cannot call him out,” his mother said between bitter sobs. “Y-you are the Earl of S-Sinclair. You’ve not done y-your duty to the line and produced an h-heir. Who is this woman that you’d forget yourself and your responsibilities?” she cried. Her eyes went wide as she seemed to realize the possibility of nearby servants overhearing her outburst. She dropped her voice to a near whisper. “I trusted you to find a governess and you brought th-that v-viper into our midst.”

Guilt twisted in his belly like a thousand jagged knives. His mother had implored him to take an interest in helping Patrina make a respectable match but he’d been so consumed with his lust and fascination for Juliet. Yet, Juliet could not be held responsible for her brother’s sins. “She’s no viper.” But Mother was not listening. And this wasn’t the time. His jaw clenched. “How long has she been gone?” It mattered not that the baronet shared Juliet’s blood. If Marshville had touched Patrina, by God he’d kill the bastard dead.

Mother brushed the tears from her cheeks. New drops replaced them. “Prudence came to see me, after she awoke to find her missing. She found a note.”

His heart kicked up a beat “A note.” He took Mother by her shoulders. “Where is this note?”

“I burned it,” she cried softly. “My first thought was to hide any hint of what had happened.”

He took a steadying breath. “What did she say in her letter?“ he said gentling his tone. The countess appeared to be one wrong word away from a trip to Bedlam.

“She said she’d fallen in love and would be off to Gretna Green, and… Where are you going?” she cried as he strode to the door.

“To stop her.” They would be traveling by carriage. They’d left that morning; on horseback he could certainly intercept Patrina before she did anything so foolish as to… His mind screeched to a sudden halt. He could not allow him to consider the revenge Marshville intended to exact upon Patrina.

Mother’s sobbing drew more desperate. “Jonathan, you cannot make this right. Your sister has run off to elope with this gentleman. No young lady can be spared the fallout from such a scandal.”

“Patrina will,” he assured her. “Be certain the girls do not speak further on the matter.” Because the moment anyone discovered the details surrounding Patrina’s disappearance, the more unlikely it was the girls would recover from the scandal. Without a backward glance, Jonathan hurried from the room, shouting for his mount. He collided with Juliet.

She blanched; the hue of her skin a ghastly shade of gray. “My God, Jonathan. I—”

“Not here, Miss Marsh,” he hissed. He took her by the arm and steered her toward the corridor leading to her chambers. “What were you coming here to—?”

Grief twisted her face. “I needed to see you. I’m sorry. I—” her voice broke.

Jonathan released her suddenly. “Not now, Miss Marshville.” He set out in the opposite direction, leaving Juliet standing alone in the hallway.

There was not a moment to spare if he were to save Patrina from Marshville’s machinations.