Eleven Scandals to Start to Win a Duke’s Heart (18 page)

He was engaged, and he had been kissing her. In the stables. As though she were worth nothing more than a tumble.

As though she were her mother.

Even as he had told her she was nothing like her mother.

She turned to him, not hiding the accusation in her eyes, and to give him credit, he did try to speak. “Juliana—”

She simply did not want to hear him. “No. There is nothing to say.”

She watched the long column of his throat work, thinking that perhaps he was looking for the right thing to say before she remembered that this was
Leighton,
who always had the right thing to say.

Except for when there clearly was no right thing.

Ralston stepped in, then, ending the moment. “If you come within three feet of my sister again, Leighton, you’d best have your seconds chosen.”

There was a long, tense moment before Leighton said, “It will not be a problem to stay away from her. It would not have been if you kept a tighter leash on those under your care.”

And with those cold, unfeeling words, the Duke of Disdain left the stables.

H
er mother had returned.

“Redeo, Redis, Redit . . .”

Her mother had returned
for God knew what reason
.

“Redimus, Reditis, Redeunt . . .”

Her mother had returned for God knew what reason
and Juliana had nearly gotten herself ruined in the stables
.

“I return, you return, she returns . . .”

Her mother had returned for God knew what reason and Juliana had nearly gotten herself ruined in the stables
by the Duke of Leighton.

And she’d enjoyed it.

Not the mother returning part, but the other.

That part had been quite . . . magnificent.

Until he’d been engaged. And had happily turned his back and exited her life.

Leaving her to deal with her mother.

Who had returned.

She sighed, slapping the palms of her hands against the cool brocade coverlet on her bed.

Was it any wonder that she could not sleep?

It was not exactly as though she had had the easiest of evenings.

He’d left.

Well, first he’d proposed marriage.

After making her feel
wonderful.

After proposing marriage to another woman.

Something twisted deep inside her. Something easily identified.

Longing. She did not even understand it. He was an awful man, arrogant and proud, cold and unfeeling. Except for when he was not those things. Except for when he was teasing and charming and filled with fire. With passion.

She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the ache in her chest.

He’d made her want him. And then he’d left.

“I leave, you leave . . .”

Verb conjugations were not helping.

Frustrated, she leapt from the bed, yanking open the door and heading down the wide, dark hallway of Ralston House, running the tips of her fingers along the wall, counting doors until she reached the center staircase of the town house. Padding down the steps, she registered a dim light coming from her brother’s study.

She did not knock.

Ralston stood at the enormous windows of his study, one hand playing idly with a glass orb she had bought him several months ago as he stared into the great black abyss beyond. His dark hair was mussed, and he’d removed his coat and waistcoat and cravat.

Juliana winced as she registered the bruise on his jaw from where Simon had hit him.

She had done very little but cause him trouble.

If their positions were reversed, she would have tossed her out on her ear months ago.

He looked over when Juliana entered, but did not scold her for her trespass. She took a seat by his desk and pulled her bare feet up beneath her dressing gown as he turned back to the window.

Neither sibling spoke for a long while, and the silence stretched wide and somehow comfortable between them. Juliana took a deep breath. “I would like to clean the air.”

Ralston smirked. “
Clear
the air.”

That did make more sense.
She narrowed her gaze. “I am about to apologize, and you mock me?”

He half smiled. “Go on.”

“Thank you.” She paused. “I am sorry.”

“For what?” He looked honestly confused.

She gave a little laugh. “There is a great deal, no?” She thought for a moment. “I suppose I am sorry that everything falls to you.”

He did not reply.

“Where is she?”

The glass sphere rolled between his fingers. “Gone.”

Juliana paused, a ripple of emotion shooting through her. She did not pause to inspect it. She was not certain that she wanted to. “Forever?”

He bowed his head, and she thought she heard him laugh. “No. If only it were that easy. I didn’t want her in this house.”

She watched him, her strong, sturdy brother, who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Where did you send her?”

He turned to face her then, the orb spinning. “She did not know you were here, you know. She did not expect you. That is why she did not look for you in the room. At dinner.”

She nodded. It did not make her mother’s dismissal any easier. “Does she know I am here now?”

“I told her.” The words were soft, laced with something that might have been an apology. She nodded, and silence fell again. He returned to the desk and took the seat across from her. “You are my sister. You take precedence.”

Was he reminding her or himself?

She met his eyes. “What does she want?”

He leaned forward on his elbows. “She says she doesn’t want anything.”

“Except her position as dowager marchioness.” Juliana could not keep the sarcasm from her tone.

“She’ll never have that.”

She couldn’t. The
ton
would never accept her. The gossipmongers would feed on this scandal for years. When Juliana had arrived in London six months ago, they had swarmed, and the sordid tale of their mother’s desertion had been dredged from the bottom of the great river of drama that nourished society. Even now, with connections to some of the most powerful families in London, Juliana existed on the fringes of polite society—accepted by association rather than on her own merit.

It would all start over again. Worse than before.

“You don’t believe her, do you?” she asked. “That she wants nothing.”

“No.”

“Then what?”

He shook his head. “Money, family . . .”

“Forgiveness?”

He thought for a long moment, then lifted one shoulder in the shrug they all used when they did not have an answer. “It is a powerful motivator. Who knows?”

A rush of heat flared, and she leaned forward, shaking her head. “She can’t have it. She can’t . . . what she did to you . . . to Nick . . . to our fathers . . .”

One side of his mouth rose almost imperceptibly. “To you . . .”

To me.

He leaned back in his chair, shifting the glass weight from one hand to the other. “I never thought she would return.”

She shook her head. “One would think the scandal alone would have kept her away.”

He gave a little laugh at that. “You forget that she is our mother—a woman who has always lived as though scandal was for others. And, in fairness, it always has been.”

Our mother.

Juliana was reminded of the conversation in the stables with Simon. How much of this woman was in Juliana? How much of her lack of caring and complete disregard for others lurked deep within her daughter?

Juliana stiffened.

“You are not like her.” Her attention snapped to her brother, his fiery blue gaze firmly upon her.

Tears pricked at his honesty. “How do you know that?”

“I know. And someday, you will as well.”

The words were so simple, their sentiment so certain, that Juliana wanted to scream. How could he know? How could he be so certain that she was not precisely the woman their mother was? That, along with her height and her hair and her blue eyes, she had not inherited a complete and utter disregard for those around her, whom she was supposed to love?

Blood will out.

Instead, she said, “The scandal . . . when they hear . . . that she’s back . . .”

“It will be enormous.” She met his serious blue gaze. “The way I see it, we have two options. We either pack up and head for the country—her in tow—and hope that the gossip fades.”

If wishing would make it so . . .

She wrinkled her nose. “Or?”

“Or we square our shoulders and face it head-on.”

It was not a choice. Not for her. Not for him either.

One side of her mouth lifted in a half smile. “Well, let it not be said that Ralston House does not keep London happily in gossip.”

There was a pause, and he started to laugh, a rumbling sound that came from deep in his chest. And soon, she was laughing, too.

Because at that moment, it was either laugh or cry.

As the laughter died down, Ralston leaned back in his seat and looked to the ceiling. “Nick must be told.”

Of course. Their brother and his new wife lived in Yorkshire, but this was news that he must hear as soon as possible. She nodded. “Will he come?”

His brows rose, as though he had not considered the possibility. “I don’t know. Nick and she . . . they . . .” He trailed off and they sat in silence again, each lost in thought.

She was back.

And with her, decades of long-buried questions.

She met her brother’s gaze. “Gabriel,” she whispered, “what if she is here to stay?”

Something flared in his blue eyes, a combination of anger and concern. He took a deep breath, as though collecting his thoughts. “Don’t for a minute imagine she’s here for good, Juliana. If there is one thing I know about that woman, it is that she is unable to stomach constancy. She wants something. And when she’s obtained it, she’ll leave.” He set the crystal sphere down on the table. “She will go. She will go, and everything will return to normal.”

In the six months since she had arrived in London, Juliana had had many opportunities to see the man beneath the Marquess of Ralston’s devil-may-care façade. Enough opportunities to know that he did not believe his words.

Couldn’t believe them.

It was an understatement to say that their mother’s return changed everything. It was not simply that she would unearth a scandal twenty-five years in the making. It was not simply that she seemed to have little concern for the impact she had on society and even less remorse for her actions. It was not simply that she had marched into Ralston House as though she had never left.

Even if all that could be erased—if Gabriel tossed her out and shipped her off to the Outer Hebrides, never to be heard from again—nothing would ever be the same.

For, before tonight, they could have pretended—had pretended—that she was gone for good. Certainly, Juliana had always wondered if her mother was still alive, where she was, what she was doing, whom she was with. But somewhere in a deep, quiet part of her, she’d always assumed that her mother was gone forever.

And she’d begun to come to terms with it when she arrived in London, met her brothers, been given a chance at a new life. A life in which her mother’s specter continued to loom, but less heavy and foreboding than before.

No longer.

“You don’t really believe that,” she said.

There was a long pause, then, “She wants to speak with you.”

She noticed the change in topic but made no move to correct it. She picked an invisible piece of lint from the sleeve of her dressing gown. “I’m sure she does.”

“You may deal with her as you wish.”

She watched him carefully. “What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should make the decision for yourself.”

She pulled her knees up to her chin again, setting her heels on the smooth leather seat. “I don’t think I want to speak to her. Not yet.”

Someday, maybe. Yes. But not now.

He nodded once. “Fair.” Silence fell, and he organized several piles of correspondence, the bruise on his jaw shimmering in the candlelight.

“Does it hurt?”

One hand went to the side of his face, exploring the lesion with tentative fingertips. “Leighton has always been able to throw a punch. It’s a side benefit to his being enormous.”