Unraveled By The Rebel (18 page)

Paul was slowly losing his mind. Nearly a dozen times, he’d gone to the Arnsbury residence over the past few weeks, intending to talk to Juliette—only to turn back when common sense intervened. He’d pushed Juliette too soon, and nothing would change her mind. At least twenty times, he’d wanted to knock his head against the wall for stealing a kiss. She hadn’t been ready for that. He should have known better. And yet, when he’d seen her soft lips by moonlight, her eyes yearning, he’d given in to impulse.

No, he couldn’t pay a call. At least, not at her home. His only chance of seeing her again was in public.

He sat down at the small writing desk in the drawing room, staring at the pile of invitations. It was strange to think that the matrons of London wanted him to court their daughters. He had nothing to offer any of them—at least not yet. The title of viscount was as insubstantial as air, since his uncle was very much alive. But to them, being the heir to his uncle’s fortune was good enough.

A noise from the front door caught his attention. He hardly ever had callers, except for a few folk selling their wares door to door.

Paul rose to his feet and was startled to hear Juliette’s voice. “Is Dr. Fraser here?” she asked the butler. She didn’t wait for an answer, but pushed her way inside her father’s town house. “He’s not at the hospital, is he?”

Paul stepped out from the parlor, noting her disheveled appearance and the panic in her voice. “What’s happened?”

Juliette’s face was pale, her bonnet ribbons undone. She hurried forward, her expression pleading. “It’s my sister Margaret. She’s been hurt.” With her hand outstretched, she pleaded, “Come quickly.”

The fear in her voice pulled him out of surprise and into action. “Get my coat and bag,” he ordered the butler. Culpepper hastened to fetch them, and Paul moved forward to Juliette.

“Tell me how she was injured.”

Her face was white, and she took a breath before explaining. “Victoria was kidnapped. We think it was one of Strathland’s men who took her. Margaret was trying to stop him, and when she was thrown from the carriage, she hit her head.”

Now this was something Paul had never expected. If Strathland had started a personal attack against the duke, it would not end well for him. “Has the duchess been found?”

“No. Mr. Sinclair went after her.” Though Juliette was trying to remain strong, he could see the worry in her eyes.

“Cain will find her. Believe that.” He moved closer and took her hand in his. “Do you want me to go with him to Scotland?”

She shook her head slowly. “I’d rather you stayed here.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and it made him wonder if she was regretting the time spent apart. But then, before he could say anything more, she added, “I need you to look after Margaret.”

Well. That answered that.

Paul ignored the twinge to his pride and let go of her hand. He began asking questions about whether Margaret was conscious and how much blood she’d lost.

“There was some blood on her head,” Juliette admitted. “I—I don’t know more than that.” The discomfort on her face suggested that she wasn’t eager to think about it. “Will you come?”

He studied her for a moment. “Why didn’t you send a footman to fetch me?”

Her face went scarlet, and she shrugged. “I probably should have. I didn’t think.”

“I’m glad you weren’t thinking,” he said softly. Juliette offered him a tentative smile, and reached for his hand again.

When Mr. Culpepper returned, Paul donned his coat. With his medical bag in one hand, he followed Juliette out to the waiting landau. She let him help her into the carriage, and he sat across from her when the driver urged the horses onward.

There was no maid to chaperone them, revealing just how agitated Juliette was over what had happened to her sister. They were alone inside the landau, and he was grateful for the few private moments.

“I’ll tend to Margaret, and she’ll be hale again,” he promised. “You needn’t worry.”

She nodded, but her tension wasn’t diminished by the words. Paul reached out to take her gloved hand, hoping the gesture would reassure her.

Juliette squeezed it tightly between both of her palms, staring outside. “I know I shouldn’t have come by myself. But you’re the doctor I trust the most. I didn’t stop to think.”

It was clear that she would relax only when her sister was better. She didn’t let go of his hand, and the longer she held it, the more Paul felt the need to say something. “Do you regret the night I kissed you in the garden?”

She didn’t meet his gaze. “Sometimes.”

Unfortunately, it was the answer he’d anticipated. Although he knew he was at fault for pushing her, the past two months had been filled with contradictions. One moment she shied away from him, and the next, he caught her staring at him across the ballroom. She would accept a dance with him, only to hide amid her chaperones afterward. He was weary of these games, angry at himself for being impatient, and yet he knew why she was reluctant to be courted.

Glancing outside, he saw that there were only a few minutes remaining before they arrived at Lady Arnsbury’s town house. He had to speak now, while the chance was there.

“I’ve a question for you, Miss Andrews.” He kept his tone formal, giving her every opportunity to say no.

She nodded. “Go on, then.”

“Are you wanting me to go back to Ballaloch and leave you be?” He released her hands, prepared to let her go. “Or would you rather I stayed?” He met her gaze squarely, steeling himself for the answer.

“It’s your choice whether you want to stay or go.” She was twisting her hands again, trying to sound as if it didn’t matter.

“But what is it
you
want?” He leaned forward, and the air within the carriage was charged with anticipation. For a moment, Juliette held her breath, locking eyes with his. Regret passed over her face, along with a trace of longing.

It was the longing that seized him by the throat and gave him hope.

“What I want and what I can have are two different things,” she whispered. She reached out and touched his cheek. “I want you to be with a woman who will make you happy.”

You would make me happy,
he wanted to say. He covered her hand with his, leaning in to touch her forehead.

“Someone who will make you smile,” she continued softly. “Someone who will love you.”

“The way you can’t?” He gripped her hand and pulled it away from his cheek.

“I never said that.” Her voice was so soft, it was barely nudging a breath of air. And yet, those four words sank into his heart. “Perhaps I care enough to let you go.”

“Or you’re too afraid to break free of your fear,” he said. “Perhaps you’re afraid of being happy again. As if you don’t deserve to be.”

Her face colored with embarrassment, and he knew his supposition had struck true. She was living with a guilt so great, it threatened to break her. She was hiding behind her family, going through the motions of life… but not truly living. She had to learn that one night of violence was not a cloak of shame.

“I came to this city for you,” he said quietly. “Because you said this was where you wanted to be.”

“You don’t belong here,” she whispered. “I can see that you’re unhappy.”

“Aye. But it’s where you are.”

Her eyes flickered to the doorway. “We should go. My sister will need you.”

“And what about you?” The words came out before he could stop them.

Juliette’s eyes welled up. “I don’t know, Paul.” A tear broke free, and she admitted, “Do you want me to tell you that you mean nothing to me? It would be a lie. Shall I tell you to go back and wed someone else, while I pretend to be happy for you? That would be a lie, too.”

She wrenched open the door. “There’s nothing I can say except that I hold so many regrets in my heart, I’m drowning in them.” With that, she stepped out of the carriage, leaving him to wonder what to do or say now.

W
hen they arrived at Lady Arnsbury’s house, Juliette led Paul up to her sister’s room. She opened the door and said to her aunt, “I’ve brought Dr. Fraser to look at Margaret.”

Her sister was awake but pale, looking as if she were about to faint. Juliette gestured for Paul to enter, while Charlotte remained behind them. Her aunt caught her arm and whispered, “I’ve seen that gentleman before. He was at our gathering, wasn’t he?” At Juliette’s nod, Charlotte added, “We need to talk about this later.” The look in her aunt’s eyes warned that she would not let the matter rest.

“He is a doctor and a family friend,” she countered, keeping her voice low.

“And Lady Vaughn claims he’s a viscount’s heir. Which is it?” she whispered. “He can’t be both.”

“I trust him.”

At that, her aunt’s expression grew discerning, as if she were trying to read beneath Juliette’s answer. But after a few moments, she appeared to relent.

Paul set down his bag and went to the basin to wash his hands with soap. It surprised Juliette, for none of the other doctors she’d met did that.

“An old habit,” he explained, when she asked why. “My mother said that it drives out the evil spirits.” The wry smile on his face said he didn’t truly believe that, but she supposed there was no harm. To Margaret, he asked, “Miss Andrews, might I come and look at your wounds?”

After her sister nodded, Juliette could almost see a visible transformation in Paul’s demeanor. His tone held an air of authority, and Charlotte stood back. With a pointed look toward Juliette, she said, “I’ll leave you to treat my niece, then, Doctor. If you have need of us, send Juliette to me.” Her aunt left the door open and retreated, leaving them alone.

Juliette wasn’t afraid, for it was clear that Paul knew precisely what he was doing. From the moment he unwrapped the bandage on Margaret’s temple, he spoke to her in a soothing voice. “Now then, your sister was telling me that you tried to save Victoria.”

“It was Mr. Melford who took her,” Margaret insisted. “I told Toria not to come any closer, but she… wouldn’t listen.” Her voice sounded distant, almost as if she’d had too much to drink. Juliette wondered why. Had someone given Margaret spirits?

“You were lucky to get out alive,” Paul told her. “I understand Mr. Sinclair went after your sister.”

A wide smile crossed over her sister Margaret’s face at the mention of the Highlander, and she yawned. “Good. He’ll find her.”

From her utter lack of concern, it was becoming more apparent that Margaret was under the influence of some sort of medicine or possibly wine. As if to answer Juliette’s unspoken question, she offered, “Aunt Charlotte gave me laudanum for the pain. It’s quite nice.”

Paul exchanged a knowing look with Juliette, and she sensed that his mood had shifted to amusement. “Yes, I suspect it is very nice indeed. You’re wanting to sleep, am I right?”

Margaret yawned and nodded. “I would, yes. But not with you. That wouldn’t be proper.”

Juliette nearly choked at the remark. Her prim sister was loosening her tongue, and Heaven only knew what she would say.

“That’s a relief to hear,” Paul answered.

“And not with Mr. Sinclair, either,” Margaret continued. “He’s a wicked, wicked man. I don’t want to ever sleep with him. Or kiss him, either. Even if he does find Victoria and bring her back.”

Juliette fought to keep her mouth from dropping open. Why on earth was her sister talking about Mr. Sinclair? She thought back to the way the Highlander had held Margaret in his arms when he’d brought her here. His eyes had been locked upon the young woman, as if she meant something to him.

Had anything ever happened between them? Mr. Sinclair was a good man, yes, but he’d bent the law on more than one occasion. She couldn’t imagine Margaret sparing him a second glance.

But now, she wondered.

“Mr. Sinclair has to find her,” Margaret said softly, her expression turning sad again. “Toria is too frightened to travel. And now that she’s going to have a baby… He has to help her.”

“He will,” Paul promised. “If there’s one man I trust, it’s Cain.”

The mood in the room had grown somber, and he began examining the wound on Margaret’s head. When she saw the blood, Juliette turned away, wincing.

Margaret inhaled sharply when he touched it. “It hurts, Dr. Fraser.”

“I suppose it does at that. But I’m no’ thinking it’s serious, since you’re able to sit up and speak with me. You may have headaches for a few days, but ’twill likely go away on its own.” Juliette kept her back turned while Paul asked questions about where there was pain and if Margaret was dizzy.

“Who put the bandage on you?” he asked.

Juliette heard the sound of water being wrung out, and she guessed he was washing the wound.

“Mr. Sinclair did. I was bleeding dreadfully, you see. I hit my head when Victoria was taken.”

“You were lucky no’ to be hurt worse,” he commented. Juliette heard him setting the basin aside, and when she risked a look, he was stitching the cut closed. After he tied off the sutures, he bandaged the wound again and said, “Are you hurting anywhere else?”

“Just a few scrapes and bruises.”

“Good.” He spoke to Margaret with a calm air, confident in his abilities. Juliette was startled to see him like this. It was like the night he’d stolen into Aunt Charlotte’s gathering, pretending to be a gentleman. He’d slipped seamlessly into another role, and his very presence unnerved her.

Juliette could no longer think of him as a crofter’s son. No, Paul Fraser had transformed into someone else entirely. Not only a physician… but a man who held secrets of his own.

As he treated her sister, she felt herself calming. Margaret was growing drowsy, and in time, she succumbed to the laudanum.

“I would no’ have given her the sedative so soon,” Paul said. “Although it doesna seem that she has suffered beyond that cut and some bruises, someone should stay with her for the night.”

“I’ll stay,” Juliette agreed.

He started to pack up his bag, his demeanor professional. There was no trace of the man who had kissed her, almost as if it had never happened. When it occurred to her that Paul was walking out and she might not see him again, she blurted out, “Wait. A moment, if you please.” She moved away from her sleeping sister and stood by the door. Thankfully, her aunt Charlotte was no longer there.