Unraveled By The Rebel (20 page)

“You tried to kidnap a duchess,” she accused. “Why would you ever consider such a thing?”

His sister behaved as if he were a common criminal, when his actions had never been about harming the young woman. Her Grace was a bargaining piece, a pawn in a game where he intended to control the board.

He wanted the lands—not only his former property of Eiloch Hill where the duke now resided, but also the Lanfordshire estate. He intended to gain possession of the entire region, no matter what the means.

“My factor, Mr. Melford, took matters too far,” he corrected, cutting her off. “As far as anyone knows, he acted of his own accord, thinking he could ransom the duchess. And he died for it.”

The loss of his overseer was an annoyance, but there were other men who could take his place. For now, Brandon knew he had to lie low, in order to keep the blame firmly pointed toward the dead man. He’d left Scotland and had traveled to their family’s
town house in London. His original plan had failed, and it was time to reconsider his next move.

“Don’t you realize that your scheming could have ruined us both?” she accused. Her voice was like shards of broken glass, irritating his mood until he wished he could be rid of her. But then, Sarah had to live somewhere, and he wasn’t about to bring her into his home in Scotland. There, he was a king in his vast estate, while here, the house was a modest dwelling that boasted only a dozen rooms and four servants. It wasn’t nearly enough for him.

“I believe you already ruined yourself, dear sister.” Brandon took a sip of brandy, his gaze fixed upon the fire. “When you threw yourself at that earl who refused to wed you. My actions have little bearing on you.”

Sarah wasn’t an attractive woman, and she’d tried everything to land a husband. But although she’d been caught alone with an earl, he’d refused to offer for her. According to Sarah, the man had done nothing to compromise her, but no one would believe the story. Now, she rarely showed her face in society and hardly ever attended assemblies or balls.

That needed to change. Brandon would use her to help open doors to him, in order to get closer to Lady Lanfordshire’s daughters.

“I intend to stay in London for the next few months,” he informed her.

“Because you have to avoid His Grace, to keep him from killing you?” she taunted. “After the trouble you caused for his wife, I’m not surprised. You’re fortunate that neither she nor her baby were harmed.”

“I need to meet with the wool buyers,” he continued, ignoring her comments. Despite the ongoing war against Napoleon’s forces, the orders had decreased. Although he suspected it was partly due to the duke’s interference, he had to do whatever was necessary to bring back the orders. He’d spent hundreds of pounds
buying up more sheep, and he fully intended to profit from the wool.

“You ought to seek a wife,” she suggested. “Wed an heiress, if you can find one.”

Oh, he intended to seek a wife. The woman of his desires had avoided him in the past, but no longer.

“You also need to mend your relationship with the Andrews family,” Sarah insisted. “If you don’t, both the Duke of Worthingstone and the Countess of Arnsbury will use their influence to keep us both out of society.”

Brandon drained his snifter and refilled it. “I don’t care what they think of us.” It was the truth. He wasn’t about to lower himself by apologizing. He hadn’t laid a hand upon the duchess, and soon enough, they would lay all the blame on Melford.

None of it mattered.

“Next week, Lady Rumford is hosting a ball,” Sarah informed him. “There will be over five hundred guests. It’s your best chance of finding a wife.”

“Except for the fact that I was not invited,” he reminded her. “But I believe you can change her mind, can’t you, dear Sister?”

“I will try.”

Regardless of whether Sarah was successful, with so many guests in attendance, surely it would be easy enough to infiltrate the premises. She reached over and took the empty glass away from him. “You are better than this, Brandon.” Her voice was soothing, and he didn’t doubt she was trying to manipulate him. “Don’t let the Andrews family ruin our opportunities.”

Our
opportunities? This wasn’t at all about her.

“You want to go to Lady Rumford’s ball, don’t you, Sister?” His mouth tightened, and he stood to pour himself another drink. “Because
you
want to find a husband.”

“I wouldn’t mind one.” She smoothed her gown and straightened, venturing a smile. The sight of her primping was starting to annoy him. Sarah knew nothing of the struggles he’d faced to
keep them from losing their fortune. His first wife, Penelope, had nearly driven him under with debt, due to her frivolous behavior. He wasn’t about to let his sister spend his money on gowns and ribbons, simply to snare an unsuspecting bachelor.

His gaze passed over her worn clothing, and he shrugged. “Perhaps a potato-faced young fool might have you. If he’s drunk enough.”

She pretended she hadn’t heard the insult, but her cheeks flamed. “I will pay a call on Lady Rumford this week and see what I can do to open the doors to you. But Brandon, truly, you must try. I know you haven’t forgotten about Miss Andrews, but—”

His hand shot out and seized her wrist. “Do not mention her name to me.” He didn’t want to hear a word of criticism against her. “Juliette is the woman I’m going to marry.”

Sarah didn’t bother to hide her dismay. “I’ve never understood your obsession with her. She’s not even beautiful.”

His grip only tightened in warning until she winced with pain. “You know nothing about it.” It was more than simply wanting Juliette. She belonged to him. She needed him to show her how to be a proper wife, how to mold her into the woman she was meant to be.

Sarah touched his hand. “You’re hurting my wrist, Brandon.”

He released her, but he didn’t regret causing her pain—Sarah needed to understand that
he
would make the decisions about their futures. Her role was to open the doors to him, and see to it that he found Juliette again.

And soon enough, she would belong to him.

“Are you sure about this?” Juliette asked Paul. “What if I’m not wearing the right clothes? Are these suited to… where we’re
going?” She’d chosen a plain day dress, knowing that it would be a more casual gathering.

“It’s a
cèilidh,
Juliette. It doesna matter what you wear.” Paul was wearing a dark brown coat and tan breeches, though she supposed he’d have been more comfortable in a tartan.

Inwardly, she was fearful about deceiving Charlotte. Her aunt would never permit her to attend a party hosted by anyone but members of the ton. As it was, Charlotte believed that Juliette and her maid were paying calls upon a friend in town.

“And what about Nell?” she added, glancing back at her maid. “Should I bring her along?” She’d taken the young woman as a chaperone, warning her not to tell Charlotte where they were going.

“Nell is welcome to join in. She’ll make merry, just as we will,” he promised.

It didn’t diminish her anxiety at the unknown. Yet, she was forcing herself to leave the house whenever opportunities arose. Though she might be a wallflower at heart, she was determined not to let the past control her future. Lord Strathland had taken her innocence, but he would not take away her chance at happiness.

The problem was the guilt she couldn’t relinquish. For her, this was about laying the past to rest and enjoying each day to its fullest. But the more time she spent with Paul, the more she was afraid of leading him astray.

“You’re looking right dour, lass. What’s taken your smile away?”

“I was only thinking of—” She stopped, revising what she’d meant to say. “That is, I was wondering why you’ve stayed by my side for so long. Why you haven’t chosen another woman to wed.”

“They’re made of naught but ribbons, lace, and a bit of stuffing in their heads. I’d rather have your company.”

She tried to smile, venturing, “I’ve nothing but accounts and numbers in mine.”

But Paul only smiled and took her hand, his thumb rubbing circles over her glove. He hailed a hackney cab and gave the
coachman an unfamiliar address. He guided her inside the vehicle, and her maid took her place next to the driver.

Juliette sat across from Paul, and when they had traveled past a few streets, she said, “I’m surprised you haven’t returned to Scotland by now.”

“You’ve no’ agreed to wed me yet,” Paul answered. “I’ll go, the moment you say aye and come with me.”

She sobered, knowing that although she felt safe with him, she could not marry him. Not until she was brave enough to speak the truth about what had happened to her. And he might no longer want her, once he knew it.

He leaned forward, resting his hands upon his knees. “Have you no’ enjoyed yourself these past few weeks?”

“I have.” But it wasn’t only the letters he’d sent or even the gifts. Her restlessness grew stronger as the days passed. She found herself entirely too fascinated by Paul, remembering the way he’d kissed her. She’d never expected to want a man to touch her again… but the lightest brush of his hand upon hers evoked a yearning.

She remembered his kiss and wondered if tonight he would steal another.

“Are you still afraid of marriage?” he asked.

“Not marriage,” Juliette corrected, her face flushing with color. “Only of what comes after that.” She stared out into the streets, knowing that her face was the color of a cranberry.

“Do you really think I’m the sort of man who would force you to share his bed, when you’re no’ wanting to?”

That made her sound as if she viewed him as a satyr. Even so, she admitted, “It’s a part of marriage that all husbands expect.”

His dark blue eyes flared. “If you’re feeling wary, lass, I’d rather wait until you’re wanting me in the same way.” At the rough tone of his baritone, a secret tremble flowed through her. “What happens between us in our bedroom is for none to say but us.”

“And if I—if I never wanted to?” she ventured, her voice in a whisper.

He leaned back, a cocky smile on his face. “Oh, I think you will, Juliette. Especially when I’ve shown you how much a woman can be pleasured with naught but my hands and mouth.”

Dear God. She could almost imagine it, his hands stroking her bare skin. Her body warmed to the vision, and the air within the cab seemed heavy and fraught with possibility.

“How much farther is it?” she asked, desperately needing to change the subject.

“A mile or so, I’d wager.” He had a knowing look on his face. “And I’ve made you uncomfortable, so I’ll ask how your sisters are.”

Grateful for the turn in conversation, she said, “Victoria’s baby will be born in the autumn.”

“I’m glad that she and the bairn are faring well.”

“So am I.” It was true, although she couldn’t help but remember her own nightmarish experience with childbirth. She didn’t envy Victoria that. “She’s staying in Scotland, though I don’t know why. Lord Strathland is there, and after what he did—”

“Let’s not speak of him,” Paul interrupted. “What’s done is done, and he’ll not harm your family again. The duke and all of us will see to it.”

She forced herself to nod, though she didn’t quite believe it. At least now, Worthingstone was there to protect her sister. And Juliette was grateful that Strathland was far away from London.

“How were you invited to this
cèilidh
?” she asked. “Are the hosts friends of yours?”

“I’ve been visiting the wool merchants, and several of them are Scottish, like me.”

She stiffened at the mention of the wool. There was only one reason why Paul would concern himself with getting better acquainted with the merchants. “And why would you visit them? This isn’t about Strathland, is it?”

He met her gaze squarely. “And what if it is?”

Juliette was afraid to think of it. She’d tried to bury all memories of the earl, but if Paul was destroying the man’s income, it was a declaration of war. “What have you said to them?”

He drew her down a narrow street, stopping in front of a smaller shop. “Only what needed to be said. I told them the truth about what Strathland’s been doing to the crofters. And to your family.”

Juliette rubbed at her arms, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the dreary London weather. “Have they refused to buy from him?”

He shook his head. “There’s too much demand for wool. But I’ve convinced them to lower their orders. There are other sources of wool in Scotland. Men with no connection to Strathland.”

“Like your uncle?” she suggested.

“Donald has an estate in the north, aye. But his herds are small compared to Strathland’s. I only made it known that His Grace, the Duke of Worthingstone, would be quite offended if they purchased from the earl. Those who want his favor will find other sources.”

“Be careful,” she pleaded. “If he learns what you’ve done, he’ll seek retribution.”

“I’ve spoken only the truth.”

“Still—” She touched the sleeve of his coat, and he took her hands. At that moment, the hackney stopped and the coachman came to open the door. Juliette knew there was nothing more to be said.

“Come, Juliette. Put aside your fear, and let’s have a night to enjoy ourselves.” Glancing outside at her maid, Nell, he added, “And you, lass. You might be finding a handsome gentleman, if you smile and dance.”