Unraveled By The Rebel (36 page)

But he knew someone who
could
make sense of them. He’d promised her the ledgers, after all.

With Juliette’s help, they both might make sense of his uncle’s holdings and work together to continue the profits. And when she was comfortable running the estate without him, he would turn to what mattered most.

Killing the man who had taken away everything.

There were days when being sixteen years old was a plague. Amelia knew she was lucky to even attend assemblies, but it bothered her that she was too young to speak to anyone under the age of forty.

She had her eye on Viscount Lisford. It didn’t matter that he was five-and-twenty. He was dashing and kind. His manners
were exquisite, and he never once made a misstep when he danced.

She sent him the brightest smile she could muster, hoping that he would see her pining from across the room. Even if she was too young now, she could marry within two years.

Two. It sounded like eternity. She’d heard of a few young women who had married at seventeen, but when she’d asked about it, Mother had promptly informed her that the women had married because they
had to.
Whatever that meant.

“Don’t you think it’s time you went up to bed?” Margaret asked from behind her. “It’s after midnight.”

“
You
aren’t going to bed yet.”

“No, I’m not.” The serene look upon her older sister’s face was irritating.

“And how is your quest for a husband progressing?” Amelia tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice, but truly, it wasn’t fair that Margaret was old enough to do everything, while she had to remain pinned to Aunt Charlotte’s side.

To her surprise, Margaret blushed. “There might be someone. But I came to ask you about Juliette’s letter.”

“She asked me to send half a dozen of the
you-know-whats
to her.” Standing on tiptoe, she whispered in Margaret’s ear, “She wanted the most seductive we had.”

Margaret fanned herself furiously. “Well, I—I suppose Juliette
has
been married for nearly a fortnight now.”

“I took some of the extra garments that Victoria sent us and had them posted to Edinburgh instead. Madame Benedict doesn’t need to know about them.”

“I still don’t like the risk.” Margaret lowered her fan, frowning. “Though I have been glad about the money.”

“No one will know,” Amelia promised. “Our secret is entirely safe. In the meantime, we can continue to stand on the edges of the crowd like ninnies, hoping for a man to smile at us.”

Waiting around was not Amelia’s strong suit. She much preferred to make decisions and act upon them.

At that moment, the object of her adoration turned and began walking straight toward them. Amelia went breathless as the Viscount Lisford crossed the room. She half expected angels to begin singing when he smiled in her direction.

“Miss Andrews, I believe the next dance is mine?” he said.

Yes. A thousand times, yes.

But with horror, Amelia realized he was speaking to Margaret. Prim and proper Margaret. Not her.

The angels suddenly began screeching off-key in her brain.
It’s a dance,
she told herself.
Only a dance.

But from the way her sister was returning Viscount Lisford’s smile, she knew what
that
meant. The “someone” Margaret had spoken of was escorting her to join in a country dance.

All the happiness within her dried up into a hollow shell. Margaret had
known
how much she wanted the viscount. She’d known it, but she’d gone and smiled at him anyway. Whatever happened to her complaints that Viscount Lisford gambled at White’s? And what about their Sisters’ Meeting, where Margaret had been more interested in the Earl of Castledon?

Whirling around, Amelia was prepared to march away when she crashed into a gentleman standing behind her. “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Good Heavens. It was the Earl of Castledon—otherwise known to her as Sir Personality-of-a-Handkerchief. He was the very last person she wanted to encounter. A quick escape was what she needed.

“I should have watched where I was going,” she apologized. “I didn’t see you at all.”

“I was busy being a wallflower,” he remarked drily. “It doesn’t surprise me that you never noticed.”

She took a closer look and realized that he wasn’t entirely
bad-looking. A little average, but he was exceptionally tall, and his blue eyes were nice.

“Men aren’t wallflowers,” she said. “The term is too delicate for a man. Stoic is a better word, I think. Or aloof.”

He eyed her in silent amusement. “Or I could be a wall-hedge instead of a flower. Shrubbery would be more masculine, don’t you think?” From the ironic look in his eyes, she suspected he was making fun of her.

Distracted, she answered, “Yes. That’s it exactly.” With a glance, she saw her aunt signaling her from across the room.

Right. She wasn’t supposed to be talking to men or to be seen in their presence. She hadn’t made her debut, and it was inappropriate to be anywhere near an unmarried man, even if he was harmless.

But as she apologized again and excused herself, she couldn’t help but cast another longing glance at the viscount of her dreams. Margaret wouldn’t try to steal Viscount Lisford, would she? Her sister truly ought to be with a man like Lord Castledon. A handkerchief who was kind, well-mannered, and likely would do whatever a woman told him to.

But from her sister’s blushing face, Amelia suspected that her worst fears might happen after all.

J
uliette sat at the large mahogany desk, surrounded by ledgers. Her hands were stained with ink, and she’d spent hours deciphering Donald Fraser’s handwriting. Scraps of paper lay all over the desk, figures she’d tallied regarding the estate’s assets.

Her husband was not poor. Not tremendously wealthy, either, but his uncle had left him with several hundred acres of land. There was another estate, far to the north, which supposedly had sheep and acres for grazing, but it wasn’t clear if that house was suitable for a residence. Then there was another estate in the northwest region. Already she’d scribbled half a dozen ideas on how to increase their profits.

She set down her pen, still awed that Paul had given her command of the estate ledgers. It had been such a comfort to immerse herself in numbers, adding the columns and sorting everything into rents paid and bills that needed to be handled. It might have been an unusual gift for a new wife, but she was grateful to have a way of spending her hours. Especially since her husband had been avoiding her.

Despite her desire for a shared bedroom, he’d given her a room of her own, two doors down from his own.

Almost as if he didn’t trust himself not to open an adjoining door.

Their life had fallen into a pattern. Rising, eating meals together, and then he went to meet with the tenants, ensuring that they had everything they needed. At night, he gave her a kiss on the cheek, and then they went off to their own rooms.

It bothered her more than it should. Ever since the first night they’d shared together, she’d grown restless, realizing that she
wanted more from this marriage. Her husband was keeping a respectful distance, and it irritated her. She wanted that closeness back, of being wedded to her best friend.

After she wrote to Victoria, her sister had sent a letter containing instructions that had made Juliette blush. But then, she’d wanted to know about ways of satisfying a husband. Her sister’s response had been eye-opening, to say the least. Even better, a package had arrived from Amelia that Juliette believed would help to make things right with Paul.

Footsteps approached the study, and she glanced up to see her husband standing in the doorway. “Did you find everything in order?” he asked. His hair was windblown from riding, and his coat was askew. She rose from her chair and went to greet him.

“I did, yes.” She kissed him on the cheek, and added, “I think I’ve sorted it all out. If you’d like me to go over the figures with you—”

“I’ll leave it to your judgment,” he said. “Just tell me what you’re wanting to do, and you needn’t worry.” His demeanor was distracted, as if his mind were elsewhere. He was staring above her, outside the bay window.

“What is it?” she asked.

He withdrew a folded piece of paper from his coat. “I’ve received a letter from my mother, asking me to come back to Ballaloch.”

“Is something wrong?”

“That’s just it. Ne’er in my life has she written to me. It’s no’ her way.” He held out the letter, and Juliette took it. “I’ve no idea if she can even hold a pencil.”

“Obviously, she can, if she took the time to write to you.” Juliette smoothed out the paper, studying the note. Bridget informed her son that she needed him there to help with some of the crofters who were wounded. She urged him to come quickly.

“My mothers hasna asked for my help for as long as I can remember,” Paul said. “I don’t think she wrote this letter. Someone else did. Someone who wants me back at Ballaloch.”

And Juliette suspected she knew who that someone was—Brandon Carlisle, the Earl of Strathland. “How did he find us?”

“It’s no’ difficult. Not since I became the viscount.” He took back the letter and replaced it in his pocket. “The question is: What is he wanting?”

“Nothing good,” Juliette said. “He’s angry at us and at me for wedding you.”

“He canna change that.” Paul took her hands and drew her into his arms. She rested her cheek against his heart, and the scent of his skin made her want to cling even tighter. But he tensed the moment she did.

“You’ll stay here,” he told her. “I’ll go and find out what’s happening.”

“No. We’ll go together,” she insisted. She wasn’t about to remain behind while he went in search of trouble.

“You’re daft if you think I’m going to take you into harm’s way. You’ll stay, and that’s that.”

“Is it? And what’s to stop me from following you, after you’ve gone?” She knew, even if he wouldn’t admit it, that Strathland was foremost in Paul’s mind. He fully intended to avenge what had happened to her. “You’re not thinking clearly,” she said softly. “You’re acting on instinct instead of logic.”

“I willna hide from him, Juliette. He’s hurt everyone I love, and I’ll no’ hide away outside of Edinburgh while he threatens my family.”

She stilled, realizing what he’d said.
Everyone I love.

Did he love her, then? He’d never said it, though she’d suspected as much. The word dug into her heart, for the look in his eyes gave her the truth.

He did love her. And because of it, he was planning to walk directly into danger, to ensure that Strathland never again hurt any of them. As he’d said, he wouldn’t hide.

But that was what she was doing, wasn’t she? Hiding away in this house, running from the man who had taken so much.

“What will you do when you confront him, Paul?”

He stared back at her, his eyes full of hatred and frustration. “I’m going to kill him.”

Her breath exhaled in a rush, for that was what she’d feared. “And when you’re caught? What then?”

“I don’t care what happens to me. He deserves death for what he did to you. A thousand times over. And if I’m the one to bring him to justice, it means that he canna ever hurt anyone again.”

“
I
would care what happens to you.” She took his hand in hers and drew it to her face. “Do you think I want to be a widow?”

He shook his head and shrugged. “I’m hardly much of a husband to you, as it is.”

“You’re right,” she said suddenly. His gaze narrowed, as if he’d never expected her to say it. “It isn’t much of a marriage. You sleep apart from me, and we only see one another at mealtimes.”

“That was the marriage you wanted,” he pointed out. “Or did you forget that we can no’ be sharing more than that?”

“We could, if you weren’t so afraid.”

“It wouldna take much for me to go over the edge, Juliette.” His hand curled against the back of her neck, and goose bumps rose over her skin. He wanted her badly, and she intended to ease the ache inside of him.

Juliette crossed back to the window and drew the drapes shut. “Lock the door.”

The room was dark, the air charged with anticipation. She wasn’t afraid of him, and knowing that their marriage would never be consummated had given her a boldness she’d never expected. He was wound up so tightly, she suspected that if she didn’t find a way to satiate his desires, their lives would break apart.

Her sister had given her a few ideas. And although they were shocking, Juliette wanted to touch her husband. She wanted to see him come apart, feeling the intense pleasure that he’d given her.

“What are you wanting, Juliette?” he demanded.

“Lock it,” she repeated. “I’m wanting some time with my husband. Before he goes off like a hot-tempered lad, to fight an enemy who’s not worth the mud on the ground.” She had his full attention, but he still hadn’t locked the door. So she went and did it for him, taking the key away.

“Juliette, don’t be starting something we canna finish.”

She set the key down and approached him, resting her hands upon his heart. “Will you ever stop talking?”