Unraveled By The Rebel (9 page)

The grandfather he’d never seen had turned out to be a viscount. Even now, the revelation stunned Paul.

Kenneth Fraser had never behaved any differently, tending sheep like the other crofters. Though Paul knew the Frasers were from Edinburgh, his father had never gone to visit his family. Now, he understood why—because his father was trying to hide his grandfather’s title.

Bridget had known, and that was why his mother had sent him away, after his father had been executed. Not only to keep him safe from Strathland’s men, but to reveal the truth.

“Ye’ll learn to be a gentleman,” Bridget had told him. “Your father ne’er wanted that life, but you should leave Ballaloch to see the world. Donald will teach you what you need to know.”

He hadn’t cared about manners or learning to be a gentleman and had told her so. But Bridget had insisted, and now he knew the reason.

A title. Wealth. Both would irrevocably change his life. Any other man would be grateful for the money, but Paul was too aware of his kinsmen who had endured freezing nights with naught but a tent and a fire to stay warm.

God above, he didn’t want the title. What right did he have to hide away in Edinburgh, dining with silver and crystal, when his friends and kinsmen were here suffering? He wanted to remain the man he was, bent upon vengeance against the earl, determined to bring down Strathland’s wool empire. The only reason that title had value was because it gave Paul the chance for a future with Juliette.

For so long, he’d dreamed of walking in the glen beside her. Of courting her and seeing her smile. If he let her go to London now, there was no chance for them.

Paul walked through the snow, his footsteps crunching upon the surface. All his life, he’d been a man who believed in fate. From the moment he’d laid eyes on Juliette, he’d known that she was meant to be his. And if he had to choose between following her to London or living here without her, there was no question of where he would go.

He trudged back to the rows of tents, his breath forming clouds in the winter air. Although the snowfall was lighter on this side of the glen, it was still bitterly cold. He passed by campfires and hoped that one day there would be warm houses instead of threadbare tents.

As he walked up the hillside, the grim memory of his father’s death lingered. The trial had been a farce, with all of the people agreeing with whatever Lord Strathland wanted. His father had been hanged on this hill, for a murder he hadn’t committed.

All to save his only son’s life.

Paul stared down at the glittering snow. Never had he forgotten how his father had died. And though he’d longed to fight back, to put a bullet through the man’s head, his uncle had talked sense into him. Heated revenge would only end in his own death.

Money and wealth equaled power in the earl’s world. That was the way to bring down Strathland—not with midnight raids or stealing supplies, though he’d done his share of both in the past year. Paul refused to feel guilty about stealing grain to feed children who were hungry. If the earl hadn’t driven them off their land, they would have had stored supplies to last them through the winter. Instead, Strathland’s men had stripped the gardens, taking whatever food they’d wanted.

No, it was better to bankrupt the earl. In that case, London might well be the best solution to Paul’s dilemma. He could educate himself about the wool business, learning how to bring the
earl to his knees when no one would buy his fleeces. Strathland’s fortune rested upon the sale of wool. Without it, he would lose everything.

Paul could make a place for himself there, perhaps as a private physician to a nobleman. In doing so, he could also be close to Juliette.

And slowly, he would win her back.

“We’re leaving in a few days,” Amelia told Juliette. “Mother is staying behind to see if anything can be saved from the house. We’ll stay with Aunt Charlotte instead of at the town house, since Mother won’t be with us.”

The mention of Charlotte made Juliette’s spirits lift, for she was eager to see Matthew again. Perhaps this time, her son would begin crawling. Simply the thought of his smile and belly laugh made her eager to return. It was the one bright moment in the shadows of the tragedy.

“I’m glad of it,” she remarked.

“And she said we can continue our sewing.” Amelia beamed at the idea, as if she’d thought of it first. Juliette didn’t bother to correct her. “The crofters have continued working on the garments, and we’ll take them with us to sell.” Lowering her voice to a whisper, Amelia added, “Perhaps we could trade the undergarments Victoria made, in return for new gowns.”

“We can’t. Mr. Sinclair has to be the one to sell the garments. No one can know that we created the corsets and chemises,” she chided. “It has to remain a secret.”

Amelia’s mood faded. “I suppose.” She appeared disappointed in the need for secrecy. But then, her sister underestimated how important it was to maintain respectability.

The kitten Paul had given her, which Juliette had named Dragon, meowed, nudging her legs before he flopped down and waited for
her to stroke his ears. Juliette sat upon the floor, obliging the animal. “The duke promised our mother that you and Margaret could have a Season this spring. You’ll need many gowns for it,” she said.

Amelia came to sit beside her on the floor. “And what about you?”

Juliette drew up her knees beneath her gown. “I’ve no desire for a Season at all. I’d rather remain unmarried. I’ll handle the accounts for Aphrodite’s Unmentionables and be contented with the work.”

Her sister stared at her with dismay. “But you can’t, Juliette. That would be unbearably lonely.”

“I like adding sums and making money,” she countered. “There’s nothing lonely about it.”

The lie slipped easily from her lips, and she added, “Besides, I don’t need a marriage to be happy. I’ll have my independence and can go as I please. Perhaps one day I’ll have a home of my own and a companion when I’m old.”

“Or perhaps you’d rather marry Dr. Fraser,” her sister interjected. “He’s quite handsome. And he did bring you a kitten.”

Juliette shook her head in exasperation. “Don’t be ridiculous.” As if a kitten would change her mind about men. Even so, her face reddened at the mention of Paul.

Spinsterhood was good, she told herself. There was never a danger of any man touching her again.

But abruptly, Amelia stopped and stared at her for a long moment. Her sister frowned, her eyes discerning. “I don’t think you’re telling me the truth. I know you slipped out to see him twice already.”

Clearly younger sisters made the best spies. Juliette’s face flamed, but she waved a hand. “It was just a harmless infatuation when we were younger, that’s all. We’re friends, and I’ve hardly seen him in five years. We talked about nothing, really.”

“No.” Amelia’s gaze sharpened. “It’s much more than that.” She studied her, as if she could see through her to the silent pain
within. For a moment, fear slid over Juliette that her sister suspected more than she’d let on.

It didn’t matter what her past feelings had been. What mattered was the future—one without Paul. She ignored the bittersweet pang of loss, for she’d never had him to begin with.

“My past has nothing to do with you or your own future marriage,” she said brightly, steering Amelia to a different topic. “Was there a gentleman who caught your eye when we were in London for Christmas?”

“Stop trying to change the subject.” Amelia picked up the kitten, which had fallen asleep. “When we were there last, you never seemed interested in any of the parties.”

“Don’t be silly. Even if I didn’t want a husband, of course I was interested in the parties.”

Lies. All lies. She’d spent every possible moment with Matthew, rocking him to sleep, shaking a rattle to make him laugh. She could have cared less about leaving her aunt’s town house to be paraded about as a potential marriage candidate.

Her sister let out a sigh. “You might have been interested in the color of the drapes. But certainly none of the men.” She flopped down on the bed. “If you truly do love Dr. Fraser, I don’t see why you shouldn’t marry him.”

“I don’t love him, as I said before,” Juliette said. “And besides, our parents wouldn’t approve. He has no title.”

“Father wasn’t a baron until he inherited his title over a year ago from our uncle,” Amelia pointed out. “And even now, I doubt if we could attract any gentlemen at all. I’m too young, Margaret is too fastidious, and you’re too melancholy. You remind me of that glum lord, the Earl of what’s-his-dom.”

“Castledon,” Juliette corrected.

“Yes, him. The pair of you would be perfectly suited, with the way you hardly ever smile or make merry.”

Had she truly been that bad? Juliette picked up a pillow and swatted her sister. “I do smile sometimes.”

“Not often.” Amelia snatched a larger pillow and buffeted her in return.

“Are you trying to beat me into a smile?” she teased. “When we attend parties, will you strike me with your fan if I don’t smile?”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Amelia mused. “Though I imagine you’d be black and blue for a while.”

Juliette couldn’t help but laugh as her sister went on the attack, using the pillow as if it were a bludgeon. “Stop it, Amelia.” Eventually, she tripped and fell upon the bed, laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath.

When was the last time they had behaved like children? She could hardly remember. But it
did
feel good to laugh, after so long.

“There now. Promise me you’ll find something to make you smile. Every day,” Amelia ordered.

“I promise.” Juliette repinned her hair, but before they could go downstairs, her sister blocked her way.

“And promise me something else. If you do love Paul Fraser and you want him for your husband, for Heaven’s sake, let the man compromise you. Then our parents will have to say yes.”

Juliette was left with her mouth hanging open as her sister led the way downstairs.

“My lord, the house burned down.”

Never were there more welcome words to Brandon Carlisle, the Earl of Strathland. The crofters had relocated to Eiloch Hill, and the Andrews family was left with no choice but to return to London. “Good. Make them an offer for the land.”

Now was the time to take advantage of their misfortune. They had lost everything, and when he offered them a reasonable sum for the land, they would readily accept. He had no doubt of it.

“They’ve refused all of our offers in the past,” Melford reminded him. “I doubt that will change.”

“You’re wrong.” Brandon lifted a hand, dismissing his factor’s prediction. This time, Lady Lanfordshire had no choice. He’d watched over the years as their staff had diminished, until now they had only a housekeeper and a footman. Colonel Lord Lanfordshire still had not returned from the battleground, and there was no way of knowing if the man ever would.

It irritated Brandon that he’d given them so many opportunities to end their poverty. He’d even offered to wed one of their daughters, which would allow their future children to inherit. But Lady Lanfordshire had continued to make excuses, despite the fact that their money was running out.

And Juliette had refused him.

His blood raged at the thought of it. Marriage to a man of his status was a privilege she ought to be begging him for. He wanted her, and he had a title far more important than her father’s. Didn’t she understand what an honor it was that he would even consider her as a wife?

Juliette had been such a fetching thing, young and innocent with the swell of womanhood upon her. At the memory, he shifted in his seat. He still relished the moment when he’d held her down, overpowering her until she was forced to accept his body inside hers. Her cries of pain had excited him, and it aroused him just to remember it.

He could have any woman of his choosing, but he wanted a quietly obedient woman. One who knew her place. One who recognized that he was worth more than a thousand Highlanders.

When Juliette had rejected his proposal, he’d had no choice but to punish her. She should have been honored to have his attentions. And after he’d compromised her, her family should have forced her to wed him.