Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons #4)(14)

He grinned. “Perhaps.”

Mad or desperate.

After all, Juliet had learned at Albert and Baron Williams’ hands that desperation drove a woman to do desperate things. “Why would a powerful, wealthy earl such as yourself ask a young lady he does not know to care for his sisters?” She detected the heavy skepticism in her own question.

The carriage rattled over a solid bump, and jostled Juliet. Her derriere left the seat a moment, and then she landed with a solid thump back on the bench. She winced and resisted the unladylike urge to rub her now sore buttocks.

The earl angled his head, coolly elegant and wholly un-jostled. “Are you interested in the position or not, Miss Marshville?”

Ah, so he didn’t intend to answer her very reasonable question. Life with Albert had taught her early on to be suspect of others’ motives. The world tended to operate in shades of blacks and whites, but hardly ever the grays of in between. She could imagine four very sinful sisters in dire need of a governess. She expected she should be repelled at the prospect of trading all hopes of a marital state for a life of work. Even if the post of governess were a respectable one, it would relegate her to an ambiguous world in which she was neither lady nor servant.

And yet…interest flared. The post would afford her respectability and just as important, independence. Freedom from her brother and Lord Williams’ machinations.

Juliet put her palms to her knees and leaned close. She ran a searching gaze over his face. “How many governesses have your sisters had thus far, my lord?” She’d wager three.

He hesitated a moment. “Five.”

It appeared she was about as good at wagering as her brother. “Five.”

“You would be the sixth.”

Hence his desperation. It begged the question as to what he’d seen in her that had compelled him to make such an outlandish offer.

A young lady only sought the role of governess under the direst of situations; daughters and sisters of wastrel fathers or brothers in need of finances. Of course, she’d be there soon if Albert were to continue on this course. No young lady would ever choose the role of governess before marriage.

She tossed her chin up a notch. “Whyever would I want to take on work as governess to your surely incorrigible sisters?”

The earl stretched his legs out as far as the carriage would allow, swallowing up the slight space between them. His oak-hard thigh brushed against hers and even through the fabric of her muslin cloak and modest day dress, her skin burned at the contact. “I believe work for my, what did you call them, incorrigible sisters?” he arched an eyebrow, “Would be preferable to life with your odious brother.” He rested a hand on the top of his thigh, and drummed two fingertips over his black breeches.

He most likely would be correct.

She expected she should feel some modicum of sisterly loyalty to defend Albert, but couldn’t even muster a small bit for show. Odious was one of the lesser charges the earl could have leveled her brother’s way.

Still…

“What else would be the benefit to me in trading the life of a lady for work as governess?” Other than freedom from Albert, of course.

His fingers ceased their distracted movement. “Why, your Rosecliff Cottage, Miss Marshville.”

Her breath caught and held in her chest. Her cottage. If she agreed to this position, the cottage would be hers. Not Albert’s, nor the Earl of Sinclair’s, but rather, hers. The cottage represented freedom from her brother’s horrid treatment. It represented freedom from Lord Williams’ improper advances.

And more, it represented something that belonged to her and no other.

Hope hung suspended in her chest, as she eyed him warily. “Surely there is more to this generous offer?” There had to be. There always was where grasping, greedy gentlemen were concerned.

He flashed his devil’s grin, and her fool’s heart skipped a beat. “All you must do is shape my sisters into models of proper, English gentility. If you do that, then the cottage is yours.”

“And if I do not?” she asked, even though she already knew his answer.

“Then I’ll be the proud, still owner of Rosecliff Cottage.” A teasing glimmer sparked in his blue eyes. “What is it then, Miss Marshville?”

Juliet’s gaze caught and held on the crimson velvet curtain and lingered, as she remembered the puddle of blood under Lord Williams’ head from where she’d clubbed him with the candelabra. A frisson of fear unfurled in her belly as she considered the punishment the cruel, letch would try and exact for her assault on his person that day.

“Miss Marshville?”

“I accept the terms of your offer, my lord.”

She gathered from the slight narrowing of his eyes that she’d surprised him with her acquiescence.

Good, the sooner the roguish Earl of Sinclair recognized she was an indomitable woman who could not be easily ruffled, the better he would be for it. “I would like to begin immediately, my lord,” she informed him.

That roguish grin played about his lips. “Splendid. The girls are in dire need of a proper governess.”

Unease rolled through her. The hint of a sparkle in the blue of his eyes indicated his amusement.

She squared her shoulders. So he thought she would be easily scared by his surely troublesome sisters? Fortunately, she’d learned how to handle her wicked brother and his childish outbursts through the years. In fact, she’d wager her three charges combined could not even come close to Albert’s nastiness.