Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons #4)(19)

“Furthermore, I know nothing of her. Why, she could be utterly horrid,” she said, repeating Penelope’s very same concerns.

“She most certainly is not horrid,” he interrupted. He hurried on, as Emmaline and Drake shared some indecipherable look between them. “Miss Marshville strikes me as just the kind you’d get on with.”

“Oh?” Emmaline quirked an eyebrow.

He waved a hand. “Honorable.” She’d perform honest work all to acquire the property lost by her brother. “Courageous.” After all, he couldn’t identify a single young lady who’d brave St. Giles, and wrestle herself free of a lecherous gentleman with such skill and calm. “And exceedingly beautiful,” he murmured more to himself.

For an infinitesimal moment, he detected a slight tug at Drake’s lips, but then he coughed into his hand, and when he dropped his fingers back to his side, his serious, guarded expression was firmly in place.

“Honorable and courageous,” Emmaline repeated, tapping a finger against her chin. “Very well, I’ll trust your judgment on this matter. But,” she held that same finger up. “If she’s in anyway horrid to your sisters…”

“They’ll deserve it entirely,” he said.

“Then you are to release her from her obligations immediately.”

He held a hand to his chest and bowed his head. “Certainly.” He might be a rogue bent on fulfilling own selfish pleasures, but he’d not tolerate cruelty toward his sisters. Which is probably why they’d grown into these unruly hoydens. Jonathan bowed. “Thank you, now if you’ll excuse me?”

“You’re leaving already?” Drake called after him.

He paused a moment and spun back. “I have to fetch my current governess.” His toes fair twitched with the desire to take flight and gather the tart-mouthed miss.

“You’re seeing to it yourself, Sinclair?” Heavy skepticism underscored Emmaline’s question.

Jonathan bristled and tugged at his lapels. “I’ve always taken a particular interest in my sisters’ rearing.” He frowned when Drake snorted. “I have,” he said defensively. Granted, he’d not seen to the hiring of a single governess or nursemaid prior to this, but well, his mother had charged him with this particular responsibility and he’d see it carried out correctly.

It had only the very slightest smidgeon to do with an eagerness to again see his Miss Marshville whose Christian name he still did not know.

Drake waved a hand. “Are you all right?”

Jonathan started. “Fine,” he said indignantly.

“Because you appear to be wool-gathering.”

Emmaline nodded. “Yes, you do appear to be wool-gathering.”

“I do not wool-gather. Why, I’m the Earl of Sinclair, and…” he gave his head a shake, resisting the urge to make a crude gesture for his far-too amused friend. “Good day,” he said on a final bow.

Drake’s laughter carried through the door and down the long corridor as Jonathan made his way out of the house.

Now, to the pleasurable business of collecting his Miss Marshville.





Chapter 6


Juliet glanced across the room at the clock atop the fireplace mantle. The Earl of Sinclair’s carriage should arrive any moment. Last evening, before he’d returned her home, he’d been very specific in his plans for her.

She stared down at her simple, black valise. The midnight coloring put her in mind of the devilish lord whose carriage she now awaited. Nervous trepidation warred with the oddest, most inexplicable longing to once again see the grinning rogue. Which made little sense. She should want to send him to the devil for his having laid claim to her precious cottage and yet, there was more of this desire to see him.

Her maid, Lillian, buried her face into her hands and let out a particularly loud sob pulling Juliet back to the moment. Lillian wept bitterly sad, little tears. “A governess,” she wailed. “A governess,” she repeated for surely the hundredth time since Juliet had returned from her late night meeting with the earl and shared her intentions with the girl who’d become more friend than maid to her over the years.

Juliet patted Lillian on the back. “It is fine,” she assured the young woman. “More than fine,” she hurried to add. Serving as governess to the Earl of Sinclair’s sisters was not ideal, but it was preferable to the sad, sorry state she’d dwelt in since Papa’s death more than a year ago.

Lillian blew her nose rather noisily into a kerchief. “Sir Albert is correct on this score, Miss Juliet. And Sir Albert is not correct on so very many scores,” she said.

Yes, that was true. Albert was more often incorrect than correct. “Then perhaps this time he is wrong as well, Lillian,” she said gently.

“He’s going to be livid after you leave, Miss Juliet, and he’ll certainly take it out on the staff.”

That gave Juliet pause.

Her brother had alternated between spitting fury, and volatile rage when she’d arrived early that morning to find him waiting in the foyer for her to reappear. The rage first directed at her having clouted Lord Williams and leaving the vile reprobate locked in the parlor like a common thief had been miniscule compared to the palpable rage when she’d informed him of her intentions to take on the post of governess. Which had rather surprised her as she’d always thought he’d prefer to have her out of his sight.