Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons #4)(38)

Poppy called out, bringing her back to the moment. “Miss Marsh, are you unwell?”

“I am.” Or, I will be as soon as I can be assured Baron Williams doesn’t move beyond the riding path.

“You are unwell?”

She blinked. What? Whatever was the girl talking about? A gleaming pair of Hessians stepped into focus and she shrieked. Her gaze climbed upward, and she swallowed hard.

Jonathan stood, arms crossed at his chest. “Well, well, what have we here, Miss Marsh?”





For the nearly half of an hour since Lord Westfield and Lady Beatrice had joined his outing, Jonathan had done a rather remarkable job of setting aside thoughts of the vexing Miss Juliet Marsh for the whole of those minutes. He’d attended to Lady Beatrice’s far less than stimulating discourse on the weather, and her plans for the evening, all the while priding himself on not thinking about Juliet. Yes. He’d been doing a remarkably fine job of setting aside thoughts of the bewitching miss…

Until he’d observed her drop to her knees and scramble behind a boulder with Poppy in tow. Young ladies did not drop to their knees and steal furtive glances about. Not unless said ladies were not intending to hide some secret or another.

As he’d sat alongside Lady Beatrice, he’d all the while eyed Juliet’s surreptitious movements, knowing it unlikely his passionate, but stoic Juliet would ever be engaged in any furtive efforts. Except, there was the whole kneeling and hiding business. And so, all his hard-won efforts to forget Miss Juliet Marsh were shattered into a million slivers of good intentions.

Jonathan doffed his hat. “Poppy.”

His youngest sister dipped a curtsy as though she’d just been introduced to him in Almack’s Assembly halls.

He returned his focus to the still crouched Juliet. “Miss Marsh,” he murmured.

Jonathan walked the remaining distance over to Juliet and Poppy. He narrowed his gaze upon the young woman. Ladies did not whisper and remain kneeling in the midst of Hyde Park. Well, mayhap they whispered, but they certainly didn’t do the both together unless there was a reason to be whispering and kneeling behind a boulder. He glanced around, but detected nothing of interest beyond the mundane sight of passing lords and ladies, gentlemen astride their horses. Yes, certainly nothing to inspire whispering and hiding, because that is most assuredly how it appeared. It appeared as though Juliet Marsh hid. He wrinkled his brow. But hid from what? Or whom? “Er, what are you doing, Poppy?” Because as his youngest sister, she’d always proven quite helpful in imparting information.

She pointed her eyes toward the sky. “Sketching.”

Until now.

Now she lied. To him. Her brother. For Miss Marsh. His faithful Poppy had so quickly shifted her loyalties. But then, Juliet inspired such sentiments in an individual. He remembered back to Prudence’s claims from a short while ago, of Juliet’s injured leg. Had she been hurt? “Are you well, Miss Marsh?” He took a step toward her, but she held a palm up.

“I’m very well, my lord.” She added almost as an afterthought, “And I trust you are also well?”

He’d have to be one of those blind, doddering old-sort-of noblemen to not notice the guilty blush that stained Juliet’s cheeks. “Wonderful, indeed. Tell me, Miss Marsh? What finds you,” he glanced pointedly at the ground, “at this particular spot?”

She wrapped her arms about her knees, appearing as nonchalant as a young lady taking tea in a parlor and not a young lady crouched in the dirt. “Oh, I, er…dropped something.”

It didn’t escape his notice that she failed to rise. Jonathan knocked his hat against his thigh. “I trust it you’ve found what it is you were looking for?”

Juliet nodded once. “Oh, yes. Absolutely,” she said hurriedly.

“What was it?”

She cocked her head at an endearing little angle. “What was what?”

Jonathan motioned to the ground. “The item you dropped.”

Juliet’s eyebrows stitched into a single line. “The item I dropped?” Then her eyes widened. “Oh, er, yes…” She glanced around frantically. “My er…” he could practically see her mind racing.

“Your…?” he prodded.

She and Poppy spoke in unison. “Handkerchief.”

“Sketchpad.”

Poppy gave a pitying shake of her head and Jonathan swore his sister muttered. “I rather thought sketchpad made far more sense than kerchief.”

Jonathan narrowed his gaze on. “What was that, Poppy?”

His sister waved a hand. “I’m sure you heard Miss Marsh just fine,” she said.

Ah, God love the girl. What a devoted servant she’d become to Juliet in this short time. He sighed and looked once more to Juliet.

“Kerchief,” she finished lamely. “It was my kerchief.”

He supposed if he was more of a gentleman he’d be good enough to not point out the clear absence of a fragile slip of fabric. “Where is this…kerchief?” Then, his sisters and mother had despaired of him ever being a truly, proper gentleman. His lips twitched when Juliet’s eyes rounded like two full-moons in her face.

She wet her lips, the telltale gesture he’d come to note, signifying her nervousness. Her back stiffened. “It blew away.”