Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons #4)(40)

Drake folded his arms across his chest. “Are you off to see your sister?”

Emmaline’s eyes lit. “Oh, is one of your sisters present?”

Only one he cared to visit at the moment, the rest he’d abandoned to poor Westfield.

“I should so like to—”

Whatever Emmaline had been about to say ended on a squeak as he jerked his chin forward. “Come along. Poppy would be bereft if she didn’t see you.” He didn’t pause to see if they followed but strode onward toward Juliet.

“Perhaps you might slow your step a bit for the lady,” Drake drawled.

“Hmm? Er, uh, yes, my pardon.” Jonathan adjusted his stride. “I also thought it might be a good idea to have you meet Miss Marsh, my sisters’ newest governess.” He cleared his throat. “After all, if you’re to know the young lady.”

Emmaline nodded in agreement, a sudden interest in her warm brown eyes.

Juliet glanced up as he descended upon her and Poppy. A frown marred her freckled cheeks. He bristled, not liking in the least that he should be so eager to see her when she should appear so indifferent, even bothered by his appearance.

Poppy jumped up. “Drake!” she cried.

Drake executed an elegant bow, even with his daughter, Regan, in his arms. “It is ever a pleasure, my lady.”

Poppy giggled and pointed her gaze to the sky. “You’re such a rogue.” She looked to Emmaline with an unfiltered smile. “He is a rogue, you do know that, my lady?”

Emmaline nodded solemnly. “It appears, my efforts to reform him appear wholly unsuccessful.” Then her gaze slid over to where Juliet stood stock-still and silent. “Hullo, I gather you are…”

“Ju…er Miss Marsh,” Jonathan cut in. “Miss Marsh, my dear friends Lady Emmaline, the Marchioness of Drake and her bounder of a husband, Ashton, the Marquess of Drake.”

Drake offered a lazy smile. “You mustn’t go bandying my Christian name about the ton. It’s a rather—”

“Horrid?” Poppy supplied.

He winked at her. “Horrid, indeed. It’s a rather horrid name.”

Juliet dropped a curtsy. “I wouldn’t dream of it, my lord,” she said with a smile. “It is a pleasure,, my lady,” she said to Emmaline.

Emmaline looked down to where the sketchpads sat open upon the ground and started. Almost reflexively she stooped down to retrieve a book. She glanced up. “Have you done this?” she marveled.

Poppy nodded excitedly and plopped down beside Emmaline. She jabbed a finger at the remarkable likeness of a goose with a small fish clenched between its teeth. “She did.” The girl flipped the page to a modest home with brick front, a stone walk, and rose bushes lining the path.

He started, transfixed by the image.

“And she did this one,” Poppy was saying, her words coming as if from a distance.

Jonathan could not take his eyes from the country home. His breath lodged in his chest, and he looked to Juliet.

Rosecliff Cottage.

As an artist, she’d managed to capture the modest size of her home, but also the almost fairytale like quality of the dwelling which seemed better suited to fey creatures and fairies and not mere noblemen bored with London Society. It was her home. And he’d taken it. Well, won it. But such a thought didn’t do anything to assuage the guilt stabbing at his chest.

“Are you all right?” Drake said quietly beside him, as Juliet, Emmaline, and Poppy all continued to discuss her work.

He managed a tight nod, but in truth he wasn’t all right. He was humbled and shamed and furious with himself for being the bloody bastard who’d won her precious home. “Fine,” he said curtly. Only, on the heel of his furious musings was a sudden thought. What if Sir Albert Marshville had sat down to a different game of whist, with a different gentleman? What if someone, other than Jonathan, on a mere slip of chance, had won Rosecliff Cottage, and through their win—the right to know Juliet Marshville?

Because his brave, spirited Juliet would have surely sought out that nameless bounder. He balled his hands into fists at his side, knowing it preposterous to feel this unholy rage for some fictitious gentleman in some imagined scenario.

But it could have been another.

And as Juliet continued to charm his friends and sister, he realized just how much the very idea of it ravaged him.





Chapter 12


Juliet sat upon a leather sofa in the Earl of Sinclair’s impressive library. Full, floor-length shelving lined with leather-bound volumes filled the expansive space. Gold sconces lined the opposite wall, throwing eerie shadows upon the pale yellow, Aubusson carpet.

Her charges had been abed nearly four hours now, and Juliet, though exhausted, had been unable to find solace in a peaceful slumber. As she’d lain in bed, staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling overhead, she’d alternated between a heart-pounding horror at the remembrance of seeing Lord Williams earlier that day, and an aching sadness with thoughts of Jonathan and Lady Beatrice Dennington. Abandoning all hope of sleep, she’d slipped on her robe and tiptoed through the empty corridors, into Jonathan’s library.

Her gaze wandered back over to the clock. He’d been gone more than four hours now. She hated that she knew the exact amount of time to have passed since Jonathan had swept out the front doors of the townhouse, trailing after his mother and sister, Patrina. His black cloak had snapped about his ankles, made foreboding by the lingering fog that swirled around the London streets.