Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons #4)(47)

“No!” Juliet exclaimed. She paused mid-pace and glowered. Then, muttering something beneath her breath, she resumed pacing.

“You weren’t even with me?” he repeated back. His brow furrowed. Or it sounded as though she’d said something to that effect.

A crimson blush to match the fiery hue of her hair flooded her cheeks. She only increased her frenzied pace. Her rapid movements released a long, tightly coiled red curl from the loose knot at her nape. The strand danced in a fluttery, cascading dance across her small bosom and lay there. “I should have never come here,” she muttered under her breath.

Jonathan’s heart started, and he placed himself in front of her. “Why do you say that?” he demanded, furious with her words, furious with her inexplicable reaction, furious at the prospect of her leaving. Furious with himself for caring.

Juliet held her hands up beseechingly. “Because I shouldn’t, Jonathan. This,” she gestured between them. “This is dangerous. No good can come of it.”

He clasped her hand in his, turning it over. “Everything good can come of it.”

“You’ll marry your Lady Beatrice, and then what will become of me?” She freed her hand and fisted the fabric of her skirts.

He angled his head. Suddenly the sketch, her volatile, inexplicable reaction, the hurt in her eyes, all of it made sense—why, Juliet was jealous.

Through the years, when presented with a woman’s more-serious interest, Jonathan had taken care to turn on his heel and run as far and as fast as his roguish legs could carry him. Some marked shift had occurred inside him at Juliet’s covetousness. He liked that she was jealous. Because it meant she cared. And he wanted her to care for reasons that he didn’t understand. He grinned.

“What?”

He tweaked her nose. “You’re jealous.”

Her gaze narrowed, and if this lighthearted sensation hadn’t taken over his chest, he’d surely have had the sense to not smile but—

Juliet swatted his hand and stomped around him.

He moved with lightning speed, and planted himself in front of the door.

“Move,” she commanded like a military general barking orders.

He folded his arms behind his back and shook his head. “Do you know, Juliet, I rather think I shall not. Not until we discuss your jealous—”

“I am not jealous!” she cried and tossed her palms up.

His grin widened. How could a woman such as Juliet ever be jealous of a lady such as Lady Beatrice? “I rather like the thought of you jealous, love.”

She jabbed a finger at his chest. “Well, good. Except I’m not jealous. I’m… I’m…”

He arched an eyebrow, enjoying this more than he suspected he should.





What was she? She didn’t know. She only knew she detested Lady Beatrice and hated Jonathan in this moment for having brought her into his home, and kissed her and teased her with the promise of something that could never be.

The air left her on a swift exhale as she realized the truth. She covered her face with her hands, and shook her head back and forth. What had happened between them, though beautiful, could not happen again. She could not throw away her virtue—not even for him. “All you remind me of, Jonathan, all you and thoughts of Lady Beatrice remind me is that I’m not like you. I don’t belong in your world.”

“That’s ludicrous,” he scoffed. “You’re a baronet’s daughter.”

“Earls do not marry governesses,” she bit out.

“I don’t believe we’ve spoken of marriage.” His statement resonated around the room like the blare of a pistol in the dead of night.

She glanced down to see if a ball had left a hole in her chest. She’d deluded herself into believing he could have honorable intentions where she was concerned. Her throat worked reflexively. What a bloody fool she’d been. “No,” she spoke between gritted teeth. “We have not.” Because why would they?

“Juliet,” he said softly, and stepped away from the door.

She used his slight movement to turn the lock and fling it open. She ran past him and tore down the corridor. Her heartbeat thumped loudly in her ears. She dimly registered Jonathan’s quiet curse and his boot steps as he stepped out of the room. Juliet increased her pace.

I don’t believe we’ve spoken of marriage. His words echoed tauntingly around the walls of her mind. There had been the harsh reminder of the status that separated them; the gulf wider than the whole of the Channel. God help her, she wanted more from him.

Fool. Fool. Fool.

A sob escaped her. Juliet took the corner and slammed into a small figure. She rocked back on her heels, and reached out to steady Prudence. “Prudence,” she exclaimed quietly.

“Miss Marsh…” Then the girl’s eyes seemed to take all of Juliet in; from her rumpled nightgown and wrapper, to her loose flyaway curls, and the color heating her tear-stained cheeks.

And in spite of her young age, Juliet knew the moment the girl had deduced the truth—there could be no good in one’s governess being out, a bedraggled mess in the dead of night.

“Juliet,” Jonathan called quietly as he took the corner and froze. His body went taut as he looked from Prudence to Juliet. “Prudence, why are you awake?” he asked gruffly.