Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons #4)(6)

Her brother would squander all their father’s hard-earned wealth and property in little time. Though wrong in most regards, Albert had unfortunately been right when he’d made his earlier claims about Uncle Horace.

The man, nearing his seventieth year, couldn’t be bothered with his long-departed sister’s daughter. He could no sooner put a stop to Albert’s philandering, wastrel behaviors than Juliet could.

A knock sounded at the door. She glanced up as the kindly butler, Peter. He cleared his throat. “Lord Williams to see you, Miss Marshville.”

A curl fell over her eye, and she blew it back. Blast, blast, and double blast. She gritted her teeth. “Please, if you’ll tell him—”

“Tell me what, Juliet?” Lord Williams said with far too much familiarity from behind Peter’s slightly drooped shoulders.

Peter edged reluctantly from the room, leaving her alone in the black-eyed devil’s

company.

“Lord Williams,” she forced herself to greet. She eyed the door behind him. “My brother…” Oh, where in hell was Albert? It certainly spoke to her desperation that she desired even his miserable company.

“I’m not here to see your brother,” he murmured. He advanced forward, a beast stalking its prey.

She folded her arms across her chest and held firm her ground. She’d not let this foul cad drive her back in fear. “I’m afraid I was just…” Her words ended on a gasp, as he placed himself in front of her, and reached a hand out to shove back a strand of hair that had fallen over her brow.

He caught it between his fingers. “Lovely. The color of sunset.”

The baron’s unoriginal likening of her red hair to the sunset was about all one could expect of a gentleman of his clearly limited intelligence.

“Release me, my lord.” Lest suffer the heel of my good, much stronger leg upon your instep.

Instead, he raised the strand to his nose and inhaled deep. “Ah, I do not think I shall, Juliet. I’ve wanted you for so very long.”

She grimaced. She’d wanted to avoid his company for so very long, so they had that somewhat in common. “My brother will not approve of your familiarity, my lord.”

The feral grin on his thin lips chilled her through as she realized with a dawning horror that her brother had, in fact, encouraged this particular meeting.

Dead. She would kill him dead.

Juliet swatted at Lord Williams’ hand. “Remember yourself, my lord.”

“I am remembering myself. I’m remembering how very much I’d like to kiss your bow-shaped lips and explore the warm cavern of your mouth.”

She nearly gagged at the descriptive picture he painted. It would appear the baron who’d made fast friends with Albert nearly a year ago was even less a gentleman than she’d originally believed. Not that she’d had much value on him as being any level of gentleman. Her knowledge of noblemen had shown them all to be a singularly self-absorbed, self-indulgent lot.

Lord Williams leaned forward, and she recoiled. “Whatever are you doing?” she hissed.

She hopped backward, no easy task with her sometimes difficult to maneuver leg.

“I’m kissing you.”

He took a step toward her.

Juliet stuck a hand out, and the movement seemed unexpected to the baron for he stopped. “You are not kissing me.” She’d rather kiss that snorting pig in the pen back at Rosecliff Cottage.

His grin widened, displaying two slightly crooked rows of teeth. “I intend to. Just as I intend to make you mine.”

Make you mine. He spoke like an old, conquering lord from days past, and suddenly she felt like a bloodthirsty woman from long ago, for she ached for that broadsword in her hands.

It seemed she needed to be a good deal clearer for the baron. “Lord Williams, I would not wed you for anything in the world.” There. Unoriginal, but she gathered quite clear in terms of her feelings.

At the darkening glint in his blue-black eyes, Juliet took several steps backward, and placed the small upholstered chair between her and the baron, a rather flimsy barrier, but nonetheless a barrier.

“I did not say anything of wedding you,” he said at long last on an ice-cold whisper.

Oh. He hadn’t? She wrinkled her brow. She’d thought he said—

“I’d make you my mistress.”

Juliet laughed. She laughed until her shoulders shook with the force of her mirth, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Oh, goodness, it really wasn’t terribly funny. Just the opposite. But he seemed so very certain, and it was all so ludicrous she couldn’t keep the laughter from tumbling from her mouth. When she at last managed to rein in her laughter, she dashed her hands over her face and brushed back her tears. “No, my lord. You’ll do no such thing.”

His face contorted with barely suppressed rage, and he took another step toward her. “Your brother has made it clear, I’ll meet with little resistance.”

That gave her pause. She’d always taken her brother for a sniveling coward, but he still valued the pretense he maintained as dandified fop. It wouldn’t do to have a sister who was mistress to Lord Williams, or any gentleman for that matter.

She shook her head, and felt compelled to say once more, “I’ll not become your mistress.” She didn’t have any grand hopes for a love match, but neither did she have so low expectations as to embrace the life of a whore for the foul letch.