Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons #4)(65)

Juliet lifted her hand in parting, as the carriage pulled away, taking with it the last remainder of her life with Jonathan. The pain of losing him could not be more great than if she’d been cleaved in two..

“Come on, then,” Albert shouted into the wind.

With each step, as she allowed him to drag her from Rosecliff Cottage she considered just how much of her life had been controlled by others. Her safety, her security all rested in the hands of men. Unreliable gentlemen; a guardian who’d gone missing, an uncle who’d but seen her mayhap twice in her life, a brother who saw her as nothing more than a piece to be wagered in a game of chance.

She ground her feet to a halt, as they reached the gate. Water ran down her cheeks, into her mouth. “I’m not going with you,” she shouted.

He dashed the rain from his eyes. “Of course you are.”

Juliet shook her head. “No. I’m not.”

“What will you do? Go back and become Sinclair’s whore?”

She shook her head. She didn’t know what she would do, or where she would go. She only knew she’d tired of having her life dictated by controlling gentleman. “You always hated me, haven’t you?”

Albert spit into the rain. “I have. You were Papa’s everything. He saw me as nothing more than a disappointment, a weak failure. To him you were perfect. Flawless.”

Her eyes widened with a dawning horror as that summer day more than nine years ago made some kind of sickening sense. “That is why you pushed me from the tree.” After that day, with her crippled leg, she’d been perfect no longer. What level of depravity could drive one to do such a thing? With that one act he’d turned her into a cripple who’d forever had to bear snide comments and pitying, oftentimes cruel glances. Again the stark difference between Albert and Jonathan who so loved his sisters stood more vivid than any sketch in her book.

Albert reached for her arm, and she reeled away from him. “Go. Go back to London and squander what is left of Papa’s efforts, but you’ll not use me to advance your goals at the gaming hells.”

Seething fury twisted Albert’s face, and she continued backing away from him. She registered the moment his silent rage gave way to resignation. Wordlessly, he spun on his heel and stalked off. Juliet stood there in the howling wind, rain stinging her face, folded her arms across her chest, and tried to determine where an unwed lady went from here.





Chapter 19


Four days later



Jonathan dismounted from his horse, Beauty and tossed the reins to a waiting servant. He brushed a hand over the three-days’ growth of beard upon his cheeks, he was in desperate need of a bath, a change of garments, some rest, and a stiff drink. He climbed the steps to his townhouse. His butler, Smith, threw the doors open and he sailed inside.

“How do you do, my lord?” the deaf, Smith shouted his greeting.

Jonathan managed a weary nod, and handed his cloak off to the servant. As he stepped into the marble foyer, he didn’t know what he expected. His sisters’ cries combined in a symphony of sadness, perhaps. Mother, wan and shaken. Only silence met him.

Jonathan hadn’t known silence in the nineteen years since Patrina had been born. He looked to Smith expectantly. “Where is the countess?”

The old servant arched an eyebrow. “Congratulations, my lord on your win!” he shouted in return.

“My win…?” he mouthed.

“Your contest win, my lord.” Smith’s booming voice thundered off the walls.

“I didn’t win a contest,” Jonathan said with a shake of his head. “I…oh hell, never mind,” he said under his breath and started for his office. He’d locate her himself.

First, he would have a drink. Perhaps several drinks of liquid resolve, before he was forced to admit to his mother his great failure in finding Patrina and Marshville. He’d ridden his mount hard and furious. He’d stopped at the inns along the way to Gretna Green. There had been no hint of the dastard who’d absconded with his sister. In the end, it was as though his sister and Marshville had disappeared like the wisp of fog.

He reached his office, and touched his fingers to the handle of the door. When raised voices split the silence of the corridor, Jonathan glanced down toward the library. Poppy’s high-pitched voice carried to him. He wiped his hand across his eyes, wanting nothing more than that damned drink. Alas, he’d failed in his ability to protect Patrina, he must at least have the courage to face his mother and admit as much. With a curse he shifted directions and made his way down the hall, and to the library.

“I don’t care. You’re horrid. Horrid, horrid. And I’ll say it as often as I like. I—”

Jonathan opened the door, and Poppy’s tirade died on her lips.

Three pairs of unblinking eyes met Jonathan’s. Then with a cry, Poppy sprinted across the room, and hurtled herself into his arms.

He folded his youngest sister in his arms. A vise-like pressure squeezed about his heart as he considered how he’d failed her. How he’d failed all of them.

“Where have you been, Jonathan?” Penelope stomped over, a frown on her lips. “It has been days.”

“Four days,” Poppy supplied helpfully.

Prudence wrung her hands. She took a step backward. Then another. And another. All the while, her gaze remained focused on the door.