Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons #4)(68)

He pounded harder. But Juliet had been turned out.

He knocked again. And if he didn’t find her, he’d go mad.

The door opened, and the air left him on a swift sigh of relief. He didn’t wait for the butler to grant him admittance, but instead pushed his way inside. “I need to see—”

“You look like hell.”

Jonathan glanced up as Drake strode down the stairs. If he looked like hell now, then his friend should have seen him before the bath and change of attire.

Drake reached the foyer. Jacketless, and with his shirt hanging open, his friend clearly hadn’t been expecting or wanting visitors this evening. However, the somber set to his face indicated he’d been expecting this particular visitor.

Jonathan ran a shaking hand through his hair. Drake jerked his chin toward the corridor leading to his office. “I gather you know the reason I’m here,” Jonathan muttered, as they started down the hall.

“I strongly suspect I have the why of it.”

They reached Drake’s office and he motioned him inside. He closed the door behind them.

“Where is she?” Jonathan demanded without preamble. “Poppy and Penelope said you’d escorted Juliet somewhere. Where did—?”

Drake held a hand up. Then wordlessly, he crossed over to the crystal decanters on the table in the far back corner of his office, and poured two glasses of whiskey. He held one out to Jonathan.

“I don’t need a bloody drink.” Except, he took the glass his friend carried over to him.

“She’s Sir Albert Marshville’s sister, Sin. You won her home in a game of cards and then put her to work as your governess.”

Jonathan winced at the damning words spoken by his friend. Put in those harsh, succinct terms, he couldn’t help but be ashamed. “It wasn’t…she approached me…” He went silent. Because with Drake’s tangible disappointment, he realized there were no words to condone his treatment of Juliet.

Drake studied him over the rim of his glass, and cursed. “You made her your mistress, didn’t you?”

“No!” the denial burst from Jonathan’s lungs. “I didn’t make her my mistress,” he said, his voice quiet. He could not admit even to his friend the truth—he had wanted Juliet in his bed. He’d promised her jewels and trinkets. Now, with her gone, and all that remained was the memory of her, he nearly choked on the offer he’d put to her. A woman of Juliet’s honor and integrity would never have been swayed by a desire for material possessions. He gripped his glass hard. “I didn’t make her my mistress,” he repeated. Because she said no.

Drake set his glass down. “Do you love her?”

Jonathan studied the contents of his glass. He knew his heart ached at the prospect of never seeing her again. He knew if he failed to find her, the light would go out of his life. He knew that with her he smiled more and laughed more and hurt more and…

Liquid splashed over the sides of his glass and he stiffened as Drake removed the tumbler from between his hands. Oh God help me. I love her. I love her, and she is gone, and I do not know where she is.

Drake didn’t press him for an answer, perhaps because he was Jonathan’s closest friend and as such didn’t need confirmation of his question. Perhaps Drake knew Juliet was entitled to those words, first. “Sit down,” his friend commanded.

Jonathan sank into the nearest seat, a leather sofa.

Drake dragged a nearby King Louis XIV chair over opposite Jonathan. “Your mother summoned me after you set out in search of Patrina.”

He would have felt uneasy if anyone else discovered of Patrina’s actions, but he trusted Drake implicitly.

“Your mother did not believe Marshville intended to elope with your sister.” Unlike Jonathan who’d been so very certain the couple had been off for Gretna Green. “Your mother believed Miss Marshville knew where her brother intended to take your sister.”

“Rosecliff Cottage.” Of course, a sister for a sister, and where else should the exchange take place but at the home Sir Albert had lost in a game of faro to him. His heart thumped loudly in his ears. “She remained with Marshville?” he asked hoarsely.

Drake hesitated a moment, and then gave a brusque nod. “She insisted upon it.”

Of course she would. His intrepid, bold Juliet who’d propositioned him in the seediest streets of London and demanded her precious cottage returned would think nothing of trading herself for Patrina.

Four days. She’d been with that bastard who’d tried to whore her out to cover his gaming debts, for four, nearly five days now. The same dastard who’d tossed her from a tree when she’d been a small child. If Sir Albert Marshville had treated a small girl so vilely, what would he do to the woman who’d thwarted his attempt to use her body as compensation for a lost wager? His gut churned with nausea. “Oh, God,” he whispered. He surged to his feet, and dragged Drake up by his shirtfront. “Where is she? Where are they? How could you?” he raged.

How could I? He’d offered her a place in his bed, when what she’d truly deserved was an honorable offer as his countess. She should be his wife, even now. A strangled half-sob tore from his throat. As though he’d ever been worthy of her. Jonathan released Drake, and staggered backward. “I have to find her.”

“I suggest you speak to Marshville,” Drake said quietly.