Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons #4)(69)

“Thank you. For everything. For your discretion with Pat—”

Drake waved off his gratitude. “Don’t thank me, Sin. You’re my friend,” he said with the steely strength of a military man.

Jonathan’s jaw set with determination. He would find her and he would convince her of his worthiness. He would spend the remainder of his life making amends for all the wrongs he’d committed against Juliet.

“I’ve taken the liberty these past days of having one of my servants follow Sir Albert Marshville’s going-ons.” He glanced across the room at the long-case clock. “By my accounts thus far, you should be able to find the gentleman at Guilty Pleasures around this time, and probably for the duration of the night. That is, if he’s winning. He’s usually losing, however.”

Jonathan nodded. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. As he took his leave of Drake and set out in search of Sir Albert Marshville, he considered all the time he’d spent with Juliet. Now, sitting in the closed confines of his carriage, he stared at the opposite bench and remembered back to when she’d climbed into his carriage, bold as you please.

You sir, have taken my cottage and I would see it returned.

He’d wanted her from the moment he’d set eyes upon her. He’d loved her since he’d held her palm and read the future he’d dreamed of for her—a future, he hadn’t realized until this very moment that he desperately wanted to be part of. He peeled back the red velvet curtain and stared absently out into the passing streets. The carriage pulled him further and further away from the fashionable districts and deeper into the underbelly of London. Juliet had sacrificed her happiness, the possibility of owning Rosecliff Cottage all to help Patrina, and to spare his other sisters’ reputations. What other woman would be so wholly selfless?

And how could he ever be worthy of her?

The carriage rocked to a sudden halt in front of a relatively modest establishment that concealed all manner of sin within its walls. He didn’t bother waiting for his driver. Instead, he opened the door himself and leapt to the ground. Jonathan strode with purposeful steps toward the doors of Guilty Pleasures, the notorious gaming hell that catered to the most immoral members of Polite Society.

A servant pulled the doors open. The din of raucous laughter and the shuffle of cards filled the air around him. He scanned the noisy hall. His gaze moved with methodical precision over each table. And narrowed on two specific gentlemen. Jonathan started toward them, ignoring the greetings shouted his way.

He knew the moment Sir Albert registered his appearance. The ginger-haired man blanched, and his gaze darted about as if in search of escape. He jumped to his feet so quickly, his legs knocked against the table.

Lord Williams, seated beside the baronet, grumbled in protest as their cards and wagers were tossed about the table. Then he looked at Jonathan and smiled a cold, heartless grin.

Jonathan’s clenched his hands tight. This was the bastard who’d offered to make Juliet his mistress and then put his hands on her body.

Lord Williams rose somewhat unsteadily, his voice slurred from drink. “To what do we owe—?”

Jonathan drew his arm back and planted his fist into the smug bastard’s grinning face. The man crumpled into a heap on the floor, amidst the shocked gasps and shouts from the tables around them. Jonathan leaned over the man’s prone form, and shoved his face close to Lord Williams’. “That was for Juliet,” he said on a flinty whisper.

Lord Williams pressed his hands over his nose and winced. Blood spurted between his fingers, those fingers that had dared to touch Juliet. “Y-you b-broke my n-nose,” he wailed.

“Consider yourself fortunate that is all you’ve suffered.” Jonathan straightened. He looked about for the second reason for his visit.

An ashen Sir Albert searched around as if looking for an escape.

He forced a hard grin. “Sir Albert, join me. We have several matters to discuss.”

The baronet’s throat bobbed up and down.

Jonathan flung an arm around the bastard in a forced jocundity and guided Juliet’s brother from the hall.

The sniveling coward tossed a backwards glance longingly at the coin he’d left behind. “I had a winning hand this time, Sinclair. P-perhaps w-we might s-speak later?” He winced when Jonathan squeezed him hard about the shoulders.

The majordomo opened the door, and as soon as it closed behind them, Jonathan shoved the other man down the three steps onto the pavement.

Sir Albert tumbled forward and landed hard upon his hands and knees with a grunt. Juliet’s brother cried out when Jonathan yanked him to his feet, and pushed him in the direction of Jonathan’s carriage. He turned a sickly shade of white and allowed Jonathan to all but throw him inside the waiting carriage. Jonathan’s driver closed the door behind them. Sir Albert huddled in the corner, a cowering, whimpering pathetic excuse of a man. Not like his sister Juliet who’d sat on that very bench and boldly demanded the return of her home.

Grief scissored through him at the memory of that night. Jonathan sat there; his hands braced upon his legs and studied Juliet’s brother. He tried to find even a glimpse of Juliet in this shell of a being.

Sir Albert tugged at his rumpled cravat, his throat quickly moving up and down. “Wh-what—?”

Jonathan narrowed his gaze, immediately silencing the other man. His eyes remained focused on those hands; hands which had shoved Juliet from a tree all those years ago, forever injuring her splendidly beautiful legs.