Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (15 page)

Juliet started. “You mustn’t say that, Poppy,” she whispered.

“But I don’t. You said you valued honesty, Miss Marsh,” the girl said, brow wrinkled with girlish confusion.

“First, you do not know the lady enough to formulate such a severe judgment. Second,” she held up a staying finger when Poppy made to speak. “There is a time for honesty and a time for—”

“Dishonesty?” Poppy supplied before Juliet could finish.

“Politeness,” she returned with a smile, so very grateful for the distraction provided by the young girl who prevented her from focusing on Jonathan’s head tipped down while Lady Beatrice said something. It saved her from focusing on that special way Jonathan had of making a lady feel like she was the only woman in the world. Or the tendrils of guilt that snaked through her for the Lady Beatrice Dennington who, with her carriage and bearing, epitomized regal elegance. Juliet grimaced as she once again adjusted her pace to keep up.

Poppy touched a hand to her arm, staying her. “Prudence shouldn’t have said what she did to you, Miss Marsh. It was cruel, and I’m sorry.”

Warmth filled her heart. “Oh, Poppy, you’ve nothing to be sorry for. Remember, you mustn’t make apologies for others. You cannot hold yourself responsible for the actions of others.”

The girl angled her head, suddenly looking far younger than the dramatic, oft-posturing young lady of the Ivory Parlor. “Very well, then I’m sorry you were hurt.”

They shared a smile. Juliet glanced back down the path and frowned. Their party had moved further ahead. She’d never manage to eat away the distance with her awkward stride.

Poppy seemed to follow her thoughts. Juliet started when the young girl took her hand and gave a slight squeeze. “Wait here a moment,” she whispered, and sprinted ahead. She came upon her brother, who paused, forcing Lady Beatrice and the rest of their party to a halt. Poppy spoke in an animated fashion, gesticulating wildly.

Jonathan glanced at Poppy, and then down the path to where Juliet remained standing. Even with the space between them Juliet detected the dark glower on his face. He gave a brusque nod, and remained in wait, while Poppy raced back over to Juliet.

Poppy winked. “We’re free of them,” she whispered.

“Poppy,” she gently scolded. Though secretly, she could admit to being very, very pleased by Poppy’s kind gesture.

Chapter 11

Juliet shifted the burden of her basket from one hand to the other as she and Poppy walked through Hyde Park, onward toward the Serpentine River. In the distance she detected a flash of Lady Beatrice’s pretty pink skirts alongside the girls’ matching ivory ones. One of Lord Westfield’s servants snapped open a stark white blanket, vivid upon the lush green grass.

“Do you know, Miss Marsh, I believe you don’t like them either,” Poppy mused aloud.

Juliet warmed and her attention flew back to the girl who strolled at her side. “Of course I like them.” Pause. “Though, I do not know them, so I’ll reserve judgment.” Not that she would ever really come to know Lord Westfield and his angelic sister. They may as well have moved within entirely different worlds.

Juliet stumbled a bit, and Poppy reached for the basket. “Allow me, Miss Marsh. I, insist,” she said with a resolute set to her shoulders when Juliet made a sound of protest. She relinquished the basket to the girl’s care. As they walked, Poppy pointed her finger excitedly over at the long-necked swans that floated within the placid river. “I should like to sketch that, Miss Marsh. He’s ever so lovely.”

They paused at the edge of the water “Indeed,” Juliet said, and stopped beside Poppy to admire the graceful creature as it dipped its long neck beneath the surface. The swan resurfaced moments later with a wildly flapping trout between its mouth. They stood in companionable silence, both seeming to appreciate their unfettered view of the pelicans and ducks as they glided over the water.

The occasional gentleman would pause to tip the brim of his hat in her direction. The glimmer of interest in their lustful eyes, at odds with the gentlemanly acknowledgement.

Poppy wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like them, either.”

“Who?”

“Those…those gentlemen who continue to look at you. They remind me of Patrina when she’d sneak into the kitchens to steal one of Cooks’ tarts.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “And do you know, I believe Sin wouldn’t care for it, either.”

Juliet snorted, even as she sought out the sinful earl in the distance. She instantly recognized the broad set of his muscular shoulders in the sapphire blue coat. “Perhaps,” she said at last. In actuality, she didn’t think he’d much care. Rogue-like gentlemen kissed a lady senseless in one moment, and didn’t have another thought about it. With his wicked grins and husky whispers, Jonathan was a rogue in every sense of the word.

A kestrel cried in the distance, and a chill stole down her spine as a sense of impending calamity snaked through her body

“What is it, Miss Marsh?” Poppy murmured at her side.

“Hmm?” The tips of her toes curled in the soles of her slipper. Her gaze lingered upon the crystal ripples that rolled across the river surface. She could now admit, the volatile feelings Jonathan roused inside had filled her with no small amount of panic. “Come along,” Juliet said. “We’ll find a more secluded area where we might sit, and you might sketch.”

As they continued on, the young girl prattled on about what she intended to sketch, what might pose a good place in which to best view the pelicans.

Gravel crunched beneath the slight heel of Juliet’s slippers as they made their way further down the path, toward the enormous boulders that lined the end of the trail. She paused a moment and glanced back at where Jonathan and his sisters sat with Lord Westfield and Lady Beatrice. Another frisson of unease unfurled within her, and she brushed off the unpleasant sensation, continuing on with Poppy.

And froze.

The breath left her on a swift exhale, and a loud humming filled her ears as her gaze locked upon a gentleman seated astride a familiar midnight black mare with equally black eyes. The gentleman expertly guided his horse down a nearby riding path. A very familiar gentleman with brown hair and so-blue-they-were-nearly-black eyes; black like Lucifer’s and a heart to match the fallen angel’s. Oh God. Her stomach roiled, and she glanced around, consumed with a desperate urge to flee. Except logic told Juliet if she were to make any sudden movement, Lord Williams’ eyes would lock on her like a practiced hunter tracking its prey.

“Miss Marsh?” Poppy inquired.

Lord Williams nudged his horse to a slow gallop, an entirely too-quick pace in the crowded park.

Juliet cursed and dropped to her knees, and with infinite care motioned Poppy over.

Poppy dropped to her haunches and joined Juliet beside the enormous boulder that fully shielded the girl’s small, slender frame.

Juliet swallowed hard, never hating her own height more than she did in this moment.

“What is it?” Poppy whispered. She pulled at Juliet’s hand.

She nodded fast. “Er, I thought mayhap we might best view the pelicans and swans here,” she lied; praying her charge wasn’t practiced at identifying lies.

“Uh-oh, well, then,” Poppy hopped up, and went to retrieve the basked she’d dropped.

All the while Juliet prayed Lord Williams had continued on. She clenched her eyes tight, as horror upon horror revisited her. His hand on her breast. His mouth over hers. The thick, crystal candelabra she’d brought down upon his head. Then the blood. There’d been so much blood. Her breath came in quick-gasping spurts and she knew the lords and ladies passing along on the walking trail eyed her with something akin to horror. But not for all the wealth in the world could she still the panicked beat of her heart. She pressed herself even tighter against the boulder.

Poppy called out, bringing her back to the moment. “Miss Marsh, are you unwell?”

“I am.”
Or, I will be as soon as I can be assured Baron Williams doesn’t move beyond the riding path.

“You are unwell?”

She blinked. What? Whatever was the girl talking about? A gleaming pair of Hessians stepped into focus and she shrieked. Her gaze climbed upward, and she swallowed hard.

Jonathan stood, arms crossed at his chest. “Well, well, what have we here, Miss Marsh?”

For the nearly half of an hour since Lord Westfield and Lady Beatrice had joined his outing, Jonathan had done a rather remarkable job of setting aside thoughts of the vexing Miss Juliet Marsh for the whole of those minutes. He’d attended to Lady Beatrice’s far less than stimulating discourse on the weather, and her plans for the evening, all the while priding himself on not thinking about Juliet. Yes. He’d been doing a remarkably fine job of setting aside thoughts of the bewitching miss…

Until he’d observed her drop to her knees and scramble behind a boulder with Poppy in tow. Young ladies did not drop to their knees and steal furtive glances about. Not unless said ladies were not intending to hide some secret or another.

As he’d sat alongside Lady Beatrice, he’d all the while eyed Juliet’s surreptitious movements, knowing it unlikely his passionate, but stoic Juliet would ever be engaged in any furtive efforts. Except, there was the whole kneeling and hiding business. And so, all his hard-won efforts to forget Miss Juliet Marsh were shattered into a million slivers of good intentions.

Jonathan doffed his hat. “Poppy.”

His youngest sister dipped a curtsy as though she’d just been introduced to him in Almack’s Assembly halls.

He returned his focus to the still crouched Juliet. “Miss Marsh,” he murmured.

Jonathan walked the remaining distance over to Juliet and Poppy. He narrowed his gaze upon the young woman. Ladies did not whisper and remain kneeling in the midst of Hyde Park. Well, mayhap they whispered, but they certainly didn’t do the both together unless there was a reason to be whispering and kneeling behind a boulder. He glanced around, but detected nothing of interest beyond the mundane sight of passing lords and ladies, gentlemen astride their horses. Yes, certainly nothing to inspire whispering and hiding, because that is most assuredly how it appeared. It appeared as though Juliet Marsh hid. He wrinkled his brow. But hid from what? Or whom? “Er, what are you doing, Poppy?” Because as his youngest sister, she’d always proven quite helpful in imparting information.

She pointed her eyes toward the sky. “Sketching.”

Until now.

Now she lied. To him. Her brother. For Miss Marsh. His faithful Poppy had so quickly shifted her loyalties. But then, Juliet inspired such sentiments in an individual. He remembered back to Prudence’s claims from a short while ago, of Juliet’s injured leg. Had she been hurt? “Are you well, Miss Marsh?” He took a step toward her, but she held a palm up.

“I’m very well, my lord.” She added almost as an afterthought, “And I trust you are also well?”

He’d have to be one of those blind, doddering old-sort-of noblemen to not notice the guilty blush that stained Juliet’s cheeks. “Wonderful, indeed. Tell me, Miss Marsh? What finds you,” he glanced pointedly at the ground, “at this particular spot?”

She wrapped her arms about her knees, appearing as nonchalant as a young lady taking tea in a parlor and not a young lady crouched in the dirt. “Oh, I, er…dropped something.”

It didn’t escape his notice that she failed to rise. Jonathan knocked his hat against his thigh. “I trust it you’ve found what it is you were looking for?”

Juliet nodded once. “Oh, yes. Absolutely,” she said hurriedly.

“What was it?”

She cocked her head at an endearing little angle. “What was what?”

Jonathan motioned to the ground. “The item you dropped.”

Juliet’s eyebrows stitched into a single line. “The item I dropped?” Then her eyes widened. “Oh, er, yes…” She glanced around frantically. “My er…” he could practically see her mind racing.

“Your…?” he prodded.

She and Poppy spoke in unison. “Handkerchief.”

“Sketchpad.”

Poppy gave a pitying shake of her head and Jonathan swore his sister muttered. “I rather thought sketchpad made far more sense than kerchief.”

Jonathan narrowed his gaze on. “What was that, Poppy?”

His sister waved a hand. “I’m sure you heard Miss Marsh just fine,” she said.

Ah, God love the girl. What a devoted servant she’d become to Juliet in this short time. He sighed and looked once more to Juliet.

“Kerchief,” she finished lamely. “It was my kerchief.”

He supposed if he was more of a gentleman he’d be good enough to not point out the clear absence of a fragile slip of fabric. “Where is this…kerchief?” Then, his sisters and mother had despaired of him ever being a truly, proper gentleman. His lips twitched when Juliet’s eyes rounded like two full-moons in her face.

She wet her lips, the telltale gesture he’d come to note, signifying her nervousness. Her back stiffened. “It blew away.”

Jonathan glanced at the placid lake. “What bad luck.” He furrowed his brow. “And, how very odd, Miss Marsh. I’d not noticed a wind before.”

She nodded quickly. “Oh, yes. A great, big gust. Perhaps you didn’t notice it because,” she gestured toward his party in the distance, “you were with company.”