Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (19 page)

Her mouth set at a firm line. “Nothing. It is nothing.”

Except, he’d come to know women rather well these years and knew when a woman uttered ‘It-is-nothing’ in that particular tone, well, it usually happened to be a very big
something
. He tread cautiously. “Did Lady Beatrice do or say something to offend you earlier this day?” He fisted his hands at his side.

Juliet sprung to her feet, and her rumpled nightgown and wrapper fluttered about her ankles. She began to pace. “It is nothing,” she repeated.

Which only confirmed his suspicion that Juliet concealed something from him.

He climbed to his feet, with a frown. He didn’t like the idea of Juliet concealing anything from him. “Did she—?”

“No!” Juliet exclaimed. She paused mid-pace and glowered. Then, muttering something beneath her breath, she resumed pacing.

“You weren’t even with me?” he repeated back. His brow furrowed. Or it sounded as though she’d said something to that effect.

A crimson blush to match the fiery hue of her hair flooded her cheeks. She only increased her frenzied pace. Her rapid movements released a long, tightly coiled red curl from the loose knot at her nape. The strand danced in a fluttery, cascading dance across her small bosom and lay there. “I should have never come here,” she muttered under her breath.

Jonathan’s heart started, and he placed himself in front of her. “Why do you say that?” he demanded, furious with her words, furious with her inexplicable reaction, furious at the prospect of her leaving. Furious with himself for caring.

Juliet held her hands up beseechingly. “Because I shouldn’t, Jonathan. This,” she gestured between them. “This is dangerous. No good can come of it.”

He clasped her hand in his, turning it over. “Everything good can come of it.”

“You’ll marry your Lady Beatrice, and then what will become of me?” She freed her hand and fisted the fabric of her skirts.

He angled his head. Suddenly the sketch, her volatile, inexplicable reaction, the hurt in her eyes, all of it made sense—why, Juliet was jealous.

Through the years, when presented with a woman’s more-serious interest, Jonathan had taken care to turn on his heel and run as far and as fast as his roguish legs could carry him. Some marked shift had occurred inside him at Juliet’s covetousness. He liked that she was jealous. Because it meant she cared. And he wanted her to care for reasons that he didn’t understand. He grinned.

“What?”

He tweaked her nose. “You’re jealous.”

Her gaze narrowed, and if this lighthearted sensation hadn’t taken over his chest, he’d surely have had the sense to not smile but—

Juliet swatted his hand and stomped around him.

He moved with lightning speed, and planted himself in front of the door.

“Move,” she commanded like a military general barking orders.

He folded his arms behind his back and shook his head. “Do you know, Juliet, I rather think I shall not. Not until we discuss your jealous—”

“I am not jealous!” she cried and tossed her palms up.

His grin widened. How could a woman such as Juliet ever be jealous of a lady such as Lady Beatrice? “I rather like the thought of you jealous, love.”

She jabbed a finger at his chest. “Well, good. Except I’m not jealous. I’m… I’m…”

He arched an eyebrow, enjoying this more than he suspected he should.

What was she? She didn’t know. She only knew she detested Lady Beatrice and hated Jonathan in this moment for having brought her into his home, and kissed her and teased her with the promise of something that could never be.

The air left her on a swift exhale as she realized the truth. She covered her face with her hands, and shook her head back and forth. What had happened between them, though beautiful, could not happen again. She could not throw away her virtue—not even for him. “All you remind me of, Jonathan, all you and thoughts of Lady Beatrice remind me is that I’m not like you. I don’t belong in your world.”

“That’s ludicrous,” he scoffed. “You’re a baronet’s daughter.”

“Earls do not marry governesses,” she bit out.

“I don’t believe we’ve spoken of marriage.” His statement resonated around the room like the blare of a pistol in the dead of night.

She glanced down to see if a ball had left a hole in her chest. She’d deluded herself into believing he could have honorable intentions where she was concerned. Her throat worked reflexively. What a bloody fool she’d been. “No,” she spoke between gritted teeth. “We have not.” Because why would they?

“Juliet,” he said softly, and stepped away from the door.

She used his slight movement to turn the lock and fling it open. She ran past him and tore down the corridor. Her heartbeat thumped loudly in her ears. She dimly registered Jonathan’s quiet curse and his boot steps as he stepped out of the room. Juliet increased her pace.

I don’t believe we’ve spoken of marriage.
His words echoed tauntingly around the walls of her mind. There had been the harsh reminder of the status that separated them; the gulf wider than the whole of the Channel. God help her, she wanted more from him.

Fool. Fool. Fool.

A sob escaped her. Juliet took the corner and slammed into a small figure. She rocked back on her heels, and reached out to steady Prudence. “Prudence,” she exclaimed quietly.

“Miss Marsh…” Then the girl’s eyes seemed to take all of Juliet in; from her rumpled nightgown and wrapper, to her loose flyaway curls, and the color heating her tear-stained cheeks.

And in spite of her young age, Juliet knew the moment the girl had deduced the truth—there could be no good in one’s governess being out, a bedraggled mess in the dead of night.

“Juliet,” Jonathan called quietly as he took the corner and froze. His body went taut as he looked from Prudence to Juliet. “Prudence, why are you awake?” he asked gruffly.

Juliet’s eyes slid closed as humiliated shame lapped at her insides.

Prudence lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought to find a book to read…” She arched an entirely too-mature eyebrow. “Why are
you
back, Jonathan? I believed you were at the Duke of Somerset’s ball this evening.” Then her knowing, victorious stare swung over toward Juliet. “And what of you, Miss Marsh? Why are
you
awake at this hour?”

Juliet detected the jeering edge there. Oh Lord, how she heard it. “I also could not sleep,” she said stiffly. And because she was all kinds a coward, Juliet cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me.” She made it no further than the end of the corridor.

“Miss Marsh?” Prudence called out.

Juliet paused, and turned back to face the girl.

Prudence angled her head. “What is it you forgot?”

“I’m sorry?” she asked dumbly, all but toppling into the girl’s clever hands.

Prudence gestured to her brother. “My brother, the
earl
, was calling after you. What did you forget?”

Her mind went blank and unable to meet the girl’s gloating expression glanced away.

Jonathan cleared his throat, forcing Juliet’s attention back to his. He held her sketchpad out. “Your sketchpad, Miss Marsh,” he said quietly. “You forgot your sketchpad.”

A ball of emotion clogged her throat, as she fell in love with him all over again that moment for his rescue. She doubled back around and stopped before him. He held out the book, and she accepted it with tremulous fingers. “My lord,” she said, her tone much more steady.

“Miss Marsh,” he murmured in reply.

As Juliet made the infernally long walk back down the corridor and on to her chambers, she was aware of Prudence’s ice-cold eyes trained on her retreating frame.

Chapter 14

Jonathan held a glass of half-drunk port in his hands. The crimson color put him in mind of a similar shade of red, which put him in mind of a particular woman. With a curse, he took a long swallow. Since that beautiful encounter in the library two nights past, he’d taken great pains to avoid Juliet. He’d not sought out her company in the rooms where she instructed his sisters, he’d not joined her in the walks she’d taken through Hyde Park. He broke his fast and supped at his clubs.

And it most certainly wasn’t out of a lack of desire to see the spirited beauty.

He moved through the halls of his townhouse with bated breath in anticipation of seeing her. He’d caught but one passing glimpse of Juliet…and only just this morning. He’d been making his way back from his clubs, and she’d been going out for the day with his sisters in tow. Jonathan had inclined his head, in a stiffly formal, polite greeting; yet all the while, he’d devoured her with his eyes.

Juliet on the other hand, had passed a quick glance over his rumpled clothes, the same he’d worn from the evening prior, and the day’s growth upon his cheeks—and by the flash of hurt and shock in her green eyes, he knew just what opinion she’d come to.

Hopeless rogue.

Jonathan took another sip of his port. He tightened his hand about his glass, in a bid to rein in this desire to storm out of his office and make his way to where Juliet now instructed his sisters. Only he couldn’t.

Prudence had very clearly known that something more had passed between he and Juliet Marshville. That much he’d seen in her suspicious blue eyes in the corridor when she’d come upon him and Juliet. If he didn’t tread carefully where Juliet was concerned, he risked the possibility of his mother discovering his interest in the quick-witted beauty, and in turn demanding Juliet be dismissed from her position.

No, his mother would not jeopardize her daughters’ reputations on the suspect behavior of a governess—even if said governess was more apt with the girls than any of the previous five governesses combined.

The door to his office opened and closed with a decisive click. From the gold bevel mirror upon the wall, he looked on disinterestedly as his mother entered the room.

She wasted little time, launching immediately into her diatribe. “Jonathan, whatever are you thinking? Drinking and carousing in this manner, sleeping at your clubs…”

His jaw tightened. His mother believed him to be a reckless scoundrel, just as the rest of polite Society. He’d not defend his actions. He’d not explain he’d not been drinking, but instead had stayed away in a desperate attempt to do the honorable thing where Juliet was concerned. From his total lack of control three nights ago, he’d demonstrated an ability to be logical with the lovely Juliet.

He turned slowly to greet his mother with a practiced grin. “Mother.” He raised his glass in salute. “How—?”

“Do not think to charm me.” She took a steadying breath and smoothed her palms over the front of her pale blue satin skirts. “Jonathan,” she began in the same patronizing tone she’d used upon him as a small boy. “For many, many years you’ve not had your sisters or myself underfoot. We’ve conducted ourselves in the country while you carried on your separate life in London. But now Patrina is nearing the end of her second Season and remains unwed. Though, she’s been exceedingly vague, I believe her affections have been ensnared by some gentleman.” She gave her head a shake. “Of course, after Patrina, Prudence will follow not far behind. Then Penelope—”

“I know the order, Mother,” he said with a caustic bite to his words. He tightened his hold upon his glass. He’d made a great many sacrifices where his sisters were concerned. He had met with his steward with a regular frequency, verifying his estates were in order and profitable to afford his sisters and Mother the life and luxuries they enjoyed. He’d been a dutiful and attentive brother. And never once had he bemoaned their presence.

Had he enjoyed his freedom these more than ten years now? With certainty. He would not, however, make apologies for having enjoyed that freedom.

His mother appeared at his shoulder. Concern radiated from within her eyes. “I wanted to speak with you on a matter of importance.”

Bloody fantastic. He’d wager Lady Beatrice Dennington and his marital state would somehow factor into this matter of importance. Jonathan downed his port.

“I spoke to Prudence,” she said hesitantly.

He froze. It would appear he’d have lost that particular wager.

Mother cleared her throat. “Prudence mentioned that she came upon you a couple of nights ago. With Miss Marsh.” She said nothing for a long while, instead scrutinized him with that probing stare. “She claimed you called Miss Marsh by her Christian name.”

His sister was a troublesome bit of baggage. He felt a pang of sympathy for the unlucky fellow who would someday take her to wife. He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Just what are you implying, Mother?” he asked with forced amusement.

“I’m not implying anything,” she said blandly. “I’m merely issuing a warning. Miss Marsh is a respectable young lady. You must not…not…” She colored.

“I must not?” he prodded.

“Seduce her,” his mother snapped. “Her reputation as the girls’ governess must remain impeccable. There can be no scandal attached to her name.”

Jonathan carried his empty glass over to the
sideboard
. He picked up the closest decanter and sloshed several fingerfuls of whiskey into a glass. He wanted to get soused. Absolutely soused. “I’d not seduce her,” he snapped. Even if he’d come very close to doing just that in his library three nights ago. He hungered for her, but he would not lay claim to her body in all the ways he longed to, because he recognized such actions could destroy her reputation. Somewhere along the way she had come to matter more to him than even his own pleasures. His lips twisted, wishing he were in fact the complete rogue everyone took him for.