Unraveled By The Rebel (26 page)

Lowering his voice, he added, “No one knows of your secret scandal, do they? What do you think it would do to your sisters’ marital hopes if I were to let out the rumors?”

Her gaze turned murderous. “Do not dare to impugn my sisters with your malicious talk.”

“Then do as I’ve asked, and accept a dance from me.” He held out a hand, relishing the victory when she placed her gloved palm within his. “We will talk about how you’re going to protect them.”

He had her then. In her eyes, he could see the glimpse of fear, not for herself but for Amelia and Margaret. She held no qualms about refusing him, but she would do anything to guard her sisters.

The next dance was a country dance, and as he lined up across from her, he remarked, “You look beautiful, as always, Miss Andrews.”

She gave no answer at all, but stared at the wall behind him. When he held her hand and turned her around, she whispered, “Why won’t you leave me alone, Lord Strathland?”

“Because I wish to marry you.” He relished the idea of having her in his bed every night, particularly if she fought him.

“I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth.”

“I don’t like being refused,” he said. “Especially from a chit who doesn’t know what she’s turning down. Surely you must know how well I could provide for you. You would have everything you’d ever want. I would give you dozens of children.”

Something in her expression shifted, but she masked it. “Never.”

There was something beyond dislike in her words, a hatred that went bone-deep. Without another word, she left him standing there, publicly showing the room what she thought of him.

A rigid anger coursed through him that she would do something that foolish. Others were staring, and he caught whispers about them. She would regret embarrassing him like this.

He would make sure of it.

“You, sir, are no gentleman. I don’t know how you thought to masquerade as a viscount’s heir.”

The man accusing him at Lady Rumford’s ball was a fanciful dandy wearing a bright blue coat and yellow breeches. Paul met the man’s sneer of superiority with no response at all, save to lift his glass of punch in silence.

Perhaps he should have been wary, afraid of being thrown out. But he’d attended so many functions in the past few months, he hardly cared anymore. The only reason he’d come to this one was to learn Juliette’s answer.

There were hundreds of people here, and he had not yet spied Juliette. It made him uneasy, for he suspected what that meant.

And yet, he intended to find Lady Arnsbury and learn for certain whether she had come. If that meant wearing fine clothes and pretending to be a gentleman one last time, so be it. He
started to walk away when the dandy approached again. “I know who you are,
Doctor,
” he scoffed. “I saw you leaving the hospital the other day.”

Paul debated whether to ignore the man, but he was drawing more attention. He placed his glass upon a tray and approached the dandy. “I don’t believe we’ve met, sir.”

The dandy reddened, and drew himself up. The top of his head nearly reached to Paul’s chin. “I suggest you leave, Doctor, before I alert our hostess.”

His patience snapped, and Paul leaned in closer, dropping his cultured speech. “Go ahead and tell her whate’er you wish. But you should ken that I’m a Scot. We don’t take kindly to insults.” His mouth spread in a thin smile, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “If you’re wanting to, we could be talking about this outside. Where your blood willna get on the floor.”

The man blanched, and before he could say another word, Paul added, “I don’t think you’re going to say anything to Lady Rumford, am I right?” Though he smiled, he made no effort to hide his irritation.

Damned meddling fool. What did it matter about his uncle’s title, especially when Paul intended to return to Scotland?

Another matron stepped forward to intervene. Though she was flustered, she sent Paul a warm smile. “I can vouch for Viscount Falsham. I was well acquainted with his uncle, Donald Fraser.”

Paul went still, uncertain of who the matron was or how she knew his uncle. Why had she called him Viscount Falsham, when Donald Fraser was very much alive? But the tone of her voice held sincerity, as if she thoroughly believed Paul had inherited the title. He offered nothing to undermine her, but bowed and excused himself.

He had expected to see a glint of conspiracy in her eyes. Perhaps a sly nod and a wink, as if she now wanted him to pay attention to her daughter. Instead, she nodded to him and excused herself.

Her response unnerved him more than the dandy’s accusation. He felt the stares upon his back as he went toward the doors leading outside. Before he could retreat farther, Margaret Andrews stepped forward. Her eyes flashed and her mouth tightened.

More than likely, she, too, would tell him that he was an imposter who had no right to be here.

Instead, she walked past him and gritted out, “Strathland is causing trouble for Juliette. He’s spreading rumors, and people are beginning to talk. Do something.” With that, she walked away.

Juliette was here? Relief flooded through him at her sister’s proclamation. He finally saw her through the crowd, and as Margaret had claimed, Strathland was watching from a distance.

Vicious anger coursed through Paul at the sight of the man. He crossed through dozens of people, ignoring those who tried to speak to him. He saw Juliette standing near her aunt Charlotte, looking miserable.

Look at me,
he willed silently. When her eyes finally glanced up, he nodded toward a door that led into the conservatory. It would give them a moment to speak alone.

Juliette frowned a moment but gave a discreet nod to show that she understood. Paul didn’t know what rumors the earl was starting, but he knew of one certain way to end them.

By causing a few rumors himself.

Juliette waited until Paul disappeared into the conservatory before she made her way toward the room. Margaret and Amelia walked alongside her, keeping her shielded from anyone who might approach. She wasn’t at all certain what Paul wanted, but he’d raised a finger to his lips, bidding her not to tell anyone.

She started to glance behind her, but Margaret ordered, “Don’t look. The earl is following us.”

Which explained why her skin was crawling. “I want to go home.” Though she knew Paul wanted her answer, right now, she was wishing she hadn’t come at all.

“We can’t depart now,” Margaret insisted. “We’ll offend Lady Rumford if we leave too soon.”

“Tell her I have a headache. Anything.” She took a breath, trying to think of how to slip into the conservatory. “Perhaps, if I had a moment to myself, I would be able to endure more of this night. But please make sure Lord Strathland doesn’t follow me.”

“Oh, he won’t,” Margaret countered. “Even if I have to dance with him myself.” She shuddered at the thought.

Juliette stopped walking when they reached the conservatory. “I’ll slip inside. If you and Amelia could keep him away…”

“Consider it done.” Amelia stood before the door. “I shall scream if anyone attempts to get past me.”

“You can’t remain here alone, Amelia,” Margaret argued. “It isn’t safe for you, either.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong. Lord Strathland finds me highly annoying. If he dares to come close, I’ll start chattering on about colors of ribbons. Believe me when I say he’ll run to the other side of the room.”

Amelia beamed at the thought, and Margaret took her arm. “I think I should stay here with you.”

Grateful for her sisters’ interference, Juliette turned the knob and entered the conservatory. Paul was already standing on the opposite side of the room, and she turned the key in the lock.

“I heard that Strathland was bothering you. If you wish it, I’ll beat the bastard unconscious.” He moved closer, but his gaze remained on the door.

“He threatened my sisters if I didn’t dance with him.” She rubbed her arms as if that could rid her of his memory.

“And I heard Margaret say he was threatening you.”

“He was talking about me, yes.” After she’d given him the cut direct, he’d begun spreading rumors about her. It had been
particularly evident when the men who had previously asked her to dance had suddenly found reasons why they no longer wished to be her partner.

“It’s time to end that.” His voice was merciless, as if he were contemplating a fight. “He and I will be having words.”

She swallowed hard, and her skin went frigid with fear. “Be careful, Paul.”

He stared at the doorway for a long moment. “He needs to understand that you’ll ne’er belong to him.” Turning back to her, he added, “The question is whether you’re wanting to belong to me.”

She didn’t answer yet. Although she understood that being alone with him would start enough rumors, causing others to believe that he’d compromised her, she had not yet made a decision.

“You’re still afraid of me, are you no’?”

Juliette nodded, her mouth dry. “A little. But I know you would never hurt me.” She was more afraid of herself and the way he made her feel when she was around him.

He stood before her and lifted a pin from her hair. A lock of hair fell against her jaw. “No, I wouldna harm you, lass.”

He pulled another pin and tucked it in the pocket of his waistcoat.

“Paul, what are you doing?” The touch of his hands against her face made her grow warm, though he did nothing except free a few locks of hair.

His dark blue eyes drank in her features. “Perhaps Strathland thinks to compromise you with words.”

She understood, then, what his intentions were. “And you’re planning to compromise me in truth, is that it?” Her heartbeat quickened, but he caught her wrist, shaking his head.

“No. But I could make it look as if I did.” With his hands, he loosened more of her hair, drawing it down about her face. “If Strathland’s starting any rumors about you, our betrothal announcement will put them to rest. That is, if you’ll have me as your husband.”

His hands rested against her cheeks, and she held them to her skin, watching him. The ice around her heart had cracked apart. She didn’t deserve a man like Paul, someone so patient.

“What is your answer?” he asked quietly.

“I’ve thought a great deal about your proposal,” she murmured. He withdrew his hands from her face, taking her palms in his. His thumbs grazed the edge of her knuckles, offering comfort. “I will wed you,” she said softly. “But if there ever comes a time when you regret it, I promise to set you free. If you find another woman to love…” She paused, gathering her thoughts.

Another woman to share your bed and give you children
…

“I’ll do nothing to stand in your way,” she finished. “We could annul it, or I’ll grant you a divorce, if need be—”

He cut off her words with his mouth. The kiss was meant to silence her, and his lips brushed upon hers as if to take away her words of protest.

She cared so much for Paul, but every time he touched her, she lost command of herself. Even now, her skin warmed with anticipation, and she found herself leaning in. His strong arms embraced her, while her breasts tightened against her gown.

When he drew back, his eyes were heated. “I won’t find another woman to love, Juliette.”

He reached for a fallen strand of hair and twisted it, replacing the hairpin. There was a mirror hanging on one wall, and he guided her toward it. “You’ll have to help me with this hair, lass. I’m no’ verra good at this.”

In the reflection, she saw her swollen lips and flushed face. Even if she did fix her hair, she suspected others might guess what she’d been doing. Nonetheless, she fixed the updo until there were no strands out of place. “What will we do now?”

“You’ll return to your sisters, and I’ll go out another way.” He pointed to another door on the opposite side of the room. “Go and stand with your uncle, Lord Arnsbury. Tell him of our betrothal and let him know that I’ll be coming for you in the
morning. We can announce it to the others… or if you’re no’ wanting to, we’ll leave before Strathland can do any further damage. We’ll marry once we’ve crossed the border into Scotland.”

If her father found out her intentions, he’d be furious. Although Beatrice had written of the baron’s return, Juliette was afraid of facing him. She remembered Henry Andrews as a stoic man who rarely took an interest in his daughters. He was often distracted and had seemed eager to go to war, rather than spend time isolated in Scotland. If he learned that she’d run away with Paul, he would ask questions she didn’t want to answer. And even after they were married, she didn’t doubt that her father would try to force an annulment.