Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (14 page)

Saints in heaven. “Did you do this, Juliet?” he breathed, not taking his gaze from the page. The artist who’d captured his sisters had accurately committed to page everything from the crops of black curls to the restlessness of the girls’ slippers poised to take flight from the page.

“I did,” she replied quietly.

He forced his gaze up and met her stare. “Remarkable,” he whispered.
You are unlike anyone and everyone I’ve ever known.

“Exactly,” Poppy exclaimed. “These girls are remarkable, and these…” She flipped the page to where a trio of strangers who bore his sisters’ likeness but lacked their spirit, sat poised like good, English ladies. “Well, these are rather unremarkable ladies. Isn’t that right, Miss Marsh?”

Juliet smiled gently at Poppy. “I could not have explained it better myself, Poppy.”

His sister beamed under the praise.

“Which do you prefer then, Jonathan? A lively wife or a dull one?” Prudence interrupted.

Juliet blanched. She pulled her hands close to herself as though she’d been burned, and fisted her skirts.

Jonathan studied her jerky movements, and it occurred to him…
Why she doesn’t care for talk of my marrying.
Well, that made two of them. He didn’t care to think of marriage, even as it had become his mother’s most favorite topic of discussion. He waited until Juliet’s gaze collided with his, and said, “I’d wed a spirited young lady. A lady of courage and honor. A woman of intelligence.”

Prudence snorted. “You’d wed a paragon who doesn’t exist then, brother.”

Oh, Pru, you’re so very wrong. The lady is beneath your very nose, and you do not even see it.
Jonathan winked at Prudence. “You do a disservice to your sex by suggesting such a thing, Pru.”

“So, you would wed her then?” Poppy blurted, shifting his attention back to his youngest sister.

“I’d wed who?”

“A woman who is,” Poppy began to tick off on her fingers, “spirited, a lady of courage and honor, a woman of intelligence.”

“Instantly,” his reply automatic. Then it occurred to him what he’d said. He straightened his legs with such alacrity, he knocked the small table before them and sent the sketchpads tumbling to the floor where they landed with a soft thump. Jonathan gave his head a shake. What in blazes was he thinking? Marriage to Juliet Marshville?

Why the very idea of it was preposterous. A comedy of errors recorded by the cleverest of barbs. He, the dastard who’d won her beloved cottage from her wastrel brother. She, the woman he’d forced to become governess of his unruly sisters.

“What is it, Sin?” Penelope asked. She reached over and touched the back of her hand to his head. “Are you fevered?” She looked to Juliet. “Is he fevered, Miss Marsh?”

Juliet held a palm toward him and then seemed to remember herself. “I’m sure your brother is as healthy as one of the king’s horses.”

He blinked. “Did you just compare me to a horse, Miss Marsh?”

Her delicate shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “They are marvelously reliable creatures. Sturdy. Strong. And healthy.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Well, unless they catch chill. I had a magnificent mare, a white beauty with black spots.” Juliet bent down and retrieved the sketchpad he’d knocked to the floor. She shuffled through numerous pages, and then paused, holding up the book to display an expertly drawn horse. Juliet pointed to the page. “She always reminded me of a blank canvas. One day she fell ill and…” Her words trailed off as she suddenly seemed to realize four pairs of eyes were fixed on her with varying degrees of interest and curiosity for the uncharacteristically loquacious response from the usually stoic governess. She snapped the book closed, set it down on the table, and cleared her throat. “I believe it is time for our morning walk, my ladies.” She sprung to her feet like a fire had been set to her toes.

Jonathan remained seated, grinning up at her obvious attempt at escape. “Do you encourage vigorous activity in a young lady, Miss Marsh?” Because he could imagine all manner of vigorous activity vastly preferable to a mere morning walk. All of which involved just the two of them, sprawled naked in his bed.

She gave a brusque nod. “I do, my lord. Vigorous activity has a clearing effect on a young lady’s mind. It provides for a strong constitution. In fact, I quite enjoy vigorous activity, myself.”

Jonathan choked mid-swallow, and proceeded to cough uncontrollably.

Juliet looked to him questioningly. “Are you all right, my lord?”

He waved a hand. “Fine, fine. Nothing that a little vigorous activity wouldn’t help, Miss Marsh.”

Her green eyes flew wide in her face and then narrowed into the smallest slits and he knew that
she knew
exactly what scandalous thoughts he spoke of.

“Can we, then?”

“Can you what, Poppy?” Jonathan forced his attention to his youngest sister.

She threw her arms up in a manner entirely too reminiscent of Mother. “Go for a walk with Miss Marsh?”

Jonathan slowly climbed to his feet. He extended his arm toward Juliet. “How can a gentleman such as myself deprive a lady of much needed vigorous activity?”

Juliet hesitated, and then with the spirit he’d come to admire in her, placed her fingertips along his coat sleeves.

Juliet shifted the basket of sketchpads and charcoal she held over to her other hand. As she strolled behind the Earl of Sinclair and his three sisters along the Serpentine River in Hyde Park, she became aware of a few things all at once. One, the scent of sandalwood that clung to Jonathan had a heady pull that would cloud any young lady’s good judgment. Two, Jonathan was a hopeless rogue. Three, she didn’t trust herself to be alone with the gentleman who inspired all the most wicked thoughts and longings within her.

Her gaze lingered upon the sapphire blue of his expertly cut coat. He murmured something to Penelope, his words lost to Juliet, but the young girl burst out into a healthy round of laughter.
Bold
laughter, which she suspected, would have made most governesses cringe, but she was not most governesses. She chewed her lower lip. Then could one be considered a governess a mere two days within the terms of one’s service? Juliet shifted the basket again, and faltered at the quick pace set by the Tidemore siblings. She silently cursed her bothersome leg and righted herself.

As though attune to her body’s every movement, Jonathan paused and glanced back at her. He frowned. “Are you all right, Miss Marsh? Might I relieve you of your burden?” He quirked an eyebrow, having surely realized after four previous offers of assistance that she had little intention of relinquishing her basket.

Heat climbed up her neck and filled her cheeks at the curious stares directed their way by passing lords and ladies in the crowded park. “I am well, my lord. I—”

“It’s merely her crippled leg,” Prudence interjected on a yawn.

Before Juliet could even attempt to muster a reply, Jonathan turned a fierce glower on the eldest of his sisters. “Be silent,” he hissed.

Prudence planted her hands on her hips and a defiant tilt to her chin. “I believed a gentleman was to value honesty and forthrightness, and I was merely pointing out that Miss Marsh surely fell because she’s a cripple.”

“She didn’t fall,” Poppy quickly defended.

Jonathan’s black eyebrows met in a single line. “What are you on about, Prudence?”

She made her eyes go wide. “Surely you knew Miss Marsh was a cripple.”

Penelope gasped. “Prudence,” she scolded.

Jonathan’s gaze fell to Juliet’s lower legs as if he could see through the fabric of her modest floral patterned skirts. Oh God, she had been scalded before by the burn of her brother’s cruel words and deliberate taunting, but this, this very public shaming from her charge, amidst the sea of peering lords and ladies… Nay, she didn’t care in the least about the strangers’ opinions, but Jonathan, his opinion, for some reason mattered. Then, he yanked his attention away and he, who towered over Prudence by more than a foot, leaned down and whispered something close to his sister’s ear.

The girl blanched and gave a tight nod.

Pain and humiliation blended together to create an aching hurt that went far beyond the aching muscles of her calf. Juliet sucked in a shuddery breath.

“I am sorry, Miss Marsh,” Prudence said between gritted teeth.

That long ago day, nine years past, after she’d been knocked from the tree, Juliet had awakened to find her leg shattered and Albert at her bedside. He’d scuffed the tip of his boot along the wood floor; Father’s firm hand had anchored the boy to the spot. “I am sorry, Juliet.” From his cold eyes and flat, emotionless tone, Juliet had learned the emptiness of a meaningless apology.

Juliet forced her feet to move and walked over to Prudence. The girl glanced out to the river as though she contemplated diving in and swimming free of Juliet’s company. She stopped beside Prudence, so close the fabrics of their skirts brushed. “Never apologize because someone has instructed you to do so, Prudence,” she said quietly. She ran her gaze over the angry frown pulling on the girl’s lips, the sparks that shot from within her blue eyes. “Someday you’ll learn that there is a vast difference between honesty and cruelty,” she said quietly. “Being cruel will never make you feel good inside, but being kind will cost you nothing but a smile.”

Jonathan touched her elbow and she jumped. The quick grin, and the usual light in Jonathan’s eyes replaced by this dark, foreboding man she didn’t recognize. He held out his arm. She eyed it a moment, far longer than she should, desperately wanting to place her hand along his sleeve and forget that she was nothing more than his sisters’ governess, instead wanting to pretend she was any other young lady courted by this dashing gentleman whose mere presence increased the steady beat of her heart.

“I can’t, Jonathan,” she whispered for his ears alone. “Please, don’t.”

He peered out the corners of his eyes at his waiting sisters. “It should not matter,” he whispered back.

“But it does.” They lived in a world that favored a rigid social order above all else; a world in which each person knew and adhered to their respective place in Society. She’d never hated that world more than she did this moment.

“Sinclair!”

They jumped apart guiltily as a tall gentleman with golden-blond hair and a delicate, slender young lady with blonde ringlets and kind blue eyes strolled toward the earl.

Juliet, having grown accustomed to becoming invisible through the years, slipped beyond the periphery of the approaching couple, and did her best to remove herself from the exchange. To no avail.

Jonathan grinned, and gone was the somber figure from moments ago, replaced the familiar, affable rogue. “Westfield,” he greeted. Then he turned to the young lady. And Juliet knew with an innate something carried by a woman who hungered for a man she had no right hungering for, the identity of the golden princess. “Lady Beatrice, it is a pleasure as usual.”

Lady Beatrice. Or as Jonathan’s sisters had referred to the lady—his intended.

A pretty pink blush stained the young lady’s cheeks, and she dropped her gaze demurely to the ground and murmured a greeting.

The sharpest twinge plucked at Juliet’s heart as she thought of her own freckled face and its tendency to turn brighter red than a summer berry, and not for the first time cursed her fair skin and flame-red hair. She stood off to the side as introductions were made, greetings were passed around between the gentlemen and ladies present.

The Marquess of Westfield’s interested stare flicked over her. A half-grin pulled at his lips, and she felt one of those blasted blushes staining her cheeks. Not the pretty pink sort, either.

Jonathan seemed to note Lord Westfield’s attention. A black frown turned his firm, sculpted lips. He cleared his throat, and his words emerged almost reluctant in nature. “Lady Beatrice, Lord Westfield, may I also present Miss Marsh, my sisters’ governess?” Was it shame on his part?

Juliet dropped a curtsy, head bowed, now filled with the same desire demonstrated by Prudence mere moments ago to dive into the nearby river and swim to freedom.

“Walk with us, Sin,” Lord Westfield suggested in a tone that brooked little room for argument.

For the fraction of a moment, Juliet thought Jonathan intended to politely decline, but then his elder sisters tugged at his sleeve and pleaded to join the dashing young lord. Juliet made a silent note to add proper behavior in the presence of young gentlemen to lessons for her charges. All but Poppy, who stood off to the side, a frown on her usually smiling cheeks, which she alternated between her brother, Lady Beatrice, and Lord Westfield.

“Of course, it would be our pleasure,” Jonathan said on an easy grin. He held his elbow out to Lady Beatrice, who unlike Juliet moments ago, who’d had no choice but to decline the gentlemanly gesture, placed her gloved fingertips upon his sleeve.

Juliet bit the inside of her cheek and embraced the slight pain as it distracted her from the hideous envy that knifed at her heart.

“I don’t like her,” Poppy said from the corner of her mouth.