Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (3 page)

Albert slammed his fist into his palm. “You’ll do no such thing. I had a good night at the tables last evening. I’m confident my fortune has turned.”

She closed her eyes and prayed for patience, detesting a world in which the Albert Marshvilles and Earls of Sinclair controlled the coffers, fates, and hopes of the women unfortunate to grace their lives. Knowing her efforts futile, Juliet still said, “Please, Albert, do not. No good can come of your gaming.”

He scoffed. “I’ll not answer to you, my spinster sister.”

Her lips turned up with droll amusement. “Two and twenty years of age hardly places one in the spinster status.”

Very nearly a spinster, perhaps. But
not
a spinster.

Albert ignored her, and without another word beat a hasty retreat.

Juliet surged to her feet. A soft curse split her lips and she began to pace. The slight bend in her lower right leg made her movements somewhat jerky.

Her brother would squander all their father’s hard-earned wealth and property in little time. Though wrong in most regards, Albert had unfortunately been right when he’d made his earlier claims about Uncle Horace.

The man, nearing his seventieth year, couldn’t be bothered with his long-departed sister’s daughter. He could no sooner put a stop to Albert’s philandering, wastrel behaviors than Juliet could.

A knock sounded at the door. She glanced up as the kindly butler, Peter. He cleared his throat. “Lord Williams to see you, Miss Marshville.”

A curl fell over her eye, and she blew it back. Blast, blast, and double blast. She gritted her teeth. “Please, if you’ll tell him—”

“Tell me what, Juliet?” Lord Williams said with far too much familiarity from behind Peter’s slightly drooped shoulders.

Peter edged reluctantly from the room, leaving her alone in the black-eyed devil’s

company.

“Lord Williams,” she forced herself to greet. She eyed the door behind him. “My brother…” Oh, where in hell was Albert? It certainly spoke to her desperation that she desired even his miserable company.

“I’m not here to see your brother,” he murmured. He advanced forward, a beast stalking its prey.

She folded her arms across her chest and held firm her ground. She’d not let this foul cad drive her back in fear. “I’m afraid I was just…” Her words ended on a gasp, as he placed himself in front of her, and reached a hand out to shove back a strand of hair that had fallen over her brow.

He caught it between his fingers. “Lovely. The color of sunset.”

The baron’s unoriginal likening of her red hair to the sunset was about all one could expect of a gentleman of his clearly limited intelligence.

“Release me, my lord.”
Lest suffer the heel of my good, much stronger leg upon your instep.

Instead, he raised the strand to his nose and inhaled deep. “Ah, I do not think I shall, Juliet. I’ve wanted you for so very long.”

She grimaced. She’d wanted to avoid his company for so very long, so they had that somewhat in common. “My brother will not approve of your familiarity, my lord.”

The feral grin on his thin lips chilled her through as she realized with a dawning horror that her brother had, in fact, encouraged this particular meeting.

Dead. She would kill him dead.

Juliet swatted at Lord Williams’ hand. “Remember yourself, my lord.”

“I am remembering myself. I’m remembering how very much I’d like to kiss your bow-shaped lips and explore the warm cavern of your mouth.”

She nearly gagged at the descriptive picture he painted. It would appear the baron who’d made fast friends with Albert nearly a year ago was even less a gentleman than she’d originally believed. Not that she’d had much value on him as being any level of gentleman. Her knowledge of noblemen had shown them all to be a singularly self-absorbed, self-indulgent lot.

Lord Williams leaned forward, and she recoiled. “Whatever are you doing?” she hissed.

She hopped backward, no easy task with her sometimes difficult to maneuver leg.

“I’m kissing you.”

He took a step toward her.

Juliet stuck a hand out, and the movement seemed unexpected to the baron for he stopped. “You are
not
kissing me.” She’d rather kiss that snorting pig in the pen back at Rosecliff Cottage.

His grin widened, displaying two slightly crooked rows of teeth. “I intend to. Just as I intend to make you mine.”

Make you mine.
He spoke like an old, conquering lord from days past, and suddenly she felt like a bloodthirsty woman from long ago, for she ached for that broadsword in her hands.

It seemed she needed to be a good deal clearer for the baron. “Lord Williams, I would not wed you for anything in the world.”
There
. Unoriginal, but she gathered quite clear in terms of her feelings.

At the darkening glint in his blue-black eyes, Juliet took several steps backward, and placed the small upholstered chair between her and the baron, a rather flimsy barrier, but nonetheless a barrier.

“I did not say anything of wedding you,” he said at long last on an ice-cold whisper.

Oh. He hadn’t? She wrinkled her brow. She’d thought he said—

“I’d make you my mistress.”

Juliet laughed. She laughed until her shoulders shook with the force of her mirth, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Oh, goodness, it really wasn’t terribly funny. Just the opposite. But he seemed so very certain, and it was all so ludicrous she couldn’t keep the laughter from tumbling from her mouth. When she at last managed to rein in her laughter, she dashed her hands over her face and brushed back her tears. “No, my lord. You’ll do no such thing.”

His face contorted with barely suppressed rage, and he took another step toward her. “Your brother has made it clear, I’ll meet with little resistance.”

That gave her pause. She’d always taken her brother for a sniveling coward, but he still valued the pretense he maintained as dandified fop. It wouldn’t do to have a sister who was mistress to Lord Williams, or any gentleman for that matter.

She shook her head, and felt compelled to say once more, “I’ll not become your mistress.” She didn’t have any grand hopes for a love match, but neither did she have so low expectations as to embrace the life of a whore for the foul letch.

Lord Williams tugged at his lapels, and peered down his crooked nose at her. She’d venture it had broken once or twice before, and knowing him as she did, could well-understand how such an injury had come to be. Twice. “I am doing you a great honor in making you my mistress. Surely you know with your leg no decent gentleman will have you.”

His words rolled over her like nothing more than a drop of rain she brushed from her skin. If he mattered, if he were someone more than this cruel, wastrel bastard then his words may have hurt more. Never from this man.

She inclined her head and adopted a somber tone. “Why, thank you for the
honorable
offer. I am quite flattered, but must politely decline.”

He lunged across the floor and she gasped. Her slightly slower leg knocked into the small rose-inlaid table beside her and slowed her retreat. The crystal candelabra wobbled upon the surface but righted itself. Lord Williams took advantage of her ungainly attempt to be free of him. He reached out and clasped her wrist in his, then yanked her toward him.

Juliet tugged her hands back, but the baron held firm. “My lord,” she bit out. “Remember yourself.”

He lowered his head, and she silently cursed at the overwhelming scent of brandy that wafted over her face. He was clearly cup-shot. “But I do remember myself, Juliet. I remember how very much I’d like to make you mine, and how much you’d like me to make you yours.”

She shook her head emphatically. “No. I. Do. Not.” With her deliberate utterance, she could not paint a clearer picture for the gentleman than if she were to use the charcoals and pages of her sketchpad.

He pressed his mouth to hers, and she gasped. The baron used her shock to his advantage. He slipped his tongue inside her mouth, hard, punishing, demanding. She bit down on the tip of his tongue, but a rumble built in his chest and filled her mouth as she realized he seemed to delight in her struggles. Lord Williams released her hands and wrapped his arms about her. She wrestled against him, but he only tightened his hold against her ineffectual efforts to be free of him. His harsh breathing filled her ears, and filled her with a growing sense of desperation. She shoved at him, but he persisted. The baron brought his hand up between them and found her breast.

Oh, the cad!

Juliet reached out a desperate, searching hand. She sent a prayer skyward when her fingers found purchase on the crystal candelabra. With a deep breath, she awkwardly raised the solid ornament and brought it down hard on Lord Williams’ head.

He stiffened in her arms, and then slumped against her.

“Oomph,” she grunted as he slid into an ignoble heap at her feet. She shoved away from him. Her heart pounded fast and hard as she studied his prone form. “Don’t you be dead,” she whispered angrily. On legs that trembled, she lowered herself to the floor and searched around for sign of breath. A sigh of relief slipped out as a short prayer at the sign of his pulse beating steadily at his neck. She scanned the room with a panicky fear. Her brother would be livid, but she shuddered imagining a taste of the determined Lord Williams’ wrath.

Juliet surged to her feet as quick as her injured leg would allow and hurried from the room. She closed the door behind her and turned the lock in the door.

As she made her way through the long corridor, down toward her chambers, her mind raced.

Her brother had lost her beloved cottage and was bleeding father’s wealth faster than a fatal wound to one’s person. Now, he’d make her Lord Williams’ whore. Her jaw set as she reflected on the unfairness of it all, being dependent upon the mercy of men for her own safety and security.

She limped quietly down the hall toward her room, the soles of her slippers silent in the empty corridor. She paused outside her chambers, then threw the door open. Her maid, Lillian, who stood at the armoire paused, and turned around with a smile. It died on catching sight of Juliet. “Whatever has happened, Miss Juliet?”

Lord Williams. Albert. Life.

Juliet closed the door behind her, and turned the key.

Lillian’s eyes followed her precise movements, and her kind blue eyes went wide with concern. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine,” Juliet said, and waved off the loyal girl’s concern. She drummed her nails alongside the hard panel of the door. She could not remain under Albert’s care any longer. She needed to get word to her guardian, which seemed a rather daunting feat considering his ship had been lost at sea for some time now. She continued to hold out hope; Lord Henry would return and pluck her from her brother’s clutches.

She chewed at her lower lip. Considering Lord Williams’ current state, and his intentions for her, she could no longer remain patiently waiting for him to return. The alternative was Uncle Horace. She winced remembering back to their last meeting some years back. With his failing hearing, the gentleman wouldn’t hear the clamor of a bustling London street, let alone her requests for help.

Juliet shoved away from the door and began to pace. Her steps grew more frenzied as she reflected on the unfairness of it all. That Albert should inherit. She frowned. That her very existence was dependent upon one missing guardian, and one aging, wholly disengaged uncle. Her frown deepened. That the Earl of Sinclair should now possess her beloved Rosecliff Cottage. A growl worked its way up her throat.

“Miss Juliet, are you certain you’re all right?” Lillian called softly.

“Fine,” she bit out.

She chose to feed the fury over Albert’s wager with the earl, which had resulted in her great loss. The bounder whose name she’d read of in the papers was purported to be deep in the pockets, a horrible rogue, and as one who kept company with Albert, well that was saying a good deal about the gentleman’s total lack of honor. That such a gentleman should ever own her beloved home!

Juliet drew to a sudden, jerky halt. Her chest heaved up and down. She might be unable to locate her misplaced guardian or stop her fool brother from taking part in obscene wagers, but one thing within her power she could do was speak to the bloody bounder.

“What is it?” Lillian said on a beleaguered sigh, having clearly known Juliet enough to recognize the determined glint in her eyes.

Yes, she’d find the gentleman, which shouldn’t prove a difficult task. The papers reported on his whereabouts with shocking regularity. He could be found most evenings at a handful of gaming hells, and…and houses of ill repute. Her cheeks warmed, but she ignored her polite sensibilities.

“I need help.” And she needed it now before Lord Williams awoke and before her brother discovered the other man had been clouted over the head and locked up like a thief in the bowels of Newgate Prison.

“Anything, miss.”

Juliet folded her arms across her chest, with determination thrumming through her being. “I need a hackney.” She pointed to the armoire. “And my cloak. The sapphire muslin one with the deep hood.”

Yes, it shouldn’t be at all difficult finding this Earl of Sinclair.

Chapter 3

For the better part of the evening, Juliet had sat in the cramped confines of the too-small hackney. Her lower back ached from the hard contours of the scratched bench. She’d spent the better part of her pin money from the past two months on the hired conveyance as she’d waited for the Earl of Sinclair to leave his townhouse. She had instructed the driver to follow the gentleman to his clubs, which had only brought them deeper away from the earl’s respectable Grosvenor Square district and into the seediest parts of London.

Juliet peeked behind the edge of the frayed black curtain that covered the window for surely the thousandth time that evening. She’d expected once the earl had entered his clubs he’d take his leave a short while later. Having lost count of the minutes she’d ticked off in her head, all she knew was that the afternoon sun had dipped and soon ushered in the night sky. Now, uncharacteristic stars dotted the London night sky, and the faint glow of a half-moon bathed the disreputable establishment in an eerie glow.