Unraveled By The Rebel (15 page)

Her mind and heart were at war, but she forced herself to speak the words that needed to be said. “Please don’t ask more of me,” she said. “I can’t give you what you want.”

“You keep asking me to leave you behind,” he murmured. “But you should realize that I’ll ne’er turn my back on you. No’ when you really want me to stay.”

The tears welled up and spilled over. He was so wrong. How would he react if he ever learned the truth?

I’ll ne’er turn my back on you.

Heaven help her, she wished it were true.

He leaned forward and touched his cheek to hers. Juliette closed her eyes, unable to stop herself from indulging in the simple comfort of his touch.

“Give it a chance, Juliette,” he urged. He turned, and without asking, he kissed her softly. The touch of his mouth upon hers was an offer of healing, of the happiness she’d denied herself. She was frozen against his kiss, unable to move or breathe. It was like the night she’d dreamed of him, brought back into reality. A simple kiss, an offering that pushed back the fetters of the past, offering a future she’d only imagined.

When he pulled back, he framed her face with his hands. “I’ll be damned if I’ll hide away in Scotland while your family tries to wed you off to someone else.”

He didn’t understand that she was irrevocably broken. And no matter what she’d told him, he refused to accept her decision.

The truth would drive him away. She was certain of that.

She drank in his features, trying to hold fast to this moment. If she ever laid her soul bare to him, he would no longer look upon her with anything but disgust. And she prayed he would go, before she ever had to reveal her shame.

“I must see my sister home,” she told him.

Before she could pull away, he took her hands in his. “When is the next gathering you’re attending?”

She frowned, not understanding why he would ask. “In a few days. My aunt Charlotte is hosting a ball to celebrate Victoria’s wedding.”

“I will be there.”

She wondered if Paul understood what sort of event this was. It was by invitation only, and it was not the sort of party a physician would be permitted to attend. It was the sort of soirée Margaret reveled in, with society rules about what one could and could not say.

“You can’t,” she told him. “It’s only for family and a few close friends.” That wasn’t quite the truth, but it was a way of making him see that he could not attend.

“I don’t need an invitation to watch over you,” he countered. “And I find that I’m no’ wanting to sit here while other men try to convince your family that they would make a suitable husband. When we both ken that’s not the truth.”

She could say nothing to that. “If you try to come, they’ll throw you out.”

His hand reached out to her cheek, and his palm was cool from the water. Gooseflesh rose up over her skin, and she forced herself to pull back.

“Let them try.”

She didn’t know how he would manage such a feat. Would he disguise himself as a servant?

He let her go, escorting her and Amelia to the door. “Until I see you again,” he said by way of farewell. The faint smile playing at his mouth worried her, for she didn’t doubt he would try to attend.

Worse, she found herself looking forward to it, far more than she should.

There were over one hundred guests at Lady Arnsbury’s gathering. Among so many people, it was an easy matter to trespass upon the premises. Especially when Paul had arrived hours later than everyone else.

With his uncle’s borrowed clothing, no one cast him a second look. The black tailcoat had been fitted to his lean, taller form.
His linen shirt was crisp, and his hair was trimmed and combed back. Gold cuff links gleamed at his wrists, and he’d worn his neckcloth tied in an elaborate knot. Appearing wealthy was necessary to avoid being thrown out. That, and mimicking the behavior of the ton.

Juliette was hiding among her sisters, her hair pinned up like a crown of polished wood. Sprigs of white lilies of the valley were tucked in among her curls, and she wore a gown of the same color, adorned with green ribbons. The sight of her took his breath away.

He wanted to steal his way toward her, making it clear that he was fully capable of mingling within her circle. Though he might lack the title now, one day he’d inherit his uncle’s wealth and social standing. He could rightfully present himself as the heir, which would open doors to him. This night, he wanted to slip his way past the invisible social barriers, making Juliette see that he
could
fit into her world. No longer was he an ignorant crofter’s son with no hope of a future. Now, her family would have no reason at all to deny his courtship.

Paul moved inside the ballroom with an air of confidence, sending a faint smile toward one of the matrons. He’d learned long ago that the key to his success rested on rumor. A few dropped hints of wealth, the mention of a title, and before long, no one cared whether he had an invitation.

He’d learned how to read the unspoken body language of people. He knew how to discern lies and how to follow the rules of the ton. Oh, he’d made countless mistakes during the early years in Edinburgh. But the ability to blend seamlessly into a crowd was becoming easier. And now, for a few hours, he could watch over Juliette, preventing any gentlemen from offering their unwanted attentions.

Upon her face, he spied the edge of nerves, as if she was uncomfortable among the ladies. She didn’t belong here, any more than he did. But he wouldn’t leave until he’d stolen a few moments with her.

First, he had to reach her without drawing undue attention. He kept his posture erect as he approached an older matron. He bowed in greeting, behaving as if they’d already been introduced and he hadn’t overheard her name from someone else. “It has been a long time since I’ve last seen you, Lady Vaughn. You are looking as lovely as ever.” He was careful to hide his Scottish brogue, keeping his voice as tightly English as he could manage.

Her face revealed her confusion, and he smoothed it over. “I am Paul Fraser. The Viscount of Falsham is my uncle,” he reminded her. “We were introduced last year.”

She blinked a moment, then realized what he’d said. “The Scottish viscount, of course. For a moment, I wondered if you were mistaken when you said the Viscount
of
Falsham instead of the Viscount Falsham. But you’re not English, are you? Of course I remember you.” Her face brightened, and she added, “You’re his heir, am I right?”

“I am, yes.” He sent her a slight smile. “I wondered if I could convince you to help me with a small matter. Since our hostess is across the room with other guests, I thought I would approach you with a… favor.” He nodded in Juliette’s direction while offering Lady Vaughn a glass of lemonade. “I fear I am not acquainted with the ladies over there.”

“And you wish to be introduced,” she surmised.

“To the young lady in white with the green ribbons.” He sent her a roguish smile, adding, “If it would not be too much trouble.”

Lady Vaughn sent him a conspiratorial smile. “I see no harm in helping you, Mr. Fraser, since you asked so kindly.” Her gaze passed over his appearance, as if assessing his future wealth.

He bowed in thanks and escorted Lady Vaughn toward the Andrews daughters, who were standing near their aunt Charlotte. He could only hope that they would not give his ruse away. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself to appear bored, to walk as if he owned the room and everything in it.

But the moment he neared Juliette, he saw the questioning frown upon the countess’s face… almost as if she realized Paul had not been invited. But her attention was diverted by the arrival of the Duchess of Worthingstone.

He barely overheard the introduction the matron had given to Juliette, thankful that Lady Arnsbury was too distracted by the duchess. Out of courtesy, he nodded first to Margaret, whose attention was elsewhere. She glanced at him briefly, seeming not to recognize him.

But it was Juliette’s attention that he needed. She wasn’t truly looking at him but was instead staring at the floor.

Look up,
he wanted to command her.
See me.

When he murmured a greeting, she kept her eyes downcast and only mumbled a response.

When the next set of dances was about to start, he asked if she would be his partner.

“I don’t dance,” she said apologetically, finally glancing up.

Shocked eyes met his, but he asked again, “Not even with me?”

A flush spread over her face, and she stole a look at her sisters. None were paying any attention at all, except Amelia, who was barely holding back her excitement. “I—I’ll try,” Juliette stammered.

Paul took her hand, guiding her toward the lines of men and women. He could almost read the thoughts scuttling through her mind as he took her hand and guided her in a half-circle.

You weren’t supposed to come here. Someone will recognize you.

No one knows me.

But they will! You must leave, now, before they throw you out.

“I hardly recognized you in those clothes,” she said softly. “And your accent is gone.”

“Are ye missing it, then?” He exaggerated his accent. “Did ye no’ ken it was me?” He sent her a teasing look, guiding her in the opposite direction. As he led her through the steps, she stared at him as if she could hardly believe what they were doing.

“You don’t look like the same man,” she admitted. “I cannot believe you dared to come.”

“I would dare many things.” His hand moved to take both of hers, and although she was shocked by his appearance here, she didn’t seem displeased by it. “Though I don’t ken why any of these folk say I can only dance with you once. You’re the only lass I’m wanting to dance with.”

Her blush deepened. “We’ve never danced together before. I didn’t know you’d learned how.” She took his hand, and when he turned her, he glimpsed a true smile, as if she was enjoying herself.

“My uncle forced me to learn,” he admitted. “I thought he was daft at the time, but he said it was a useful skill.” He held her hand, stepping forward as she did the same. “I’d rather take you to a
cèilidh
where I could spin you fast and hold you in my arms.”

She squeezed his gloved hand in silent response. “I’ve never been to a
cèilidh.
”

“One day, perhaps,” he promised. When the music was about to end, he saw Lady Arnsbury watching them. Beneath his breath, Paul whispered, “I’ll lead you back to your sisters. Then I want you to meet me in the garden.”

Juliette frowned. “I can’t go alone with you, and you know it.”

He wasn’t particularly concerned about the rules of propriety. “Grant me a moment with you. I can escort you back to your sisters afterward, if you want.” He gave her his arm and led her through the crowd, noting the low buzz of gossip and rumor swirling around them. Many people wondered who he was now, and he’d drawn their eyes toward Juliette.

“My sisters will recognize you,” she murmured beneath his breath. “Dr. Fraser, you must go, before Margaret tells Aunt Charlotte what you’ve done.”

The insinuation, that he could not possibly blend in among these people, was not lost on him. “Afraid they’ll throw me out,
are you?” He touched her hand with his own gloved one. “They don’t see a poor physician when they look at me. They see a viscount’s heir.”
Or at least, the heir apparent.

“But you’re not titled,” she protested beneath her breath.

“Aren’t I?” he murmured, allowing her to think what she would. He suspected if he told Juliette that he would one day be a viscount, it would only make her more apprehensive.

“I’ve known you for too long, Paul. You may be able to fool these people, but you cannot fool me.”

He ignored her protest, returning her to Margaret, who was deep in conversation with another guest. “Miss Andrews.”

Paul turned away quickly, before Margaret could catch a clear glimpse of him.

“Thank you for the dance.” Juliette smiled. In her eyes, he saw the glint of conspiracy.

After he released Juliette’s hand, he gave it a light squeeze, reminding her of what he wanted. “Until we meet again.”

He moved like one of them.