Unraveled By The Rebel

by Michelle Willingham

  “The duke will take care of us now,” Margaret pointed out. “There’s no need to sell scandalous undergarments anymore.”

  “I like them,” Amelia felt compelled to offer. “They’re lovely and comfortable.”

  “They’re a luxury only a few women can afford. You can’t even wash them with soap or the silk will fall apart,” Margaret pointed out. “Who wants a corset that can only be worn a few times? Or a chemise made of material so thin, it shows a woman’s bosom if she perspires?”

  Amelia glanced down at her own bosom. She wasn’t daring enough to wear a chemise like that, but she supposed a husband might like it.

  “If no one wanted them, they wouldn’t be selling very well,” Juliette countered. “And whether or not the two of you wish to continue, I intend to.” The baby had fallen asleep in her arms, and she cuddled him close.

  “And just how will you sew the garments? You can’t even darn stockings,” Margaret said.

  “The same way we did before. I’ll pay the crofters’ wives to make them. They still have the patterns Victoria created.” Her face was flushed, and there was a new light in her eyes that startled Amelia. It was the first time she’d noticed any excitement at all from Juliette in the past few months.

  “You want this to be successful, don’t you,” she said. “It’s important to you.”

  “Yes,” Juliette answered. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to visit Madame Benedict’s shop and find out which garments are selling the best.” She stood, careful not to wake the baby.

  “Wait.” Amelia stopped her before she could go. “We haven’t finished our discussion about husbands.” She regarded both of her sisters in all seriousness. “Can I have Viscount Lisford?” Despite everything, Amelia was convinced that he would make an excellent husband.

  Juliette nodded. “As long as Margaret doesn’t want him first.” With a wicked glint in her eyes, she added, “She is older than both of us.”

  Margaret let out a heartfelt sigh. “Only if I can have the earl.”

  Amelia leaned back with a satisfied smile. “If you like handkerchiefs, he’s all yours.”

  “You have a letter,” Cain Sinclair informed Paul. Holding it in one hand, he leaned across the table inside the tavern. The small room was thick with pipe smoke, and men played cards at another table. Paul set down his mug of ale and eyed Sinclair with wariness. They’d traveled south from Scotland over the past few weeks, following the Andrews girls. How on earth could there be a letter for him? No one even knew he’d come to London.

  Sinclair passed it to him, and Paul studied the handwriting. “And who is this from?”

  “Lady Lanfordshire.” From the way the man was grinning, Paul strongly suspected Cain was lying.

  “Liar. She’s still in Scotland, and she wants naught to do with the likes of me.”

  Cain only shrugged. “Open it and see.”

  Paul glanced through the contents of the letter. It invited him to dwell at their London town house for a few days, until he found his own living arrangements. The girls would remain with their aunt Charlotte in the meantime. He showed the contents to Sinclair in disbelief.

  “Why would Lady Lanfordshire allow me to stay in her home? And how did you get this letter?” He didn’t believe for a moment that she would want him there. Especially after she’d set her sights on a titled husband for Juliette.

  “It wasna written by Lady Lanfordshire. Her youngest daughter, Amelia, forged her mam’s signature. She thinks you’re still in Scotland and that I’ll have to deliver it to you there. I got it from her when I went to sell some things on behalf of the young ladies.” Sinclair grinned and tapped the note. “So long as you’re gone by the time Lady Lanfordshire returns to London, there’s nae harm in it. The house is empty. Take the letter to her butler, and he’ll believe it.”

  Paul blinked at that. “But why would she do such a thing?”

  Sinclair shrugged. “Could be Miss Amelia’s tryin’ to help you. She’s given you a few days, and the servants willna know any differently.”

  “And when Lady Lanfordshire finds out, she’ll have me hanged, drawn, and quartered. No, that wouldna be a good idea.” Better to keep to his own rented hovel than to trespass where he wasn’t wanted. Even if it would bring him closer to Juliette.

  “She’s a sly one, Amelia is,” Cain continued. “Were I in your place, I’d take the risk. You have at least a fortnight before anyone could get here.” As they continued their walk into Mayfair, he added, “And I can ensure that Miss Juliette knows you’ve come.”

  Paul wasn’t certain that was a good idea. Although he had followed her here, he didn’t want her to feel threatened. “Don’t be saying a word,” he warned. “I’ll tell her myself.”

  Sinclair shrugged. “As you will.”

  Paul tucked the letter away and regarded the man. “There’s something else you’re no’ telling me, isn’t there?”

  Cain drained his own glass. “They found Joseph MacKinloch’s sister. Strathland’s men killed her, as we thought. No one’s seen MacKinloch since.”

  MacKinloch would not simply disappear, Paul knew. And with his sister dead, he had nothing more to lose.

  “He might help us,” he said to Sinclair. “He has a reason as strong as ours to bring Strathland down.”

  Cain poured him another tankard of ale. “And what could MacKinloch do? He’s got no money, nor any family left. If he stays, he’ll face trial for the fire, and lose.”

  “Aye.” But Paul couldn’t let go of the idea that the former footman could be useful in some way. “While we’re here, I want you to find out what you can about the wool buyers. Find out who is buying from Strathland.”

  “And then what?”

  “We’ll meet with them and convince them to buy their wool elsewhere.” Paul wasn’t entirely certain how, but they had to start somewhere.

  Sinclair nodded. “I’ll go with you, aye. But you’re the one with greater influence than me.”

  Paul knew he was referring to his uncle. “The title’s no’ mine yet.” And he might not inherit at all, if his uncle ever married and had a son of his own. Though he’d given Paul a small allowance, Donald Fraser was of the mind that a man had to stand on his own feet and earn a living—which was why he’d paid for Paul to attend medical school in Edinburgh. Afterward, he’d wanted Paul to live on the estate and act as the physician for the people until he learned how to manage all of it. Instead, Paul had returned to Ballaloch. There was time enough to learn about his inheritance after his mother had a home again.

  “There’s no one here to say otherwise, is there?” Cain interrupted his musings. “For all they know, you are the viscount.”

  “It’s a title that doesna belong to me yet.”

  “But you are his heir,” Sinclair insisted. “You can see Miss Andrews, court her openly, and stay in Lady Lanfordshire’s home.”

  Paul set aside the tankard, not at all sure that was a good idea. Although his uncle had forced him to attend social gatherings, learning the proper way to behave, Paul had never been comfortable with it. He preferred the freedom of a tartan, instead of a confining waistcoat and jacket.

  “I thought you came to London for Miss Andrews,” Cain said. “Or was I wrong? Were you planning to find another lass to wed?”

  Paul leveled a stare at him. “She’s already told me she willna wed. No’ me, nor any man. Naught has changed.”

  “One day it might be different,” Cain offered.

  He shrugged, not knowing the answer. But he had a need to be near her, to learn if there was any hope at all. Time and patience were his allies now. If there was any chance that she might think of starting over with him, he would wait as long as necessary.

  Sinclair tapped the letter and said, “Were I in your shoes, Fraser, I’d use the title to your advantage. You have your chance. Don’t be tossing it away.”

  But if he attempted to infiltrate her world, it might come crashing down on him. He
wasn’t a viscount. He was a physician and a rebel. A man who could never entertain himself with manners and ballrooms. All of it was a lie, though Sinclair was right: It was a lie that would open doors, allowing him to be nearer to Juliette.

  And perhaps that made it worth the attempt.

  Winter 1808

  “I’ve been waiting for a long time to see your bonny face, Juliette.”

  She spun and saw Paul following her. Snowflakes had drifted against his black hair, and his deep blue eyes drank in the sight of her. His cheeks were bristled, as if he’d not taken the time to shave on his journey.

  The urge to welcome him home with an embrace came over her, but she suppressed it. They were older now, and the remnants of her childhood were gone. An invisible barrier hung between them, formed from distance and her mother’s warnings about how a proper young lady should behave.

  “I never thought to see you here,” she said, hoping he would see the thankfulness in her face. It had been so very long, she felt awkward. Almost as if the letters they’d written to one another had been guided by other hands.

  “I can only stay a few days.” He moved to stand beside her, and she saw that he was wearing finer clothes than she’d seen before, possibly handed down from his uncle. His woolen topcoat was covered in snow, and he might have appeared to be a gentleman, were it not for the gloves that had holes in them.

  But the warmth in his eyes, the dark longing, was enough to overwhelm her senses. I missed you, his gaze seemed to say.

  “Edinburgh is so far away,” she murmured, feeling as if her skin tingled with phantom sensations. As if he were touching her, using only the power of his will.

  “You’ve no welcome for me?” he teased, reaching for her hand. He’d grown so tall, she had to crane her neck back to look at his face.

  “Not here,” she whispered, pulling her hand back. “Not where anyone could see.” Color rushed to her cheeks, for she knew the sort of welcome he wanted. Though she wanted to fly into his arms, to feel his strength enfolding her, it was wrong.

  But he listened to her, guiding her away from the thatched houses. He walked steadily at her side, using only the barest touch of his palm against her spine to lead her toward the hillside. The snow continued to fall, dusting her cheeks and nose as they trudged through the drifts. When they reached the deeper snow, Paul’s fingers fingers laced with hers to keep her from falling.

  The heat of his gloved palm made her heartbeat quicken. The cluster of crofters’ huts was behind them now, and he helped her to the path leading atop the hillside. A grove of pine trees and leafless oaks stood to hide them from view. Here, the snow wasn’t as deep, and she pushed her way past the needled branches until they were near the center of the trees. At last, Paul turned to face her, and the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

  “You’re wearing your hair up, like a lady,” he remarked, reaching out to touch the brown strands beneath her bonnet. Juliette held herself motionless, her mother’s rules resounding in her mind. She should not allow him to touch her, not now. Though she was seventeen, she understood that there were reasons for keeping a gentleman at a safe distance.

  “You’re a bonny lass, as ever you were before.” His hand moved back as if he’d suddenly remembered that they were no longer children. “I missed you these years.”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak, and he seemed to understand it. He was nearly a man at nineteen. And yet… he was still the same Paul she’d always known.

  Before she could move, he pressed her back against one of the thicker trees, holding her hips and locking her eyes with his. “You’ve grown shorter over the years.”

  The laughter in his eyes warmed her, and she tipped her head back. “You’re taller.”

  In answer to that, he lifted her up until her eyes were even with his. “Is that better?”

  His familiarity made her uncomfortable, and he held her as if she weighed no more than a wisp of cloth. “Put me down, Paul,” she pleaded, though she knew he was only teasing. Instead, he held her a moment longer, his strong arms wrapped around her. No longer did she feel the cold, but she was intensely aware of his body pressed close to hers. The memory of his mouth on hers lingered, and a sliver of heat moved down her spine. As he lowered her, she found herself breathless at the pressure of his body against hers.

  “I brought you a gift,” he said, lowering her to stand. “Took me months of saving for it.”

  He grimaced a moment, staring down at his hands, as if he were embarrassed by the holes in his gloves. “I apprenticed with an apothecary for a while, and then I applied to the college again. This time, I was accepted.” Reaching inside his waistcoat pocket, he pulled out a ring made of silver. She saw that it was engraved with a pattern of vines and a single blossom.

  He reached out for her hand and found a finger that it fit. “I wanted something to remind you of our promise. Because I can no’ return again, until I’ve finished with my studies. And when I come back, I want you to marry me, lass.”

  She traced the silver with her fingertips, knowing how much this gift had cost him. There was no doubting that he’d meant what he said. Her heart swelled with a burst of joy that he loved her, and she cared for him, too. She wanted so badly to keep the ring, to run home and tell her family that Paul had asked her to wed him.

  But the moment she thought of her mother’s reaction, reality struck hard. Beatrice would not be happy for her at all. If she spoke a word of this, her mother would forbid her to see him again.

  With the greatest reluctance, she started to remove the ring. “Paul, I—”

  “Don’t speak,” he warned, touching her mouth with a finger. “I can see what you’re thinking. But you’ll keep it, and make your decision later.”

  She let it be, knowing she ought to remove the ring. To wear it meant giving him false hope. And yet… he was her forbidden secret. She didn’t want to give back the ring. Instead, she wanted to keep it on a chain, wearing it hidden against her heart.

  Paul took her hand again. “Come with me back to the crofters. You can help me distribute the food.”

  “What food?” She frowned, not understanding what he meant.

  “You’ll see.” He gave no other explanation but led her back down the hillside. They walked toward the rows of thatched huts. Dogs barked at their approach, and Juliette held tightly to her fur-lined pelisse as the winter wind blew past the houses.

  Though she’d brought bread to these people on many occasions, when she saw the children gathering at one of the homes, her mood grew more somber. Their shoes were thin, their plaids wrapped tightly about them. One of the men was passing out sacks of potatoes, turnips, and dried fish.

  “Where did all of this come from?” she asked, staring at the supplies. When Paul didn’t answer, she faltered.

  In the barest whisper, she inquired, “They didn’t steal it, did they?”

  Still he made no reply. The silver ring upon her finger seemed heavier somehow, and she wondered if he had planned the raid or only participated in it.

  “It’s wrong,” she murmured. “They shouldn’t—”

  “It was food stolen from them,” he said, not bothering to hide the edge of anger. “Strathland doubled their rents only a few weeks ago. When they couldna pay, they had to trade in their winter stores.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand. He doesn’t need their food.”

  “No, but by taking it from them, they have no choice but to leave.” His gaze hardened. “Open your eyes, Juliette. He’s stealing these people blind.” His expression grew taut. “And you knew it already, for you were bringing them bread.”

  “I had to do something,” she admitted. “But it wasn’t enough. It won’t ever be enough. We hardly have bread ourselves.”

  “Then you understand.” He took her hand in his, leading her to stand beside the line of children. “The food would have rotted in his storehouses otherwise. Better to make use of it, where it’s needed.”
<
br />   Juliette took a deep breath and eyed the stolen goods. “And what if you’re caught?” She traced the edge of the ring, afraid of this side of him. There was a ruthlessness here that she’d only glimpsed a few years ago. It reminded her of how deeply he hated Lord Strathland and of his vow of vengeance.

  “I’ll be in Edinburgh. The people can blame it on me, if they want, but they willna let Strathland know where I am. He still believes I’m here, in the north.”

  She met his gaze squarely, demanding, “And is this your plan for vengeance? To steal?”

  Paul’s mouth tightened. “I’m no’ a thief, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He drew her to stand before the doorway. “I plan to revisit upon him every hardship he’s given to the clansmen and women. He should suffer in this way, knowing hunger as they do.”

  She didn’t like the edge in his voice and turned around to face him. “And do you plan to spend the rest of your life stealing from him, taking away everything he owns that has value?” It chilled her to think that his need for revenge went this deep.

  “No’ my entire life,” he said, drawing her back behind one of the houses, out of view. “I plan to spend most of my life with you.”

  With that, he took her mouth in a kiss that pushed back the edges of her childhood, reminding her that she still belonged to him. Despite all her misgivings, she melted beneath his heated mouth, knowing that there would never be anyone for her like Paul Fraser. She was numb with fear, and yet, she couldn’t stop herself from kissing him back.

  This man, her desperate secret that she would keep from her family.

  When there were shouts from the crofters, Paul broke free of the kiss. “Stay here,” he warned. “If it’s Strathland or his factor, I want you nowhere close.”

  He pressed her back against the wall while he ventured out among the others. Juliette remained in hiding, watching as the men hurried to hide the remainder of the food. Within moments, several men arrived on horseback, and she suspected their leader was Lord Strathland’s factor.