Unraveled By The Rebel

by Michelle Willingham

  He glanced over at her in silent response to her challenge. It was as if he was proving his own point—that he had changed a great deal since they were children. No longer was he a hot-headed rebel who could have no place in a ballroom. Instead, he’d become a polished man who would not falter from any adversary.

  With an air of confidence, he crossed over to greet Lady Arnsbury, and he bowed, offering her a devilish smile. Aunt Charlotte laughed at something he said, and she no longer seemed to care that Paul hadn’t been invited.

  A moment later, she saw her aunt introduce him to another young lady. The miss was lovely, with curled golden hair and bright blue eyes. She blushed as the countess paired them off, sending them to dance.

  Juliette clenched her fan so tightly, she nearly snapped the wood. Though she supposed Aunt Charlotte had suggested that Paul dance with the young lady, she’d never expected the flare of jealousy in her stomach. The girl was beautiful, with the flush of innocence about her. Pearls adorned her throat and hair, and she lowered her gaze demurely when Paul spoke.

  He took her hand in the promenade, and when his gaze caught Juliette’s, his expression was defiant. A hint of a smile played on his lips, and her gut burned as though it were coated in acid.

  This is what it will feel like when you let him go, her conscience reminded her. But you have no choice.

  The dance ended, and Paul returned the young lady to her chaperone. But his eyes turned back to Juliette. There was no apology in them, but his gaze moved toward the terrace, then back at her.

  Meet me in the garden, he’d said.

  She didn’t dare. The thought of being alone with him, where anyone could interrupt, was unthinkable. But for a moment, she wanted to pretend that she was once again an innocent girl who had not been violated. She wanted to blot out the memories of Strathland, forcing the past to disappear.

  Her heart pounded, her instincts pleading with her to give in. She had already been ruined once—what did it matter?

  It matters to your sisters, her head warned. Her actions would reflect upon them. But for a single moment, she wanted to be with him.

  “Amelia,” she whispered to her sister. “I need your help.”

  Chapter Seven

  Juliette kept close to Amelia’s side as her sister walked with her to the terrace. The young woman’s eyes sparkled with the gleam of an accomplice.

  “What will happen if you’re discovered with him?” Amelia whispered. “Will you have to marry him?”

  Juliette stopped walking and stared. Her sister appeared entirely too intrigued by that idea.

  “Don’t even put that notion into your head. I won’t be marrying anyone.” Her face burned, and she questioned whether to turn back and abandon the idea entirely. If Amelia believed that this was a means of forcing her to wed, she shouldn’t go at all. With a sigh, she admitted, “I suppose you’re right. I could be discovered with him, and that wouldn’t be appropriate at all.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing,” Amelia assured her. “I was only asking what would happen. I would never let anyone find the two of you together.” Her voice held a note of dismay, as if to reassure Juliette of her loyalty.

  “Thank you,” she breathed. But Amelia’s words made her now question the wisdom of venturing into the garden. She walked with her sister out to the terrace, and at the far end of the walled garden, she saw Paul standing beside a yew tree.

  “Why did he pretend to be a viscount’s heir?” Amelia asked. “Everyone is talking about him.”

  “To be close to me.” She couldn’t believe that he’d taken such a risk. And yet, he’d done nothing to reveal his true identity. It had made her blush to see everyone staring at them, the hushed murmurs about the mysterious gentleman paying attention to her.

  If they only knew the truth…

  “Be careful,” Amelia pleaded. “Aunt Charlotte thinks I’ve taken you to the ladies’ retiring room. You can stay only a few minutes.”

  “It will be all right.” The night was cool, and Juliette began to wish she had her pelisse. She could see no one else outside. “I will meet you at the ladies’ retiring room soon.”

  Her sister waited while Juliette crossed the small garden, moving toward the yew tree, which grew against a stone wall. The sky was dark, except for the sliver of a crescent moon peeking out from behind a cloud.

  “You took a grave risk tonight,” she whispered, as Paul drew her farther into the shadows. “What if you’d been discovered?”

  “I’d have been tossed out on my ear,” he murmured, guiding her behind the yew tree until her back rested against the wall. “But it would have been worth it to see you.”

  The small space closed in on her, making her nervous. She began to shiver in the frigid air, and he removed his coat, drawing it around her shoulders. Juliette could feel the lingering warmth of his body through the black fabric, and she murmured her thanks. “I don’t know why I agreed to meet you, Dr. Fraser.” The words spilled out, though they weren’t the truth. She’d been so unnerved by the sight of him with the other young miss that she’d needed to be near him.

  “Use my name, Juliette.”

  “Paul,” she whispered, pressing her hands against his chest, as if to gain distance.

  “Look at me,” he commanded. His gloved hands covered hers, and his voice held her captive. “Don’t be afraid.”

  She wasn’t afraid of him—only of the demons of her past. Tremulous memories spilled over, and though he did nothing more than hold her hands against his chest, she had to calm her beating heart.

  A normal woman wouldn’t feel this way. She would welcome the attentions of the man she cared about, perhaps letting him steal another kiss.

  Juliette wanted to be like other women again, enjoying a stolen moment. Just being near Paul put her senses on alert, evoking desires she’d all but forgotten.

  “Why did you want to see me?” she asked, trying to hide her quaking voice.

  “There’s something I’ve been wanting to give back to you. Something I tried to give you, years ago.” Paul lowered one of his hands and reached into the pocket of his waistcoat. He withdrew a silver ring and held it up in the moonlight.

  She stared at the band, remembering the snowy day he’d first asked her to wed him. It was the day Lord Strathland had first noticed her.

  The dark fear bolted up inside, and she shook her head. “I can’t accept that, Paul.” The meaning of the ring was all too clear.

  “It belongs to you. But I promised I would no’ press you for more than you’re willing to give.” He held it between his thumb and forefinger. “I wanted you to know that I still have it.”

  “You must keep it for someone else.” Someone who could give him all the things she couldn’t.

  “I’ll keep it until you’re ready to wear it yourself.” The ring gleamed against the darkness, and his hand palmed her spine as he held it up. With the silver, he traced a path over her lips, drawing it downward. The gesture heightened the sensitivity of her skin, with the cool metal against her throat. Unbidden came the image of him drawing the ring over her bare skin, circling her breasts.

  Gooseflesh prickled over her, and she closed her eyes, startled by the unexpected feelings. This man kindled a response she’d never imagined… a breathless need for human touch. Never had she expected it—not after what had been done to her. The stark yearning caught her by surprise, and when Paul put the ring away, she felt a sense of loss.

  He rested both hands on the wall, on either side of her. “I’m no’ wanting to think about the past,” he whispered, his breath warm upon her skin. “I want you to remember what there was between us. When we used to walk together in the woods.”

  She couldn’t speak, her heart pounding while his hands moved down to her waist. He waited infinite moments, giving her the choice of pushing him away. But she didn’t move, wanting to rebuild the broken pieces of herself, overcoming her fears. Inside, she pushed away the darkness, letting herself fa
ll into the good memories.

  “I remember.”

  “The first time you saw me, you were in my arms,” he said.

  That drew an unbidden smile. “Only because I tripped over my own feet and you happened to catch me.”

  “It was fate,” he said.

  His tone had grown heated, and Juliette covered his mouth with her fingers. “Don’t speak.” She didn’t want to hear words about how he wanted to wed her, not now.

  He fell silent, leaning his head against hers. She stood in his embrace, feeling the sudden desire to flee. In his presence, her body grew warmer, heightened with an anticipation she didn’t understand.

  “I’m going to kiss you, Juliette,” he warned.

  She froze, knowing she should pull away. But before she could move, he covered her mouth with his, as if trying to awaken her from a long sleep. There was no force in it, only a reclaiming of the years lost. Her hands moved to rest upon his heart, and she found that it was beating as fast as hers.

  She’d believed that this would be a kiss of healing, but instead, the heat of his mouth unraveled her senses. Her body reacted strongly, straining against the silk that imprisoned her skin. She was finding it difficult to breathe, fighting the sensations that flowed through her. The need to press close to him, to open herself, was rising higher. He was rekindling desires she’d thought were long gone. She’d believed herself incapable of feeling any physical pleasure, but when the kiss deepened, Juliette leaned in to the onslaught.

  More. She wanted more from him.

  Her breathing was staggered, but instinctively, she put her arms around his neck. She went numb when his mouth nipped down her jaw to the softness of her throat. When his kiss moved to the skin above her bodice, her imagination roared with thoughts of his mouth upon her bare breasts. The shocking image made her grow wet between her legs, and it was too much to bear. “Paul, no,” she whispered. “We have to stop.”

  It was too soon for this. Despite the arousal he’d conjured within her, she was afraid to let him get closer. In his arms, it was too easy to fall beneath his spell, letting him believe that they could be together.

  Or that she wanted him.

  Juliette took off his coat, handing it to him. “I n-need to go back.” Her teeth chattered in the cold, and she rubbed at her arms, trying to escape him. “Amelia will be waiting.”

  “You’re afraid of me,” he guessed. “There’s no need.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know I shouldn’t have let you kiss me in that way. But you—”

  You made me forget.

  His embrace had awakened her to sensations she’d never dreamed of. But she couldn’t say that.

  Juliette stepped away from the yew tree, clenching her arms. He believed she was a virgin, a young woman he hoped to wed. Nothing would hurt him more than to discover that her innocence had been taken by another man. It wasn’t fair to let him dream of a life with her. Not when she could never be a true wife to him.

  She closed back the fear and pain, lifting her eyes to him. “I was wrong, Paul. I thought I could… let you court me. But I can’t. I’m so sorry.”

  She picked up her skirts and ran from him, her eyes blurred with tears.

  The winter air was frigid, the snow drifted in piles across their land. Beatrice Andrews was careful with her footing as she stepped outside the charred remains of their home. In her arms she carried the pieces of what had once been a mahogany desk belonging to her father. She moved without thinking, letting her thoughts drift as she cleared out the mess of wood.

  The soft sound of footsteps crunching through the snow made her look up. The wood fell from her hands as she saw her husband, Henry Andrews, Colonel Lord Lanfordshire. Her hands covered her mouth as she realized no, it wasn’t her imagination. But he was thinner than she’d last seen him, with a rough beard tinged gray.

  His uniform was caked with mud from the road, his boots wet with snow. One arm was bandaged in a sling, and she could not tell if it was broken or wounded more deeply. His face was stoic, and he didn’t move toward her—he only stared.

  Her heart trembled, and her face reddened, for she didn’t know what to say or do. If she ran into his arms, she might accidentally hurt him. Then, too, it had been so long since she’d seen him last. Although they had been married for over twenty years, the distance between them had gradually increased until she was hesitant to embrace him.

  Finally, he walked forward until he stood before her. For a long moment, he said nothing, his eyes taking in her appearance. She was embarrassed that her clothing was in tatters, her hair in a rough tangle. What a sight she must look to him.

  “Beatrice,” he said. His voice was cool, holding no emotion at all. He could have been talking to a stone, not the wife he hadn’t seen in three years.

  “Henry.” She nodded to acknowledge him, nervously wiping her hands upon the apron she was wearing. “It’s been a long time.” So long, she wasn’t accustomed to having him here. She’d had to make so many decisions on her own, learning from her failures.

  “It has,” he said.

  Say something else, she wanted to plead. Let me know that you missed me. Anything.

  But he only glanced behind her at the burned roof and skeletal stone walls. “What happened to our home?”

  “Someone set fire to it a few weeks ago.” She lifted her chin and nodded at the crofters, who were carrying out the debris from inside. “I wrote to you, but I suppose you never got the letter. We’re still in the process of rebuilding.”

  “And the girls?”

  She softened at his mention of them. “They’re fine, and all of them are staying in London. Victoria got married a few weeks ago, to the Duke of Worthingstone.”

  That, at least, provoked a reaction from him. Victoria hadn’t left the house in five years, and yet she’d made a splendid marriage. Although Beatrice hadn’t done anything to play matchmaker, she couldn’t resist gloating.

  “A duke? For our Victoria?” Her husband couldn’t hide his shock, and at least it gave them something to discuss. She led him inside, stepping over the rubble of burned wood and stone.

  “It was a shock to me, too,” Beatrice admitted. “I never dreamed she would ever find a husband at all, much less a duke.”

  “I’ve missed a great deal, it seems.”

  His voice was rough, and she realized he was no longer talking about their daughters or the house. His eyes locked on to her, as if he couldn’t believe he was seeing her again. He hadn’t looked at her like that in at least ten years.

  Tears sprang to her eyes, but she wouldn’t allow herself to cry. “You have, yes.”

  She touched the front door, considering whether to lead him back outside. Perhaps he wouldn’t want to see how badly the house was burned.

  “There’s a lot of damage inside,” she said. “I’ve been living at Eiloch Hill for the past fortnight, but I believe the roof is sound now.” She opened the door wider, deciding it was best if he knew everything. “We don’t know who set the fire, but it will take months to restore the house,” she admitted. “The duke has sent some men to help, but I’ve been trying to salvage our belongings as best I can.”

  Her husband spoke not a word, his attention upon the mess that had once been their home. Had he heard anything she’d said?

  “Henry?” she asked, pausing at the parlor entrance. “Are you all right? Does your arm pain you?”

  He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

  She turned around, meaning to lead him into the rest of the house, and it took him a moment before he followed. Though she spoke in a constant stream of conversation, telling him about the crofters who had offered their help to clear out the house, she sensed that he wasn’t listening at all.

  She broke off in mid-sentence, waiting for him to reply. He never said a word but doggedly followed her to the other side of the house and back through the kitchen to the exterior.

  Seeing him again made it so hard to hold
back her emotions. She wiped at her cheeks, hiding her feelings. Straightening her spine, she pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders and turned to face him.

  “We’ll rebuild the house,” she assured him, taking in a deep breath. “His Grace kindly offered us the use of Eiloch Hill for as long as we need it.”

  Henry stepped forward, and she went motionless. For a moment, both of them stood still, waiting for the other to speak.

  In the end, he reached out and touched her cheek. His hand was cold against her skin, but the caress went down to her bones.

  And in his eyes, she saw regret.

  Two months later

  Juliette was restless. Although she’d continued to see Paul at social gatherings, he’d been careful not to push beyond friendship. He would dance with her once, and the rest of the evening, he maintained a respectful distance.

  But every time she saw Paul speak to another young woman or dance with her, it was like a splinter digging beneath her skin. A possessiveness dominated her mood, and she couldn’t understand why the jealousy was taking command of her.

  He’d done this on purpose. The quiet distance was slowly driving her into madness. Even being with her sisters could not distract her from the growing need to see him again.

  Today, the clouds brewing in the sky mirrored her gray mood. Her sister Margaret had gone out shopping, but it was long past the time when she should have returned. Juliette paced across the room before she decided to go downstairs and peer outside the window.

  Margaret was predictable, down to the last minute. She had never returned so late, not in all the time they’d been in London.

  The streets were a crowded tangle of carriages and merchants, with people milling about everywhere. Juliette stared at the throng, hoping for a glimpse of her sister. Minutes later, she spied a hackney approaching their residence. It stopped, and Cain Sinclair emerged. In his arms, he carried an unconscious Margaret, her hair tangled with blood.