Unraveled By The Rebel

by Michelle Willingham

  Brandon drained his snifter and refilled it. “I don’t care what they think of us.” It was the truth. He wasn’t about to lower himself by apologizing. He hadn’t laid a hand upon the duchess, and soon enough, they would lay all the blame on Melford.

  None of it mattered.

  “Next week, Lady Rumford is hosting a ball,” Sarah informed him. “There will be over five hundred guests. It’s your best chance of finding a wife.”

  “Except for the fact that I was not invited,” he reminded her. “But I believe you can change her mind, can’t you, dear Sister?”

  “I will try.”

  Regardless of whether Sarah was successful, with so many guests in attendance, surely it would be easy enough to infiltrate the premises. She reached over and took the empty glass away from him. “You are better than this, Brandon.” Her voice was soothing, and he didn’t doubt she was trying to manipulate him. “Don’t let the Andrews family ruin our opportunities.”

  Our opportunities? This wasn’t at all about her.

  “You want to go to Lady Rumford’s ball, don’t you, Sister?” His mouth tightened, and he stood to pour himself another drink. “Because you want to find a husband.”

  “I wouldn’t mind one.” She smoothed her gown and straightened, venturing a smile. The sight of her primping was starting to annoy him. Sarah knew nothing of the struggles he’d faced to keep them from losing their fortune. His first wife, Penelope, had nearly driven him under with debt, due to her frivolous behavior. He wasn’t about to let his sister spend his money on gowns and ribbons, simply to snare an unsuspecting bachelor.

  His gaze passed over her worn clothing, and he shrugged. “Perhaps a potato-faced young fool might have you. If he’s drunk enough.”

  She pretended she hadn’t heard the insult, but her cheeks flamed. “I will pay a call on Lady Rumford this week and see what I can do to open the doors to you. But Brandon, truly, you must try. I know you haven’t forgotten about Miss Andrews, but—”

  His hand shot out and seized her wrist. “Do not mention her name to me.” He didn’t want to hear a word of criticism against her. “Juliette is the woman I’m going to marry.”

  Sarah didn’t bother to hide her dismay. “I’ve never understood your obsession with her. She’s not even beautiful.”

  His grip only tightened in warning until she winced with pain. “You know nothing about it.” It was more than simply wanting Juliette. She belonged to him. She needed him to show her how to be a proper wife, how to mold her into the woman she was meant to be.

  Sarah touched his hand. “You’re hurting my wrist, Brandon.”

  He released her, but he didn’t regret causing her pain—Sarah needed to understand that he would make the decisions about their futures. Her role was to open the doors to him, and see to it that he found Juliette again.

  And soon enough, she would belong to him.

  “Are you sure about this?” Juliette asked Paul. “What if I’m not wearing the right clothes? Are these suited to… where we’re going?” She’d chosen a plain day dress, knowing that it would be a more casual gathering.

  “It’s a cèilidh, Juliette. It doesna matter what you wear.” Paul was wearing a dark brown coat and tan breeches, though she supposed he’d have been more comfortable in a tartan.

  Inwardly, she was fearful about deceiving Charlotte. Her aunt would never permit her to attend a party hosted by anyone but members of the ton. As it was, Charlotte believed that Juliette and her maid were paying calls upon a friend in town.

  “And what about Nell?” she added, glancing back at her maid. “Should I bring her along?” She’d taken the young woman as a chaperone, warning her not to tell Charlotte where they were going.

  “Nell is welcome to join in. She’ll make merry, just as we will,” he promised.

  It didn’t diminish her anxiety at the unknown. Yet, she was forcing herself to leave the house whenever opportunities arose. Though she might be a wallflower at heart, she was determined not to let the past control her future. Lord Strathland had taken her innocence, but he would not take away her chance at happiness.

  The problem was the guilt she couldn’t relinquish. For her, this was about laying the past to rest and enjoying each day to its fullest. But the more time she spent with Paul, the more she was afraid of leading him astray.

  “You’re looking right dour, lass. What’s taken your smile away?”

  “I was only thinking of—” She stopped, revising what she’d meant to say. “That is, I was wondering why you’ve stayed by my side for so long. Why you haven’t chosen another woman to wed.”

  “They’re made of naught but ribbons, lace, and a bit of stuffing in their heads. I’d rather have your company.”

  She tried to smile, venturing, “I’ve nothing but accounts and numbers in mine.”

  But Paul only smiled and took her hand, his thumb rubbing circles over her glove. He hailed a hackney cab and gave the coachman an unfamiliar address. He guided her inside the vehicle, and her maid took her place next to the driver.

  Juliette sat across from Paul, and when they had traveled past a few streets, she said, “I’m surprised you haven’t returned to Scotland by now.”

  “You’ve no’ agreed to wed me yet,” Paul answered. “I’ll go, the moment you say aye and come with me.”

  She sobered, knowing that although she felt safe with him, she could not marry him. Not until she was brave enough to speak the truth about what had happened to her. And he might no longer want her, once he knew it.

  He leaned forward, resting his hands upon his knees. “Have you no’ enjoyed yourself these past few weeks?”

  “I have.” But it wasn’t only the letters he’d sent or even the gifts. Her restlessness grew stronger as the days passed. She found herself entirely too fascinated by Paul, remembering the way he’d kissed her. She’d never expected to want a man to touch her again… but the lightest brush of his hand upon hers evoked a yearning.

  She remembered his kiss and wondered if tonight he would steal another.

  “Are you still afraid of marriage?” he asked.

  “Not marriage,” Juliette corrected, her face flushing with color. “Only of what comes after that.” She stared out into the streets, knowing that her face was the color of a cranberry.

  “Do you really think I’m the sort of man who would force you to share his bed, when you’re no’ wanting to?”

  That made her sound as if she viewed him as a satyr. Even so, she admitted, “It’s a part of marriage that all husbands expect.”

  His dark blue eyes flared. “If you’re feeling wary, lass, I’d rather wait until you’re wanting me in the same way.” At the rough tone of his baritone, a secret tremble flowed through her. “What happens between us in our bedroom is for none to say but us.”

  “And if I—if I never wanted to?” she ventured, her voice in a whisper.

  He leaned back, a cocky smile on his face. “Oh, I think you will, Juliette. Especially when I’ve shown you how much a woman can be pleasured with naught but my hands and mouth.”

  Dear God. She could almost imagine it, his hands stroking her bare skin. Her body warmed to the vision, and the air within the cab seemed heavy and fraught with possibility.

  “How much farther is it?” she asked, desperately needing to change the subject.

  “A mile or so, I’d wager.” He had a knowing look on his face. “And I’ve made you uncomfortable, so I’ll ask how your sisters are.”

  Grateful for the turn in conversation, she said, “Victoria’s baby will be born in the autumn.”

  “I’m glad that she and the bairn are faring well.”

  “So am I.” It was true, although she couldn’t help but remember her own nightmarish experience with childbirth. She didn’t envy Victoria that. “She’s staying in Scotland, though I don’t know why. Lord Strathland is there, and after what he did—”

  “Let’s not speak of him,” Paul interrupted. “What’s
done is done, and he’ll not harm your family again. The duke and all of us will see to it.”

  She forced herself to nod, though she didn’t quite believe it. At least now, Worthingstone was there to protect her sister. And Juliette was grateful that Strathland was far away from London.

  “How were you invited to this cèilidh?” she asked. “Are the hosts friends of yours?”

  “I’ve been visiting the wool merchants, and several of them are Scottish, like me.”

  She stiffened at the mention of the wool. There was only one reason why Paul would concern himself with getting better acquainted with the merchants. “And why would you visit them? This isn’t about Strathland, is it?”

  He met her gaze squarely. “And what if it is?”

  Juliette was afraid to think of it. She’d tried to bury all memories of the earl, but if Paul was destroying the man’s income, it was a declaration of war. “What have you said to them?”

  He drew her down a narrow street, stopping in front of a smaller shop. “Only what needed to be said. I told them the truth about what Strathland’s been doing to the crofters. And to your family.”

  Juliette rubbed at her arms, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the dreary London weather. “Have they refused to buy from him?”

  He shook his head. “There’s too much demand for wool. But I’ve convinced them to lower their orders. There are other sources of wool in Scotland. Men with no connection to Strathland.”

  “Like your uncle?” she suggested.

  “Donald has an estate in the north, aye. But his herds are small compared to Strathland’s. I only made it known that His Grace, the Duke of Worthingstone, would be quite offended if they purchased from the earl. Those who want his favor will find other sources.”

  “Be careful,” she pleaded. “If he learns what you’ve done, he’ll seek retribution.”

  “I’ve spoken only the truth.”

  “Still—” She touched the sleeve of his coat, and he took her hands. At that moment, the hackney stopped and the coachman came to open the door. Juliette knew there was nothing more to be said.

  “Come, Juliette. Put aside your fear, and let’s have a night to enjoy ourselves.” Glancing outside at her maid, Nell, he added, “And you, lass. You might be finding a handsome gentleman, if you smile and dance.”

  The young maid flushed, but followed them. Juliette felt conspicuous in her gown as Paul led her inside the small pub. The few women she saw were dressed in dark woolen gowns and serviceable frocks that were more suited to servants. Already, several were eyeing her attire as if wondering why she’d come.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” she said suddenly. “This isn’t right.”

  “We’re going below,” Paul said, gripping her hand tighter. “Trust me, Juliette.” He took her to a small door that opened to a narrow stairway. From the cellar came the sound of someone playing the fiddle and pipes.

  It was like stepping into a different world. The men and women were lined up across from one another, spinning and whirling. The flushed faces of the women were laughing, and there were even children dancing among them. A man who looked to be eighty was whirling with a girl of sixteen, his feet moving faster than Juliette had imagined possible.

  “Does this no’ remind you of Ballaloch?” he said in her ear, for it was too loud to talk.

  It did, except that these people were strangers. She felt herself wanting to slip into the background, to watch the young men and women. Here, there were none of the studied mannerisms and social barriers—only people laughing and enjoying themselves. In the back of the room, she saw some men and women sitting far too close to one another.

  “What is this place?” she asked, standing on tiptoe to reach his ear.

  “It’s a gathering that you’ll find far more entertaining, I hope.” He pressed his palm to her spine, guiding her inside. “You’ve naught to fear. No’ while I’m with you.”

  “I feel very out of place,” she confessed. “Like they’re staring at me.”

  “I’m staring at you, too,” he said. “And I think you ken why.” He guided her out to the line of dancers and said, “Dance with me, Juliette.”

  “I don’t know these dances,” she protested, feeling overwhelmed by the people and the music. “Really, I shouldn’t.”

  “It’s no’ hard. Just hold on to me,” he bade her, putting his hands on her waist and spinning her in circles. She grew dizzy from the fast movements, but when she stumbled, he lifted her up, swinging her around.

  After two dances, she started to see the fun in it. The people moved with reckless abandon, struggling to keep up with the fiddler. Music filled the room, and in time, she lost sight of her self-consciousness. There was only Paul, and the way he guided her through it.

  When she stumbled again, she laughed. “I feel like my feet are tied together.” The steps were impossible, but she mimicked the other ladies, struggling to keep up the pace. A lad of ten asked her to dance, and she indulged him, smiling brightly while he gave her a cheeky grin.

  “Me name’s Rob,” he told her. “Rob the butcher’s son.”

  “I am Miss Andrews,” she answered in a subtle reminder that she was far older than him.

  Rob winked at her, spinning her faster. “I heard him call you Juliette.”

  “I’ve known Dr. Fraser for years. And I’ve only known you for a few minutes.”

  “I’d be glad if you knew me for years,” the boy said with a grin.

  “Leave her be, lad. She’s already been claimed,” Paul said, intervening to take her back again. He gave her a glass of lemonade that tasted terrible, but she sipped it anyway, for she was thirsty from the dancing. Paul brought her a chair, and they sat together, watching the dancers and listening to the music.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked against her ear.

  “My mother would need smelling salts if she knew I was here.” She turned, and his face was far too near to hers. His midnight-blue eyes held a warmth that made her smile fade. Though he spoke not a word, she grew aware of his bristled cheeks and the heated look he sent her way. His palm moved to her hand, and his fingers laced in hers.

  Her thoughts scattered like leaves on an autumn wind at the way he was staring at her. She couldn’t piece together a coherent thought, nor did she protest when he stood and took her by the hand. When she glanced over at her maid, she saw that Nell was dancing with one of the older men.

  She asked no questions but simply followed Paul. He led her away from the others, toward a darkened corner. “Are you enjoying yourself, a gràdh?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He pressed her back, and against her ear, he murmured, “I find that I’m wanting to kiss you again. If you’ll allow it.” His midnight-blue eyes were locked upon her, and the air was heavy with feelings she didn’t understand.

  “Not here,” she whispered. “Anyone could see us.” But even so, her heart had begun to tremble at the thought.

  He glanced back at the dancing. “There’s no one to see us. Look.”

  She realized he was right. The small corner of the room was shadowed with no light, and there was a stack of chairs that hid them from view.

  Paul held out his hand, waiting for her answer. Her pulse hastened at his suggestion, and she found herself slipping beneath his spell. She wanted to kiss him again, to feel like a normal woman instead of a fallen one.

  And so she put her hand in his, following him into the shadows. Gently, he pressed her back, and her heartbeat trebled.

  She lifted her face to his in silent permission, and when he brought his mouth upon hers, it was not at all a demanding kiss. No, it was slow and lazy. He savored her lips, tasting her. With his mouth upon hers, she forgot about her sins and could simply be.

  Although he had her trapped in his arms, she didn’t feel afraid. Against her lips, Paul spoke. “I held you like this once, in the garden. But you were afraid of me then.” His hands moved down to her waist, and
she caught her breath at his touch. “What about now?”

  She didn’t know what to say to him. Her mouth was swollen from his kiss, and she wanted to lean in for another. “I’m only afraid of the way you make me feel,” she admitted. When she was in his arms, she lost sight of herself. She was fighting against the darkness of the past, forcing herself to remain in place.

  Paul captured her mouth again, moving to her jaw and down to her throat. Shivers spiraled through her, and she was startled at the way her breasts tightened beneath her gown.

  “You’re the loveliest lass I’ve e’er laid eyes on,” he breathed. “And I’m wanting to show you what I spoke of, in the carriage. But only when you’re willing.”

  Her thoughts tangled up within her, and a refusal caught in her throat. She knew what he was asking, and instinct roared at her to say no.

  And yet… was this not another face of cowardice? He wanted to touch her, as a lover would. To destroy her terrible memories, leaving something better in their place. There was no fear of dishonoring herself, for not only were they hidden from view… but she also never intended to be with any other man. No one else would understand her in the way he did.

  He’d been achingly understanding over these past few weeks and months. Most women would have had a betrothal by now. And yet, he’d never pushed her.

  “If I ask you to stop, will you?” she whispered.

  He gave a nod. “At any moment, lass.”

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed him again, bringing his hands to her waist. Against the juncture of her hips, he was hard, and she forced herself to remain motionless. The pressure of his arousal was enough to terrify her. And when she murmured, “Stop,” he broke away and took a step back. Without hesitation.

  She took a shuddering breath, and he stared at her. “I canna change the way you make me desire you, Juliette. But I swear, I’ll stop at any moment you ask me to.”

  She believed him. In his eyes, there was no doubt of his longing. He craved more from her, but he had full command of himself.