Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love (Scandalous Seasons Book 4)

by Christi Caldwell

  “Miss Marshville!”

  Juliet ignored the marquess’ exclamation as she took off running toward the gated front. She skidded to a halt at the entrance and grappled with the lock, her fingers numb with the frigid cold. Then the familiar click sounded. Juliet tugged the gate open and sprinted over the cobbled path, and on to the front door. And then she froze, her hand on the handle of the door, as she braced herself for the horror sure to unfold. She drew in a steadying breath and then opened the door.

  Juliet stepped inside. “Hullo?” Eerie silence was her only greeting. The steady drip of moisture from the muddied hem of her skirts echoed through the quiet.

  She moved deeper into this home that had once meant so much to her. She’d been willing to cast away the opportunity of marriage and a family of her own and take a post as a governess just so she could become the rightful owner of the beloved place. Only, now, did she realize when she stripped away the love and laughter she’d known with her papa, all that remained were the empty walls of a humble structure.

  She’d demanded Jonathan return Rosecliff Cottage to her but in truth what she’d wanted someone to return to her was the peace and happiness she’d once known.

  The wood floor creaked. Heart pounding, she spun around. It was only the marquess. He glanced around the space with a dark frown. “Where are the servants? Why are there no candles lit?” she asked aloud, more to herself.

  “Ah, it would appear my sister has arrived, and she’s been good enough to bring company.” Albert emerged from the corridor leading to Papa’s old office.

  Now the Earl of Sinclair’s office.

  Juliet jumped and took an unwitting step closer to the marquess.

  An unholy glitter sparked in her brother’s eyes as if he delighted in her unease.

  His spiteful reaction only fueled her strength. She marched over to him. “What have you done with her? Where is she?” She didn’t await an answer. Instead, she rushed around him. “Patrina?” she called. “Patrina?”

  The girl came flying from the parlor. Tears stained the young lady’s cheeks. She hurled herself into Juliet’s waiting arms. Juliet held her as she sobbed against her shoulder.

  She glared at her brother as he approached. “What manner of monster are you? She is a young lady.”

  “And so were you, Juliet,” he taunted. “What have you become though, Sinclair’s whore? And to what end? So you might gain possession of this nothing of a property.” He tossed his head back and a hateful laugh spewed from his lips.

  She cringed with humiliated shame at being so debased in front of Jonathan’s sister and the marquess.

  Lord Drake growled. He strode over to Albert. “Watch your tongue. There are ladies present.”

  Albert turned gray and lurched backwards, away from Lord Drake. When he returned his attention to Juliet, his courage seemed restored. “I’d have you come home, Juliet.”

  For what? So he could turn her into an actual whore? “Albert, have you…?”

  “Touched her?” he scoffed. “A woman such as her could never tempt me.”

  Patrina’s sobs increased in desperation.

  Juliet touched a hand to the young lady’s cheek. She needed to get her away from this place, the cottage now sullied by Albert’s foul deed. “Lord Drake will return you home, Patrina,” she said softly.

  The marquess stepped forward, arm extended.

  The girl glanced from the marquess, and back to Juliet. “W-what of y-you, Miss Marshville?”

  Juliet gave her a gentle smile. “I’ll be fine,” she promised. She gave her one last quick hug. “Now, go.”

  The young lady hugged Juliet back, and then sprinted over to Lord Drake.

  He looked to Juliet a question in his eyes.

  She nodded once. He needed to take Patrina away. Juliet would manage on her own. Just as she’d always done.

  The marquess guided Patrina from Rosecliff, leaving Juliet and Albert alone.

  They stood there in a stony silence, studying one another. His similar green eyes unyielding and victorious. Her heart tugged. This grand scheme he’d concocted, absconding with Patrina, had been nothing more than the game of a bored and desperate nobleman.

  Juliet had seen the agony of betrayal etched in the gentle lines of Patrina’s face. Albert might not have stolen the woman’s virtue, but he had worse, played with her heart, and the girl would not so easily recover. She broke the silence. “Now, what, Albert?” She arched an eyebrow. “I am here. What is next in your grand plan?”

  “Silence,” he barked. He tugged at the lapels of his jacket.

  And it occurred to her… “You didn’t believe I’d come. You never really considered what should happen now?”

  “You’ll come with me,” he said as though he’d solved the great question of the universe. “Now.” He gripped her by the arm and steered her from the cottage, back out into the driving rain.

  Wind whipped around them, as they made the long walk down the cobbled path. Through the steady downpour she squinted in the distance at Lord Drake’s carriage. The velvet curtains fluttered, and she swore Patrina peered out the window in her direction.

  Juliet lifted her hand in parting, as the carriage pulled away, taking with it the last remainder of her life with Jonathan. The pain of losing him could not be more great than if she’d been cleaved in two..

  “Come on, then,” Albert shouted into the wind.

  With each step, as she allowed him to drag her from Rosecliff Cottage she considered just how much of her life had been controlled by others. Her safety, her security all rested in the hands of men. Unreliable gentlemen; a guardian who’d gone missing, an uncle who’d but seen her mayhap twice in her life, a brother who saw her as nothing more than a piece to be wagered in a game of chance.

  She ground her feet to a halt, as they reached the gate. Water ran down her cheeks, into her mouth. “I’m not going with you,” she shouted.

  He dashed the rain from his eyes. “Of course you are.”

  Juliet shook her head. “No. I’m not.”

  “What will you do? Go back and become Sinclair’s whore?”

  She shook her head. She didn’t know what she would do, or where she would go. She only knew she’d tired of having her life dictated by controlling gentleman. “You always hated me, haven’t you?”

  Albert spit into the rain. “I have. You were Papa’s everything. He saw me as nothing more than a disappointment, a weak failure. To him you were perfect. Flawless.”

  Her eyes widened with a dawning horror as that summer day more than nine years ago made some kind of sickening sense. “That is why you pushed me from the tree.” After that day, with her crippled leg, she’d been perfect no longer. What level of depravity could drive one to do such a thing? With that one act he’d turned her into a cripple who’d forever had to bear snide comments and pitying, oftentimes cruel glances. Again the stark difference between Albert and Jonathan who so loved his sisters stood more vivid than any sketch in her book.

  Albert reached for her arm, and she reeled away from him. “Go. Go back to London and squander what is left of Papa’s efforts, but you’ll not use me to advance your goals at the gaming hells.”

  Seething fury twisted Albert’s face, and she continued backing away from him. She registered the moment his silent rage gave way to resignation. Wordlessly, he spun on his heel and stalked off. Juliet stood there in the howling wind, rain stinging her face, folded her arms across her chest, and tried to determine where an unwed lady went from here.

  Chapter 19

  Four days later

  Jonathan dismounted from his horse, Beauty and tossed the reins to a waiting servant. He brushed a hand over the three-days’ growth of beard upon his cheeks, he was in desperate need of a bath, a change of garments, some rest, and a stiff drink. He climbed the steps to his townhouse. His butler, Smith, threw the doors open and he sailed inside.

  “How do you do, my lord?” the deaf, Smith shouted his greeting. />
  Jonathan managed a weary nod, and handed his cloak off to the servant. As he stepped into the marble foyer, he didn’t know what he expected. His sisters’ cries combined in a symphony of sadness, perhaps. Mother, wan and shaken. Only silence met him.

  Jonathan hadn’t known silence in the nineteen years since Patrina had been born. He looked to Smith expectantly. “Where is the countess?”

  The old servant arched an eyebrow. “Congratulations, my lord on your win!” he shouted in return.

  “My win…?” he mouthed.

  “Your contest win, my lord.” Smith’s booming voice thundered off the walls.

  “I didn’t win a contest,” Jonathan said with a shake of his head. “I…oh hell, never mind,” he said under his breath and started for his office. He’d locate her himself.

  First, he would have a drink. Perhaps several drinks of liquid resolve, before he was forced to admit to his mother his great failure in finding Patrina and Marshville. He’d ridden his mount hard and furious. He’d stopped at the inns along the way to Gretna Green. There had been no hint of the dastard who’d absconded with his sister. In the end, it was as though his sister and Marshville had disappeared like the wisp of fog.

  He reached his office, and touched his fingers to the handle of the door. When raised voices split the silence of the corridor, Jonathan glanced down toward the library. Poppy’s high-pitched voice carried to him. He wiped his hand across his eyes, wanting nothing more than that damned drink. Alas, he’d failed in his ability to protect Patrina, he must at least have the courage to face his mother and admit as much. With a curse he shifted directions and made his way down the hall, and to the library.

  “I don’t care. You’re horrid. Horrid, horrid. And I’ll say it as often as I like. I—”

  Jonathan opened the door, and Poppy’s tirade died on her lips.

  Three pairs of unblinking eyes met Jonathan’s. Then with a cry, Poppy sprinted across the room, and hurtled herself into his arms.

  He folded his youngest sister in his arms. A vise-like pressure squeezed about his heart as he considered how he’d failed her. How he’d failed all of them.

  “Where have you been, Jonathan?” Penelope stomped over, a frown on her lips. “It has been days.”

  “Four days,” Poppy supplied helpfully.

  Prudence wrung her hands. She took a step backward. Then another. And another. All the while, her gaze remained focused on the door.

  He set Poppy back on her feet. “Where is Mother?”

  Poppy slashed a hand through the air. “She’s at Lord Stinkley—”

  “Pinkley,” Prudence muttered under her breath.

  Poppy and Penelope shot glares in her direction, and the eldest of his sisters present went silent.

  “As I was saying,” Poppy continued, clearing her throat. “She is at Lord Stinkley’s, and we are here with…with…” She jabbed a finger in Prudence’s direction, and immediately ended Prudence’s slow flight. “That one.”

  So, Mother continued to put in appearances. He sighed. Her efforts would be for naught. It was only a matter of time before the truth of Patrina’s actions came to light. “Where is Miss Marshville?” he said tiredly, needing to see her with a desperation that should have terrified him, if he wasn’t so bloody exhausted. He tugged out his watch fob and consulted the time. Ten o’clock in the evening.

  His sisters really should be abed. He knew he’d given Juliet her evenings free, but this chaos certainly merited attending. He stuffed his timepiece back into his rumpled jacket pocket. And registered the absolute stillness of the room.

  His sisters had gone uncharacteristically silent. He looked at them. “What?” An ill sense of foreboding snaked through him.

  Poppy’s lower lip began to tremble, and she promptly burst into tears.

  All three girls began shouting at one another all at once, jabbing fingers in each other’s general direction.

  “Your fault…”

  “I didn’t…”

  “Horrid…”

  Bone-weary from having ridden for four straight days with very little rest, Jonathan found himself remarkably short of patience. “Silence!” he thundered.

  The girls went quiet. Eyes wide.

  “Where. Is. Miss. Marshville?” he bit out, looking between them.

  Prudence’s gaze slid away from his guiltily.

  His heart paused. “What is it?” he asked quietly. He fell to a knee beside Poppy, and took her by the shoulders. “What is it?”

  “Oh, J-Jonathan,” Poppy said as tears again filled her eyes. She shook her head back and forth.

  “I didn’t…” Prudence snapped. “I…” She closed her mouth, and glanced away from him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Miss Marsh is gone,” Penelope blurted.

  A loud buzzing droned in his ears, and he reflexively tightened his grip upon his sister’s shoulders.

  “Jonathan,” Poppy winced.

  He released her suddenly, and sank back on his haunches. “Gone?” he repeated blankly. His tired mind tried to process the disjointed conversation. “What do you mean, gone?”

  Prudence’s lower lip trembled, and with a cry she fled the room. She slammed the door in her wake; it shook in its foundations.

  An impending sense of doom turned his legs to lead. He shoved himself awkwardly to his feet, and did a small circle around the room.

  Penelope spoke so quickly her words blurred together. “Prudence told Mother horrid…” Poppy gave her a pointed look. “Er…Awful things about Miss Marsh. She said Miss Marsh was your fancy piece. Mother insisted Miss Marsh leave. And still Miss Marsh left to help f-find Patrina…and…” Her voice broke, and she began to weep copious amounts of tears.

  He dimly registered her piteous reaction. He knew he should go over and offer comfort to his two sisters, huddled shoulder-to-shoulder crying. Jonathan shook his head. He’d heard them wrong. Gone. Juliet had left. Surely his sisters were wrong, because if Juliet had, in fact, left him, she would have taken his bloody fool heart with her, and… He touched a hand to his chest, and the organ still beat hard so she must be here. “I don’t…” Nothing was making sense. He stalked over to the sideboard. He sloshed several fingerfuls of whiskey into the glass and raised the glass to his lips. He finished it in a single swallow, embracing the fiery path it burned in its wake. Jonathan set it down hard, and took a deep breath. “Now, where is Miss Marsh?”

  Penelope wrapped an arm around Poppy’s shoulders. “She’s gone,” she said with far more seriousness than he’d ever come to know from his thirteen-year-old sister.

  He shook his head back and forth.

  “Mother turned her out,” Penelope went on.

  “Turned her out,” he repeated dumbly. Then of a sudden it made sense. Mother had learned Juliet’s identity. Knowing his mother and how she’d been that morning, four days past, she’d surely blamed Juliet.

  And turned her out. Fear spiraled throughout his body at the idea of Juliet on her own. A woman of her beauty would have little chance at maintaining her innocence when presented with the lecherous, desirous fiends who moved about Society.

  “Why?”

  Patrina stepped into the room. “It is my fault, Jonathan.”

  The whiskey tumbled from his fingers and shattered on the hardwood. He crossed the room and in four long strides reached her, but jerked to a halt when her eyes welled with tears.

  She gave her head a slight shake. “I am so sorry,” she whispered brokenly. “I’ve been an unmitigated ass. I believed he loved me. He was the only gentleman to pay me any note in two Seasons, and it mattered not that he was a baronet and I should have assumed no gentleman would truly have any interest in one such as m—”

  “Stop,” he commanded. Again, guilt hammered at him. Patrina was his responsibility, just as Poppy, Penelope, and Pru. He’d had an obligation to protect her from those with disingenuous intentions…and he’d failed. Emotion clogged his throat and roughened his voice. “I sho
uld have paid closer attention, Trina,” he said, using her girlhood moniker.

  She smiled sadly up at him. “This isn’t your fault, and you cannot make it right.”

  He could. He would. There were no gentlemen who would ever be worthy of any of his sisters, but he could manage to find them good, honest men who would love and care for them. “I will. I shall find you a gentleman—”

  Through her tears, Patrina buried a laugh in her hands. “You cannot simply find me a gentleman, Jonathan.”

  He clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Of course I—”

  “Of course you can’t,” Penelope exclaimed from across the room. “You can’t simply determine what is in a lady’s heart. She loved him.”

  Poppy nodded solemnly. “Whether he was deserving or not.”

  When had his sisters become these mature, serious-sounding ladies?

  “You must find Juliet.” Patrina quietly urged.

  Juliet, another woman wronged, deserving of a good, principled man who would love and care for her—something he could never be. Not after the wrongs he’d committed against her. He dragged his hands over his face. “Where could she be?” he whispered to himself.

  Penelope shrugged. “We only know that Miss Marsh left and then Patrina came home.”

  “I’ve never seen Mother so joyous,” Penelope said.

  “But then Miss Marsh was gone by that point,” Poppy added, bringing the matter back to Juliet’s disappearance. “She went off with Lord Drake.”

  “Drake?”

  He jumped as Patrina touched her fingers to his arm. “Mother trusted he could be discreet. He came to retrieve me. He and Juliet. She,” She caught her lower lip between her teeth, “went off with him, Jonathan. I do not know where they went, but Miss Marshville insisted she would be all right, and…” She began crying once again. “Selfishly, I left her with him.”

  He touched his hand to the top of her head. “This is not your fault.” He should have been there, not just for his sister, but also for Juliet who was on her own in this world without anyone’s protection. Pain squeezed his heart. And he’d failed her, too. All exhaustion faded, as energy surged through his body, a determination to find Juliet.