A Rogue in the Making (Forever Yours Book 11)

by Stacy Reid

“Why not?” he demanded gruffly.

  Her gaze skipped to behind him once more, and a delicate flush covered her face.

  “You know,” she whispered.

  “I do not know,” he said, flatly.

  “My letter—”

  “Juliana,” he said firmly, “I do not know.”

  “Juliana—” her brother began.

  “Shut the fucking hell up,” Wentworth snapped, “Or by God I’ll not be responsible for my actions.”

  Her brother firmed his lips and his eyes narrowed but his mouth thankfully remained closed.

  “The dreams you speak of, Robert, of building our legacy and returning to our friends and family in New York I mean to fulfill. As you said earlier, the three weeks here is nothing compared to years fulfilling the wishes of our father. However, I must tell you that the connection I feel with Wentworth is far more profound. And I am ever so grateful I ran to him, for I have found something I…I never want to exist without.”

  All the apprehension drained away, replaced by delight. The hollowness retreated and his heart surged back to life, pounding wildly.

  “I love you,” she said. Juliana’s voice was not steady but quavered with her feelings. “Thoughts and dreams of more money or business have never given me the happiness I feel with you. With you I dream of…of bathtubs…and star gazing, laughing, and walking in the woods, discussing ventures, even gossiping about the locals. With you I see a future rich in laughter and children and anything I want because I finally understand what I have been seeing in your eyes. It is love…one that will lift me up unconditionally.”

  No one spoke.

  “I would have chased you to the end of the world…and then I would have stayed by your side.”

  With a sob, she hurtled toward him and flung herself into his arms, raining kisses over her chin and jaw.

  “Utterly scandalous and so delightful!” Henriette cried somewhere behind them.

  Wentworth ignored whoever still lingered, hugging Juliana tightly in his arms. “I love you,” he said against her temple. “I love you so damn much Juliana. Marry me.”

  “Yes.” She lifted her face from where it had been buried against his throat. She touched a gentle finger to the corner of his mouth. “Yes. For our honeymoon I want to show you New York.”

  He brushed the lightest kiss against her mouth. “I vow to you I shall never disappoint you. Nor fail to do everything within my power to see your dreams fulfilled”

  Then he turned around to see the staff had dispersed, his mother and aunt taking them to task and shooing them away in the distance.

  “I’ll line them up and give them a most severe lecture,” he said. “Should they dare relate any scandal from our home we’ll sack them.”

  She laughed. “Now would also be a good time to inform them of their generous end of year bonus.”

  “A good move that.”

  “I know,” she said smugly. Then she sobered, shifting around to see her brother walking away.

  “Robert!”

  He paused.

  “I am not giving up! I intend to follow the dreams I had.”

  He made no reply, but he remained still.

  “I am simply expanding them into something far richer and beautiful. I promise we will visit New York often and we shall write each other all the time.”

  He turned around and it humbled Wentworth to see that the man’s eyes were dampened. He walked toward him, and Robert met him half way.

  Wentworth held out his hands, and her brother took it.

  “I’ll cherish and protect her for all of our days. Your blessing would make Juliana happy.”

  Robert’s gaze swept over him, taking in Wentworth’s bare chest and feet.

  “Are you certain you are an earl?”

  “I was always a little bit different.”

  The man smiled. “I do believe you suit each other well. Juliana was always a little bit different too.”

  He stepped back, held out his arms and she walked into them, hugging her brother. “I love you, Robert.”

  He smiled. “I love you too. I will remain in England for a short time. No need to rush home now that you’re staying.”

  She pulled away, laughing delighted. “How long will you stay for.”

  “Until the wedding.”

  “Why that is at least a year—”

  “We’ll be married by next week, with our honeymoon to New York in short succession,” Wentworth said. How could she imagine he would allow her to wait so long to become his wife, his lover, his countess?

  She rushed back into his arms, laughing as she kissed his mouth. Forgetting about her brother as if the man did not stand there watching them, she kissed Wentworth with breathtaking sweetness.

  Three weeks later…

  “I cannot believe Christmas is next week,” Juliana said, fitting a pine cone into the large Christmas tree decorating the large drawing room.

  “I still cannot believe you are my wife.”

  She sent him a scandalized look. “That is what you cannot believe? Even though we celebrate that happy event so wickedly repeatedly every night and then sneak away often during the days.”

  A choking sound came from the doorway, and they both looked around to see his mother standing there, her cheeks red.

  “Oh!” Juliana said, and then it was her turn to blush.

  Wentworth chuckled unashamedly and winked at his countess. She in turn tried to pinch his arm discreetly but his mother saw, for an amused gleam entered her gaze.

  “I purchased a few gifts for the servants and wondered where to leave them,” the dowager countess stated, trying to correctly pretend not hearing Juliana’s words.

  Juliana’s eyes lit up. “I went into the village and bought them all gifts as well.”

  Juliana and his mother left the room, their head bent close. As he stared after them, a powerful feeling of happiness swelled through Wentworth’s heart. He was damn glad his wife had such a lush backside. If he hadn’t been so distracted perhaps he would have been so ensconced in his scholarly pursuits he would have missed her.

  Immediately he dismissed the notion.

  If not her lush derriere, her eyes, or her smile, something would have arrested his attention upon her, and that experiment would have still happened.

  He concluded the experiment had been a total success with perfect results. So great he may even write a paper about it, tentatively titled, The Making of a Rogue. It was an experiment that he was happy to spend the rest of his life continuing and enjoying.

  Thank you for reading A Rogue in the Making!

  I hope you enjoyed the journey to happy ever after for Wentworth & Juliana. Reviews are Gold to Authors, for they are a very important part of reaching readers, and I do hope you will consider leaving an honest review on Amazon adding to my rainbow. It does not have to be lengthy, a simple sentence or two will do. Just know that I will appreciate your efforts sincerely.

  If you loved that sneak peek at Viscount Worsley, he has his own book—Sins of Viscount Worsley, and if you’ve not read it, you can grab a copy here!

  I am also extremely excited to share with you an exclusive excerpt of book 2 in my Sinful Wallflower series releasing in December. I adored writing this book and I hope you guys will love the peek into Nicolas and Maryann’s journey to happy ever after!

  Continue reading for a sneak peek into the next book of the series

  Her Wicked Marquess

  Sinful Wallflower Book 2

  Excerpt

  Chapter 5

  An hour after escaping the ball, Maryann was unable to fall into sleep. It felt a bit cowardly running from immediately facing the events she had set into motion. Will it work? was the question that had rattled in her thoughts during the carriage ride to home. Lord Stamford had seemed so…almost frightening in his intensity. What would he do upon hearing the rumors? Surely, he would be so incensed that he would cancel whatever negotiations had been started with her family.
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  If the earl and her parents proved stubborn, then Maryann supposed she would have to act in a far wickeder manner. Perhaps even kiss the damn marquess with witnesses about. Her belly went hot with need. Maryann scowled. She wanted the marquess, and nothing seemed strong enough—certainly not his reputation, to make her stop wanting that dratted rake.

  And how would she even achieve getting him to kiss her?

  We must be daring and take what we need instead of waiting, wasting away on the shelves our families and society have placed us on.

  How brave she had been when she had said those words to her friends. She felt none of that courage now, her stomach knotted with nerves at her daring. It was a bit terrifying to imagine herself subject to wagging tongues and drawing room discussions. Publicly, she had always held back her true nature, careful with every thought and deed since she had been reprimanded for being too opinionated. And now to plunge herself under the cruel optics of the ton…

  By habit, she fixed the glasses perched so perfectly on her face, then padded from her room to the smaller library situated on the second floor. The best thing to do was read a book to calm her whirling thoughts.

  It took a few minutes of searching the shelves before she decided on a title. Only Crispin would have bought such a book and slipped it on the bookshelves for her. Maryann adored gothic romances, the darker and scarier, the better. Her nerves feeling steadier, she hurried up the winding staircase to the third floor and to her bedchamber.

  Twisting the knob, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She removed her spectacles, folded them, and placed them on her dressing table. She did not need them for reading, only for seeing those far away images. It was more by habit they rested on her face for so long.

  She padded over to the gas lamp, intending to brighten the room, and faltered. A strange feeling assailed Maryann, a cold prickling along her spine. Something…or someone lingered in the darkened chamber. Maryann paused in the center of her room, raw fear and vulnerability cascading through her. Pressing the book across her chest, she waited, her heart thudding too painfully.

  She couldn’t say what gave her the impression that she was no longer alone. The fireplace burned low and the lamp had been turned down. Her bedroom was cast in more shadows than light.

  “Is someone here?”

  Feeling a bit foolish, she turned slowly, peering at the spot above her bed, beyond the billowing diaphanous pink canopy over her bedposts. The darkest corner in the room. The longer she peered, the more the shadows twisted and took form, mocking the bravery she tried to conjure. It was from there she felt the sensation of eyes…wickedly caressing over her body.

  The wind kicked and the thick blue and silver drapes billowed. Her throat closed, stealing her breath. The windows had been closed when she left earlier for the library. Oh God!

  She inched toward her bedroom door and the shadows twisted, and a formed seemed to move behind her bed toward the same direction. With a gasp, she dropped the book and rushed toward the mantel where a rapier was mounted. Maryann grabbed the hilt, lifting it from the sheath, and held it away from, her pointing at the ground. Perhaps she should have tried to rush for the door, hoping to beat whoever lingered in the shadows. She was certain someone was there, and if it proved to be her imagination, she could laugh at herself later. It was better to be armed, and she was very skilled with rapiers and knives thanks to Uncle William and Crispin.

  And what if your intruder has a pistol?

  Pushing the thoughts from her frantic mind, she lifted the sword and balanced on her bare feet. “Show yourself, whoever you are! Gh…Ghost or man!”

  An odd choking nose, almost like stifled laughter sounded in the air.

  If someone did come out of the shadows, she would scream, though she feared that would be in vain. Her papa was at his club still, and mamma and Crispin at the ball Maryann had left earlier with the excuse of a headache.

  She sensed the movements before she saw it, and polished boots appeared at the bottom of her bed. Maryann didn’t dare try to take a breath. In truth, breath had been sucked right out of her. The silence in her chamber felt perilous. Those boots stepped forward and Nicolas St. Ives, Marquess Rothbury appeared.

  For several long moments, her mind blanked.

  This man was dissolute, reckless, a gambler, a great participant of sensual debauchery, unprincipled and uncaring that he owned such a wicked reputation.

  And he is here…in my bedchamber, oh, dear.

  A heart-pounding awareness burned through her with fiery intensity. Even with the barely discernable light, and most of his figure cloaked in dancing shadows, she recognized those slashing cheekbones, and piercing brilliance of his green eyes which seemed to glitter under winged brows. A shadow of a beard accentuated the harsh sensuality of his cheekbones and the hard lines of his jaw.

  Her stomach did a frightening flip. Maryann stared astonished, her hand lowering as if it had a will of its own, until the point of the rapier touched the soft carpet. “I… You!”

  “Yes,” he drawled darkly. “Me.”

  Good heavens! Maryann was unable to take her eyes off him, uncaring that she was speechlessly staring, belatedly realizing he too stared. Except his regard was predatory. To her dismay her cheeks went frightfully hot, her throat and belly too, an entirely unexpected and mortifying reaction.

  The corner of his mouth hitched, but the eyes pinning her in place were unfathomable and watchful. She had never been this close to him before, and her pulse skittered alarmingly. Maryann drew a deep breath, trying to calm the wild pounding of her heart. The sensation of his stare alone was like that of a hawk. The charming and ever smiling rake was not present and confusion rushed through her. She had observed him numerous times in the ton, unable to help the unwelcomed attraction she felt for someone so feckless.

  He had never seemed so silent…so dangerous.

  He was garbed in black trousers and jacket, with a blue waistcoat, and an expertly tied cravat. His raven hair was impeccably styled, curling softly at his nape. The man was unquestionably handsome, but that did not mean she should be admiring his male beauty when he had revealed himself to be a villain. At a slight shift from him, his face was enveloped by the darkness. Though she could no longer discern his features, she felt his gaze in the erratic beat of her pulse, and in the strange warmth fluttering low in her belly.

  “Why are you here?” she demanded shakily.

  He moved slowly, deliberately, almost leisurely toward her, and her heart kicked a furious rhythm.

  She needed her wits about her, and it was crucial for her to appear unflappable. “You rogue,” she said with a great deal of bravado, lifting the rapier to point at his chest. “How dare you break into my home and come into my chamber?”

  Even more alarming, how did he know this was her bedchamber? The shocking audacity of the man dispossessed her of all rational thoughts. At the speed of a frightened horse, visions of true ruin, of being ravished by this libertine flashed in her thoughts.

  “How positively astonishing, I do not believe you are afraid,” he murmured provocatively.

  “Is that what you expected? Hysteria?”

  “At least a swoon and a mild attack of vapors,” he said with a soft yet icy bite. “But here I am facing a racoon instead of a timid mouse.”

  A racoon? Though she had never seen one, Maryann had read about the creatures, knowing they can be small and fierce, but are also considered pests. She narrowed her gaze at him. “I am well past the first bloom of youth; I think I am allowed the liberties of some eccentricities not normally credited to the female sex. That would be courage, if you are not of a mind to follow my arguments.”

  “How smart-mouthed you are,” he said, his gaze intense on her mouth.

  Curious, she lifted her fingers to her lips. Why is he staring at my mouth?

  To her utter shock, he lifted the silver head cane in his grip and withdrew his own blade. Did the man mean to cross swords wit
h her? How utterly intriguing. Most gentlemen would be appalled and outrage that she would lift a rapier in their presence, thinking her unequal to the task and audacious for even thinking it.

  Not you though. There was an unmissable glint of intrigue in his eyes.

  Her breath trembled on her lips and a dangerous thrill burst in her heart, and it took every lesson in discipline she’d ever had to remain composed.

  Her reaction was unpardonable.

  Pointing her weapon toward his knees, she mockingly saluted him. His gaze insolently caressed from her head to the tip of her toes, which she curled reflexively into the carpet. Conscious that she was only dressed in a nightgown, and her hair tumbling down to her hips, Maryann tried to present a self-assured mien.

  “Do you mean to skewer me, Lady Maryann?”

  He knew her name. Of course, he did! His presence in her chamber was not by mistake. Before she could demand anymore what his presence meant, he lifted his sword and tapped it against hers, as if to say lower your arms. That clink echoed in the chamber.

  “What are your intentions?” she said with a smile, unable to contain the reckless exhilaration busting inside. She flicked her rapier upward, light, and graceful, then slashing downward hoping to disarm him.

  With impressive reflexes, he repelled her move, advancing forward with a lightning quick attack which she dodged, and counter attacked. With agile speed and grace, he parried, and Maryann slid her bare feet across the carpet, attacking and defending in the tight circle he placed them.

  Unable to help it she chuckled softly, and his mouth twitched slightly.

  The testing of each other skills accomplished, he lowered his sword, and in the brilliance of his gaze she saw something akin to admiration. Holding her sword in the en-garde position, she followed his lead, walking in a circle, assessing him as surely as he studied her. With a sense of bewilderment, she recognized beneath her apprehension there was a dark thrill to be sparring with him like this in her chamber.

  Silly! For she did not know this man at all, and what he wanted.