“Childish ultimatums? Childish, mind you?” Striding up to him with her gown in tow, she poked him in the chest. “You have the audacity to call me childish, when you’re the one who refuses to do the right thing!”
“Now see here, Juliet, I didn’t mean—”
“Oh yes, you did! You think I haven’t changed a bit in two years. You think you can just order me about in that condescending tone, and I’ll do exactly as you say. And if I deign to disagree or want matters handled another way, you call me childish.”
“I didn’t call you childish!” But he could feel her slipping from his grasp.
She ignored his protest, that blasted finger of hers continuing to stab his chest. “If that’s what you think of me, you…you arrogant, pistol-shooting bully, then you are sadly mistaken. I was a fool the first time I let you tell me what to do. I let you convince me that eloping and sneaking about were better than going right to my father and telling him everything. Well, I’ll be damned if I let you convince me to do it again!”
She poked him again, and he grabbed her finger. “Juliet, be sensible. You don’t want to upset your family needlessly—”
“That’s what you said the last time.” Jerking her hand free, she snatched up her gown and shimmied into it.
Devil take her impeccable memory. “It isn’t the same, and you know it.”
“Only because this time you aren’t kidnapping me under the erroneous belief that you can maneuver everything to your satisfaction—”
“Erroneous!” he exploded. “I succeeded, didn’t I?”
“Except for putting my family in danger and destroying my reputation. I suppose you’re perfectly happy to see me maligned by every loose tongue while you wait for your precious brother to return!”
“If you marry me,” he bit out, “whatever small rumors there are won’t matter, will they? Unless you planned on our staying in London and becoming the cream of society.”
Her cold expression struck him hollow. “You seem to forget that my family will be hurt by gossip as much as I would. The least you can do is let them know why they’re suffering.”
She struggled to fasten her buttons. Swearing under his breath, he circled around to stand behind her and seize the edges of her gown. Though she stood rigid as a post, she dropped her hands and allowed him to fasten her up.
It felt so comfortable and natural to help her dress. If she’d only be reasonable, he could soon do it whenever he wished. Which would undoubtedly be often, since he couldn’t keep his hands off her.
He leaned close and lowered his voice. “Why the devil do you care so much about them? It’s me you’re marrying.” She bent her head to give him access to the top buttons. He swept the gossamer strands of her hair aside, his gut clenching to think that she might postpone their marriage. Over this, for God’s sake! “I’d think you’d put my wishes ahead of your family’s welfare, since I’m to be your husband.”
Until he’d said the words, he hadn’t realized how much he resented her family’s influence in her life. How much he ached to be the one who mattered most to her. Not that he would ever let her know it. He wouldn’t beg, damn it.
“Why should I do otherwise when you’re doing exactly the same—putting Morgan’s welfare before my wishes?”
He gritted his teeth, wishing she hadn’t chosen this particular moment to be so blasted logical. “So your solution is to delay the wedding.”
She shrugged. “If you won’t tell them anything—”
“I won’t.” He had to keep silent about Morgan until matters were settled.
“Then I see no other solution.”
Leaving him, she hurried to the bed and sat down to draw her stockings up her gamine legs, making his mouth go dry. She couldn’t truly mean to delay the wedding. Could she?
“How long can you keep your family in Shropshire?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant when inside he felt like a man slipping into a dangerous quagmire.
She wouldn’t look at him as she tied her garters, then put on her half boots. “Actually, I was thinking that my family and I ought to return to London. The longer we stay away, the more chance there is for the gossip to take hold. Now that we know you didn’t start it, we should find out who did, and nip it in the bud before it becomes nasty.”
The quagmire deepened; he sank to his knees in it. “You won’t stay here?”
“It’s not as if we could stay until Morgan returns, you know. As you said, it might be ‘weeks, even months.’”
No doubt she took great delight in throwing his own words back in his teeth. “I can’t leave here until he returns.”
“Of course not,” she said tersely. “You stay and take care of your brother, and when you’ve got it all settled and you’re ready to speak to my family, come to London.” She added in a small voice, “That is, unless you change your mind about marrying me.”
“I won’t change my mind.” Now his chest was going under, now his neck. He couldn’t breathe for the thought of her actually leaving him. “At least tell your family we’re engaged to be married.”
Rising from the bed, she faced him with shoulders set. “But we’re not. And we won’t be until you tell them the truth.” Then she turned and strode toward the door.
In a panic, he crossed the room to grab her by the arm. “You promised you’d be my wife if I told you the truth, and I did. Your family doesn’t figure into the agreement.”
She lifted her clear-eyed gaze to him. “As I recall, the terms were that if I didn’t like what you had to say, I could do as I pleased.”
“Blast it, Juliet, I ruined you! And I take responsibility for my actions.”
“Except when it conflicts with your notions about your duty to your family.”
“I have a responsibility to my brother, too.”
“As I do to my family.”
Which was absurd. Her family wasn’t in danger. They deserved nothing from him. No matter what she claimed, this wasn’t about responsibility. It was another of her little tricks—meant to force him into doing what she wanted. Well, he had a few tricks of his own up his sleeve.
“What if I tell Knighton that I’ve taken your innocence? Then he’ll insist that you marry me at once.”
Anger and hurt mingled in her lovely features. “You’d really do that to me? Shame me before him?”
He squelched ruthlessly any twinges of guilt. “Better that you suffer a little shame now than a great deal of shame later if you should find yourself with child. So yes, I’ll tell him if I must.”
That stubborn little chin of hers shot up a notch. “Go ahead. Then I’ll tell him who you really are, and it will all be out in the open, won’t it?”
“You’re going to do that anyway,” he growled.
She flinched. “No, of course not. They deserve to hear it from you. If I tell them, they’ll think I’m trying to cover it up for you. They won’t believe you did it for a good reason, and they’ll want your head. So I’m not saying a word until you tell them, whenever that is.”
He gaped at her. “You expect me to believe that you’ll keep quiet, even though you have every reason not to?”
“I don’t give a farthing what you believe,” she whispered, wrenching free of his hold. Her lovely eyes shimmered with tears. “If you can’t see that I care about you enough to want to protect you, then that is your problem.”
She started for the door, and he stood there frozen. She cared as much as all the others who’d chosen to leave him. They, too, had always had what they thought were perfectly good reasons to go.
His mother’s reason had been love, that dubious emotion. His father’s had been freedom. His uncle’s reason had been the glitter and excitement of London and Bath. Even Morgan had initially possessed a rational reason to ignore all familial ties—his duty to his country.
At least that one was noble. The rest were all as flimsy and self-serving as Juliet’s. And they all bore the same results—Sebastian was left alone with his r
esponsibilities, left alone to take care of everything, eternally alone.
Fine. He always managed to get through it before, and this time was no different. The alternative was to dance to her tune—or beg—and he’d be damned if he did either. Not since he was a child had he begged anyone to stay. Grown men didn’t beg. And he sure as the devil wouldn’t beg her.
She halted in the doorway and glanced back at him, suddenly uncertain. “You’ll be all right here?”
“I’ve done without you for most of my life, Juliet,” he bit out. “I think I can manage a few more weeks.”
She paled. “Yes, of course you can. How stupid of me to think you might miss me.” She turned to walk out the door.
Oh Christ, of course he’d miss her. How could she think otherwise?
“Juliet?” he said, on the verge of telling her that very thing.
Then she gazed back at him, her face hopeful, as if she half expected him to tell her he’d forget about his brother and his duty. And the words—too close to begging for his comfort—drained from him. He sighed. “You’ll send word if you find yourself with child, won’t you?”
The hope died in her face. “Of course.”
“Because I’ll come to London at once if you do.”
“Yes, I’m sure you will.” Her voice was laced with sarcasm. “That responsibility would be impossible for you to ignore, even for your brother’s sake.”
He nodded, not sure what to say.
“Well, I’d better go,” she said briskly, though her eyes looked suspiciously watery. “Whenever Morgan returns and you’ve settled your ‘sticky negotiations,’ you’ll find me in London. Good-bye, Sebastian.”
She swept through the door, and suddenly he was thirteen again, hearing about his mother and how she’d abandoned him because his father didn’t love her and she preferred “love” with another man to caring for her eldest son.
A powerful rage came over him, propelling him to hurry to the top of the staircase. He watched Juliet descend the steps he’d carried her up only a few hours before. Devil take the stubborn wench! He wanted to race down the stairs, catch her in his arms, and kiss her until she agreed to marry him at once. But he’d be damned if he’d give in to her manipulations.
Let her go back to blasted London with her blasted family. If she refused to marry him until she got what she wanted, then she could damned well wait on his leisure. He would not let her wrap him around her little finger! He had important responsibilities, and the sooner she learned that, the better.
Now if only he didn’t feel as if the quagmire had finally swallowed him whole.
Chapter 18
Trifles light as air
Are to the jealous confirmations strong
As proofs of holy writ.
Shakespeare’s Othello, underlined in
Griff Knighton’s copy of the play
J uliet had ridden halfway back to Charnwood when she heard a shot fired in the distance behind her. For a second, she panicked. Surely Sebastian wouldn’t hurt himself…
Then came another pistol shot, and she realized how stupid an idea that was. Sebastian didn’t even care enough about her to do as she asked. He certainly didn’t care enough to kill himself. He cared so little that he’d gone right back to his target practice.
How very appropriate. He could make a pistol behave exactly as he wished, which was all he cared about. A pistol didn’t ask him for anything as foolish as loyalty or support or…or even affection.
Tears burned her eyes, and her shoulders began to heave again. She didn’t stop the tears. She couldn’t. Dratted stupid scoundrel! It was so like him to want everything his way. He’d only told her the truth after he was sure he had her where he wanted her. And then to refuse to tell her family—
Very well, he could molder out there until doomsday for all she cared, him and his infernal pistols and his precious brother. But if he thought she would marry him without reassuring her family that all was well, then he could think again. She was right, drat it, and he knew it! He owed it to her to be truthful to her family.
Charnwood loomed up ahead, and she swiped furiously at her tears. Nobody must ever know of this. They’d try to make her marry him immediately. Or worse, try to hurt him. She ought to let them; Lord knew the wretch deserved it. But she couldn’t betray him like that.
Even if it restored her to the position of featherheaded ninny in her family’s eyes. Which she clearly was, anyway. Why else had she allowed herself to fall in love not once, but twice with a man who cared so little for her?
Except that this time she’d ruined herself in the process.
Oh, what did it matter? If the rumors got any worse, she’d be ruined anyway. Besides, it wasn’t as if she wanted to marry anybody else. If she couldn’t marry Sebastian, she wouldn’t marry at all. And right now, the possibility of marrying Sebastian looked decidedly shaky. The longer he locked himself away in Shropshire, the less inclined he’d be to marry. After all, it wasn’t as if he had any strong feelings toward her that made him want marriage.
She blinked back more tears. When he’d said those words about needing her, she’d let herself hope that he truly did. But clearly he needed her to soothe his conscience, nothing more. Very well, if he wanted his conscience soothed, he’d have to come after her in London. Because she wasn’t letting Sebastian Blakely tell her what to do anymore.
The setting sun pierced through some branches, blinding her with light, and she suddenly realized how late it was. Oh, dear, this wasn’t good. Griff and Rosalind had surely returned by now. She hastened around to the orangery door where Polly was supposed to be waiting, but there was no sign of the maid. Dismounting quickly, she tied the horse to a nearby tree and slipped inside. She’d have to send Polly to bring it to the stables once she reached the safety of her bedchamber.
Praying that no one saw her, she nearly wept with relief when she made it to the door of her bedchamber without being accosted. But when she opened her door to sneak inside, all hell broke loose.
“Where on earth have you been?” Griff shot up from a chair by the hearth. “We’ve been worried sick.”
Juliet froze in the doorway, her heart tripping double-time. Goodness gracious, this was pure disaster. In the corner, Polly stood looking ill at ease. She’d obviously been kept there so she couldn’t warn Juliet off. And a white-faced Rosalind sat rigid on the bed.
When Juliet glanced to her sister in a panic, Rosalind gave a tiny shake of her head. So Rosalind hadn’t told Griff anything. And now she probably expected Juliet to lie for her.
Even as Juliet rebelled at the thought, she mustered her energy to do so. Because if she didn’t, Rosalind and Griff would be at odds again, and she couldn’t bear to see it. Just because her own chances at happiness were melting away didn’t mean theirs had to.
She faced her brother-in-law calmly. “I went riding. What of it?”
He strode forward. “You’re supposed to be resting, that’s what of it! I thought you were too ill to travel, and here you are gadding about the countryside. And alone, at that.”
“I woke up feeling much better today, that’s all.”
His eyes narrowed. “Rosalind told me you were so ill this morning, you could barely raise your head.”
Juliet winced as her sister groaned. They really should have compared notes. “Well, I…um…”
“Polly, you may leave,” Griff said tersely, and the maid gratefully fled.
As soon as she was gone, he crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s going on here? What have you two been up to?”
“Nothing!” they said in unison.
He rounded on Rosalind. “I’m not an idiot, you know. Juliet has never been sick a day in her life and suddenly she’s stayed ill for a week? And wouldn’t allow a doctor near? I thought I could trust you to tell me if I had reason to be suspicious, but obviously I was wrong. You’ve both been plotting behind my back. And I demand to know why!”
As Rosalind sat there
uselessly fumbling for words, Juliet stepped forward. “I wasn’t ready to leave Shropshire yet, that’s all. So I pretended to be sick.”
“Might that have anything to do with that scoundrel Templemore?” His face darkened to a shade of red that boded ill for both of them. “You’ve been meeting him in secret, haven’t you? I wondered why he was always absent, and now I know why.”
“That’s not true!” Juliet protested. Oh, dear, was her loss of virtue written in her face for the whole world to see? Or was he merely guessing?
“All this time, you pretended to be ill while you crept out to meet him. Damn it, Juliet, I thought better of you than this. But I won’t let him take advantage of you as his brother did. A worse pair of wretches I’ve never encountered. When I get my hands on the bastard—”
“Please, Griff—” Juliet began, alarmed at the thought of what he might do or say to Sebastian.
“This has nothing to do with his lordship,” Rosalind broke in wearily. “Juliet did it all for me.”
A rush of relief hit Juliet. “Rosalind, you don’t need to—”
“It’s all right, dearest,” her sister said. “I shouldn’t make you fight my battles.”
Griff stiffened. He searched his wife’s face, and then his features went stony. Turning back to Juliet, he said, “Lord Templemore has nothing to do with this?”
“Nothing at all,” she lied. The last thing she needed was Griff confronting Sebastian in his current state. Sebastian would add fuel to the fire by saying he’d compromised her, and before she knew it, the two men would be marking off paces in a field somewhere.
“Then it won’t matter to either of you if we return to London?” he asked.
“Actually,” Juliet said, “I was going to suggest that we return anyway. I went riding precisely because I’d grown tired of staying cooped up in my room. I’m ready to go back to London whenever you two are.”
Griff nodded, apparently satisfied by that answer. “Good.” He held out his arm to his wife. “Come now, Rosalind, let’s leave Juliet to pack. I think you and I have a few matters to discuss in private.”
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