Unraveled By The Rebel

by Michelle Willingham

  “Thank you.” The room had not been aired out, nor were there fresh bed linens. Even so, he recognized the room as one that must have belonged to the daughters of Lord Lanfordshire. The rose wallpaper and gilt chairs made that evident enough. Juliette herself might have slept in this room, as a young girl.

  “I will send up a scullery maid to prepare the room for you.” With that, the butler left him alone.

  Paul set down his belongings and went to open the window. The grim streets, the harsh odors, and the bustle of people made him yearn for the green hills of Scotland. He couldn’t imagine what had brought Juliette back here. Did she truly want to live in London?

  He didn’t belong in a place like this, a city of strangers. He ran a hand over the roughened stubble on his cheeks. After nearly two weeks of traveling, he looked terrible. Over and over, he questioned why he was here.

  Everything Juliette had done was a contradiction. With her words, she’d told him that she would never consider marriage to any man. And yet, with her actions, she’d sought him out. She’d allowed him to embrace her.

  He wanted to believe that there could be something between them once more. That he could heal the invisible wounds that haunted her, those that made her believe she could not marry.

  He would not press her; he would only offer his friendship. And perhaps, in time, it would grow into something more. If that meant finding his way about all the rules of London society, taking on the identity of his uncle’s heir, well, he’d do whatever was necessary.

  He opened up the writing desk with the intent of penning a note, when he spied a sheaf of crumpled paper scraps. They were written in Juliette’s hand, and each appeared to be an unfinished letter. All were addressed to him.

  The first said only: Dear Paul. The second note had a single sentence: I miss you. The third letter began with a greeting and the words: I don’t know how to say this to you. The ink was blurred, as if she’d been crying. It was dated October of 1810, after the attack.

  A rush of anger welled up inside him, along with the desire to kill the man who had done this to an innocent young woman. He was furious with himself that he hadn’t been there to save her.

  She had supported him, when he’d lost his father. He should have been there for her.

  Paul shut the desk, resting his hands upon the wood. God help him, he didn’t know what to do. If he investigated more, it would only draw attention to Juliette in a way that would hurt her. Few people knew of the attack, and he understood her need for secrecy.

  It complicated his plans to win her over, but he intended to convince her that the past would not change his feelings. If anything, it made him more determined.

  First, he had to make his way into her world. Physicians did not mingle with the ton—but a viscount’s heir could.

  “They see what they want to believe,” his uncle Donald Fraser had told him, a year ago. “Become a viscount in the way you dress, in the way you speak, and in the way you behave. Tell them the lies they want to hear.”

  Paul stood before his uncle, wearing a fine linen shirt, buff breeches, and a black waistcoat. His jacket was bottle green, and he’d worn his hair cropped short. Although he’d agreed to wear the clothes his uncle had purchased, they felt unfamiliar, as if he were trying to be someone he wasn’t.

  “Stand up straighter,” Donald commanded. “Behave as if you are above them all. Look bored.”

  Paul attempted to feign indifference, but no matter how he tried to mask himself behind the finery, he knew what he was. A poor crofter’s son, trying to behave like a prince. It would never work, not in a thousand years.

  “There’s nae point to this,” he argued. “I’ll ne’er be one of them.”

  “Not if you keep saying nae, that’s true enough. But to know your enemy, you must walk within his world. You must know what is important to him.”

  “Strathland’s a greedy bastard who wants land and money. I willna wear clothing like this, nor walk among the gentlemen as if I’m one of them.”

  “You’re afraid,” Fraser predicted. “You’re afraid they’ll see past your clothes to the worthless man beneath.”

  “I’m no’ worthless.”

  His uncle’s face grew taut. “Then prove it. You may be my heir at the moment, but I’ve many years left to live. I’ll not hand over an allowance to a man who can’t even speak properly.”

  “I havena asked anything of you,” Paul interrupted. “All I want is my vengeance on Strathland. Make someone else your heir.”

  “I’m not too old to marry and beget a son,” Donald retorted, though Paul doubted if any woman would wed such a surly man. His uncle shook his head with irritation. “But if I die tomorrow, it will come to you, whether you will it or not. The estates are entailed, and damned if I’ll let you squander them away. You have no appreciation of what I’m giving to you. You have so much to learn and—”

  “Help me bring him down,” Paul said quietly. “If becoming a viscount will help me end Strathland, I’ll do what I must.”

  “God help us both.” Donald sighed. “You cannot let your desire for vengeance control you. Even if you do kill the earl, you’ll hang for it. And then what will happen to your beloved?” He paused, as if thinking for a moment. “Oh, that’s right. She’ll wed a man who’s worthy of her. An intelligent man who knows how to tie a cravat.”

  The mention of Juliette stopped Paul cold. He had to do more, to become a man her family would be proud of. She was the reason he was attempting this façade. Juliette was his compass, guiding him toward his true purpose.

  He straightened the lines of his jacket, lifting his chin. She belonged in gowns and jeweled finery. And although it felt like he was trying to put on a false face, he’d do it if it meant winning her.

  “I’ll learn what I need to, to become your heir,” he said at last.

  “If you become my heir,” Donald corrected. “Finish your studies at the medical college, and make something of yourself first. The education will do you good. Afterward, you will learn how to handle the estates.”

  He didn’t argue, for it was the chance he wanted, to live out his own dream of becoming a doctor.

  “Thank you, Uncle,” he said at last. For he was grateful for the schooling.

  His uncle squared his shoulders. “You have a great deal to learn, and you’ll have to learn it, even during your medical studies—else you’ll risk embarrassing yourself.” He eyed Paul as if he didn’t like what he saw. “You must attend social functions and do exactly as I tell you to. You must practice behaving properly. You need to learn how to infiltrate the ranks of the upper class.”

  Paul had kept his word, learning everything his uncle had wanted him to. And now was his chance to put it all into practice.

  He opened his bundle of clothing, staring at the black tailcoat and snowy white cravat he’d brought with him. If he behaved with enough arrogance, using the elegant clothes and presenting himself as a viscount’s heir, they might believe him. He needed to prove to Juliette and to her family that he could be the right husband for her.

  Even if it meant transforming himself into a different man.

  Chapter Six

  “I’ve been wanting to visit Madame Benedict’s shop for years now.”

  Juliette hid her smile at Amelia’s thrilled excitement. She had agreed to take her younger sister with her, but with the solemn oath that there would be no mention whatsoever of their involvement in Aphrodite’s Unmentionables. A maid and a footman had also accompanied them, to help carry any parcels they might buy. Both servants kept a discreet distance from them in the shop, allowing them time together to speak.

  “Do you suppose she has the corsets on display?” Amelia wondered aloud. “Or does she have them hidden in a secret part of the store?”

  Juliette ignored the questions. “We’re here to find out which colors and designs are selling the best. Nothing more. Promise me you won’t breathe a word,” she whispered in her sister’s ear. �
�This isn’t only about us. It’s about Victoria’s reputation as well. If anyone found out about her involvement…”

  “They won’t,” Amelia promised. But her face filled with delight as she saw other women speaking with the dressmaker, while Madame Benedict held out swatches of colored silks and satins. Her sister drank in the sight of the beautifully made frocks, and when she moved closer to the other women, Juliette could tell that Amelia was eavesdropping.

  She didn’t fret over it, for perhaps her sister would learn something. In the meantime, her mind was fixated upon other possibilities. If her sisters each married well and she continued Aphrodite’s Unmentionables on her own, the profits would continue to grow over the years. Eventually, she might amass her own fortune.

  One that would allow her to live close to her son.

  At the moment, Matthew was heir to an earldom. After Juliette had learned she was pregnant, she’d sought help from her aunt and uncle. Charlotte had taken her away to have the baby and afterward had returned to London, claiming the child was hers. Lord Arnsbury had embraced the idea, recognizing the boy as his heir. Matthew would never know he was illegitimate. He had parents who adored him, a fine house to live in, the promise of an education, and a title.

  It should have been enough.

  And yet, it was slowly killing her to watch Charlotte raise the boy as her own. Although her aunt and uncle had been childless for years, seeing Matthew grow up with another woman as his mother was worse than she’d ever imagined. Each time she visited him, Juliette couldn’t repress the desire to get him back, though she knew it was futile.

  Hearing her sisters talk about winning a husband, or whispering secrets in the dark about men and women, made her all the more determined never to face the same circumstances again. She would make a new life for herself, one that didn’t involve men.

  Madame Benedict was now revealing undergarments to the ladies, one of whom was to be married in the next few weeks. She held out a corset of soft rose silk, embroidered with green.

  “Now this one, my lady, is an exquisite creation, one that will support your daughter’s figure and enhance her beauty,” the dressmaker began. “See how soft it is.”

  The young lady appeared fascinated by the material, and Amelia now made no secret of her interest. Inching her way closer, her sister said loudly, “It’s the most beautiful corset I’ve ever seen.”

  “It’s entirely inappropriate.” The older matron dismissed it with a hand. “Show us something made of cambric or linen.”

  “My mother gave me one for my birthday,” Amelia lied. “The silk is breathtaking against one’s skin. Why, I feel as if I’m wearing nothing at all.” She sighed happily, and the girl’s mother appeared aghast. Before she could snap out another refusal, Amelia continued, “Of course, it was frightfully dear, and I understand if it is too much of a luxury for you to afford. I suppose I’ll be very lucky if I receive another one when I am betrothed.”

  “There is no luxury too dear for my daughter,” the matron responded in a huff. “She can have whatever she desires.” Gesturing toward the rose corset, she remarked, “She is going to marry a marquess, after all. She should wear garments befitting a lady of her station.”

  Amelia nodded solemnly in agreement, then turned and winked at Juliette when the woman ordered three more sets of matching corsets, chemises, and petticoats. After they had left, Madame Benedict beamed at Amelia. “You are Lady Lanfordshire’s daughter, are you not?” With a broad laugh, the Frenchwoman added, “Lady Everett had no intention of buying unmentionables until you hinted that she could not afford them. I must thank you for the sales, mademoiselle.”

  “I was only telling the truth,” Amelia said, feigning innocence. “But if you would like to offer a better price on the evening gown I intend to order, that would be good of you.”

  Madame Benedict smiled. “We shall see.” As the pair of them discussed a possible design, Juliette walked over to the window, staring at the people passing by. The shop was located in Pall Mall, near a linen draper’s and a tailor’s shop. She amused herself with watching the crowds, until Amelia had finished speaking with the dressmaker. Both the footman and maid joined them when they returned outside, but as they walked along the street, Juliette sensed that they were being followed.

  She slowed their pace, wondering if she was only imagining it. The weather outside was fine, but before they could arrange for a hackney, someone came up behind her and pressed something into her hand.

  It was a bundle of violets. Startled, she started to turn around, but a voice murmured in her ear, “Meet me at your father’s house. I’ll be waiting, lass.”

  It was the voice of Paul Fraser. The sound of his deep baritone startled her so badly, she couldn’t grasp a single thing to say. Why on earth would he leave Scotland?

  For you, her heart sang. He came for you.

  Before she could say a word, he sent her a knowing look and disappeared into the crowd of people. Amelia hadn’t noticed him, and neither had their footman, from the way the man’s attention was rapt upon her maid.

  The bundle of violets was tied up in a small piece of string. Her traitorous heart gave a slight flutter that he’d thought to find her. But why had he told her to come to her father’s town house? Why wouldn’t he simply pay a call upon her at Aunt Charlotte’s?

  Because it was unlikely that the Countess and Earl of Arnsbury would receive him.

  Still, there was no one in residence at her father’s house, except for a handful of servants. Perhaps that was the reason—it would grant them privacy.

  “Who gave you those?” Amelia asked.

  Juliette didn’t answer but simply shook her head and shrugged. She wasn’t certain she wanted her sister to know the truth.

  “You’re blushing,” Amelia informed her. “Was it a secret admirer?”

  “I never saw the man,” Juliette lied, tucking the flowers into her reticule. But her heart fluttered within her chest at the knowledge that Paul hadn’t given up on her. Though it should have exasperated her, she found herself warming to it.

  “It was Dr. Fraser, wasn’t it?” Amelia guessed. She beamed with delight, and Juliette stared at her.

  “Now how would you think that?” A sinking suspicion grew strong within her, that her sister was matchmaking.

  “I sent him a letter and asked him to come.” Amelia frowned a moment, crossing her arms. “But it’s too soon for him to be here. I gave it to Mr. Sinclair only a few days ago.” With a shrug, she remarked, “I have no idea how he traveled so fast.”

  Juliette knew. It meant that Paul and Mr. Sinclair had traveled together, shadowing their journey. He’d asked her where she wanted to stay, and she’d told him London. She’d never dreamed that he would follow her.

  Their footman hailed a hackney, and she and Amelia climbed aboard, their servants joining the driver. They continued along the road, toward the direction she’d seen Dr. Fraser go. Her heart beat a little faster at the thought of seeing him again.

  They were not far from their parents’ town house, and she spied the familiar figure approaching their home. How could Dr. Fraser think to approach the town house? Her family wasn’t there, and surely he knew that. Her nerves tightened with apprehension and more than a little curiosity.

  “Stop, please,” she blurted out to the driver, even as her common sense warned that this was a terrible idea.

  “Why are we stopping?” Amelia demanded.

  “Because Dr. Fraser is walking toward our house,” she answered honestly.

  Her sister frowned a moment. Then she feigned a slight smile of surprise. “Why, you’re right. I can’t imagine why Dr. Fraser would come to Father’s residence.” The tone in her voice was filled with untruths, making Juliette wonder what on earth her sister was up to.

  Juliette ordered their driver to take them closer. When they pulled to a stop in front of the door, she disembarked with Amelia. Then she ordered their servants to return to Aunt Charlotte�
��s, promising to join them soon.

  “Juliette, is Dr. Fraser… bleeding?” Amelia asked, her face blanching.

  Dear God, her sister was right. Although Paul was wearing a dark coat, it hung open slightly. From her vantage point, Juliette spied a bloodstained shirt, and she hurried forward. Horror struck her at the thought of him being injured.

  “Are you hurt?” she demanded, without bothering to greet him. “The blood, it’s—”

  “It’s nothing,” he said, opening the front door. “Your mother invited me to stay here while I sought employment as a physician. Won’t you come inside?” He glanced behind at Amelia. “And your sister, of course.”

  He was staying here? She didn’t at all believe her mother would do such a thing. Never in a thousand years would Beatrice invite Paul to stay in London. She was about to contradict him, but held her tongue when Amelia leaned in.

  “It was my doing,” she whispered. “Don’t tell Mother. I wrote the letter because he needed somewhere to stay. I didn’t know he was already here—Mr. Sinclair must have found him sooner than I’d thought.”

  The apologetic smile on Amelia’s face spoke volumes. Juliette wanted to groan at her sister’s interference, even as she handed her pelisse and bonnet to a footman. She greeted the butler, Mr. Culpepper, and ordered a basin of warm water and soap, as well as bandages.

  “There’s no need for bandages,” Dr. Fraser corrected, “but a linen towel will do.”

  “What happened to you?” Juliette asked. When Paul removed his coat, she saw that his hands and forearms were stained with blood, as well as his shirt.

  Culpepper returned with the footman, who carried in the basin and towel. “Miss Andrews, Dr. Fraser was invited to stay by Lady Lanfordshire’s orders,” the butler explained. “However, I am not certain she would approve of you paying a call, until she has returned. I fear that—”

  “Mr. Culpepper, we are well aware of my mother’s invitation. Dr. Fraser is a friend of our family, and naturally, we were concerned when we saw him covered in blood. I assure you, we wanted only to ensure that he is all right,” Amelia intervened. “You may go now.”