At the time, he’d dismissed her reaction as that of a woman afraid. But what if… it hadn’t been a fear of him? What if she had been afraid for the child? Was it even possible?
He thought back to the night he’d taken her virginity and counted the months. She would have given birth to the child when she was eighteen, in May. That meant the boy would be nearly a year old, which was likely, given the child’s size.
Juliette had disappeared from Scotland after he’d claimed her, staying away for almost a year. She’d traveled with her aunt Charlotte, he’d heard, and had returned to London for several months.
The more he pieced together the past, the more convinced he became that this could be his son. Juliette must have hidden the boy away, trying to pass him off as the Earl of Arnsbury’s child. Since the countess had not borne a child in so many years of marriage, most people believed it was a happy miracle.
But Brandon suspected it was a lie.
He stared outside, wishing his driver would go faster. He needed to see the child again for himself, to discover if there were any traces of his own appearance. On that day in the park, he’d paid little attention to the boy, and now he regretted it.
He intended to confront Juliette and learn the truth. If she’d stolen his son from him, he would take the boy back. Though the child could not inherit, that didn’t matter. Even a bastard son deserved to know his father.
His rush of anger suddenly dissipated when he realized that he now had a trump card that Juliette could not deny. He could threaten to expose her son unless she married him. If she refused him, Brandon would tell the world that the boy was a bastard, and he’d lose everything.
If the child truly was her son, she would do anything to protect him. And Brandon intended to see to it that she suffered for all the humiliations she’d given him. She would be sorry for all that she’d done.
The coach pulled up to the Arnsbury residence, and he disembarked with help from a footman. Anticipation swelled up inside him at the thought of seeing Juliette, of watching her pride diminish. She would beg for his forgiveness, he had no doubt. But he would allow her a token, by taking their son back after she’d wed him. Eventually, she would see that her place was with him.
He couldn’t wait.
“Miss Andrews, you have a visitor,” the butler informed her. “The Earl of Strathland has come to call.”
His words struck her cold, for she’d never expected Lord Strathland to confront her here. Not this soon. Though she’d known he was angry at the ball last night, she’d expected to be gone before he could retaliate. A rush of anxiety caught her in the stomach as she wondered what he wanted.
It didn’t matter. Just because he had come to call didn’t mean she had to see him. She pushed back the instinctive fear, reminding herself that there were a dozen servants who would come to her aid. She was in no danger at all.
Even so, she gripped her hands together to stop them from shaking.
“Tell him I am not at home,” Juliette responded.
All around her lay piles of clothing and a single trunk. She’d decided not to pack everything for her return to Scotland, since she had no need of court gowns or dresses for balls. Amelia would make better use of them. For tomorrow morning, she was leaving for Scotland with Paul.
“Forgive me, Miss Andrews, but he was most insistent. He bade me give you this, if you refused.” The butler held out a small note.
Why couldn’t Lord Strathland understand that she would never change her mind? No matter what he said or did, she would die before allowing him to court her. With a sigh, Juliette accepted the note and broke the seal. The six words, written in clear black ink, stood out on the paper as if they were marked in blood.
We need to discuss our son.
The room spun, and the color drained from her face. “Leave me,” she ordered the butler. The man bowed, and as soon as he left the room, Juliette ran to the chamber pot and sank to her knees, retching. Her body shook with tremors so hard, she couldn’t bring herself to stand.
He knows. Oh God, oh God, he knows.
She rested her cheek upon the carpet, wanting to curl up into a ball and avoid facing him. She’d been afraid of this for so long, of endangering Matthew. If she refused to see Lord Strathland, he would believe that the boy was indeed his. He’d well and truly cornered her now.
She got to her knees and held on to the bedpost as she rose to her feet. Be strong, her mind ordered. Deny the truth and force him to go. If she convinced the earl that Matthew was not hers, then Strathland had no ammunition at all.
Slowly, she went to her dressing table and began to brush her hair, pinning back any stray locks. She pinched her cheeks for color and took slow, steady breaths.
You can do this, she told herself. You must lie for the sake of your son.
She could only pray that her words would be convincing.
“You’ve been keeping secrets, haven’t you, Miss Andrews?” Lord Strathland stood from his chair when she entered. Juliette nodded to the butler, who stood at the doorway just as she’d ordered him to. Although this was going to be a difficult conversation, she would never be alone with Lord Strathland. Had her aunt and uncle been present, she would have begged them to stay.
“The note you sent me was a lie,” she said, tossing it onto the hearth. “I have no son, and neither do you.”
Not if I can help it.
It took an effort to keep her tone even, for inwardly, she was shaking. “I was holding my aunt’s son,” Juliette continued. “She would not take kindly to your calling him a bastard.”
“I thought you might deny it,” he said smoothly. “The true question is what you would do to protect his future.”
There it was—the threat she’d been expecting. Lord Strathland was a petulant man who apparently did not understand the word no in any form.
“Why will you not leave me alone?” she demanded. “I’ve told you, time and again, that I want nothing to do with you. Ever.” There had to be madness within him, to think that he could coerce her to be with him again.
“Your father is going to give you Ballaloch for your dowry. And it will then come into my possession.”
“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “It’s not mine and never will be.”
“It’s a useless piece of land now, with hardly anything there at all. You will ask them for it.”
She said nothing about how her family had rebuilt the house, not knowing if he was even aware of that. “I want you to leave.”
“I’m certain you do.” He crossed the room and stood before her. “But I wanted you to know how you can keep the child safe. How to buy my silence, so that I’ll never threaten him.”
“I don’t need to buy your silence for a lie.”
“All I have to do is plant a few rumors.” Strathland rested his hand upon the fireplace mantel. “I can tell them of your shame and how I compromised you. Of how you bore the child in secret.”
“It’s not true,” she insisted.
“No man will ever have you, after I tell them of how you seduced me. My words alone could ruin not only your reputation and your sisters’… but also the boy’s. They will question what they’ve heard. And when they dig for answers, how difficult do you think it will be to find the truth?”
Juliette struck him across the face, her hand leaving an imprint against his skin. The butler entered the room, and Strathland lowered his voice. “I hope you fight me like that again, when I next share your bed.” He sent her a sly smile. “Wed me, and I’ll leave the boy in peace. You can give me other sons.”
He took a step back. “The choice is yours.”
Chapter Twelve
Paul sensed that someone was following him. Ever since he’d left his residence, he’d glimpsed a black carriage with an insignia that seemed familiar somehow. Every time he glanced back, he saw it.
Was it Strathland’s? He couldn’t be certain, but when he hailed a hackney, he noticed that the carriage shadowed his path tow
ard the Earl of Arnsbury’s town house. The question was whether they would stop when he reached Lord Arnsbury’s or continue on.
When he reached his destination, he paid the driver and looked behind him. The carriage slowed, and he caught a glimpse of an older man inside, before it drove past. Paul wasn’t certain what it was about, but before he could approach the Arnsbury residence, he saw Lord Strathland walking out.
There was a gleam of smug satisfaction on the man’s face, and Paul no longer cared that they were in public. The man had clearly gone to bother Juliette, and after learning what the earl had done to her, there was only the need for blood. A primal craving for vengeance roared through him, and he ran forward.
Only to be slammed against the stone façade of a nearby building.
“Don’t,” came the voice of Cain Sinclair.
Paul plowed his fist into Sinclair’s nose. “This isna your business, Cain.”
“Leave it be, Fraser. The last thing you’re needing is to be brought up on assault charges against an earl. They can hang you for that.”
He knew Sinclair was right. But logic wasn’t enough to dim the need for blood. “He’s the one who hurt her. He’s going to die, and I’ll be the one to send him to Hell.”
“If you do, you’ll go right along with him.” His friend restrained him against the wall, using his strength to keep Paul from acting upon impulse.
A dark rage blazed through him, destroying any trace of mercy. There was naught but the need to bring pain to the man who had destroyed so many through his ruthless greed. “Don’t be asking me to stand aside, Sinclair.”
Justice was what he needed right now. He wanted to tear Strathland apart with his bare hands until the earl’s blood ran in the streets. He had no intention of standing here, of watching the bastard walk away. With all his strength, he fought Sinclair, trying to wrench himself free.
“My lord Falsham!” a man’s voice shouted. Without knowing why, Paul turned.
It was a mistake, for Sinclair grabbed him again and held him fast. “Sorry, lad, but I won’t be letting you kill yourself.”
With that, Cain bashed Paul’s head against the wall behind him. Darkness dragged him under, and his last thought was that this wasn’t over.
Not by half.
My lord. Are you awake?” came the voice of a man.
Paul’s head felt as if someone had split it open with a dull axe. Against his cheek was a wooden floor, and he scented the stale ashes of a hearth.
“Best wake up, or I’ve another way of getting your attention, Fraser,” Cain Sinclair added. “A bucket of water poured over your thick head.”
“That’s hardly necessary, lad. The puir man’s been through enough without ye giving him more discomfort. Now go on, and fetch food and drink for His Lordship.”
“I’m not your damned servant,” Cain retorted. “Nor his. He can fetch his own whisky.”
“Where am I?” Paul managed. “And who are you?” His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dim light, and the two figures blurred before him.
“I’ve been searching for you, these past few months,” the man explained. “I am Colin Kinlark, your uncle’s solicitor.”
“You were following me,” Paul said. “In the carriage a few hours ago.”
“I was, yes,” Mr. Kinlark agreed. “I regret that you were harmed, but under the circumstances, I believe Mr. Sinclair was trying to avoid further complications.” He offered his hand to help him up. “If he had not intervened, you might have been brought up on charges of a felony assault.”
Which would be accurate, since Paul was wanting to murder Strathland.
Mr. Kinlark bowed slightly. “I’ve brought ye to an inn, but dinna be fearing that ye’ll stay here long. It was only necessary while you were—”
“Fashed in the head,” Cain finished. “Lacking in brains.”
“Aye.” Mr. Kinlark shook his head. “Had ye fought Lord Strathland, ’twould have cost ye a great deal in bribes. Ye’d not want to lose coins due to… an excessive display of anger.”
It brought to mind his uncle’s insistence on cool-headed logic. Donald was a notorious pinchpenny. No doubt the man would be furious if Paul had given in to his instincts, thereby causing the need for excessive bribery.
“Don’t be worrying, Lord Falsham. I’ll be arranging for ye to stay in better quarters, now that they are aware of your rank.”
Rank? He had no idea what the man was talking about. “I’m a physician,” he muttered. “No’ yet a lord.”
“That was true several months back, to be sure. But since your uncle passed on, God rest him”—the elderly man bowed his head in respect—“ye’ve inherited his title.”
Paul sat up, and the room swayed. “What happened? And when? He wasna so very old.” He’d never dreamed of inheriting the title, not this soon. Donald Fraser was barely fifty and had seemed in perfect health.
“’Twas his heart, I fear. His servants found him dead at the breakfast table three months ago. Quite sudden.”
It hardly seemed real. One moment, he was a physician with only a few sparse funds to call his own. And now there was a title… and lands.
“I ne’er expected this,” he admitted.
“Certainly you were aware that you were next in line,” Mr. Kinlark said. “You are now the Viscount of Falsham, with all the estates and incomes that accompany that title.”
Paul stared at the man, still in disbelief of what he was hearing. “Exactly how much was my uncle worth?”
“He has three estates in Scotland. Edinburgh is where he holds the most property, though there’s a smaller bit of land in the west, not far from Glenfinnan. And then there’s the northern estate along the sea. There are no debts, for your uncle was quite frugal. He didna believe in owing money to any man. That’s a good piece of luck for ye.”
Paul looked over at Sinclair, whose expression was unreadable. “I don’t ken why my father turned his back on his family. He lived as a crofter and told none of us.”
None, save Bridget.
“He was disinherited when he chose to marry your mother. But since he was the younger son, it mattered not. Your uncle Donald inherited upon his father’s passing, and now the title falls to you, as the eldest heir.”
Paul drew up his knee, and his vision started to clear. “Why wasn’t I told about his death sooner?”
“There was some difficulty finding you, my lord. We traveled to Ballaloch first, and only then found that you’d gone to London. But the title has been yours since the end of February.”
That was why no one in London had questioned it. Likely someone had investigated Paul’s claims and found them to be true. He could hardly fathom any of it. Never had he guessed that he would become the viscount so soon. In truth, the title had felt imaginary, as though it wouldn’t come to him at all.
Paul let out a slow breath, realizing what this meant. He had power of his own now. A means of providing for Juliette that her father would respect, even if he didn’t approve of their marriage.
Though he didn’t particularly want to live in Edinburgh, at least it was in Scotland. He knew his uncle’s house and the servants, after dwelling there for the past five years.
“Well, then, now that your bread’s baked, you might give some over.” Cain grinned. “As a high and mighty lordship, your coins’ll buy a wee dram of whisky.”
“I’ll buy you a drink,” Paul agreed. “Then I’ll be paying a call upon Miss Andrews. Before I kidnap her and force her to elope with me.”
The alarm upon Mr. Kinlark’s face suggested that he wasn’t entirely certain that Paul was teasing. “My lord, if I could but advise you—”
“She’s already agreed to wed me,” Paul told the man. “But I suppose I should be asking her uncle before I take her away. I am planning to borrow his coach, after all.”
“Lord Falsham, you already have a coach of your own. I’ve brought it here, in the hopes that you’ll return to Edinburgh.”
Paul wondered what Juliette would think if he brought her to a fine house. Would she be glad to live in such a place? He rather liked the idea of taking his bride to a house that would be her own.
“I’ll be taking Juliette with me in that coach, then.” To Mr. Kinlark, he added, “And you’ll find your own transportation back to Scotland. I want you to leave tonight and prepare the house for our arrival. I will bring the new Lady Falsham with me.”
“But, my lord, would you not wish to have the wedding in Edinburgh? The bride’s parents could be there.”
“The bride’s father would put a bullet through my head, if he knew my intentions.” Paul shook his head and waved the man off. “No, we’ll wed when we cross into Scotland and visit Edinburgh afterward. We’ll stop at a few inns along the way, and if you make haste, you can prepare a proper welcome for us.”
“Aye, my lord. Very good, then.” He started to back away, but Cain caught Mr. Kinlark by the arm. To Paul, he said, “If tonight’s your last night as an unwed man, you’ll be needin’ to have that whisky. We’d best get started, and he can pay for it.”
Paul swayed to his feet, rubbing the back of his head from where Cain had knocked him senseless. “You’re right, Sinclair. We should raise a toast to the bride and to my last night as an unwed man.” Eyeing Mr. Kinlark, he added, “Well, you’re coming then, aren’t you?”
The elderly man muttered something that sounded like a prayer to Jesus for strength.
The next morning, Juliette ushered Paul into the parlor, where they could speak alone. Although her belongings were still packed upstairs, it felt as if all her plans had been uprooted.
“There’s been… a complication,” she told him. After she explained what Strathland had said, she ended with, “I can’t leave London now. Not when the earl is threatening to tell the world about Matthew.”
Strathland had tightened the chains around her in a way she could not escape. She saw the flash of displeasure on Paul’s face and realized that he didn’t understand. He didn’t have any children of his own and could not possibly know what it meant.
Unraveled By The Rebel Page 21