A Rogue in the Making (Forever Yours Book 11)

by Stacy Reid

  But I must remain hidden for a few more weeks.

  “What if I should permit more than kisses from the earl?” she whispered to the walls. The idea was so deliciously shocking, a pulse of wanton heat throbbed between her folds.

  She rolled over in the small bed and pressed her face into the feathered pillows, hoping to cool the heat in her cheeks.

  Why not, I am four and twenty! A spinster by society’s definition, even in New York.

  And when she returned to New York, her energy would be directed to meeting with her lawyers, other business owners, architects as she picked a few of the businesses from her father’s dusty portfolio to bring to life. There would be no time for flirting or romantic attachments. Her time here with the earl would be a wonderful memory to treasure for a lifetime.

  She pushed from the bed with an irritated murmur and padded over to the sole window in her chamber. Juliana stood for a long time before her room's small window, gazing up at a thoroughly overcast sky.

  The only thoughts that should preoccupy her mind were how to deal with her stepfather should he uncover Juliana before her birthday. Though she believed that chance was slim to non-existent, her father had taught her it was best in life to prepare for all eventualities.

  Wentworth was a kind and honorable man, and Juliana sensed should she prevail upon him, he would help her in every way possible. She pressed a palm right above the rising ache in her heart. He made her crave things that went against her self-reliant nature.

  Juliana really liked and admired his character. In another time and another world, she would have dreamed about the earl courting her.

  I know I should not obsess about Wentworth, because he will not fit into my long-term plans. Yet his kisses awakened my body so sweetly that my mind was befuddled by him. My body and mind seem to desire different things, and I am not sure how to deal with it!

  Perhaps once settled in New York, she could invite him to visit her. And why would he? A very annoying inner voice asked.

  “Because our friendship is…” Well, Juliana wasn’t certain they were even friends. A deep restlessness stirred, and an ache for something more rose inside her heart. She pressed her palm against the cold windowpane, at a loss as to why she spent so many times thinking about the dratted earl.

  Not because of a kiss!

  She blew out a sharp breath, not liking to admit he had dwelled in her thoughts before those delightful kisses in the cottage. Juliana had never permitted herself to think of life in London and married to a gentleman here. She had always known that she would return to New York and assumed her role in the family business. Her brother hadn’t objected to her plans, for in truth, he valued her input greatly, and he solicited her advice often. They currently had a shipping company, a brewery, and a general clothing store that took up several storefronts and rose two stories in New York. They rented out the offices and apartments above the emporium. Her brother admired her dream to expand their father’s empire and had tossed his hat and innovative ideas into their planning.

  Juliana felt he would be bitterly disappointed if he even knew that she had wavered in her plans even for a moment.

  And I did not, she reminded herself fiercely, I simply wondered what it would be like to have the earl woo me.

  “But I’ll not think of such nonsense,” she muttered, “one kiss, and I am thinking of courtship!”

  The only thing she needed to concentrate on was her own safety, maintaining her disguise, and serving the earl without compromising her heart.

  As she turned around to dress and prepare for the day, the naughtiest thought invaded her mind, everything else can be gambled with…

  Afterword

  My valet is unquestionably a woman, who has revealed her reasons for perpetuating such a ruse. She, Juliana, expected me to be angry at her deception, but I was not. I admire a woman of imagination and initiative, and she also strikes me as a highly creative sort.

  Now that my short experiment has come to a far quicker end than I anticipated, I feel a sense of loss. Why I am not entirely sure. We shared some prolonged and heated kisses in the cottage as we hid from the fierce storm, and I confess when I planned this experiment, I did not predict my own powerful reaction to her appropriately.

  My attraction has grown considerably, and I must admit I have never felt the emotions brewing inside my heart for another. I wonder if it is not too soon to feel such a profound connection to a lady with such intensity. Then I am reminded of her wit, her bravery, her kindness, and the lush, sweet taste of her mouth.

  Intriguingly, she is not interested in marriage. I had thought it an obvious solution, but she dismissed that suggestion out of hand. I was rather taken aback by her vehemence and found her independence refreshing and somewhat lowering to find my own person so easily rejected. Although I admire her drive to be a businesswoman, even if it removes her from being a candidate to be my countess. Even more fascinating is how my heart pounds upon writing that she might be lost to me as a wife. I find that I am also the subject of my own experiment!

  I was not clear in expressing my own interest in her and did not directly propose or indicate that my feelings might be engaged. Do I want to consider Miss Juliana Pryce as a lady to woo: A resounding yes.

  I believe wholeheartedly in respecting her decisions for her dreams and future. Yet I’ve never wanted another as I want her. I can easily tell it goes beyond simple physical attraction.

  Is the course of action to take to seduce an evident lady of quality into being my lover? That would make me a right rogue…

  “Excuse me, my lord. But the ladies are insisting you take tea with them in the green salon and say that if you did not attend, they would drag you from your work, sir,” his butler informed him.

  “I will come at once, thank you, Bernard.”

  Wentworth paused in his writing, blotting the ink and sliding his journal into a drawer and locking it. His family could be far too inquisitive. He strolled to the room he had been directed to and sat in the armchair closest to the windows. His mother, aunt, and two cousins started talking, but he still considered the quandary that Juliana’s presence in his home and heart created.

  “Wentworth are you at all present?” the strident demand of his aunt’s voice pulled him back to the present.

  He settled his gaze on her, a bit amused at the narrow eye glared she directed at him. His aunt was still a fine-looking woman, her posture militarily precise and formidable. Her vibrant, auburn hair was ruthlessly coaxed into a stylish chignon with only a few luxuriant curls allowed to break its silhouette. She had never been a great beauty, but her strong bone structure had survived aging better than many of the delicate diamonds of society with whom she had competed to make an eligible marriage in her youth.

  Her dress was plain in a beautiful green material, ornamented only by a deep lace collar and cuffs. Against the pastel greens of the room’s décor, it showed her to advantage. Wentworth acknowledged that her taste was excellent and that she knew it suited her still trim figure.

  Slowly he closed the leather-bound book he had taken with him and rested it on the small table between the sofas. “Of course, Aunt Millicent, forgive my distraction, my attentions are wholly yours.”

  She arched a brow at that, smiling.

  What had they been discussing? Ah yes, the ball and who to invite.

  “I will happily consent if it is to be a masquerade ball,” Wentworth said smoothly, lowering the quill. “Is that possible?”

  Henrietta gasped and clapped her hands. “A wonderful idea, we’ve never held a masked ball before,” she cried, sharing a swift glance of naughtiness with her sister, who had been idly running her hands over the pianoforte. She wore a gown of delicate pinks marred, in his opinion, by a profusion of flounces and bows, which distracted from her dainty beauty.

  “And you’ll not attend this one either,” Wentworth replied, accepting the cup of tea his mother handed to him. “Thank you, Mother.”


  The twins’ expressions became crestfallen.

  “Mamma!” Isabelle cried, “Please say it isn’t so! We’ll be here where it is most safe. Please say Henrietta and I may attend.”

  Aunt Millicent arched a brow. “Why a masked ball, Wentworth? It seems so unlike you! You usually grumble about hosting any event at Norbrook Park.”

  “Yet you do so every year, and I do not intend to be doing any of the work to arrange it, Aunt,” he said indulgently.

  Aunt Millicent paused, giving her head a tiny shake.

  “Who cares?” his mother asked, delicately dabbing her mouth with her serviette. “I am astonished my son has agreed, and I’m exceedingly glad. We are to have a ball! We should get to planning it right away. Say two weeks?”

  “Yes,” Aunt Millicent said. “And your dear cousin is in the right, my girls, a masked ball is not for you. That will make it much harder to chaperone your willful ways.”

  The girls vehemently protested, but their mother shooed them out, following closely behind. Their arguments slowly faded away, and he bit back his smile of amusement. “They are a handful.”

  “They are,” his mother said with a gusty smile. “And at times like these, I am most thankful you were my only darling child.”

  Wentworth chuckled and took a sip of his tea.

  “I am surprised you did not protest about this ball,” she said softly, peering at him as if she was trying to read his thoughts. “But thank you. I am happy to arrange it with Millicent’s able assistance. I’ll invite the squire’s daughter, Miss Lavinia, she has shown considerable interest in you and is a most lovely girl. And Viscount Sheffield’s eldest daughter is in the parish visiting an aunt, do you recall the eldest of Sheffield’s daughters?”

  Wentworth lowered his cup, wishing he had something more robust. His mother had that glint in her eyes, warning him she was just getting warmed to her topic. However, instead of brushing it aside as he’d always done, he considered her. “Mother?”

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “Why is it so important for you that I marry?”

  Her eyes widened, and she lowered the pastry back to the small plate. “You never asked me that before.”

  “I know.”

  She smiled, but he spied a sadness behind it, which jolted his heart. “Mother?”

  “I suppose I wish to see you happy. A companion to keep you company, someone to help you find pleasures in life.”

  His darling mother blushed, and he almost choked upon realizing the pleasures she possibly referred to. “Do you not think since I will be the one spending the rest of my days with this prospective lady, I should be the one to look for her?”

  She sent him a cross glare. “Absolutely not. If I should wait on you to be torn away from your books, I’ll be an old, lonely woman without any grandchildren to dote on with one foot in the grave and the other somewhere else.”

  Loneliness. It struck him then that had been the emotion that had pierced her eyes earlier. Since his father's death some eight years prior, his mother spent a great deal of time with her sister. He glanced around the private drawing-room, wondering at the memories it roused for her. She and his father had often been in this very room, laughing and playing whist together, and then kissing like they were young loves.

  The memory warmed Wentworth. “You miss father?”

  “Every day.” She cast him a birdlike look of inquiry. “Do you?”

  He jerked. “Mother?”

  “I only asked because you rarely speak of him.”

  Wentworth drew in a deep, steady breath. “I might not think of him every day or speak of him often, but he is in my heart, mother, and he lingers in the shadows of everything I do. When I am working on an equation, and it frustrates me, I can hear his voice in my head, a calm and encouraging force that has never failed me.”

  How was he just realizing with his father gone, and Wentworth a grown man she could no longer fuss over, his mother desired someone to dote on—grandchildren. Now he understood why she spent so much time with Aunt Millicent and the girls. “And who are these ladies you think will make me a good match?”

  His mother’s face brightened as if he’d handed her the keys to a kingdom.

  “Oh, Wentworth,” she cried, clapping her hands together. “At first, I thought someone the opposite of your reserved nature would be perfect. And I thought Miss Mary, Lord Barton’s daughter, would be that person. She is incredibly beautiful, but not too bright. Miss Mary is also overly concerned with fashion and who’s who in society. I think you would tire of that soon. Miss Sheffield is a bit of a bluestocking, very bookish, and even formed a literary saloon right in her father’s home. She is a lovely girl, but I am not sure of the advantage of putting two people together who lose themselves in books and academic pursuits.”

  “Is that not the same as putting two people together who like attending balls and social events? They will merely have pursuits in common, which is a good thing for any marriage, I might imagine.”

  His mother smiled widely. “Wonderful, so I might rely on you to ask Miss Sheffield for a dance at the ball. Perhaps two. I will invite her to stay with us for a few days, you could be very discreet but take long walks with her, go riding around the lanes, see if you like her.”

  Something in him recoiled at that notion, and his heart lurched. Wentworth took the time to recall the ladies his mother spoke about. “I’ve met these ladies?”

  “You have, and this season you partnered Miss Mary in a quadrille and even a waltz. You made such a charming pair.”

  “Mother,” Wentworth began thoughtfully, “I doubted I made an impression on these ladies.”

  “Oh, pish, you are very charming when—”

  “And mother, I do not recall these ladies, though I am sure they were lovely with fine qualities. But they are not the sort of ladies I would look to court. I will be quite fine in selecting the lady I want to be my wife,” he said, “with no interference from you, mother.”

  Wentworth liked his ladies to have spunk, daring, charming wit, and if he wooed a lady, it would be a woman like Miss Juliana Pryce. But what traits should his wife have? Should they share similar interests, or be opposites, or should their compatibility be based purely on the heart? With every passing hour, the liking he felt for Juliana intensified, and she wasn’t even in the same room. To be wholly consumed by one’s wife must be a boon for matrimony.

  “Of course, I would heartily approve whoever you select after whatever experiment you conduct,” his mother said with a cheeky smile. “Why do you appear so astonished? Do you not recall that even as a child to select the dishes you wished to eat, you wanted to run an experiment?”

  Wentworth laughed, a surge of love for her going through his heart. He recalled how much she had indulged his whims and eccentricities. How proud she’d been of him when he’d been granted early admission into University.

  “I have a most marvelous notion,” the countess said, coming to her feet. “I will send a letter to Miss Sheffield and ask her to visit. Perhaps once you see Miss Sheffield, you might remember her and that you had liked her.”

  Wentworth stood and firmly said, “Mother, no. I will not hesitate to boot her from my home, and I daresay my rudeness might be considered another eccentricity.”

  She scowled. “I—”

  At her sharp inhalation, he went over to her, gently clasping her shoulders. “What is it?”

  “You…you have someone in your heart,” she said, her eyes misting. “I can see it now. My dear son!”

  Wentworth stiffened and lowered his arm. “There is someone.”

  “Oh, why didn’t you say so! Who is she?”

  Tugging at his necktie, he said, “I do have a strong liking for this young lady, but I am not entirely certain what to do with these feelings. I am not even certain I wish to pursue her.”

  “We are at feelings?” She demanded with a wide smile. “Let me invite—”

  “Mother,” he said gently. “L
eave it alone. This is my matter, and if something should ever come out of our friendship, you will be the first to know.”

  She beamed at him.

  A glance through the windows showed the very woman he spoke about, dressed as his manservant trudging out of the woodlands bordering the estate. She had been gone now for half of the day. Upon waking this morning, his morning toiletries had been neatly laid out, and he’d dressed alone. She had been there behind his chair in the dining room for breakfast, waiting to serve his every need. He’d spent the morning in his study, going over the books from his steward and the reports on a few investments that had been highly profitable this year.

  He hadn’t rung for her, suspecting she needed the space to think…to breathe, and he also felt a measure of unease commanding an obvious young lady of quality to serve him. Wentworth dipped and pressed a kiss to the countess’s cheek. “If you will excuse me, mother, I will see you at dinner.”

  He made his way toward the door, intending to stroll outside and meet Juliana.

  “Wentworth?”

  He stopped and turned to his mother.

  She wore an expression of deep curiosity. “Are you still lost in your mind…I mean…your books.” His mother huffed gently. “What I mean to ask is, this young lady who has caught your interest, is she or thoughts of her able to pull you away from your books?”

  He knew why his mother asked. Wentworth had skillfully avoided the entanglement of eligible young ladies these past few years because he was more interested in his books. Always. “What books?” he asked.

  Her eyes widened, and a delighted laugh slipped from her. He bowed and exited the room smiling.

  Chapter 10

  It didn’t take long for Wentworth to cut across the rolling lawns of his estate to where he’d seen Juliana through the windows. There was a nip in the air, and in the distance, the dogs raced across the grounds, playing. Wentworth veered onto a beaten track, which led to the lake on the property's eastern side. He spied her lying on the grassy banking, elbows draped across her forehead and her eyes closed. Now he saw her as a woman, even dressed in male clothes, he realized what an attractive picture she made in repose. His breath hitched slightly, and he felt a strange sense of possession and longing that she would come to feel something deeper than attraction and gratitude to him.