Unraveled By The Rebel Read online

  She barely heard what was going on, but the Highlanders had formed a line against the Englishmen. Juliette swallowed hard, her heart pounding within her chest. Someone was going to be hurt, and God help her, she couldn’t let it be Paul.

  From the side, she saw another man approaching on horseback. He wore a wool topcoat, and the horse he rode was the finest she’d ever seen. It was Lord Strathland himself. Upon his face, she saw fury, and a man who would voice orders to harm the crofters.

  Without knowing why she was emerging from her hiding place, she walked away from the men, directly toward the earl. She kept her steps slow and held tightly to her pelisse, placing a false smile upon her face as she neared Lord Strathland.

  Her mother’s instructions came back to her, the rules of polite introduction that she was casting aside by approaching this man. But if she could spare these people from violence, it hardly mattered that there was no chaperone to introduce them.

  “My lord,” she greeted him, offering a slight curtsy. Explanations tangled with lies in her brain of why the crofters had sacks of food among them. “I am Juliette Andrews. I believe you know my father, Lieutenant Colonel Andrews.”

  Her words did have an effect on him, but not the one she’d expected. The earl’s earlier anger dissipated, and his gaze fixed upon hers. Cool brown eyes studied her face, before his attention shifted down over her body.

  “Miss Andrews.” He nodded to her, dismounting from his horse. “Your mother would be displeased to find you so far from home this morning.”

  “She believes in charity to those less fortunate, as I am sure you do,” she said, still clinging to the smile she didn’t feel. “I brought food as gifts from my family to these people. It’s part of a Christmas offering.”

  The earl’s expression hardened, but he sent a look toward his men, nodding for them to retreat. “Have you? I am surprised that Mrs. Andrews did not arrange it herself instead of sending her young daughter to oversee the supplies.”

  “She was here earlier,” Juliette lied. “I asked for permission to stay, to speak with some of the children.” She took a deep breath and held her ground.

  Again, those eyes stared at her, and she sensed a frosted anger coming from Paul. Though he didn’t move, not wanting to draw attention, she sensed that he was seething.

  The earl mounted his horse again, lifting his hat in farewell to her. “I’ve been meaning to pay a call upon your mother. Since Lieutenant Colonel Andrews is away at war, I thought I should see if Mrs. Andrews has need of my assistance, seeing as we are neighbors. When I come to the house, perhaps you will be there?”

  She didn’t dare tell him no. Though she didn’t understand why he would want her to be a part of the conversation, she braved another smile and nodded. “If it pleases you.”

  “It would,” he said softly. But the smile upon his face held the same hunger she’d seen in Paul’s eyes. Instead of drawing her closer, it heightened her discomfort. “Merry Christmas, Miss Andrews.”

  With a silent command to his men, the earl withdrew. Juliette’s pulse never slowed down, not even after they’d gone. A silence had fallen over the people, and they finished distributing the remaining food, all of them casting odd looks at her.

  Paul crossed the throng and took her by the hand. Without a word, he led her back toward the place where he’d kept her hidden. “Why did you come out? I told you to stay behind.”

  “He knew what you did,” she reminded him. “His men were going to hurt the MacKinlochs. I thought I could stop them from fighting.” She raised her chin, lifting her gaze to his. “And I did just that.”

  “You have no idea what you’ve done,” he exploded, his hand digging into the stone of the wall. “He has his eye upon you, Juliette. He wants you.”

  “I’m too young for that,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s as old as my father.”

  “His wife is dead, and he’ll be wanting a new one. It willna be you,” Paul warned.

  His intensity struck her hard, and she was aghast that he was already behaving like a jealous husband. Didn’t he think she had more sense than that? She would never consider letting a man like the Earl of Strathland court her.

  But more than that, she didn’t want Paul issuing commands. “You aren’t my husband yet, Paul Fraser,” she said quietly. “I have years yet before I’ll make that decision.” With that, she took off the silver ring and held it out to him.

  The gesture cooled his temper, and he hesitated before he took it back. “I’m sorry. I just couldna stand back and watch him stare at you. I want you to be safe, Juliette.”

  He touched his head to hers, lowering his voice. “I’m going to be worthy of you one day, I promise you that.”

  She said nothing but rested her face against his heart. “Don’t let’s argue, Paul. You’re going back to Edinburgh, soon enough.”

  He held her close. “I will, aye. And all I ask is that you wait for me. Don’t be making any decisions until I can return. Will you no’ promise me that?”

  She let out a sigh and stood on her tiptoes. Gently, she kissed him, and his hands threaded into her hair, pressing her back into the shadows. It was a kiss of promises yet to be, of a man who wanted her more than any other.

  Juliette awakened, her body frozen and aching. Her cheeks were wet, and she realized she’d been crying in her sleep.

  She didn’t know what had caused her to dream of Paul’s visit, years ago. But her hand moved up to touch her lips in the memory of his kiss.

  That was the day Strathland had noticed her. It had disturbed her deeply, for he was so much older… and the look in his eyes had been filled with lust. The more she’d refused him, the more aggressive his pursuit. He was not a man who understood the word no, and he’d continued to press her, even during the following year.

  Her mind pushed away the harsh memories of the attack, trying to soothe her spirits with thoughts of Paul. If she’d agreed to wed him that day, her life might have been different. Perhaps Matthew would have been his son, instead of the earl’s. They might have been happy together, even if they’d had to elope.

  She stared up at the ceiling, thinking of her sisters’ excitement about their London Season. They were eager to find a husband and become a wife. Her eldest sister, Victoria, had found her happiness with a duke.

  And for Juliette, there would be nothing but columns of numbers.

  Despite her desire to manage Aphrodite’s Unmentionables, she couldn’t help but resent the unfairness of it all.

  Her eyes ached again, and she shut them, trying to tell herself that it was for the best. A slight noise alerted her to the kitten, which had crept out of his bed to come and see her. Juliette lifted Dragon up, letting the soft ball of fur snuggle against her side.

  The kitten only reminded her of Paul. And despite her efforts to push him away, she couldn’t deny that she missed him.

  Chapter Five

  Juliette reached into her reticule and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She had come with her sisters to the Duke of Worthingstone’s London residence, eager to share the news that was brimming up inside her. “With the help of the crofters, we finished most of the orders.” She shot a sidelong glance toward Victoria, adding, “Although Mother still thinks they were sewing gowns.”

  All three of her sisters were waiting expectantly as Juliette held out the paper containing the results of their sales. “I’ve tallied up the amounts here. Sixteen corsets, fourteen chemises, and we have orders for thirty more.”

  “And the money?” Victoria prompted. “Did you earn very much?”

  Juliette smiled and passed her the paper. “More than enough. Over a thousand pounds.”

  “A thousand? But it can’t be.”

  “It can, and it is.” Juliette sat across from Victoria, pleased to give her sister the good news. It took a great effort to appear calm, when inwardly, she wanted to whoop with joy. Margaret didn’t look at all pleased, but Amelia was beaming with excitement.
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  Victoria sat back in her chair, touching her heart. “This will change the crofters’ lives. They won’t have to struggle so much to survive.” A hint of a smile crossed over her face at the thought. Juliette shared the sentiment. The Scottish women had worked hard, sewing well into the night to finish the garments. And they would profit, in turn, from more sales.

  A glimmer of hope sparked within Juliette, for she had found a new purpose. Though she had not yet visited Madame Benedict’s shop, she fully intended to investigate the sales. She would pour herself into the accounts, determining the best prices for the garments. And perhaps, if she was buried in work, she could forget the solemn eyes of the infant who had ensnared her heart. And the man who was tempting her away from spinsterhood.

  “It can’t continue,” Margaret insisted. “If anyone found out we are behind it, Father would be humiliated. Not to mention what all of society would think of us. You might be married, Victoria, but the rest of us aren’t. The men would believe we’re harboring sordid thoughts.” She sat down, her back ramrod straight. “It’s not at all appropriate, and it’s a bad influence upon Amelia. We should cease this immediately.”

  Margaret wouldn’t know a sordid thought if it struck her between the eyes, Juliette thought. And if she knew what went on between a woman and a man in bed, she would faint in shock.

  When she glanced over at Victoria, her sister appeared worried. Sewing meant the world to Toria, and it occurred to Juliette that if word got out about Aphrodite’s Unmentionables, her sister’s reputation could be harmed.

  “Does the duke know?” she asked her quietly.

  Victoria nodded. “He knew about it before Christmas. But he doesn’t want me to sew anymore.”

  “He’s right. Duchesses do not sew,” Margaret agreed. “They embroider. And even then, not very often.”

  A flash of annoyance crossed Victoria’s face. “If I want to sew, then I will. What I do in the privacy of my room is no one’s concern.”

  Good for you, Juliette thought. Her quiet sister had a backbone, though she didn’t push back often.

  “I’m only trying to help,” Margaret said. “You should be aware of your social position.”

  Amelia sent Victoria a sly look. “Don’t believe her at all, Victoria. She may try to be proper, but she’s wondering about what goes on during a wedding night, as much as the rest of us. Was it as exciting as I think it would be? Did he tear off your unmentionables?”

  Juliette nearly choked at that. Though her sister was only teasing, a flash of fear evoked memories of that night. There was nothing at all exciting about what happened between a man and a woman. It was humiliating, and it had hurt.

  Thankfully, Margaret saved them with her own retort, “She is not going to share such details with you.”

  “No, she’ll only share them with the pair of you, later.” Amelia sighed with dismay. “It’s so unfair.”

  This was one moment when Juliette was grateful that Margaret had cut off Amelia’s wonderings. “I, for one, believe that Victoria’s wedding night can remain her own private information.” She took back the slip of paper detailing the number of garments ordered and changed the subject. “Will you send any new designs back to Scotland? At the very least, the crofters’ wives can sew them for you.”

  “I have a few sketches,” Victoria said. “But I’ll need to make the patterns for the women. Did the families return to Eiloch Hill, as the duke promised?”

  “Yes. Dr. Fraser sent a letter that they are building their homes. The old ones were burned, so they have to start anew.”

  At the mention of Paul, Amelia sent her a teasing smile, as if to gauge her reaction. Juliette’s face flushed, for she’d come to London fully intending to forget about Paul. But she imagined him working alongside the crofters, helping them to rebuild their lives. The memory of his dark blue eyes and the way he’d looked at her was far worse. She did miss him, though she’d hoped to forget about him while she was here.

  “His Grace has sent men to help rebuild Ballaloch also,” Amelia admitted. “In the spring, we should be able to return home.”

  Home. The word should have brought comfort, but instead it reminded her that returning to Scotland meant leaving Matthew. Right now, she felt as if she were at a crossroads, trying to decide which life to leave behind.

  It was far easier to say farewell to Scotland than to leave her son. Her mother wanted her to marry, but that was an impossible notion. No man wanted a celibate marriage.

  She had to focus her efforts on Aphrodite’s Unmentionables and do everything in her power to ensure its success. Victoria opened her writing desk and retrieved a set of sketches she’d done. They were more modest undergarments, made from linen and the softest cotton.

  “Now these are far more appropriate,” Margaret pronounced. “They are sensible, and any young lady could wear them without fear of being immodest.”

  And they were like every other set of unmentionables. What made Aphrodite’s Unmentionables unique was the fact that they were impractical for anyone but the extremely wealthy. They were well made and offered a luxury that no other garments had. The women who bought them wanted to be different, more seductive to a man.

  Juliette shook her head. “These don’t sell as well, I’m afraid. They may be beautiful, but the women want more revealing unmentionables.”

  She glanced at Toria, and her sister reddened as if she understood what she meant. But instead of fear, there was a flush of interest in her sister’s face. She glanced at the bed as if she’d enjoyed the time with her husband.

  “We should still make a few garments that are meant for younger women,” Victoria said.

  Not too many, if Juliette had anything to do with it. She would ensure that only the finest, most sensual fabrics were used. Perhaps a few could be adorned with semiprecious jewels, to make them even more unique. They could be priced even higher. Her mind began calculating the greater profits, turning over the numbers, until Margaret interrupted.

  “It’s getting late,” she said, reaching for her bonnet. “We should return, for Aunt Charlotte will be expecting us.”

  Juliette put on her bonnet and gloves while Victoria rang for a footman and gave orders for a brougham to be brought for them. She hugged her sister farewell and went to join Amelia, while Margaret hung behind.

  While the two of them spoke in whispers, Amelia leaned in to Juliette. “Aunt Charlotte is hosting a ball in a few days. You’re coming, aren’t you?”

  “Perhaps.” She kept her answer vague, not wanting to agree to it.

  “What if… you found someone you fancied at the ball? Would you steal a moment away with him?” The embarrassed flush on Amelia’s face sent a flare of warning through her. Was her sister plotting something? Guilt was written all over her face.

  “No. And if you’re considering anything like that, put the idea out of your head. You’re far too young to be married.”

  Amelia sent her a sad smile. “And you’re acting as if you’re a thousand years old.”

  “I’m not.” Juliette forced a smile she didn’t feel onto her face, not wanting her sister to keep pushing.

  Amelia drew her to the side. “You’ve been avoiding the parties, and you’re becoming the way Victoria was. I thought you promised to try to enjoy yourself. Even if you don’t want a husband.” The tone in her sister’s voice said she couldn’t fathom why Juliette would ever feel that way.

  The truth was, she didn’t want to live a life in this way. She did want a husband and children, like any other woman. It was her sense of honesty holding her back.

  “I am content to go on as I have,” she said, to appease her sister.

  “It shouldn’t be that way,” Amelia said with a sigh, hugging her.

  No, it shouldn’t. But what else was there?

  Juliette returned the embrace, knowing that her sister was only trying to help. “We’ll go to Madame Benedict’s tomorrow. I need to see how the unmentionables are selling,
and you should find a new gown for the ball.”

  Amelia beamed with happiness. But even through her sister’s smile, Juliette wondered what she wasn’t telling her.

  Paul stepped into Colonel Lord Lanfordshire’s London town house, the scent of dust coating the air. The footman took his coat while the butler led them inside.

  “These arrangements are only temporary,” Mr. Culpepper explained. “Once Lady Lanfordshire returns, you must acquire your own accommodations.”

  “Of course,” Paul answered.

  Each room revealed years of neglect. Most of the valuables had been sold off to pay debts, and what remained was an assorted collection of paintings, battered furniture, and worn carpet. It was clear that whatever servants remained in Colonel Lord Lanfordshire’s employ had failed to maintain cleanliness.

  “Lady Lanfordshire said in her letter that you finished your medical studies.” The butler eyed him with the interest of a man who had his own ailments.

  “I did.” Paul followed the man up two flights of stairs, knowing he would be placed in the servants’ quarters.

  “You are a surgeon, I presume?” The butler kept his tone even, though Paul read the underlying assumption that he could do little more than amputate limbs.

  “A physician and a surgeon,” he corrected. He’d earned licenses for each, and he fully intended to continue practicing medicine. Though he didn’t have to work, because of the allowance his uncle had sent, pride kept him from using it. This new life felt foreign to him, as if he didn’t deserve to be handed a fortune.

  He’d gladly hand it back, if it meant his father could live again.

  The butler paused a moment, seeming to reconsider their destination. He cleared his throat and then returned down a few more stairs. “This way, Dr. Fraser.”

  Paul hid any reaction. Likely the man had originally intended to house him in an attic garret as a sleeping place. Instead, he was shown to a modest bedroom adjoining the nursery.