Free Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love by Christi Caldwell Page B

owed Lord Williams money, surely for lost wagers, and he’d offered her as his whore. Her skin crawled like so many spiders had found a home upon her skin, and she rubbed her arms to drive back the chill inside her. “You wastrel. You are an odious, horrible—” she gasped as he shot his hand out and wrapped his fingers tight around her wrist. He squeezed hard enough to rob her of breath.
    The earl’s servant took a deliberate step forward, and her brother released her with sudden alacrity. He eyed the footman a moment, and then lowered his head close to hers. “You’ll become nothing but Sinclair’s whore.”
    And because she knew it would enrage him, she smiled and said, “Perhaps, but at least it would be my choice.”
    He raised his forearm, and the footman took another step forward. Albert’s hand fell back to his side, and with a final glare for Juliet spun on his heel and left.
    She looked after him a long moment, a familiar sadness filling her at this apathy her brother carried for her. Then, Peter handed her valise over to the waiting footman, and she promptly shoved thoughts of Albert to the furthest recess of her mind.
    Peter proceeded to wring his gnarled hands together. Juliet walked over to the old servant took his hands in hers, staying the movement. She leaned up and placed a kiss on his wizened cheek. “I shall miss you, Peter.”
    He cleared his throat. “And I you,” he said gruffly.
    Lillian resumed weeping her noisy little tears. Juliet turned her attention to the young maid who’d been a friend to her these years now. Peter handed a crisp, white kerchief to the maid who took it, and dusted it over her cheeks. “F-forgive m-me, miss. It’s j-just that I’ll m-miss you so. You’ll be be-better there, I know that.”
    That was good, since Juliet herself didn’t trust that. She’d never say, as much to the kind girl or the maid would surely dissolve into a fat puddle of tears on the foyer floor. She offered a gentle smile for her maid, and claimed her hands. “Promise you’ll send word to me,” she said quietly.
    Lillian nodded. “Absolutely, miss.”
    Juliet swallowed. She’d not miss Albert. Nor even the London townhouse so loved by her brother or the fine items filling this empty home. Everything that mattered had already been lost; her Papa, Rosecliff Cottage, and now, this, the servants who’d become almost a defacto family to her over the years.
    Filled with a sudden, unexpected reluctance, Juliet turned to the waiting footman.
    Peter pulled the door open, and bright sunlight flooded through the entranceway. She held her hand up to her eyes to shield them from the blinding rays that streamed onto the white marble floor.
    And with just ten steps, she walked out of her old life, and into the new life that waited her. Granted, with the arduous role of governess to three young ladies, but the prospect of it filled her with an unexpected excitement. A sense of purposefulness when she’d grown accustomed to living the life as a kind of invisible sister to Sir Albert Marshville. There would have never been a Season, and most likely never a husband or family of her own, but now she would have this.
    The driver hopped down from his perch atop the black, lacquer carriage that surely cost more than all the items in her former chambers combined. He pulled the door open and held out a hand.
    She murmured her thanks and placed her fingertip in his, allowing him to hand her inside. Momentarily blinded by the afternoon sun, her eyes struggled to adjust to the dark confines of the carriage. Juliet blinked several times and shrieked.
    The Earl of Sinclair’s hard, sculpted lips turned up in a slow, inviting smile. “Hello, Miss Marshville. We meet again.”
     

     
    Jonathan appreciated the internal battle that seemed to rage within Miss Marshville. She caught her full lower lip between her teeth and nibbled at the delectable flesh. Her gaze alternated between the just closed carriage door