Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love Read Free Page B

Papa’s godson, and the Marquess of Bath’s second son, but she believed in her heart she’d know if the one last hope she held onto for freedom from Albert’s machinations was, in fact, buried at sea.
    Though her wishes for his safe return were not solely self-serving in nature. Her father had spoken with great fondness of his godson.
    “Either way,” she went on. “Lord Wallace would never force me to wed where I’d not want to.” Though in truth, she couldn’t say anything about her other guardian, Lord Wallace, with any real confidence. He was the brother of a mother she no longer remembered.
    Albert snorted like one of the pigs in the pen at Rosecliff Cottage. “Lord Wallace is one foot in a grave and wouldn’t turn away a baron. Not for a cripple.”
    Juliet leaned back in her seat and yawned into her hand, knowing it would infuriate her brother. “We will not likely know if I can make a match if you insist on denying me a Season.”
    “Rubbish!” he barked. “It would be an utter waste of funds to launch a faulty ship like you off into a sea made of diamonds of the first water.”
    Brava , on that unexpected, but not unexpectedly cruel, quip from her usually lack-wit of a brother. Juliet had tired of this tedious discussion. She held a staying hand up. “I’ll not wed Lord Williams. I will, however, insist you speak to this Earl of Sinclair and manage to get back that which you’ve lost.”
    He slashed the air with his hand. “Sinclair collects winnings like he collects mistresses. He’ll not part with the cottage, even if it is a horridly modest dwelling.”
    Her eyebrows dipped. Yes, she but knew of the earl’s name from the scandal sheets. This Lord Sinclair sounded like just the manner of gentleman her callow brother would keep company with. A string of mistresses, indeed. Juliet took a deep, steadying breath, or else risked burning her brother’s ears with a stinging diatribe. That would result in little good. “Well, then, I shall speak to him.”
    Albert slammed his fist into his palm. “You’ll do no such thing. I had a good night at the tables last evening. I’m confident my fortune has turned.”
    She closed her eyes and prayed for patience, detesting a world in which the Albert Marshvilles and Earls of Sinclair controlled the coffers, fates, and hopes of the women unfortunate to grace their lives. Knowing her efforts futile, Juliet still said, “Please, Albert, do not. No good can come of your gaming.”
    He scoffed. “I’ll not answer to you, my spinster sister.”
    Her lips turned up with droll amusement. “Two and twenty years of age hardly places one in the spinster status.”
    Very nearly a spinster, perhaps. But not a spinster.
    Albert ignored her, and without another word beat a hasty retreat.
    Juliet surged to her feet. A soft curse split her lips and she began to pace. The slight bend in her lower right leg made her movements somewhat jerky.
    Her brother would squander all their father’s hard-earned wealth and property in little time. Though wrong in most regards, Albert had unfortunately been right when he’d made his earlier claims about Uncle Horace.
    The man, nearing his seventieth year, couldn’t be bothered with his long-departed sister’s daughter. He could no sooner put a stop to Albert’s philandering, wastrel behaviors than Juliet could.
    A knock sounded at the door. She glanced up as the kindly butler, Peter. He cleared his throat. “Lord Williams to see you, Miss Marshville.”
    A curl fell over her eye, and she blew it back. Blast, blast, and double blast. She gritted her teeth. “Please, if you’ll tell him—”
    “Tell me what, Juliet?” Lord Williams said with far too much familiarity from behind Peter’s slightly drooped shoulders.
    Peter edged reluctantly from the room, leaving her alone in the black-eyed devil’s
    company.
    “Lord Williams,” she forced herself to greet. She eyed the door behind him. “My brother…” Oh, where in