Stormswept Read Free

disguise.
    “If your father finds out you were here consorting with ‘those dirty Welsh,’ he’ll give you a thrashing. You’d best leave before you get into trouble.”
    A pox on Lettice for always trying to tell her how to behave! At twenty-one, Juliana wasn’t a child anymore. Why, most women were already married, bearing children, and running households. Surely she was old enough to attend a late-night meeting of Welsh radicals.
    “Will you stop haranguing me if I promise not to get caught?” Juliana snapped.
    “This meeting won’t be the ‘romantic’ Welsh poetry and history you fancy. It’ll be rough men waving their arms and shouting about politics.”
    “They’re not shouting now.”
    “They will be, once Rhys Vaughan starts to speak his piece.”
    Juliana glanced to where the squire’s son stood besidea burly shopkeeper, waiting for the meeting to begin. The men in the audience were scowling and making sarcastic comments as the squire’s son strove to ignore them.
    “Why are they so hostile to him?” Juliana asked.
    “The young Mr. Vaughan has been away a long time at university and on the Grand Tour. Since his father loved to talk of how the English would save Wales, this lot is suspicious of the son.”
    “But children don’t always take after their parents.”
    “Aye. Heaven knows you’re nothing like yours.” Lettice flashed her a speculative glance. “You came just to see Mr. Vaughan, didn’t you?”
    Her maid was far too perceptive. “Of course. I wanted to hear his lecture. He’s speaking about the Welsh language, isn’t he?”
    “Aye, but that’s not why you’re curious. After what your father did to the Vaughans, you want to see what the son is like. So what do you think of the man whose inheritance your father stole?”
    Juliana stiffened. “Papa didn’t steal Llynwydd. Squire Vaughan was a profligate man who lost his estate through his own recklessness. He shouldn’t have played cards at such high stakes if he hadn’t been prepared to lose.”
    “Perhaps. And perhaps your father shouldn’t have agreed to such high stakes. A man’s estate is his life.” Lettice leaned closer. “Some claim the squire was drunk when he made that bet. And some claim your father cheated, in his eagerness to get a fine estate to use as your dowry.”
    Juliana winced. “I don’t care what the gossips say. Papa won that estate fairly.”
    “Then why deed it to you? Fathers don’t generally give their daughters ownership of their dowry properties, especially when the family’s finances are strained. He wants to protect Llynwydd from whoever might challenge his claim.”
    “That’s not true.” Papa had only been trying to secure Llynwydd for her so Darcy couldn’t appropriate it for himself after Papa died. “But I’m sorry the squire’s son has no more inheritance now.”
    “Aye, and no father, either.”
    Guilt assailed Juliana. The squire had killed himself after losing his estate. And all because of what Papa had done to protect her.
    She’d come here hoping to find Mr. Vaughan to be as much a profligate as his father, someone she could despise. Instead, she found a sober fellow too serious for his age.
    And far too handsome. He had an unblemished brow, a determined mouth, and the strong jaw of a man of character. He didn’t look much older than she, yet unlike other young men, he didn’t fidget or shift from foot to foot like an impatient heron. His regal reserve and arrogant stance obviously came from good breeding. Like Darcy, he exuded confidence. His neat clothing wasn’t extravagant, but it was certainly finer than that of the others.
    Yet he shockingly wore no wig. Like a common Welsh laborer, he kept his lustrous black hair tied back in a queue. And his eyes were all passion and fire . . . blue and wild and fierce, like the crashing waters of the Welsh sea.
    He must have sensed her watching him, for he turned his gaze to her. She caught her breath, afraid he