Home > A Rogue in the Making (Forever Yours #11)(2)

A Rogue in the Making (Forever Yours #11)(2)
Author: Stacy Reid

“I got a recent letter from Robert to say he is returning to London and he should be here before the end of December. It is tempting to book the fastest ship to New York, but that would still take six weeks to arrive, and Robert and I might miss each other. England has only been my home these past four years. I am pragmatic enough to know I cannot escape my stepfather’s plans with the few resources I own at present. So, I must position myself in a place where they cannot reach me until my brother returns home.”

“And this is where I come in,” he said, his gaze probing and even a bit discomfiting.

That had been her desperate reasoning when the kind farmer taking his goods to market had picked her up. “Yes. My father’s will stipulated that if I am not married by five and twenty, it means I know my own mind. So my inheritance is to be handed over to me—half on my twenty-fifth birthday and the final half on my thirtieth birthday. I gather my stepfather means to force me by any means necessary to marry his son before my birthdate in two months’ time, and I mean to escape their nefarious plotting by any means necessary. Obviously, as I will be able to access my fortune then, any financial expenses involved would be promptly repaid.”

The earl stared at her for a long time before saying, “I see your plight, Miss Pryce. Please stay here, I will be back shortly.”

To her dismay, he rose and quickly left the room. Juliana stood and started to pace. A young maid entered with a tea trolley and sandwiches. Her stomach rumbled alarmingly, and despite her unease and agitated nerves, she managed to drink a few cups of tea and ate several of the sandwiches. Her hunger satisfied, she stood and resumed her pacing by the windows. Once she sat still, the terror and fury of the last several hours swamped her senses, and her hands shook. The bounders! How dare they act in such a despicable fashion!

The door to the small drawing-room opened, and she jerked to her feet as the earl entered.

“Forgive my delay,” he said with a smile. “I had to send off an urgent missive. Please, sit, Miss Pryce. Have you had some tea?”

Releasing a pent-up breath, she slowly sat. “I’ve had two cups, my lord.”

“You still look frightfully pale,” he murmured sympathetically.

“I was recently trussed up in a carriage and bound for God knows where,” she said drily. “I dare say it might take a few days for me to recover my composure.”

Beneath his slashing ebony brows, the earl’s blue eyes narrowed at her in contemplation. “Isn’t the best thing to simply marry, Miss Pryce?”

Juliana’s heart jolted. “Why is that the best solution, my lord?”

“You need a man’s good sense to manage such wealth. There is a rumor it is five hundred thousand pounds, a large country home in Hertfordshire, and substantial shares in your brother’s shipping company.”

The intimate details of her inheritance were much discussed in the ton, but she hadn’t thought he would so baldly discuss money. Her limited experience with the marriage mart revealed Juliana’s dowry was her chief attraction for any suitor. It did not endear her heart to any gentleman. “I value my independence, and I daresay I am far more sensible when it comes to finances than most gentlemen of society who find themselves desperate to marry heiresses because they squandered their opportunities and trust that was invested in them.”

“I see.” His smile did not reach his eyes. “Have you considered that Lord Bramley is simply protecting your best interest? Surely your stepfather isn’t a fortune hunter, and his son…Matthew…we know each other, and I tell you he is a good sport and you would make him an excellent wife.”

“He would not make me an excellent husband.”

“Come now, Miss Pryce,” the earl chided. “You cannot know—”

“I know,” she managed to retort, swallowing an unpleasant lump in her throat.

Juliana offered him a small smile that was exceedingly difficult to drum up, considering the anxiety beating inside her chest. “If I am to ever marry, it will be for one reason only. That I love the man I would spend the rest of my life with. Surely you agree, my lord, that it is not a flimsy undertaking to share your heart and life with another. I would only want such an attachment with a gentleman I held in esteem. Not one who would contrive to steal my choices and my inheritance that my father worked extremely hard to leave to his children. Now was my brother wrong to urge me to your doorsteps, my lord?”

“Of course not.” Yet he oozed insincerity.

Juliana felt a measure of panic. She’d dearly hoped Lord Prendergast would help her. If not, she would turn to the second name her brother had left with her, Lord Rawlings. Another earl, and possibly another gentleman who would think she should accept her fate because she was merely a woman.

His butler entered after a brief knock, and a silent message passed between them. Juliana frowned when the earl excused himself once more. She hurriedly stood, went over to the door, and eased it opened. Shock blasted through her in icy waves. Lord Prendergast was greeting her stepfather in the hallway and exchanging words with him. They laughed together, and she could see the easy bonhomie between the earl and the jovial looking gray-haired Viscount Bramley.

Good heavens. The missive the earl had sent earlier had been to her stepfather. Juliana closed the door, twisting the lock with a snick, then whirled around looking for an avenue of escape.

The earl had either not believed her story, or he thought her plight was not his problem. Juliana could not allow her stepfather to force her to leave with him. She would prefer to haul herself on the ground and start a scandal. But then he might be as underhanded as he had been yesterday. After taking dinner in her room on a tray, she had woken in a carriage, headed for God’s know where with a smug Matthew inside.

She tamped down a burgeoning sense of panic. Juliana needed the space and time to think and craft a plan. God, her coat and bonnet had to be left behind. She rushed toward the large sash windows, pushed the lacy drapes to one side, then shoved the lower window open. She swung a leg up the ledge and clambered through it into the pelting rain. It was challenging with her wide skirts and petticoats. Still, she managed to escape without tearing her now somewhat bedraggled gown. She did not bother to close the window behind her or look back. Within minutes she was soaked and trembling. Juliana quickly ran along the side of the townhouse and through a small wrought iron gate into the streets. A speeding carriage lumbered by and splashed puddles of water onto her dress. She opened the large black umbrella, violently shaking under the chill of the rain.

Recalling that the second gentleman Robert had directed her to trust lived close by, she walked as fast as she could, head bent low to avoid the stinging rain against her face. It had been her fortune Lord Prendergast had not withdrawn to the country. Juliana hoped she would have similar luck with the Earl of Rawlings. Several minutes passed before she arrived in Berkeley Square, looking like a drowned cat. The umbrella provided little protection against the sleeting rain and winds. Marching up to the front door, she knocked several times and waited.

The door opened, and the butler loomed a displeasing look on his face.

“I’m Miss Juliana Pryce and—”

“Go around to the servant’s entrance,” he clipped, then closed the door in her face.

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