Home > A Rogue in the Making (Forever Yours #11)(4)

A Rogue in the Making (Forever Yours #11)(4)
Author: Stacy Reid

Stop it, she fiercely reminded herself. I am smart. There is nothing I cannot learn.

Perhaps with ingenuity for two months, Lord Rawlings’s country home could be her refuge.

Good heavens, am I really daring to be so scandalous?

She took a deep breath to calm her sudden pounding heart. A trip to a jeweler was the first business she had to tackle, and she had enough money for a hackney.

Juliana was lucky to find a hackney shortly after, and even in her less than pristine state, the cabbie was pleased to take the fare. Soon she was bowling along in a warm but rather musty cab, which smelled of tobacco smoke and Macassar oil. It was to be expected as most men used it to dress their hair. It was a familiar scent, but it reminded her that it was a man’s world, even in these modern days. Independent women were still frowned upon and considered fast and unconventional.

She put those thoughts to one side as the cabbie pulled his horse to a halt. She paid him what he asked and added an extra coin in thanks. The umbrella and her small reticule being her only luggage, that would have to be rectified. No hotel would accept even a young man without baggage. Juliana strolled along, examining each jewelers’ shop she passed on her way. She was wary, especially as passersby were staring at her hair, as she had left her bonnet at Lord Prendergast’s. She avoided the busiest of the shops, not wanting to be recognized, even though knowing that was unlikely.

Finally, she found a jeweler that did not seem too fashionable. Her necklace had no particular associations to her, and when she received her inheritance, it could be replaced for another more to her taste. The avuncular proprietor offered what she considered a fair price. Juliana left with a crisp fold of banknotes that she carefully tucked into her reticule.

Hailing another cab, she asked the driver to head for Wentworth Street, where a street market known as ‘Petticoat Lane’ was long established. She had considered risking Covent Garden Market, which was considerably nearer. But the area was notorious for the many bawdy houses surrounding the market. An attractive young woman with her hair uncovered, and no maid in tow was guaranteed to get offers that were not respectable in any way. It was safer, by far, to travel further and hope she would not be accosted before she could change her clothing.

Juliana was hungry again by the time she reached the market. Still, her first purchases were a plain bonnet, which she donned, and a small, used leather case to put her purchases in. Only then did she risk buying a paper of hot chestnuts to consume, and she delighted in their warm, nutty flavor, after moving to the side of the street. The market was very littered, but she placed the used paper and chestnut shells in her bag, straightened her back, and placed a slight smile on her face. She toned down her more upper-class speech to sound more like the Cockney accent, hoping that her strange requests for male clothes would be assumed for some theatrical performance.

Surprisingly, she managed to locate most of what she needed on an elderly Jew’s used clothing stall. He was polite and allowed her to try the clothes for length and fit against her, and the prices were reasonable. Shirts, cravats, socks, nightshirts, plain blue waistcoats, black jackets, and trousers were all found that looked like they would fit and looked respectable but not those from an expensive tailor. He also provided her with a warm coat, with a mere to capes, which although a little long, she could adjust.

“Do you know where in the market, I can purchase shoes, a hat, and some new small clothes?” she asked politely.

He gave her several recommendations that would simplify the search. After a little haggling over the cost, he packed the new but second-hand clothes into her bag and promised to dispose of the chestnut paper in the sack he kept for rubbish underneath his stall.

While finding the right stalls, she also bought some linen, polish brushes, and sewing paraphernalia. The other items were soon found, and the wig was purchased in a nearby shop, where a curtained off area had been arranged for customers’ privacy. The barber was prepared to guard the curtain while she changed out of her dress, which she turned it inward, so its dampness did not damage her purchases. She would try and dry it and repair any damage when she found a hotel.

The barber was unquestioning about tightly arranging her dark tresses under a short blond wig, which she admitted changed her appearance dramatically. With her new beaver on top and carefully striding out, she felt her transformation might be accepted. She paid the wigmaker and headed off to find a hotel for the night with a smile on her face and determination in her heart.

Tomorrow Julian Pryce would offer his services as a valet for hire.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

Norbrook Park

 

 

The shapely, lush derriere arched in front of Wentworth A. Nelson, the Earl of Rawlings, arrested his attention wholly and stirred senses that had been dormant…for well, several months. In truth, he could not recall if his baser feelings had ever been so violently awakened to life. The very notion was laughable, improbable, bewildering, and arousing. Wentworth was a man of science. Nothing so base as a well-rounded and delectably formed arse should have wrenched his thoughts from the mathematical principle he had been mulling over since yesterday.

But this derriere had most certainly distracted his thoughts…and had done so effortlessly. For he could not even recall the hypothesis that had propelled him to the library for long hours after dinner, and now to his room with A Treatise on Plane and Spherical Trigonometry clutched in his hand. Wentworth had planned to keep reading, and only when his lids opened no longer would he allow himself to tumble into a deep sleep.

Once the shock of his baser urges acting so strangely passed, he recognized something far worse. He was singularly attracted to his valet’s backside! Wentworth never thought he was someone given to liking his own sex, simply for the fact he’d had more than three lovers in his seven and twenty years on earth. And they had all been women. He slowly lowered the mathematical tome on the side table beside his bed and frowned.

His manservant had tugged his boots off and bent over to set them inside the large armoire. Wentworth’s pandering gaze had inadvertently been snagged by a gently arched back, a lushly rounded arse, and symmetrically flared hips. Sweet Mercy. Wentworth’s cock twitched, an ache settled low in his gut, and he gripped the edge of his bed. A choking sound came from him, and he had to slap his chest twice to get himself under control.

“Jeffers,” he said abruptly, hoping to get the man’s attention. Hoping his valet would forget the damn boots, stand up and face him. It worked. The shoes abandoned, his valet stood and turned to him.

His heart jolted violently. For the second time that night, Wentworth was rendered speechless. He had never seen such beautiful eyes in all his years. They weren’t blue. He would have to conduct an experiment to see which pigments could be mixed to produce a color of such arresting beauty. His valet’s eyes were dark lavender fringed with long, black lashes.

“Good God, you’re not Jeffers,” Wentworth snapped, surging to his feet.

And to think this boy had just tugged the boots from his feet and he hadn’t even noticed. The lad was short, the top of his head barely in line with Wentworth’s chin. The valet he was used to had a similar height as Wentworth, had brown eyes, and had kept his gaze respectfully lowered. This one tipped his head and stared at Wentworth a bit too boldly.

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