Page 83 of After the Abduction

“Juliet?” he said, on the verge of telling her that very thing.

Then she gazed back at him, her face hopeful, as if she half expected him to tell her he’d forget about his brother and his duty. And the words—too close to begging for his comfort—drained from him. He sighed. “You’ll send word if you find yourself with child, won’t you?”

The hope died in her face. “Of course.”

“Because I’ll come to London at once if you do.”

“Yes, I’m sure you will.” Her voice was laced with sarcasm. “That responsibility would be impossible for you to ignore, even for your brother’s sake.”

He nodded, not sure what to say.

“Well, I’d better go,” she said briskly, though her eyes looked suspiciously watery. “Whenever Morgan returns and you’ve settled your ‘sticky negotiations,’ you’ll find me in London. Good-bye, Sebastian.”

She swept through the door, and suddenly he was thirteen again, hearing about his mother and how she’d abandoned him because his father didn’t love her and she preferred “love” with another man to caring for her eldest son.

A powerful rage came over him, propelling him to hurry to the top of the staircase. He watched Juliet descend the steps he’d carried her up only a few hours before. Devil take the stubborn wench! He wanted to race down the stairs, catch her in his arms, and kiss her until she agreed to marry him at once. But he’d be damned if he’d give in to her manipulations.

Let her go back to blasted London with her blasted family. If she refused to marry him until she got what she wanted, then she could damned well wait on his leisure. He would not let her wrap him around her little finger! He had important responsibilities, and the sooner she learned that, the better.

Now if only he didn’t feel as if the quagmire had finally swallowed him whole.

Chapter 18

Trifles light as air

Are to the jealous confirmations strong

As proofs of holy writ.

Shakespeare’s Othello, underlined in

Griff Knighton’s copy of the play

Juliet had ridden halfway back to Charnwood when she heard a shot fired in the distance behind her. For a second, she panicked. Surely Sebastian wouldn’t hurt himself…

Then came another pistol shot, and she realized how stupid an idea that was. Sebastian didn’t even care enough about her to do as she asked. He certainly didn’t care enough to kill himself. He cared so little that he’d gone right back to his target practice.

How very appropriate. He could make a pistol behave exactly as he wished, which was all he cared about. A pistol didn’t ask him for anything as foolish as loyalty or support or…or even affection.

Tears burned her eyes, and her shoulders began to heave again. She didn’t stop the tears. She couldn’t. Dratted stupid scoundrel! It was so like him to want everything his way. He’d only told her the truth after he was sure he had her where he wanted her. And then to refuse to tell her family—

Very well, he could molder out there until doomsday for all she cared, him and his infernal pistols and his precious brother. But if he thought she would marry him without reassuring her family that all was well, then he could think again. She was right, drat it, and he knew it! He owed it to her to be truthful to her family.

Charnwood loomed up ahead, and she swiped furiously at her tears. Nobody must ever know of this. They’d try to make her marry him immediately. Or worse, try to hurt him. She ought to let them; Lord knew the wretch deserved it. But she couldn’t betray him like that.

Even if it restored her to the position of featherheaded ninny in her family’s eyes. Which she clearly was, anyway. Why else had she allowed herself to fall in love not once, but twice with a man who cared so little for her?

Except that this time she’d ruined herself in the process.

Oh, what did it matter? If the rumors got any worse, she’d be ruined anyway. Besides, it wasn’t as if she wanted to marry anybody else. If she couldn’t marry Sebastian, she wouldn’t marry at all. And right now, the possibility of marrying Sebastian looked decidedly shaky. The longer he locked himself away in Shropshire, the less inclined he’d be to marry. After all, it wasn’t as if he had any strong feelings toward her that made him want marriage.

She blinked back more tears. When he’d said those words about needing her, she’d let herself hope that he truly did. But clearly he needed her to soothe his conscience, nothing more. Very well, if he wanted his conscience soothed, he’d have to come after her in London. Because she wasn’t letting Sebastian Blakely tell her what to do anymore.

The setting sun pierced through some branches, blinding her with light, and she suddenly realized how late it was. Oh, dear, this wasn’t good. Griff and Rosalind had surely returned by now. She hastened around to the orangery door where Polly was supposed to be waiting, but there was no sign of the maid. Dismounting quickly, she tied the horse to a nearby tree and slipped inside. She’d have to send Polly to bring it to the stables once she reached the safety of her bedchamber.

Praying that no one saw her, she nearly wept with relief when she made it to the door of her bedchamber without being accosted. But when she opened her door to sneak inside, all hell broke loose.

“Where on earth have you been?” Griff shot up from a chair by the hearth. “We’ve been worried sick.”