Eleven Scandals to Start to Win a Duke's Heart
Page 52
One side of her mouth lifted in a half smile. “Well, let it not be said that Ralston House does not keep London happily in gossip.”
There was a pause, and he started to laugh, a rumbling sound that came from deep in his chest. And soon, she was laughing, too.
Because at that moment, it was either laugh or cry.
As the laughter died down, Ralston leaned back in his seat and looked to the ceiling. “Nick must be told.”
Of course. Their brother and his new wife lived in Yorkshire, but this was news that he must hear as soon as possible. She nodded. “Will he come?”
His brows rose, as though he had not considered the possibility. “I don’t know. Nick and she . . . they . . .” He trailed off and they sat in silence again, each lost in thought.
She was back.
And with her, decades of long-buried questions.
She met her brother’s gaze. “Gabriel,” she whispered, “what if she is here to stay?”
Something flared in his blue eyes, a combination of anger and concern. He took a deep breath, as though collecting his thoughts. “Don’t for a minute imagine she’s here for good, Juliana. If there is one thing I know about that woman, it is that she is unable to stomach constancy. She wants something. And when she’s obtained it, she’ll leave.” He set the crystal sphere down on the table. “She will go. She will go, and everything will return to normal.”
In the six months since she had arrived in London, Juliana had had many opportunities to see the man beneath the Marquess of Ralston’s devil-may-care façade. Enough opportunities to know that he did not believe his words.
Couldn’t believe them.
It was an understatement to say that their mother’s return changed everything. It was not simply that she would unearth a scandal twenty-five years in the making. It was not simply that she seemed to have little concern for the impact she had on society and even less remorse for her actions. It was not simply that she had marched into Ralston House as though she had never left.
Even if all that could be erased—if Gabriel tossed her out and shipped her off to the Outer Hebrides, never to be heard from again—nothing would ever be the same.
For, before tonight, they could have pretended—had pretended—that she was gone for good. Certainly, Juliana had always wondered if her mother was still alive, where she was, what she was doing, whom she was with. But somewhere in a deep, quiet part of her, she’d always assumed that her mother was gone forever.
And she’d begun to come to terms with it when she arrived in London, met her brothers, been given a chance at a new life. A life in which her mother’s specter continued to loom, but less heavy and foreboding than before.
No longer.
“You don’t really believe that,” she said.
There was a long pause, then, “She wants to speak with you.”
She noticed the change in topic but made no move to correct it. She picked an invisible piece of lint from the sleeve of her dressing gown. “I’m sure she does.”
“You may deal with her as you wish.”
She watched him carefully. “What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should make the decision for yourself.”
She pulled her knees up to her chin again, setting her heels on the smooth leather seat. “I don’t think I want to speak to her. Not yet.”
Someday, maybe. Yes. But not now.
He nodded once. “Fair.” Silence fell, and he organized several piles of correspondence, the bruise on his jaw shimmering in the candlelight.
“Does it hurt?”
One hand went to the side of his face, exploring the lesion with tentative fingertips. “Leighton has always been able to throw a punch. It’s a side benefit to his being enormous.”
One side of Juliana’s mouth kicked up. Her brother had not answered the question. She imagined it hurt very much.
“I’m sorry for that, as well.”
He met her gaze, blue eyes glittering with anger. “I don’t know how long the two of you—”
“We—”
He sliced a hand through the air, staying her words. “And, frankly, I don’t want to know.” He sighed, long and tired. “But stay away from him, Juliana. When we said we wanted to make you a good match, Leighton was not who we imagined.”
Even her brother thought Simon too good for her.
“Because he is a duke?”
“What? No,” Ralston said, truly perplexed by her instant defensive response. “Because he’s an ass.”
She smiled. She couldn’t help it. He said it in such an obvious, matter-of-fact way. “Why do you think that?”
“Suffice it to say, the duke and I have had our fair share of altercations. He’s arrogant and supercilious and utterly impossible. He takes his name far too seriously and his title even more seriously than that. I can’t stand him, frankly, and I should have remembered that over the last few weeks, but he’s seemed so concerned about your reputation that I was willing to ignore my prejudice.” He gave her a wry look. “Now I see I should have known better.”
“You were not the only one who was fooled,” she said, more to herself than to him.
He stood. “On the bright side, I have been waiting to hit him for twenty years. So that was one thing that went right today.” He flexed his hand. “Do you think he has a bruise to match mine?”
The masculine pride in his tone made her laugh, and she stood, as well. “I’m sure it’s much larger. And uglier. And far more painful. I hope so, at least.”
There was a pause, and he started to laugh, a rumbling sound that came from deep in his chest. And soon, she was laughing, too.
Because at that moment, it was either laugh or cry.
As the laughter died down, Ralston leaned back in his seat and looked to the ceiling. “Nick must be told.”
Of course. Their brother and his new wife lived in Yorkshire, but this was news that he must hear as soon as possible. She nodded. “Will he come?”
His brows rose, as though he had not considered the possibility. “I don’t know. Nick and she . . . they . . .” He trailed off and they sat in silence again, each lost in thought.
She was back.
And with her, decades of long-buried questions.
She met her brother’s gaze. “Gabriel,” she whispered, “what if she is here to stay?”
Something flared in his blue eyes, a combination of anger and concern. He took a deep breath, as though collecting his thoughts. “Don’t for a minute imagine she’s here for good, Juliana. If there is one thing I know about that woman, it is that she is unable to stomach constancy. She wants something. And when she’s obtained it, she’ll leave.” He set the crystal sphere down on the table. “She will go. She will go, and everything will return to normal.”
In the six months since she had arrived in London, Juliana had had many opportunities to see the man beneath the Marquess of Ralston’s devil-may-care façade. Enough opportunities to know that he did not believe his words.
Couldn’t believe them.
It was an understatement to say that their mother’s return changed everything. It was not simply that she would unearth a scandal twenty-five years in the making. It was not simply that she seemed to have little concern for the impact she had on society and even less remorse for her actions. It was not simply that she had marched into Ralston House as though she had never left.
Even if all that could be erased—if Gabriel tossed her out and shipped her off to the Outer Hebrides, never to be heard from again—nothing would ever be the same.
For, before tonight, they could have pretended—had pretended—that she was gone for good. Certainly, Juliana had always wondered if her mother was still alive, where she was, what she was doing, whom she was with. But somewhere in a deep, quiet part of her, she’d always assumed that her mother was gone forever.
And she’d begun to come to terms with it when she arrived in London, met her brothers, been given a chance at a new life. A life in which her mother’s specter continued to loom, but less heavy and foreboding than before.
No longer.
“You don’t really believe that,” she said.
There was a long pause, then, “She wants to speak with you.”
She noticed the change in topic but made no move to correct it. She picked an invisible piece of lint from the sleeve of her dressing gown. “I’m sure she does.”
“You may deal with her as you wish.”
She watched him carefully. “What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should make the decision for yourself.”
She pulled her knees up to her chin again, setting her heels on the smooth leather seat. “I don’t think I want to speak to her. Not yet.”
Someday, maybe. Yes. But not now.
He nodded once. “Fair.” Silence fell, and he organized several piles of correspondence, the bruise on his jaw shimmering in the candlelight.
“Does it hurt?”
One hand went to the side of his face, exploring the lesion with tentative fingertips. “Leighton has always been able to throw a punch. It’s a side benefit to his being enormous.”
One side of Juliana’s mouth kicked up. Her brother had not answered the question. She imagined it hurt very much.
“I’m sorry for that, as well.”
He met her gaze, blue eyes glittering with anger. “I don’t know how long the two of you—”
“We—”
He sliced a hand through the air, staying her words. “And, frankly, I don’t want to know.” He sighed, long and tired. “But stay away from him, Juliana. When we said we wanted to make you a good match, Leighton was not who we imagined.”
Even her brother thought Simon too good for her.
“Because he is a duke?”
“What? No,” Ralston said, truly perplexed by her instant defensive response. “Because he’s an ass.”
She smiled. She couldn’t help it. He said it in such an obvious, matter-of-fact way. “Why do you think that?”
“Suffice it to say, the duke and I have had our fair share of altercations. He’s arrogant and supercilious and utterly impossible. He takes his name far too seriously and his title even more seriously than that. I can’t stand him, frankly, and I should have remembered that over the last few weeks, but he’s seemed so concerned about your reputation that I was willing to ignore my prejudice.” He gave her a wry look. “Now I see I should have known better.”
“You were not the only one who was fooled,” she said, more to herself than to him.
He stood. “On the bright side, I have been waiting to hit him for twenty years. So that was one thing that went right today.” He flexed his hand. “Do you think he has a bruise to match mine?”
The masculine pride in his tone made her laugh, and she stood, as well. “I’m sure it’s much larger. And uglier. And far more painful. I hope so, at least.”
