Eleven Scandals to Start to Win a Duke's Heart
Page 51

She did not knock.
Ralston stood at the enormous windows of his study, one hand playing idly with a glass orb she had bought him several months ago as he stared into the great black abyss beyond. His dark hair was mussed, and he’d removed his coat and waistcoat and cravat.
Juliana winced as she registered the bruise on his jaw from where Simon had hit him.
She had done very little but cause him trouble.
If their positions were reversed, she would have tossed her out on her ear months ago.
He looked over when Juliana entered, but did not scold her for her trespass. She took a seat by his desk and pulled her bare feet up beneath her dressing gown as he turned back to the window.
Neither sibling spoke for a long while, and the silence stretched wide and somehow comfortable between them. Juliana took a deep breath. “I would like to clean the air.”
Ralston smirked. “Clear the air.”
That did make more sense. She narrowed her gaze. “I am about to apologize, and you mock me?”
He half smiled. “Go on.”
“Thank you.” She paused. “I am sorry.”
“For what?” He looked honestly confused.
She gave a little laugh. “There is a great deal, no?” She thought for a moment. “I suppose I am sorry that everything falls to you.”
He did not reply.
“Where is she?”
The glass sphere rolled between his fingers. “Gone.”
Juliana paused, a ripple of emotion shooting through her. She did not pause to inspect it. She was not certain that she wanted to. “Forever?”
He bowed his head, and she thought she heard him laugh. “No. If only it were that easy. I didn’t want her in this house.”
She watched him, her strong, sturdy brother, who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Where did you send her?”
He turned to face her then, the orb spinning. “She did not know you were here, you know. She did not expect you. That is why she did not look for you in the room. At dinner.”
She nodded. It did not make her mother’s dismissal any easier. “Does she know I am here now?”
“I told her.” The words were soft, laced with something that might have been an apology. She nodded, and silence fell again. He returned to the desk and took the seat across from her. “You are my sister. You take precedence.”
Was he reminding her or himself?
She met his eyes. “What does she want?”
He leaned forward on his elbows. “She says she doesn’t want anything.”
“Except her position as dowager marchioness.” Juliana could not keep the sarcasm from her tone.
“She’ll never have that.”
She couldn’t. The ton would never accept her. The gossipmongers would feed on this scandal for years. When Juliana had arrived in London six months ago, they had swarmed, and the sordid tale of their mother’s desertion had been dredged from the bottom of the great river of drama that nourished society. Even now, with connections to some of the most powerful families in London, Juliana existed on the fringes of polite society—accepted by association rather than on her own merit.
It would all start over again. Worse than before.
“You don’t believe her, do you?” she asked. “That she wants nothing.”
“No.”
“Then what?”
He shook his head. “Money, family . . .”
“Forgiveness?”
He thought for a long moment, then lifted one shoulder in the shrug they all used when they did not have an answer. “It is a powerful motivator. Who knows?”
A rush of heat flared, and she leaned forward, shaking her head. “She can’t have it. She can’t . . . what she did to you . . . to Nick . . . to our fathers . . .”
One side of his mouth rose almost imperceptibly. “To you . . .”
To me.
He leaned back in his chair, shifting the glass weight from one hand to the other. “I never thought she would return.”
She shook her head. “One would think the scandal alone would have kept her away.”
He gave a little laugh at that. “You forget that she is our mother—a woman who has always lived as though scandal was for others. And, in fairness, it always has been.”
Our mother.
Juliana was reminded of the conversation in the stables with Simon. How much of this woman was in Juliana? How much of her lack of caring and complete disregard for others lurked deep within her daughter?
Juliana stiffened.
“You are not like her.” Her attention snapped to her brother, his fiery blue gaze firmly upon her.
Tears pricked at his honesty. “How do you know that?”
“I know. And someday, you will as well.”
The words were so simple, their sentiment so certain, that Juliana wanted to scream. How could he know? How could he be so certain that she was not precisely the woman their mother was? That, along with her height and her hair and her blue eyes, she had not inherited a complete and utter disregard for those around her, whom she was supposed to love?
Blood will out.
Instead, she said, “The scandal . . . when they hear . . . that she’s back . . .”
“It will be enormous.” She met his serious blue gaze. “The way I see it, we have two options. We either pack up and head for the country—her in tow—and hope that the gossip fades.”
If wishing would make it so . . .
She wrinkled her nose. “Or?”
“Or we square our shoulders and face it head-on.”
It was not a choice. Not for her. Not for him either.