Read Online Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love by Christi Caldwell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christi Caldwell
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“Mother is concerned with how and where I found this particular governess.”
Drake’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.
Jonathan glared at him, not appreciating this display of amusement. He found the whole situation rather bothersome.
“Who is this young woman?” Emmaline asked Jonathan, even as she frowned at her husband.
“Her name is Miss Marshville. Uh—but for all intents and purposes, we shall refer to her as Miss Marsh.”
Drake’s brow furrowed. “Marshville. Why is that familiar?”
Jonathan shifted in his seat. He had nothing to feel guilty about. It was hardly his fault that Sir Albert Marshville had wagered both his fat purse, and modest cottage, which Jonathan hadn’t yet bothered to visit, in a game of chance. “I may have won Sir Albert Marshville’s cottage in a hand of cards.”
Emmaline blinked. “You stole the young woman’s home and are now forcing her to work for you.” She shook her head looking like a disapproving nursemaid.
Which only made him think of governesses. Which in turn only made him think of Miss Marshville.
“I am not forcing the young lady to work for me,” he said past gritted teeth. “She’s chosen to work as a governess for my sisters.” All to acquire her family’s cottage, but that was neither here nor there. If he’d truly had his way, well then, she’d have been his mistress before his governess, but alas after having felt the sting of her fingertips upon his cheek, he’d known with great certainty just how Miss Marshville would have felt toward an indecent proposal on his part. “There is more,” Jonathan felt inclined to share. Because the more is what had brought him round posthaste.
Emmaline and Drake exchanged a look.
“I may have suggested you were a one-time friend of Miss Marshville.”
“You may have suggested? Or you suggested? Because those are two very entirely different things, Sinclair,” Emmaline said on a frown.
“The former.” He softened the truth with his most roguish grin.
“I already ordered you to stop flirting with my wife, Sin,” Drake snapped.
Filled with a restive energy, Jonathan shoved himself to his feet and wandered over to the pianoforte. He depressed a single, discordant key that resonated through the room and his mind.
I’m proficient upon the pianoforte.
Jonathan imagined those long, delicate fingers moving over the keys.
“And how am I supposed to know this Miss Marshville?” Emmaline called, jerking him from his reverie.
He yanked his hand back from the instrument, and returned his attention to Emmaline.
“Furthermore, I know nothing of her. Why, she could be utterly horrid,” she said, repeating Penelope’s very same concerns.
“She most certainly is not horrid,” he interrupted. He hurried on, as Emmaline and Drake shared some indecipherable look between them. “Miss Marshville strikes me as just the kind you’d get on with.”
“Oh?” Emmaline quirked an eyebrow.
He waved a hand. “Honorable.” She’d perform honest work all to acquire the property lost by her brother. “Courageous.” After all, he couldn’t identify a single young lady who’d brave St. Giles, and wrestle herself free of a lecherous gentleman with such skill and calm. “And exceedingly beautiful,” he murmured more to himself.
For an infinitesimal moment, he detected a slight tug at Drake’s lips, but then he coughed into his hand, and when he dropped his fingers back to his side, his serious, guarded expression was firmly in place.
“Honorable and courageous,” Emmaline repeated, tapping a finger against her chin. “Very well, I’ll trust your judgment on this matter. But,” she held that same finger up. “If she’s in anyway horrid to your sisters…”
“They’ll deserve it entirely,” he said.
“Then you are to release her from her obligations immediately.”
He held a hand to his chest and bowed his head. “Certainly.” He might be a rogue bent on fulfilling own selfish
Drake’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.
Jonathan glared at him, not appreciating this display of amusement. He found the whole situation rather bothersome.
“Who is this young woman?” Emmaline asked Jonathan, even as she frowned at her husband.
“Her name is Miss Marshville. Uh—but for all intents and purposes, we shall refer to her as Miss Marsh.”
Drake’s brow furrowed. “Marshville. Why is that familiar?”
Jonathan shifted in his seat. He had nothing to feel guilty about. It was hardly his fault that Sir Albert Marshville had wagered both his fat purse, and modest cottage, which Jonathan hadn’t yet bothered to visit, in a game of chance. “I may have won Sir Albert Marshville’s cottage in a hand of cards.”
Emmaline blinked. “You stole the young woman’s home and are now forcing her to work for you.” She shook her head looking like a disapproving nursemaid.
Which only made him think of governesses. Which in turn only made him think of Miss Marshville.
“I am not forcing the young lady to work for me,” he said past gritted teeth. “She’s chosen to work as a governess for my sisters.” All to acquire her family’s cottage, but that was neither here nor there. If he’d truly had his way, well then, she’d have been his mistress before his governess, but alas after having felt the sting of her fingertips upon his cheek, he’d known with great certainty just how Miss Marshville would have felt toward an indecent proposal on his part. “There is more,” Jonathan felt inclined to share. Because the more is what had brought him round posthaste.
Emmaline and Drake exchanged a look.
“I may have suggested you were a one-time friend of Miss Marshville.”
“You may have suggested? Or you suggested? Because those are two very entirely different things, Sinclair,” Emmaline said on a frown.
“The former.” He softened the truth with his most roguish grin.
“I already ordered you to stop flirting with my wife, Sin,” Drake snapped.
Filled with a restive energy, Jonathan shoved himself to his feet and wandered over to the pianoforte. He depressed a single, discordant key that resonated through the room and his mind.
I’m proficient upon the pianoforte.
Jonathan imagined those long, delicate fingers moving over the keys.
“And how am I supposed to know this Miss Marshville?” Emmaline called, jerking him from his reverie.
He yanked his hand back from the instrument, and returned his attention to Emmaline.
“Furthermore, I know nothing of her. Why, she could be utterly horrid,” she said, repeating Penelope’s very same concerns.
“She most certainly is not horrid,” he interrupted. He hurried on, as Emmaline and Drake shared some indecipherable look between them. “Miss Marshville strikes me as just the kind you’d get on with.”
“Oh?” Emmaline quirked an eyebrow.
He waved a hand. “Honorable.” She’d perform honest work all to acquire the property lost by her brother. “Courageous.” After all, he couldn’t identify a single young lady who’d brave St. Giles, and wrestle herself free of a lecherous gentleman with such skill and calm. “And exceedingly beautiful,” he murmured more to himself.
For an infinitesimal moment, he detected a slight tug at Drake’s lips, but then he coughed into his hand, and when he dropped his fingers back to his side, his serious, guarded expression was firmly in place.
“Honorable and courageous,” Emmaline repeated, tapping a finger against her chin. “Very well, I’ll trust your judgment on this matter. But,” she held that same finger up. “If she’s in anyway horrid to your sisters…”
“They’ll deserve it entirely,” he said.
“Then you are to release her from her obligations immediately.”
He held a hand to his chest and bowed his head. “Certainly.” He might be a rogue bent on fulfilling own selfish
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