In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady (16 page)

But what if he failed?

That gave him pause, but he thrust the bleak, unsettling feeling away. He would not fail. And it was a mark of his confusion that he would even momentarily consider it.

“Very well, you may remain,” he said at last.

She looked up at him, wearing a satisfied grin. “So what do we do next?”

“We attempt to get a good night's sleep.”

She glanced away from him, her expression resolute and brave. She'd never faced such a place in her life, and he could not make it better for her.

“And then what?” she asked. “I imagine you wish to confront your uncle. Is his country estate far?”

“A trip of many days, with our money problems. But we'll get there.”

“And then you'll have the truth.”

“And justice,” he added meaningfully.

He put his arm around her and frowned his menace as they approached the lodging house. One man stepped
out of their way, and another hesitated before doing the same. And then Julian and Rebecca were inside, looking for the pallet that had been promised to them.

Rebecca said nothing when she saw the heaped bedding and the narrow pallet that they would both sleep on.

“It's off the floor,” she said, giving him a grateful smile.

He was certain she was remembering the rat they'd seen earlier.

Much as he was usually a man who slept little, who worked late each evening, he felt exhausted. They went to bed fully clothed, Rebecca at his back near the wall, their portmanteau on the pallet between their feet.

But others did not sleep. Even as Rebecca curled against his back, sharing her warmth, he found his eyes would not close. In the gloom and the guttering candles scattered through the large room, he could see people moving about, especially the children. Their little voices were high-pitched, and they should be frightened, but the hopelessness was the worst. It made him angry with their parents.

Rebecca felt the stiffness in his body. For all she thought he would surely sleep soundly, he did not seem to be able to relax.

“Julian?” she murmured.

He looked over his shoulder.

“Is something wrong?”

In the gloom, she saw the trace of a wry smile.

“What could be wrong?”

“Such sarcasm, sir.” She snuggled closer, tightening her hold about his waist, glad his shirt didn't smell of the fire. It smelled of him, and she was startled at how much she enjoyed that. “If nothing is wrong, then you must relax and sleep. What good will you be to me tomorrow?”

She meant to make him chuckle, but he didn't.

A baby started to wail, and as his mother tried to hush him, her next oldest child echoed the baby. They could barely be a year apart, and she had several other young children beside them.

“I don't understand why they keep having children in such conditions,” he said in a low voice. “Good God, I've known about the ways to prevent conception since I was fourteen. And it's not that grave an expense.”

She came up on her elbow and stared down at him. “Really? I had no idea.”

“If only my mother—” He broke off, muttering something, but she didn't catch the words. If there was more light, she wondered if she'd see a flush of red in his face. It was a frank conversation. Had he thought his mother should have had fewer children?

She found herself brushing the dark hair back from his face, the better to see his expression. He inhaled swiftly, but didn't stop her. “I feel compassion for these women,” she murmured, continuing to stroke his soft
hair. “They probably had no choice. For me, the hardest part is hearing people cough.”

He glanced back at her, eyes narrowed. “Of course! And here I bring you to such a place, knowing you're susceptible—”

“No, you misunderstand me. I don't fear for myself. I learned long ago that I have no control over my health. But I had my parents to care for me, to try to heal me. All these poor people can do is endure.”

He said nothing, and she at last lowered her head back to the folded clothing they'd used as pillows.

“You are a good woman, Rebecca,” he murmured.

Smiling, she hugged him tighter.

She thought sleep would come easily after the day they'd had, and truly, the noise of so many people didn't bother her—until she heard a man's moan, one of pleasure rather than pain. Surely she was imagining it, she thought in shock and embarrassment. A baby still cried, people still talked in low voices, a drunk bawled something out in the courtyard—and a woman moaned in response.

Without thinking, she whispered, “Is that—” She broke off, regretting even speaking of such an intimate thing to Julian.

“It is. This is their home, after all.”

She buried her face between his shoulder blades, burning with mortification. She covered her ears, and he must have realized what she did, for his body shook
with laughter. She hit him on the shoulder. How dare he feel amusement when something so painfully private was going on not ten feet away! In her world, if a man was caught even kissing a woman, the shock and scandal were grounds for an immediate marriage.

The liaison became even louder, and she heard a rhythmic thumping. Julian wasn't laughing now; he seemed just as tense as she.

And she was pressed up against him. It seemed wrong to touch him, but there was nowhere for her to go.

When she thought it might surely go on forever, at last the man gave a groan, and the thumping died away.

She heaved a sigh and let her hands fall from her ears. It hadn't helped much anyway.

What caused the thumping? she wondered, even as she fell asleep.

 

At noon, Rebecca found a spot of shade at the fish market, sitting on a rock that overlooked the canal and the many barges that served the people and the industry of Manchester. She could just see Julian, an open box of fish balanced on his shoulder, as he disembarked from a barge and went into a warehouse.

She tried to put aside her feelings of guilt, knowing he would be upset with her. He was unloading fish to earn them traveling money. But she felt so useless,
wishing to somehow contribute. When she'd expressed her feelings before dawn as they drank coffee and ate bread huddled around a movable coffee stall, he'd scoffed at her.

She had learned so much today. When they'd left the lodging house, others were just coming home from their night work at the factories, taking the pallets newly vacated by the day workers, a way to save money that had her shuddering. Watching Julian unload fish for hours on end made her feel even more thankful that her family had been able to support themselves with tenants cultivating the land.

Julian never seemed to tire. And he looked for her every few trips he took between the warehouse and the barge. She learned quickly not to linger too long in the stalls, examining the wares offered for sale, knowing that Julian counted on being able to see her, to watch over her. If she had her choice, she would have spent time salivating over the oranges and lemons, but the price proved out of their reach.

When he took his luncheon break, they shared ham sandwiches and cider. He ate steadily, hungrily, and she wished she had more to offer him, for he must be starving after working hard for so many hours. She offered half of hers, but he refused it.

At last he sat back, leaning against the boulder she'd perched on most of the morning.

“I imagine you've been bored silly,” he murmured, eyes closed.

“You might think so, but I wasn't. There is so much to see. And I feel positively unencumbered without a chaperone.”

“What a grand adventure,” he said, sarcasm laced through his words.

“It truly is,” she insisted, “even if you are too single-minded to see it as so.”

“I am keeping many thoughts in my head. The one that amuses me the most is the look on your face when candles were lit this morn, and you could see everyone who'd occupied our room at the lodging house. Your blush rivaled the reddest sunset.”

She groaned and closed her eyes. “I wish you wouldn't bring it up. My ears—not to mention my sensibilities—will never be the same.”

He gave a low chuckle. “I must admit, I never thought to share such an experience with you.”

“How can you imagine sharing such an experience with anyone?” she demanded.

He looked at her from beneath half-closed eyelids. “I can imagine it.”

Her breath caught.

“And now you're blushing again.”

“Oh, just go to sleep. I'll wake you when I see the other men returning to work.”

“I certainly won't be sleeping,” he said, even though his eyes were closed again.

“Aren't you exhausted?”

He shrugged. “You may be surprised to know that I've worked just as hard in the fields and barns of my home.”

She wasn't surprised at all. “I imagine the servants appreciated your assistance.”

“I was learning, so I felt the benefit as much as they did.”

“And with your help, they agreed to stay, although they weren't being paid much.”

He closed his eyes again. Another topic he wouldn't wish to discuss. Didn't he want her to think well of him? Or perhaps he was used to doing everything out of sight, being shown little gratitude. She hoped that wasn't true. Then she remembered the troubles he'd been having with his younger brothers. Obviously they didn't appreciate him.

“Did you unload fish another time in your life?”

He smiled. “No, this is a new skill to add to my repertoire.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, and he twitched as he dozed off. She liked looking at him, at his skin already darkening in the sun beneath his unruly black hair. His broken nose above his heavily whiskered jaw made these people think he was one of them. He
was at home in many worlds, and she wanted to learn to feel the same.

At last she shook his shoulder, and he came awake with an abrupt start.

“Sorry. The other men are returning to work.”

He nodded, got to his feet, and gave her a last look. “You will be all right here?”

“No one bothers me. I'm certain your uncle thinks we fled Manchester immediately. And he would never think to look for us here.”

His smile was faint. “True. But don't relax your vigilance.”

“I won't.”

He suddenly leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She held still in surprise and pleasure as he whispered, “I look forward to spending another night in your arms with all of our new friends.”

She made a face that sent him off with a laugh, but her own amusement faded more quickly. She prayed they would only spend one more night in that lodging house, for if she had to listen to all the moaning and thumping again and again, she was going to demand that Julian explain it all in detail.

He wouldn't be laughing then.

J
ulian walked at Rebecca's side as they returned to the lodging house, feeling tired and sore but satisfied. He looked down at her and jingled the coins in his pocket. She grinned and stuck her hand in, startling and pleasing him.

“Ooh, feel all that wealth,” she said, bumping against him as they walked.

The feel of her hand against his thigh was making him forget his aching muscles, but she seemed oblivious.

She looked up at the overcast sky as a light misting rain continued to dampen their clothing. “Maybe the rain will rid us both of the stench of fish.”

“I was the one who carted them around all day,” he protested.

“And I wandered in the midst of the fish stalls. Trust me, I didn't pick up this odor just from you.”

He laughed and hefted the wrapped package in his other hand. “But it will taste good cooked, I imagine.”

“Do you cook?” she asked. “Because I never have.
Oh, wait, of course you do! You surely spent time in the kitchens as you grew up.”

He smiled. “As a matter of fact…”

“Then you can cook for me.”

“I provided the food, I'm your guard. I imagine I can be your cook, too.”

Slyly she said, “I think I like this arrangement.”

At the lodging house, they commandeered a coal grate and grilled the fish he'd received from his temporary employer. There was more than enough to share, and soon Rebecca moved among the children, offering the plain fish as if it were a feast. And the children treated it as such, although they respectfully waited for their turn. More than one child was sniffling and coughing, and Julian wanted to pull Rebecca away. But that had been her childhood, always kept away from others, and he knew she would no longer accept such treatment. But he understood her parents' fears.

When the food was gone, and people began to settle in for the night, he saw Rebecca's hesitation. He took her hand, and when she gave him a puzzled look, he gestured with his head toward the door. She grinned and followed his lead. He led her outside into the courtyard, and they sat down on two crates. Out of his pocket, he brought a small wrapped package and handed it to her. She gave him a curious look even as she untied the string.

She gasped and her face lit up. “A tart!”

“Strawberry,” he said, “I'm sorry if it got a bit crushed.”

“Oh, it will taste the same,” she said, taking her first bite. Her eyes closed with bliss.

He felt hungry for more than food as he watched her. “I never imagined giving such a gift to a woman.”

She chuckled and caught crumbs from her cheek with the back of her hand. “And I never imagined how I would appreciate such a hard-earned gift. But thank you so much.” She broke off a piece. “Take some.”

“No, it's yours. I'm enjoying watching you eat.”

With determination, she leaned forward and put the piece to his mouth. “Take a bite,” she insisted.

At last he did, his gaze locking with hers as his lips brushed her fingers.

She paused and blushed. “I must taste like fish,” she said awkwardly.

He chewed and swallowed. “I don't mind.”

Tension and anticipation for their next private moment simmered between them once more. He remembered the way they'd kissed, the feeling of her in his arms, her face lost in pleasure beneath him. It had been three days since that stolen moment, three days where he told himself he'd regained control. And then each night they lay entwined, as they would again tonight. And he would awaken every time she moved against him. He'd see the painting in his mind, and imagine her stretched out on his bed like that, just for him. Lately, his thoughts
seemed uncontrollable, something he'd never imagined would happen to him.

He cleared his throat. “So what would your family think if they knew what you were doing?”

Her laughter was more like a snort. “Because it's me, I imagine they'd be surprised. But I'm a Leland through my father, and a Cabot through my mother. I think it would be more surprising if I
didn't
find some kind of trouble.” She eyed him with amused suspicions. “Don't tell me you don't know what my family's done.”

He folded his arms over his chest, deciding not to tell her that he knew much about her family through his search for a suitable wife. “I know your brother was thought dead until he returned—that's quite a story.”

“Oh, believe me, that was minor on the scale of scandal. That was simply a joyous miracle.”

“Are you trying to say you can compete with
my
family scandals?” he asked with feigned astonishment. “We're talking a stolen priceless diamond, a thieving uncle—”

“You didn't hear about my father caught up in a grave-robbing scheme?”

He blinked at her.

She smiled. “As an anatomy professor, he paid men to bring him the corpses of prisoners, all very legal. He didn't know that asking for a female made them steal her from a grave.”

“That must have been difficult to bear.”

“It happened before I was born, but it harmed my parents' marriage for many years. My mother was quite humiliated. But surely you heard that my uncle, the duke, made a common Spanish girl his duchess.”

“I did know that.”

“The present duke married a female journalist who was investigating him by pretending to be someone else! Another cousin won the right to court his eventual wife in a card game with her mother. And my aunt was suspected of murdering her husband so she could claim credit for a symphony he'd supposedly written. And my grandfather—”

“Enough! I cannot believe I'm admitting this, but I think your family is far more scandalous than mine. My association with you might very well be harming my reputation as we speak.”

“You were seen flirting with me by much of feminine Society.” She fluttered her lashes. “And if they knew what we've done since…”

He gave her a slow, intimate smile. She watched him, moistening her lips, driving him to distraction.

“But don't you see, Julian,” she said, “my family is full of scandal, but none of it happened to me. I was always ill, confined to my bed. My family's exploits might as well have been fictional stories I read in a book.”

“And now you have your own adventure. Surely you'll be more than able to hold your head up when,
in your old age, you and your cousins reminisce about your frivolous youth.” He cocked his head. “Will you tell them someday about the painting?”

A strange expression passed over her face, and she straightened. “That might be asking for too much understanding, don't you think?”

“Your family seems accepting of artists—there's your sister's study of dissections, and didn't you just say an uncle composed music?”

“And I have a cousin who plays the violin. But none of them took their clothing off.” She ate the last crumb of her strawberry tart and sighed. “Oh, Julian, that was simply delicious. Thank you for the treat.”

They remained silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of overcrowded humanity, from crying children to squabbling adults. At last they could put off sleep no longer and they went inside, where the smells and the sounds assaulted the senses.

“We leave Manchester tomorrow,” he said firmly.

“Thank God.”

Julian assumed he would be tired enough to fall asleep quickly. But when Rebecca was safely asleep behind him, and he'd just begun to doze off, regardless of the crying baby, Rebecca coughed.

He frowned but didn't open his eyes. Anyone could cough. Who knew what was floating in the air in an industrial city like Manchester?

Just as he relaxed, she coughed again—and again.

He looked over his shoulder. “Rebecca?” he murmured.

“My throat is simply scratchy,” she said, then was overcome by a long fit of coughing.

She moved away from him, closer to the wall, as if she didn't want to disturb him. Julian felt helpless, so he fell back on his instincts, rolling over and hushing her protests as he reversed her position as well. He folded his body around hers to comfort her so she would not be afraid, his hips behind hers so she could share his warmth.

“Relax,” he murmured, stroking her arm and down her hip.

She was faintly trembling, but at last the cough died away. He tried not to think what illnesses she'd been exposed to here—how he hadn't protected her.

“It was nothing,” she said briskly. “I thought I inhaled a piece of your hair. After all, I was trapped between you and the wall.”

“So would you rather face my back or the wall?” he asked, struggling to sound amused.

“I can't exactly see the wall, but I imagine it might be a sight better than the filthy shirt you're wearing.”

He chuckled, continuing to stroke her body. “It is difficult to bathe or wash clothing here.”

“Believe me, I'm looking forward to both those things tomorrow. And Julian?”

“Yes?”

“You must remember that I've stopped living my life in constant worry. I won't live like that again.”

They were silent several minutes, and she gave a contented sigh. By not thinking about her risk of illness, he found himself feeling the softness of her hair against his cheek, the long lean slope of her back, and the way her ass cradled him sensually. He kept imagining the caresses he could show her, the expressions on her vivid face as she experienced unimagined pleasures.

No, don't think about that tonight,
he told himself, but it was too late. If Rebecca noticed that he was aroused, she did not mention it. He should stop caressing her, but that might be even more obvious.

“I can hear the gears in your mind turning,” she said, tilting her head to look back at him.

He came up on one elbow, the better to see her face. “What do you mean?”

“You're thinking too much. I swear that my throat was only irritated.”

“Prove it to me,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her.

Her lips were as soft as he remembered, and he wanted to moan with the pleasure that flooded through him. But he restrained himself. He kissed her gently, parting her lips more with each kiss, until he could enter her mouth, stroking, exploring, tasting strawberry tart.

At last he lifted his head. “You're a bold vixen. I guess I can no longer be surprised you'd pose nude.”

Again, he let his hand slide appreciatively over her hip.

Hesitantly, she asked, “Are you…disappointed in me compared to the painting?”

He gave her an astonished look. “How could I be disappointed?”

“Roger made me look so…provocative. I never thought of myself that way. And I could understand if you agreed with me.”

“He captured your spirit perfectly,” he said, nuzzling behind her ear, “as far as I can see. Which hasn't been all that far.”

Her sensual chuckle made him give her another deep, drugging kiss. He lifted his head, taking a deep breath, struggling to find a distraction. Hoarsely, he said, “You know I've already won.”

“The wager?” she replied faintly, inching her body until she lay on her back to look up at him.

“Of course. My proof is the diamond.”

He traced its outline beneath her bodice, and could tell she held her breath.

“I could have
borrowed
the necklace.”

“An excellent try, but I don't believe that. But tell me, why did you and your cousin and sister all feel the need to proclaim yourself the model?”

“We've always been close, being raised in the same home. When Elizabeth and I were still in the schoolroom, we used to analyze how we would have handled
the scandals of our relatives. Susanna overheard us, and being older, she decided that the best way to not get into trouble was to swear a pact that the three of us would always protect each other, always help each other avoid scandal.”

“
You
swore to this?”

“I was much younger,” she said with a laugh. “I was wistful even imagining that I could ever come close to a delicious scandal, but I wanted to go along with Susanna and Elizabeth, to pretend I was just like them.”

“But now you've created your very own scandal. Do you have a plan for what will happen if Society finds out about your connection to the painting? Not that they would through myself or my friends,” he added. “But there are always those who delight in overhearing conversations that they shouldn't.”

“I will not care,” she said, tilting her chin, her smile delightfully wicked. “I will not be in London. I will be traveling. And my parents are well used to handling scandal.”

“You would leave such a thing to them?”

“Did we not have to bear some of the burden of our parents' scandal? It is only fitting that they return the favor.”

“How generous of you.”

She laughed, then covered her mouth. “Good night, Julian.”

She was smiling as she turned away from him, but
she gave a little squirm with her hips that made him shudder. She was learning far too quickly.

 

Julian was not sorry to see Manchester fade behind them. The wagon jerked and shuddered on the uneven road, but where once that had annoyed him, he no longer minded it, for every turn of the wheels took them toward fresh country air. Rebecca would not have to breathe in the foul smells of the slums.

Although his uncle lived in Lincolnshire, Julian had felt it wise to travel north for a day. His uncle's men, who were most certainly looking for them, would probably watch the roads east of Manchester, in the direction of Windebank's home, or south, if they thought Julian and Rebecca meant to flee to London.

Before dinner, he and Rebecca left the wagon in the countryside, as if they were close to home, and allowed it to go on to the next village without them. They'd decided to camp out of doors for the first night, the better to confuse their pursuers.