In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady (7 page)

She lifted her chin. “I would have thought of one. But you kept distracting me.”

He let that curious idea go without comment. He rubbed a hand down his face.

“Your friends are returning,” she suddenly said, her body stiff.

He saw the Seymours escorting their children toward the train.

“We won't be able to talk,” he said swiftly. “I'll remove you from this situation. Be ready—and for God's sake, do whatever I say, immediately, with no questions asked.”

He could see her bristling, like a cat with its fur standing on end. But she pinched her mouth into a straight line and said nothing as the compartment door opened and the family piled back in.

 

Lord Parkhurst had actually fallen asleep. Rebecca stared at him, dismayed and angry, as the train chugged closer and closer to Birmingham, where she'd be forced to disembark to change railways.

That is if she continued to head north, as her ticket permitted her to. She might have once planned to lead the earl to Great-aunt Rianette, but she didn't want two thieves tagging along.

Part of her longed to stand up, to ease her bodily discomforts, to quiet her gurgling stomach. Lord Parkhurst had to be just as uncomfortable—but he was sleeping, his deep-set eyes closed, the tension gone from his frame.

If she could have woken him with her angry stare, he'd have a smoking hole between his eyes.

What did he have in mind? She wanted to be a part
of his decision-making—not dragged about like a helpless girl.

She wasn't helpless; she'd outwitted a thief who'd threatened to harm her family.

“Do you know his lordship, miss?”

Startled, Rebecca glanced to her side, at the mother who held her sleeping daughter in her lap. They'd sat practically shoulder to shoulder for several hours, and Mrs. Seymour had at first seemed to realize that Rebecca wasn't in a talkative mood.

Rebecca was about to claim a mere acquaintanceship with the earl and turn back to her window, when she suddenly realized that she had in her hands the ability to control what people thought of her—should someone ever question her presence on the train.

And she was still simmering with irritation that Lord Parkhurst held all the power, while she was helpless to do anything other than allow him to save her. It grated on her.

Rebecca smiled at Mrs. Seymour. “We are acquainted, ma'am. But…it is difficult for Lord Parkhurst and me to talk. He's still angry because I rejected his suit.”

The woman gasped. “Why would you reject an earl?”

Rebecca noticed that Lord Parkhurst did not seem quite so relaxed. Had he been sleeping at all, or merely
dozing? Why would he do so, unless to make her angry? Well, then, he'd succeeded.

Rebecca dropped her voice, even though she knew he would certainly hear her whisper. “He's not a very romantic sort, ma'am. A woman needs flowers and courtship. He seemed to think that his wealth alone would have me begging for marriage.”

Mrs. Seymour spoke doubtfully. “Then you are a better woman than most. You do not seem to be traveling together,” she added.

“We're not. But I think he realized the error of his ways, and now he's trying to pursue me.”

“You'd think he'd try a bit harder. He hasn't even spoken to you.”

Rebecca sighed. “Do you see what I mean? He's rather dense.”

The train hit an uneven part of the track, jolting them all, and Lord Parkhurst obviously used that opportunity to pretend to awaken.

He smiled at them. “Did I sleep? Hope I didn't embarrass myself.”

“You drooled dreadfully,” Rebecca said in a sweet voice. “I could not possibly marry a man who drooled.”

Mr. and Mrs. Seymour stared between them, eyes wide. Rebecca imagined they didn't think anyone would ever be so forward with an earl.

And then Lord Parkhurst leaned near and gripped
her hands urgently. “My dearest, how can you tease me so, knowing how I feel about you?”

So he didn't mind her playacting, and committed himself to it. His hands were so large, so strong. He could do anything he wanted to her, now that they were away from London. It was strange how that hadn't occurred to her when she was making plans to lure him away and win the wager.

But now she needed him to escape two others who might be worse—
might,
she reminded herself.

“Come, Lord Parkhurst, you're embarrassing yourself,” she said coolly.

The little girl had woken up and now contently sucked her thumb, staring at them from her mother's lap.

“I cannot think of embarrassment, my dear, not when our future is at stake.” He glanced apologetically at the Seymours. “But I imagine we shouldn't talk about this now.”

“Why? They might have very good opinions,” she said, batting her lashes at him. “After all, they're married.”

This was certainly a better distraction than wondering how she was going to escape two determined thieves. In fact, she felt positively amused.

But Lord Parkhurst gave her hands another squeeze and sat back. “No, my dear, I'll have a chance to plead my case when we arrive.”

“
That
is romantic,” Mrs. Seymour said shyly.

Lord Parkhurst bestowed the full force of his grin on the poor woman, who blushed from the roots of her hair to the base of her neck.

Rebecca sighed, and for the next half hour, was forced to put up with the earl “courting” her by nudging her feet. Surely they were presenting the Seymours with a fine show.

The train slowed at Coventry, only a few stops from Birmingham. The Seymours said their good-byes, for this was their destination.

Then Rebecca and the earl were left alone. She waited for him to rebuke her—or perhaps laugh at her antics—but he was concentrating on the view of the platform outside the window.

She glanced that way, saw the two thieves, and gave a soft groan.

“Prepare yourself,” he said quietly.

She perked up. “What do you mean to do? That was the whistle, we're departing.”

He nodded, then lowered his window and leaned his head out. Smoke seeped in, and she resisted the urge to cough, blinking her stinging eyes.

“Will you close that before we can't breathe?”

But it was still another minute before he closed the window and said, “Our interested friends are back in their carriage. They can't see us. Let's go.”

She gasped, for the train jerked and slowly began
to move. But she gamely reached for the door handle toward the platform.

“Not that one. We don't want the world knowing we've left.”

He opened the opposite door, which led to the right side of the track—in the dangerous area between the up and down railway lines.

“But—there's no platform!” she cried. “We're starting to move too fast.”

He had the door open and his foot on the single stair below. He reached for her. “We need to jump—now!”

R
ebecca felt like she was flying. It wasn't that long a fall, but the fact that the train was moving made everything worse. She stumbled and landed hard onto her stomach, rolling several times. Her cloak became entangled around her, and with a gasp she yanked it away from her face. Lord Parkhurst dragged her to her feet and to the far side of a shed between the rail lines.

Breathing heavily, her heart pounding, she waited with her eyes closed as the train picked up speed. Her whole body seemed to vibrate, and a fierce wind ruffled her skirts. She was still clutching the earl's hand, and she didn't let go.

At last the noise and rumbling lessened, and she slowly opened her eyes. Lord Parkhurst was beside her, his back to the shed. With a gasp she looked across the other track to the northwest, from where another train could have arrived.

He gave a soft laugh. “It's a good thing I'd already
checked if another train was in the distance. We might have been swept under the wheels.”

She yanked her hand away.

His amusement faded, and he looked down her body. “Are you injured? You have a scrape on your face.”

He gently touched her cheek. She ducked away from his hand. Her cloak was still thrown back over one shoulder, and to her dismay, the delicate yellow silk of her gown was torn in several places, and filthy in many others. She could see her hair tumbling down around her shoulders. Her hat was crushed on the ground. Frustrated, she yanked closed her cloak, noticing that the earl looked unscathed.

“I am fine.” Then she coughed. The air was foul with the smell of the train, and she started to move away from the shed.

“Wait.”

His voice was a command to be obeyed, and she imagined he was used to giving orders. Begrudgingly, she waited while he looked around the corner of the shed, toward the platform.

“Do you see the thieves?” she asked.

“No. I'm certain they never left the train.”

“Well, they certainly thought we stayed on it,” she said dryly. “We took quite the risk of being pulled beneath the wheels.”

“It was moving slow enough. We were safe.”

They looked at each other, and for a moment, she
wondered if she was really safe at all. But it was too late to have doubts. She ran her hands through her hair, slipping the remainder of the pins into her reticule. She found weeds caught in her curls, and even a bit of gravel. But she finger-combed it as best she could.

“If we're lucky,” he said, “the thieves will believe we jumped from the train on our arrival at the next station. It may take them days of searching before they realize their error.”

She gave a reluctant smile. “An ingenious plan.”

He nodded, and said in a serious voice, “I know.”

She frowned at his arrogance.

“Hey, mate!”

They both started. A porter on the deserted platform for the down line was gaping at them.

“Ye can't cross between the lines there!” the man cried. “Ye could have been killed.”

Before Lord Parkhurst could speak, she called, “Oh, sir, I've never ridden a train before. This man only tried to stop me, and surely he saved me from being run over by the train!”

The porter grumbled and motioned for them. After they crossed the tracks, the porter reached down to help her, for she could not jump onto the platform in her unwieldy skirts. Lord Parkhurst moved behind her and put his hands directly on her backside to boost her up with the porter's help. Her mouth tightened at such familiarity, and she could not escape the intimacy quick enough.
How much had he been able to see beneath her skirts?

She tossed a glare at him over her shoulder when she was safe on the platform. With ease, he boosted himself up, going from a squat to standing with graceful energy, the sleeves of his coat tightening over thick muscles. Ruefully, she imagined anything physical was never a challenge for him.

And then she blushed as he looked at her, as if he could read her mind. She quickly turned away.

The porter gave them another incredulous look and stomped away, leaving them alone on the platform. Her reticule dangled from her wrist, but that was all the luggage they had between them.

She gave him a bright smile. “Shall you buy your return ticket?”

He frowned. “Two men were following you, Rebecca. You expect me to leave you here?”

“I will be fine. I'll get back on the next train and go to my aunt's.”

“It will have been easy for them to discover where you were journeying. Servants talk.”

“Not our servants!”

“
Your
servants told me you were at Banstead House this afternoon.”

“You
are
an earl. Of course they'd feel they must obey you—and you used that against them. Regardless, I certainly cannot be seen traveling with a man.”

To her shock, he lifted his hand and set his fingers
on her bodice, right where the jewel hung just at the top of her breasts. She gasped, and her breathing picked up again, which only made her breasts touch his sleeve with rapid little flutters. A strange and almost achy sensation flushed through her.

“And what were you going to do with the diamond?” he asked in a low voice.

She batted his hand away and renewed her smile. “That's my problem, my lord.”

He looked behind himself, but the platform was yet deserted. He spoke softly. “From now on, you cannot call me that. I am Julian, Rebecca.”

His tone was too intimate—as had been his touch. He'd rescued her from one situation, and thrown her into the fire of another.

“The sun is setting, and we cannot remain in the open,” he continued. “Your thieves might already have deduced what we did and know where to come.”

Could she trust him? She still knew nothing about him except gossip—and that had only been about some scandal of which she didn't know the details. He was reclusive in Society—what was he concealing? Did he just “happen” to be following her when the thieves were?

All she could do was bide her time. “So we find an inn? Surely there is one near the railway station.”

“We can't use that. We need to conceal ourselves, not appear as an earl and a gentlewoman.”

She gave him an ironic glance. “In my present disheveled state, that will be easier for me.”

He rubbed his chin. “True, you look like a doxy who found a fine gown in the rubbish.”

She resisted the urge to slap him. “Did no one ever tell you that insulting a lady is bad form?”

“No insult meant—I simply told the truth.” He looked down at himself. “For myself, it will be difficult to blend in wearing such garments.”

“A shame we didn't bring luggage,” she said dryly, hands on her hips. “Very well, let us find an inn before our friends return. Have you ever been here before?”

He shook his head. “If only it were that easy. Since we still have an hour or so of daylight, we'll start walking, looking for the oldest section of the city. We'll ask for directions there, rather than here, where railway employees might remember us.”

She grinned. “Well thought out, Lord—Julian.”

 

They walked through the crooked, narrow streets of an unfamiliar town, with its medieval timber-framed houses that almost overlapped each other. Julian followed those streets as much as possible, as the light disappeared down dark alleys. The ground sloped gently upward, toward an old church that sat at the summit of Coventry.

They received many suspicious stares, even though
he'd removed his cravat and waistcoat and smeared dirt on his well-polished boots. He'd even torn the shoulder of his coat and the hem of Rebecca's cloak.

But it was difficult to hide her natural, ladylike grace, the proud way she carried herself. And although he kept warning her of the seriousness of their situation, she actually seemed to be enjoying herself. Other women would protest as they entered narrower, more decrepit lanes, but she only looked about with interest, studying everything she could.

Or memorizing the path they'd taken. Intelligent of her. But although he kept reminding her to lower her gaze in a docile fashion, she couldn't seem to remember.

At last he thought they were far enough from the train station that he felt safe entering a tavern to ask for the nearest inn. His size tended to inspire quick answers, so he didn't have to leave Rebecca standing outside the door for any length of time. And although his garments called attention to himself, his rural accent was flawless.

When he emerged back onto the twilit street, Rebecca looked up at him with grudging interest. “That was well done,” she said softly. “And I thought I was the only one who could mimic the servants.”

“The talent will come in handy,” he said. “This way.”

They walked side by side and he considered her. “Why did you learn to mimic the servants?”

She shrugged. “If you know anything about me, you know that I was ill often as a child. That left me with much free time. I learned to read aloud and alter my voice to fit the parts. It was a game my brother and I played. We became very good at it. And you?”

She seemed so vibrant that it was difficult to imagine her pale and ill. He looked ahead of him, at a lounging man who came to his feet when he saw them. Julian frowned, and the man promptly sat back down on his crate and hunched his shoulders.

“Accents came quite naturally to me,” Julian said, “probably because I was with the servants more than anyone else.”

He sensed her curiosity, but didn't see the need to satisfy it.

“You have a large family,” she said, “or so my mother tells me. One would think
they
would take up most of your time.”

“The inn should be nearby.”

She was still studying him too intently, but she didn't continue her questions.

On the next block, they found the inn, The White Hare, whose faded sign hung crookedly. There was an arch leading into a stabling yard where several broken-down carriages sat among the weeds. The stables stood open and empty, without horses to rent.

“You have investments in railways?” she asked quietly.

He frowned down at her. “You heard me discuss it with Mr. Seymour. Why?”

“
This
is what happened to small towns because of the railways.”

He nodded. Coaches no longer moved up and down England, leaving posting inns to fade into oblivion.

“But how many days would it have taken us to get here by coach?” he countered.

“I didn't say there weren't benefits. I enjoy the train. Someday I'd like to travel it as far north as I can and see even more of England.”

Now she seemed to be babbling, and he couldn't blame her. They stepped into the hall of the inn, with its unswept floor and empty sideboards. A lone young man occupied the counter, propped on a stool and looking bored. The youth barely glanced at them when Julian signed the register.

Rebecca peered over his shoulder, and he knew she saw the signature, “Mr. and Mrs. Bacon.” She only arched a brow and turned away.

He needed to be alone with her and keep both her and the diamond safe. But it didn't seem to bother her to be labeled his wife.

And his groin tightened at the thought.

A shuffling chambermaid showed them to their room and started a fire in the coal grate. She turned down the bed, not meeting their eyes.

“We'll be needin' a meal,” Julian said, handing over a coin for her trouble.

The girl looked at it in surprise. “Aye, sir. Me mum made a fine mutton and pudding.” Then she truly looked at him, and bobbed a curtsy.

When she had gone, Rebecca said, “I imagine you tipped her far too well, which made her notice your garments—and remember us.”

He glanced at her and gave a faint smile. “I will not make that mistake again.”

“We won't be dressed like this for long. For more coin, she will be able to find clothing for us, so your generosity won't go to waste.”

He stood in the center of the room, watching as Rebecca prowled about. She ducked her head behind a changing screen, partially torn. The chamber pot must have been hidden behind, for her cheeks were a delicate pink when she straightened. There was one bed, and he wasn't even sure his shoulders would fit across it, let alone the two of them.

Had she realized yet?

She stumbled to a halt at the foot of the bed. “Lord—Julian,” she began. After a pause, she turned away from the bed. “I need a moment's privacy. Would you wait in the hall?”

He used the privy in the stable yard, and by the time he returned, she was seated before the grate, finally
looking uncertain. She'd lit several coarse candles, but there wasn't a lamp. Her hair, though disheveled, gleamed in the warm yellow light, and her eyes, great pools of mystery, regarded him steadily. She'd removed her cloak, and with the shadows, he could see the faint lump of the diamond, the Scandalous Lady, she kept hidden. How much should he reveal to her? And what should be their next move?

But before he had to think about it, the maid returned with a tray, and the two of them sat down on stools at the wobbly, rough table and began to eat.

They were both clearly famished, for even the pudding was appetizing, though it tasted of onions. The coarse bread steamed, and the butter was fresh.

“Oh, heavens, this tastes like the best feast,” she said, speaking with her mouth full. “I didn't even have time to eat the luncheon at the reception.”

“You mean before you ran away from me?”

“I don't run away.”

But she had, he thought, not arguing the point, for she knew it well. But now the specter of the near kiss rose between them—at least in his mind. She seemed determined to devour every last crumb, then washed it all down with ale.

“Do you usually drink such a strong beverage?” he asked as she wiped the foam from her lip.

“I have sampled it, but it is not my first choice. Tonight it tastes like the nectar of the gods.”