In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady (18 page)

“This isn't over between us,” she murmured. “I'll have what I want.”

“Even if it means losing everything you have?”

She didn't answer.

 

The next day was a miserable one, wet and windy. Julian was surprised that Rebecca actually murmured aloud her longing for an enclosed carriage. Then she seemed embarrassed at what she'd revealed and became even more cross. They'd accepted a ride from a farmer taking jugs of milk into the nearest village, where they paid for a public wagon for the rest of the afternoon. Through it all the sky poured rain, water streaming down crevices from the tops of the moors until he thought for certain that the roads would flood.

It was almost dark before they reached the village of Dewsbury in the West Riding. They were cold and wet, and he saw Rebecca's expression of gratitude when he registered at the humble inn where the wagon left off its passengers.

The maid who showed them to their room was heav
ily pregnant and seemed miserable, although polite. She attempted to add more coals to the grate, but Julian gently steered her aside and completed the task.

“Me thanks, sir,” the woman said, grimacing.

“Perhaps ye shouldn't be on your feet,” Rebecca said.

“I'm just feelin' a mite poorly. Pay me no mind. Shall I bring ye some dinner?”

“We'll come down to the taproom,” Julian said.

She gave him a grateful smile.

None of their garments were completely dry, so they hung the worst across chairs by the hearth. Julian turned his back on Rebecca as he took off his sodden clothing, all the way down to his drawers.

“Your drawers are soaked, too,” Rebecca said.

“You've watched me bathe, and now you have no problem watching me undress?”

“I'm not watching; I'm changing. I simply know everything about you, Julian, and I know you wouldn't want to offend my delicate female sensibilities by taking off all your clothing in the same room. Don't worry, I will not throw myself at you.”

He sighed and removed his drawers and replaced them with ones only slightly damp.

At last they were ready to descend to the taproom. Since it seemed to be the only eating establishment in the village, there were other women present. Rebecca probably would not have cared one way or another, but
Julian didn't want to draw any attention their way.

To his surprise, the same pregnant maid was serving dinner, with no one else to help her. He left her as much extra coin as he could spare, knowing he wouldn't have enough for another night in an inn. Rebecca saw what he did and nodded.

“We'll make more money,” she said with conviction.

“Your faith sustains me,” he said dryly.

She only shrugged, and he found he missed her smile. He wondered how long she would remain angry with him.

But perhaps it was better this way. They were growing too familiar with one another; he was learning her every expression, the exuberant way she moved her body, her joy in every new day. It was more and more difficult to think of himself apart from her.

And it was she who was pushing him away, after all. She did not want to be married, much as he was beginning to think no other woman had ever suited him in such an easy way. Ever since he'd brought up the subject of marriage, he couldn't quite seem to keep it far from his thoughts. They desired each other, he found her pleasant to converse with, and they each came from an appropriate family. She fit his criterion in almost every way. He had hoped to find a wife whose family was not so steeped in scandal, but how could he complain about that? Marriage would be satisfying to them both.

But she didn't want to be married to someone like him. And for a moment, he understood what she meant. He was already thinking of marriage as a logical step, but she, as a female, would see it much more emotionally. He believed there was no reason for strong emotion; one was only distracted by it.

When they returned to their room, Julian stripped down to his shirt and drawers and practically fell into bed. Rebecca's mouth seemed to quirk at his behavior, but she said nothing. She could not have slept well on the cold ground either. And the long, wet day had surely exhausted them both.

After blowing out the candle, she crawled beneath the covers, and this time, when she kept space between their bodies, he honored her wishes.

 

Julian came awake suddenly, as if from far too heavy a sleep. He lay still, knowing that something was wrong. And then he realized that Rebecca was not at his side.

He opened his eyes, but knew before looking that she wasn't in the room at all. A feeling of dread seemed to curdle in his stomach. How had he slept through…whatever had happened? He swung his legs off the side of his bed, pulled his trousers on quickly, and was buttoning the front flap when the door opened and Rebecca walked in. She carried a covered tray, which she set on the small table.

Then she smiled at him, even as he scowled.

“Where have you been?” he demanded.

She shut the door. “Perhaps you should lower your voice, so people don't assume you're one of those husbands.”

He put his hands on his hips and waited.

She sighed, her gaze frankly roaming his bare chest. And passion too easily surged to life inside him. He tried to ignore it.

And then he realized she was wearing an apron about her waist. She grinned and jingled coins that nestled in the apron pocket.

He raised his eyebrows. “How did you come across money?”

“I worked for it.”

He took a deep, furious breath.

“Remember the ill maid?” she quickly said, raising both hands. “I went down to buy bread for our breakfast, and saw that she was again working alone. I offered to take her place, and she agreed very quickly.”

“You waited on customers?” he demanded.

“It is not difficult with such a limited menu.” Her smile was full of satisfaction and pride. “I was very good at it, and people left me generous tips.”

He didn't know what to stay. He was bothered by the fact that she'd worked for money, something that no gentlewoman should do. But then again, it wouldn't be the first time she'd flaunted Society's expectations.

She came to him then and put her hands on his chest as she leaned into him. He took a sharp breath and felt his reasoning power drastically decrease.

“I want to care and provide for you,” he said roughly.

Her smile faded and she seemed to search his gaze. “That is very sweet of you, but I feel like I contribute nothing to this partnership. I am demanding of your time and attention—and demanding of you sexually.” She tilted her head flirtatiously.

He took her upper arms and gave her a little shake. “You could have been abused.”

“By farmers and peddlers?”

“By men who do not know how to treat a lady.”

“But I'm not a lady today. I haven't been one for a week now.”

“It doesn't matter what others believe, only what you believe about yourself.”

“Very well, then I'm a lady. But I'm very good at concealing it when necessary. Even you must admit that.”

He grunted.

“Prepare yourself, Julian. I'm going to work again this evening.”

He stiffened. “What?”

“The poor girl needs more rest. And I've already committed myself, so you cannot change my mind. We'll have to delay our travel another day.”

“Rebecca, this is inappropriate and dangerous.”

“And I disagree.”

He opened his mouth to continue his protests, then closed it. He knew better than to forbid her. And then he realized how his own past was still affecting him. He found himself wanting to protect Rebecca too much—as his father had done to his mother. Julian used to blame his father for that, for his mother hadn't seemed to realize the true depths of their financial problems. She'd been so blissfully ignorant she'd sent Julian off to school, not knowing they didn't have the money to pay for it. And she'd kept having children.

That was another thing he used to blame his father for. But now Julian understood better. It was so difficult to let Rebecca risk herself. He wanted to hold her to him, to protect her against the world.

But all he did was sigh. “Very well, you may fulfill your commitment. But I will be there the entire time.”

Her eyes opened wide, as if she hadn't believed he would acquiesce so easily. “Thank you, Julian. I am glad you could listen to reason. Now let us eat our breakfast.”

He caught her arm before she could turn away. “This is the last time you commit to something without discussing it with me first.”

“I would gladly discuss everything with you, Julian, if only you weren't so set in your ways.”

He flung his hands wide. “
This
is set in my ways?”

“This is about your restoring your family honor, and you know it. It's more important to you than anything else.”

“That's not true,” he said.
You're important to me.
But he didn't say the words as she went to seat herself at the table.

T
hey spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon in their bedchamber. Rebecca would have given anything to explore the village, but she understood Julian's reluctance. He didn't want them on display any more than was necessary. She could almost hear him grinding his teeth as he looked out the window.

For several hours, she'd gone over their clothing and made sewing repairs after borrowing supplies from the grateful maid. But Rebecca's gaze often drifted to Julian's broad back. Never in her life had she spent so much time alone with a man not related to her. Now she knew why it was so forbidden—it brought out one's wicked nature, for she was dwelling on the other things they could be doing alone in a room with a bed.

But he was being so stubborn, resisting succumbing to temptation. He wanted to show her pleasure, he wanted her—but he wouldn't follow through. He had a strict personal code he believed in, that he'd learned by
surviving crises that might have destroyed another man. She admired him.

But that didn't mean she had given up trying to change his mind.

Late that afternoon, he followed her down to the taproom, a hulking presence at her back. Unshaven and intimidating, he caused more than one man to look at him twice and then back slowly away. This was another thing that didn't offend her—she was secretly thrilled that he felt so protective—as long as he didn't act on it too restrictively. And so far he hadn't. She was beginning to think he was a little less controlling than she'd accused him of.

Once in the taproom, she saw him study every table and chair, even leaned into the room next door, where the barkeep kept the beer and ale kegs. Home-cured bacon and dried vegetables hung from hooks in the ceiling, and she smiled as he ducked to avoid them. At last, he settled at a table in the far corner, where he could see everything that was going on. She sighed in relief even as she tied on a fresh apron.

Soon she was too busy to think about Julian. The five tables were full of hungry people, and she did her best to serve them from the limited menu offered. She was surprised to find that her arms were sore from the morning spent carrying trays and pitchers. Her back soon ached from all the bending, but it was a satisfying feeling of usefulness.

Every time she looked at Julian, he was watching her with dark, hooded eyes. He signaled her whenever he wanted another beer, and as far as she was concerned, he had a few too many. But he did not seem inebriated, only watched her with more and more of a frown, as if he could no longer control his true feelings of unhappiness. He didn't like what she was doing, but he hadn't tried to stop her. She was grateful.

She noticed almost immediately that the evening patrons were a different species. In the morning, men had been on their way to their employment and customers of the inn were about to depart on the rest of their journey. Women, although a minority, had been present.

But in the evening, she was the only woman moving between boisterous men. They were anxious to relax after a long day of work, hear the local gossip, and have a good time competing at the dartboard, or at chess or checkers. And part of their enjoyment was staring at her, more openly than any man—except Julian—had done before.

She gave Julian more of her attention than she gave the others, of course. Every time she brought him a drink, she made certain to lean over him, pressing her breast into his shoulder, smiling into his face. He watched her warily, but did not protest, for after all, he was playing the part of her husband. This was the kind of flirtation not seen on ballroom floors, where using a fan was an art to snare a man's attention. This was
bawdy and sensual, tactile and so alluring. In London, a woman might never know if a man was interested unless he came to call, sitting so properly across from her, discussing the weather. Such limited interaction was supposed to tell her everything?

No, she knew Julian's every earthy thought, the way his gaze raked down her body, the way he put an arm around her waist when she brought him a tankard. His actions said “mine” and she thrilled to it, even if it was only temporary, she reminded herself. A faint sensation of sadness moved through her, and she told herself every adventure had to come to an end. There was no use mourning this one before it was even finished.

She knew Julian was watching over her, and he made her feel…safe. Much as she had longed to deny wanting to feel that way, it gave her a freedom to move at ease among these rough strangers.

She tried to take the extra attention from the patrons in the spirit it was meant—they simply wanted to enjoy themselves, and she was a fresh face. She pushed away the occasional roving hand, felt a pinch on her backside once. She glanced hastily at Julian, but the offense had happened on the far side of a table where he couldn't see. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“I knew ye'd like that,” said the mustachioed man who'd pinched her, erupting in guffaws with his mates.

She held back his tankard of beer. “Now ye don't
want me to go spillin' this in your lap, do ye?”

“She's a feisty one, Wilfred,” another said as he took off his cap and tried to plaster down his curly red hair. “Why don't ye show us how ye dance?”

She felt Julian come up behind her even before the men's eyes grew wide. His hand came down to rest heavily on her shoulder.

“My wife doesn't dance.” His voice was low and threatening—dangerous. Never in her life had she imagined that the man she'd first seen across a ballroom could speak like that. It was far too thrilling.

Wilfred raised both hands, “O' course, o' course. No harm meant.”

With a menacing glare, Julian went back to his seat. She came to him eventually when there was a lull in her duties.

“I could deal with Wilfred,” she said quietly.

“And I think you're wrong.” He folded his arms across his chest and frowned at her. “His kind feel entitled to do as they wish.”

“And you know that from one exchange in a taproom?” she said doubtfully.

“I do. I don't suppose you can water his drink.”

She smiled. “No, I can't.”

“Stay on the far side of the table from him.”

“I'll try.”

The next time she approached Julian's nemesis, he and the other men were pounding the table as they
roared over a joke. They ordered more beer, and when she returned with it, Wilfred caught her about the waist before she could dart away. She'd played the hummingbird all evening as she flitted among the men, but of course she had to be grabbed by this man.

“Dance for us, Lucy me girl,” he said, giving her a squeeze. “Dora is too big with child to give us any entertainment.”

She smiled and pushed at his arm. “Not tonight, gents. I dance for no one.”

“But me,” came a deep voice behind her.

She winced, turning to see Julian striding toward them, his expression dark and ugly. She tried to meet him partway, but Wilfred still had her by the hips. She frowned a warning at the man, but he wasn't paying attention. Egged on by his friends, he rose to his feet. He didn't look unsteady. And although he was thinner, he was only a bit shorter than Julian.

“Now, boys,” she began.

But Julian moved her aside as if she were as light as a child.

“Get 'im, Wilfred,” one of the group grumbled.

The Earl of Parkhurst was in a confrontation in a taproom? Because someone had touched her? It didn't seem possible. He was a rational man who used words to settle his affairs and defeat his business opponents.

“I suggest ye leave your hands off me wife,” Julian said, stepping close to stare the man down.

Now he was using intimidation, instead of words.

“Ye ‘suggest,' do ye?” Wilfred shot back. “How polite o' ye. 'Tis a shame I won't be listenin' to yer suggestion.”

The barkeep came out of an adjoining room, wiping his hands on his apron. He was an older man, with bags under his eyes and thinning hair, and he regarded Wilfred with resignation.

“Now stop this, boys,” he said.

Julian turned toward the barkeep, and Wilfred took his chance, popping Julian in the face. Rebecca gasped, but Julian only took a step back with the force. She would not have thought it possible for his expression to darken more, but it did, and he bared his teeth in a fierce grin.

She covered her mouth, afraid that he would see how utterly thrilled she was that he was fighting for her.

The barkeep said, “Wilfred, not again! Ye broke a table last time.”

“Not this time.” Julian picked him up by the lapels of his jacket and carried the squirming man outside.

As everyone emptied out of the taproom to follow the men, Rebecca tagged along, feeling almost giddy at such a display of Julian's strength. She wanted to feel that strength at her command.

The barkeep was beside her, and he shook his head as they walked. “Wilfred just can't keep his hands off
my girls,” he said. “My apologies, Lucy. Hope yer husband doesn't take the brunt of it.”

“Does he look like he will?” she asked.

But really, she shouldn't be exuberant. Maybe Julian didn't know how to fight at all. He was a businessman, a nobleman.

He launched himself at Wilfred, punching him in the stomach, and then when Wilfred bent over, punching him in the face for good measure. Two blows, and Wilfred was flat on his back, moaning.

Julian was a fighter. She sighed with happiness.

“Hope this teaches ye a lesson, Wilfred,” the barkeep said, shaking his head as he turned to go back inside.

The crowd muttered with disappointment, and someone took a bucket of water from the horse trough to dump in Wilfred's face.

Rebecca rushed to Julian, who stood looking down at his opponent, hands on his hips. “Are you all right, Ernest?”

“I'm fine.” He took her arm and propelled her back inside.

When he would have bypassed the taproom, she dug in her heels. “I made a commitment. I have to finish.”

He looked at the clock on the mantel, then said to the lingering barkeep, “How much longer?”

The baggy eyes narrowed as if he had a hard time seeing at the distance. “'Nother hour.”

“Very well,” Julian said. “But if another man so much as bumps her—”

“Who would dare?” the barkeep said, eyeing the width of Julian's shoulders.

Julian resumed his place, and Rebecca glanced at him with interest as she continued to wait on the tables. She would have thought the fight would settle him down, now that all the patrons knew what he was capable of. But his gaze followed her from beneath lowered brows, and his mouth was grim. She did not sense anger directed toward her, but…she wasn't quite sure what she sensed.

After that, all of her customers were respectful, and the hour passed uneventfully. Most customers had gone home to their beds in anticipation of another day of work. And the ones who lingered were only finishing their beer. The barkeep gave her a nod, and Julian must have been waiting for such a signal, for he came immediately to his feet.

“Ye have my thanks, Lucy,” the barkeep said. “Ye won't be charged for yer stay here tonight.”

“Thank you!” she said brightly. She took Julian's arm. “I'm ready.”

After spending her whole life hoping for a journey like this one, she had made it happen herself, running away from London and forcing Julian to keep her with him. She'd even earned money on which to survive. She had to make her own goals happen—and would do that
again this night. Waiting for Julian Delane to see the truth of their relationship was useless. The reoccurrence of a fever last autumn had made her realize that nothing was certain. She was going to make love to him, just in case she didn't live long enough to ever have the chance again. The long wait was over.

They walked up the creaking wooden staircase, lit by the candle Julian had plucked from the counter in the hall. She kept her arm through his, and he felt stiff with tension. She would have to tread carefully, looking for a way to turn his anger into passion.

Once in their room, he placed the candleholder on the table as she shut the door and leaned against it. She didn't know how she was supposed to school her expression for a seduction, but she let herself look down his body and imagine touching it, seeing everything he'd kept hidden from her. Her limbs felt deliciously heavy, her heart sped up in anticipation. He would no longer deny her.

Before she could even walk to him, he gripped her arms, pulling her against him. Dumbfounded, she gaped up at him.

“You're mine,” he said hoarsely.

And then he kissed her.

Rebecca could have swooned with the heat and need and relief those words inspired. And his kiss—! Strong and powerful, his tongue thrusting into her, one hand holding her head still, the other moving sensually
down her back. He pulled her hips hard against him, his arousal saying everything words couldn't.

With joyous abandon, she wound her arms about his neck, running her hands through his thick, dark hair. She moaned as she met his tongue with her own, teasing and darting. He tasted of beer, and it was more erotic than she could have imagined. She pressed herself against him, as if her aching breasts could only find relief against his body.

He lifted his head, and she felt a momentary disorientation and even disappointment. Would he refuse her yet again?

Instead he turned her around and pressed her against the door while he began to unhook her gown. She tilted her head to the side, her cheek against the cool wood, eyes closed, enjoying every sensation. She moaned as he kissed her neck. She felt her garments loosen, and he nibbled at her bare shoulders.

He turned her about again, her back against the door, her loose bodice beginning to slide down her torso. They looked into each other's eyes as her garments caught on the peaks of her breasts—and then he tugged, revealing her bare flesh to him, set off by the beauty of the red diamond gracing her cleavage.