In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady (5 page)

She seemed startled but smiled readily enough. He liked that she wasn't afraid of him, that she welcomed the challenge of the wager. It would make his search for information so much easier.

They remained silent as they walked through the house, across the terrace and onto a garden path. A cool, spring breeze ruffled their clothing, but Rebecca didn't seem to mind it as she lifted her face to the sun.

“A fine day, after all the rain,” she said, walking at his side, her hand still lightly on his arm.

“We're going to discuss the weather?” he asked dubiously.

She continued as if he hadn't spoken. “A good day for traveling.” She gave him a provocative glance.

He frowned. “Traveling? Are you journeying somewhere?”

“I might be.”

“At the height of the Season?”

She shrugged. “Family duty calls. A silly wager can't be more important than that.”

“A silly wager? Are you fleeing notoriety? Worried that awareness of the painting will spread?”

She clenched her jaw, but the smile never left her face.

He felt frustrated. Now that the truth of the diamond was so close, how could he permit it—or her—to elude him? He had to make her reveal the truth. But how to coerce a lady into doing anything?

But she wasn't behaving like a lady, and that gave him more freedom.

“I won't allow you to flee from me,” he said in a low voice.

He pulled her against him. She gasped, but didn't cry out, didn't push him away, even though her hands were on his chest. Very slowly she lifted her face until their eyes met. For a suspended moment, he let himself simply feel the delicateness of her bones, the way her thighs touched his. Because of his height, his hips were pressed into the softness of her stomach. He had his hands on her back, but he didn't need to hold her to him, for she remained still.

He forgot about his questions, his goals. There was only her nearness, the jasmine that enticed his senses, the warmth of her in his arms. He forgot where they were, who might see them—and what the consequences might be. He found himself bending over her, longing to taste the sweetness of her lips. And surely she wanted the same, for she raised herself up on tiptoe to reach him, began to slide her hands along his ribs to his back—

“Look what Julian is doing!” cried an appalled male voice.

With a gasp, Rebecca practically leapt away from him, and he let her go, feeling sluggish and dazed. Wide-eyed, she covered her mouth, and he saw her fear.

He put out a hand but didn't touch her. “It's only my brother Gavin.”

She let out a breath, closed her eyes. Then they both turned to find the twins bearing down on them, rounding the fountain.

To others, the twins were identical, but Julian knew their every difference in personality and expression, and even the way they wore their dark hair. Gavin was in the lead, but Joseph was right behind. Both of them ogled Rebecca with interest, even as they came to a stop, hands on their hips in the same pose.

“I am rather surprised at such behavior,” Joseph said.

Gavin snorted. “Julian, you're hardly the model of propriety you've always held yourself to be.”

Julian found himself growing angrier by the moment at their rude behavior. He let his frown speak for him.
“Gentlemen,”
he said, stressing the word. “Allow me to introduce a
lady.
”

They both stiffened and blinked, and any sheepish expression on their part was mostly hidden.

“Miss Leland, these are my brothers, Gavin and Joseph Delane.”

He wondered if she would be embarrassed, but her worried expression had given way to one of amusement. She gave each of the boys her hand and an elegant curtsy, even though her cheeks were still a flushed from the intimacy of their near kiss.

“Mr. Delane.” She nodded to one, then the other. “Mr. Delane.”

Her easy elegance seemed to make them tongue-tied, and they looked between Julian and Rebecca with new hesitation.

“Are you both an admirer of the arts?” Rebecca asked, giving Julian a sidelong glance. “Is that why you're attending Lady Thurlow's reception?”

He was impressed by her daring, as if she challenged him to bring up a certain painting.

“Art is…fine,” Gavin said. “But the ladies make it better.”

Joseph covered a snort of laughter. Julian could have groaned at their immaturity.

Rebecca smiled. “Your brother tells me the same thing.” Tossing her head, she walked away from them all, calling behind her, “Good day, Lord Parkhurst.”

Damn, but he'd lost the chance to discover where she was journeying—and when. He would have followed her, but Gavin caught his arm.

“Could this really be our brother?” Gavin said to Joseph, his face full of mock surprise.

“What a terrible example he sets.” Joseph shook his head.

Julian wondered if his focus on Rebecca was being noticed by more than just his brothers. He didn't want gossip to harm her—he only wanted the diamond, and to enjoy teasing her.

He would have to follow her closely and discover her plans.

“Oh, he has it bad,” Gavin said behind him. “The mighty are about to fall.”

The boys laughed, but he ignored them.

R
ebecca didn't think Lord Parkhurst saw her as she slipped out the front door of Banstead House. She left Susanna behind, knowing how much her sister enjoyed this particular reception when they were in town.

Rebecca knew herself too well. She would have confessed to her sister that the earl had tried to kiss her, and that she would have allowed it but for the interruption of his puppyish brothers.

She waited on the front step for her carriage to be brought around, her mind dizzy, her body flushed and somehow unsettled.

She'd
wanted
his kiss, and not simply because it would have distracted him from his questions. How could she think that succumbing to temptation would in any way help her win the wager?

In that moment, she simply hadn't
cared
about the wager. She'd wanted to experience a man's kiss. She'd
spent her life on the outside, hidden away from the possibility of drafts and exposure to illness—and from the risk of giving to others what she suffered with.

No man had ever held her; they'd always treated her like blown glass that might break if handled too roughly. That was the impression her family gave everyone.

But all Julian Delane knew of her was a nude portrait and her spirited response to his wager.

And he liked it.

Feeling giddy, she hugged herself as the carriage pulled up. The footman folded down the step, opened the door, then held out a hand to help her inside. She looked over her shoulder to smile her thanks, and didn't realize how gloomy the interior was until she sat down and the door closed behind her.

Why were the blinds lowered and the glass raised on such a beautiful day? She could barely see anything. When she reached for the window, a hand suddenly gripped her wrist. Before she could scream, another hand covered her mouth, pressing her back into the bench as a man rose up over her.

The first thing she noticed was the smell of used garments and unwashed skin—and then terror swept through her, shaking her limbs, turning her stomach until she wanted to gag.

“Quiet!” the man said, his voice impassive and cool though she struggled. “Ye'll not be hurt if ye do what I say.”

She forced herself to stop fighting, though she could not control her quivering.

“I'll release yer mouth if ye promise not to scream. One scream and I'll silence ye fer good.”

She nodded, even as fearful words fluttered inside her head, urging to scream for help, to flee. But he had her pinned to the bench. All she could hope to do was to stall him. Madingley House was not so far across Mayfair, and the coachman had been one of their trusted servants, not a man in league with this thief.

His gloved hand left her mouth, and she gasped.

“Easy,” he said, as if she were a horse he was trying to break. He sat beside her on the bench, holding both her wrists prisoner in his hands.

He wore a soft-brimmed hat pulled low over his whiskered face, but did not shield his identity from her any other way. That sparked her fears even higher, because it seemed as if he didn't care that she could describe him to the police.

As if he didn't plan to release her at all.

She licked her dry lips and forced herself to speak. “What do you want? I am wearing little in jewelry, and only have a few coins in my—”

“Aye, it's jewelry I want, milady, but I don't see it 'round yer neck. The master wants the one ye wore to a fancy ball several nights ago—the one in the paintin'.”

For a moment, she tried to organize her scattered thoughts. Who else could connect her to the painting
but Parkhurst and his two friends? Was this some foolish attempt on his part to scare her into revealing the truth?

“The painting?” she whispered. “The only painting of me is in Cambridgeshire, in my parents'—”

“Don't play the fool.”

He pulled her wrists until she half lay in his lap. A putrid smell rose around her.

“Ye know what paintin' I mean. I ain't seen it, but the master tells me ye bared everythin' God gave ye.”

She shuddered and a moan escaped her. Then he took both her wrists in one hand, freeing his own to fumble beneath her cloak. He pinched her breast hard, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

This—this thief could not possibly be connected to the earl. She closed her eyes, fighting light-headedness and nausea as doubts assailed her. But what did she know of the earl after all? Evil could lurk within the
ton
as well as in any East End slum.

And the diamond pendant she wore to the ball? Lord Parkhurst hadn't even mentioned it to her. It was made of paste, and she'd only worn it for a lark.

But this man worked for someone who'd seen it, who wanted it. What would he do to get it?

“I—I didn't understand what you meant,” she said, trying to placate him. “Please don't hurt me again, and I'll do what you wish.”

She thought he would continue to paw her, might
even do worse, but something seemed to stay him. He released one of her wrists and she pushed off his lap, sitting back on the bench where she trembled uncontrollably.

“When we get to yer house, ye'll bring the diamond out to me. No one has to be hurt, includin' yerself.” He leaned over her, eyes gleaming with cruelty, his breath foul. “But if ye don't, I'll follow ye inside. Ye may sic a footman on me, but not before I tell everyone about what ye did in that paintin', what kind of doxy ye are. Or maybe I'll hurt yer old mum. Now, is a pricey bauble worth all of that?”

She shook her head, staring at him. “Sic a footman”? Did he not understand how many people worked in a duke's home?

But of course he did. He had no intention of following her inside. He thought she was stupid—or fearful—enough to do anything he said. Yet she couldn't very well let this thief continue to follow her, or terrorize her family. And she couldn't go to the Metropolitan Police without revealing everything—including what had been revealed in that painting!

The carriage jerked to a halt. The thief backed farther into the shadows. “Tell the coachman ye're comin' right back. Get the diamond and bring it to me—or else.”

She nodded frantically, rubbing her wrists, easily able to look terrified and cowed. She gathered her shawl about her as the footman opened the door, then gave
him her hand, trying hard not to tremble. She kept waiting for the thief to do something behind her, but he remained silent.

After descending, she smiled stiffly at the coachman, who stood near the matched pair of horses. “Hewet, will you please wait here for me? I have another errand to run.”

“Of course, Miss Leland.”

As she hurried up the stairs, she glanced up at the warrior angels lining the roof, and sent a fervent prayer heavenward that someone would be watching over her. Once inside, she walked swiftly up the staircase, her footsteps echoing in the marble hall. Nodding to the occasional servant, she was glad when she reached her bedroom. Just as Susanna promised, there were two train tickets on her dressing table.

She pawed through her jewelry box, breathless and shaking, until she found the diamond pendant. It glittered through the light from the window, shining a red-speckled pattern across the carpet.
Real,
she thought in amazement. And surely worth a fortune, for she'd not seen many red diamonds, especially not one so large. Quickly, she put it around her neck and tucked it within her bodice. Then she grabbed her train ticket, skimmed the printed schedule, and found just what she was looking for.

The door to her dressing room opened, and Beatrice, her maid, entered. The round-faced woman came up
short, and her gaze went right to the tickets in Rebecca's hand.

“Miss Rebecca? Miss Susanna told me to send ahead your trunk for the goods train, and that has been done. But you aren't scheduled to leave for several more—”

“I know, Beatrice,” Rebecca interrupted, forcing another smile, “but there has been a change of plans. My dear friend Rose decided to go with me, so I'm giving you a holiday.”

Beatrice blinked, even as a slow smile touched her mouth. “But, miss, won't you need me?”

“Surely my great-aunt has plenty of servants. You haven't been to York to see your family in ages, have you?” Thinking quickly, she held out a train ticket. “Take this and have it transferred to something you can use. I won't need you for several weeks.”

She seemed hesitant, thrilled, and Rebecca was so impatient she wanted to shove it into her hand and run.

“But doesn't your friend need this?”

“We'll buy another one. You just get yourself to the railway station so you can get right home.”

“I confess, it is my mother's birthday.”

“Why didn't you tell me that?” Rebecca asked, in truth this time. “I would have given you a holiday.”

“But the Season—”

Rebecca snorted. “The Season will go on without us.
Now go!” With both hands she shooed her maid back the way she'd come.

Beatrice sent one more smile over her shoulder. “Thank you, miss! Enjoy your holiday!”

With a groan, Rebecca stuffed the ticket and schedule into her reticule, picked up her cloak, and left her bedchamber. But instead of heading for the front of the town house, she went down the rear stairway to the corridor that led out onto the terrace. She hurried down through the garden to the stables. A groom was happy to prepare a cabriolet that she could drive herself. She asked him to accompany her to the train station so that he could return the carriage.

“Ye'll not wait for yer maid, Miss Rebecca?”

She shook her head, using the power of her smile. “I've given her a holiday. It's Great-aunt Rianette and I alone in the Lake District.”

Before she knew it, she was out in the alley, the groom holding on at her side as she turned up one street, and then the next until she was driving parallel to the town house.

She'd kept the top down on the carriage, and made certain she called loudly to her coachman, “Ho, there, Hewet, I decided to drive myself. I'm so late!”

Even as the coachman saluted and climbed up into the box, she saw the shutters in the carriage move and knew the thief had seen her. She urged her horse faster,
not bothering to see how he got out of the carriage, or if someone was waiting nearby for him. There was no time to waste as she led him away from Madingley House and her family.

 

It hadn't been difficult to notice when Rebecca left Lady Thurlow's reception. Julian followed on his horse as she returned in the enclosed carriage. She was not going to leave town without him knowing about it. At the duke's town house, he took the opportunity for a little exploring, leaving his horse on the street to follow the garden wall back toward the alley. Over the top he could count the windows on the second floor to estimate the number of bedrooms.

He wasn't certain what he planned to do with such information—steal into her bedroom beneath the nose of the dowager duchess? Or should he try to find a way into the garden? Somehow he needed to keep track of her, to discover if she truly meant to leave London. He came upon a wrought-iron door, but it was well locked.

And that's when he saw Rebecca hurrying through the garden, wearing her cloak, heading for the stables. He didn't bother calling out, only began to run toward the back alley. He crept the width of the garden wall toward the great double doors that led to the stables. It seemed to take forever. Surely Madingley House was the largest palace in London. Before he even reached
the doors, a horse emerged with a cabriolet behind it. And there was Rebecca driving, her expression intent, even though a wide-eyed groom sat at her side. She was past Julian without even seeing him, and he took off at a run for the front of the house and his horse.

By the time he caught up to her carriage in the London traffic, he was feeling like a fool. Did he plan to follow her night and day?

But he just had a bad feeling about all of this. She'd left a carriage sitting out front, only to take another one she could drive herself. Why? He didn't believe for a moment that she was teasing him about traveling. She had something planned.

And his instincts were confirmed when she pulled up to the Euston Railway Station, with its massive columns holding up an arch like a Greek temple. She hopped down without waiting for her groom, and more than one man had a fleeting, impressive view of her trim ankles.

At the entrance to the train station, she looked back one more time at the street—and saw him.

Julian saluted and smiled, even as he dismounted near her carriage. But to his surprise, her face drained of blood. She picked up her skirts and practically ran inside.

Frowning, his sense of urgency increasing, Julian caught the Madingley groom before he could step up into the cabriolet.

“You there,” Julian said. For once he was glad he could say, “I am Parkhurst. I need you to return my horse to my town house on Berkeley Square.” He handed over several coins.

The boy's jaw dropped. “A-aye, milord.”

To Julian's surprise, he almost didn't catch up with Rebecca. She had a train ticket, and he didn't, and she was able to show hers at the gate and hurry toward the waiting train. At least he knew they were headed north, for this station only served the London and Birmingham Railway.

Was he really going to do this? he thought, even as he purchased his own first-class ticket at the counter. Get on a train without luggage and see what happened, in pursuit of Rebecca Leland?

Her face flashed in his mind, all pink and languid and expectant just before he'd been about to kiss her. And then he saw a more recent memory, where she'd looked almost terrified to see him. What had happened in the space of an hour?