In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady (8 page)

He didn't want to laugh, for this was no journey of amusement. Yet, she kept surprising him, even her performance on the train, where she'd pretended he was her ardent suitor.

She leaned back against the wall, her arm across her stomach. “I am sated at last,” she murmured, eyes closed with weariness.

He arched a brow, thinking of far more wicked ways she could be “sated.”

Being alone with her was giving him interesting ideas, he told himself. Perhaps it was because for the first time in almost ten years, he didn't know what would happen next, had no plan for the coming moments, hours—night. There were so many ways they could amuse themselves.

She suddenly shivered and hugged herself. “Julian—” She broke off, as if surprised to hear his Christian name from her lips.

He'd never heard another woman call him such, except for family. It sounded intimate here in this room where they pretended to be husband and wife.

She gave a rueful smile and started again, “Julian, when you take the tray down, will you fetch me another blanket? The coal grate is only meagerly filled.”

He noticed the extra blanket on the end of the bed. And she did not? And why not leave the tray for the maid in the morning?

Something made him agree and lift up the tray. She
gave him a grateful smile, dazzling him. He held the tray one-handed while he stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him. And then he stopped, his ear to the door.

She seemed to be moving around, for her footsteps tapped regularly. Then he heard something squeak, and wood being dragged across the floor.

He set the tray on the hall floor, then opened their door, only to find her standing on a stool, head and shoulders out the window.

W
hen she felt big hands around her waist, Rebecca gasped and tried to kick, but Julian eluded her blows, hauling her back inside. To her mortification, she slid down his body, her backside to his front. She fought his restraining hands and he let her go. Over her head, he slammed the shutters closed, even as she stumbled away from him and caught herself on the bedpost.

“What was the meaning of that?” he demanded.

She faced him, hands on her hips. “Why ever would I trust you? I told you I was leaving London, and suddenly men are following me—including you!”

“According to you, the thief was in your carriage at Lady Thurlow's. I didn't even know you were leaving before that.”

“But you have an unscrupulous wager about me. And you saw the diamond in the painting.”

“And around your neck at a ball,
before
I saw the painting,” he added grimly.

She narrowed her eyes. “The thief said that his master saw the jewel in both places, too.”

“Many men could have seen the same thing. You cannot be accusing me of hiring a man to terrorize you.”

He seemed outraged as he drew himself up, but that only reminded Rebecca how very large he was, how he seemed to dwarf the tiny room—the tiny bed. With his clothing dirty, his hair windblown, whiskers darkening his face, he seemed far too dangerous, not like a civilized earl.

“Why shouldn't I accuse you?” she demanded. “I left the thief in my carriage, and he turns up at the railway station at the same time as you!”

“We were both following you—separately.”

“And why should I believe you?” she demanded, feeling frustrated. “How am I supposed to know the truth?”

He took a deep breath, as if he were trying to control his temper. She had seen no evidence of an unruly one—but she didn't know him at all.

“I'll tell you what you need to know.”

That could mean many things, but she refrained from pointing that out. “Please do.”

She thought he would pace the room to work off his anger, but he remained utterly still as he spoke.

“The name of the diamond is the Scandalous Lady.”

Whatever she'd thought he would say to excuse himself, it wasn't that. “You know the name?”

“It was my father's. It had been missing for almost ten years—and then I saw you wearing it at the ball.”

She sank down slowly on the bed. “Your father's?” She couldn't even make a connection between the painting, Roger Eastfield the artist, and the last earl of Parkhurst.

Julian nodded. “It was a gift to my father from an Indian maharajah who was visiting London. My father served as his official escort on behalf of the king.”

“When I wore it, I thought it was paste,” she said lamely.

“My father was honored to accept it, but when the maharajah died, his heirs tried to say that my father had coerced an old man out of a precious heirloom.”

She held her breath in surprise. Julian looked toward the hearth, his heavy brows lowered, his gray eyes focused far away. She sensed…something within him, an old pain he kept buried. It was close to the surface now; he yet struggled with it. He was a proud man, and she imagined his father had been the same.

“That must have been terrible for the earl,” she said softly. “What happened?”

“My father disagreed, and he kept the jewel. Society being as it was, the gossip was brief and then gone, especially since it dealt with Indians,” he added sardonically. “But my father was humiliated.”

“Of course he was,” she murmured.

“Just before my eighteenth birthday, the Scandalous Lady was stolen. And then my father died.”

She didn't try to hide her sympathy now, but he wasn't looking at her. She knew she was lucky that her parents were still alive, and thankfully, more in love with each other now than for most of their marriage.

“I inherited money from my mother's side of the family,” Julian continued, “enough to save our property and to begin again.”

She wanted to ask what had happened to their wealth, but sensed it wasn't a good time. He was speaking so impassively, as if reciting history written in a book, instead of the personal, painful things that had happened to him and his family.

His eyes narrowed as he considered the past. “But the rumors of the Scandalous lady wouldn't die. People said it had not been stolen, that either I or my father had sold it, and used the proceeds to resurrect our fortunes.”

“I imagine that as a young man, you didn't appreciate people ignoring the hard work you were doing.”

He frowned at her, but only in consideration. “I didn't care what they thought of my work. I simply wanted them to believe the truth.”

“You know by now that people believe what they want, Julian. We can't change that. We can only accept it and move forward.” She'd learned that lesson over and over since childhood.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “This all took place almost ten years ago.”

“I was still in the schoolroom,” she said mildly.

He rolled his eyes, and she saw that he'd regained control of the emotions battling inside him—emotions that he'd spent his adulthood keeping locked away, she guessed. She heard he was in control of an empire he'd resurrected, and she saw how firmly he managed the people all around him. He was certainly taking control of her, too. But his feelings? Mastering them was a different matter, and she felt it must frustrate him. It seemed so…foreign to her. She was a member of a family that loved openly, fought openly, expressed every emotion.

“So if you're not accusing me of theft…” Her voice trailed off expectantly.

“I need to find out how the Scandalous Lady came to you.”

Julian watched Rebecca's hazel, changeable eyes, looking for a clue to her thoughts. He didn't know her well enough to read the truth, but he was a good judge of the measure of a person. Yet…the depth of her eluded him. It was too soon in their acquaintance, but it frustrated him nonetheless.

She sighed and leaned back on her hands as she sat on the bed. Though her gown was torn and dirty, in the soft candlelight he didn't notice such things, only the curves of her breasts, the smooth line of her cheek.

He couldn't afford to lose track of the importance of this conversation. “Well?” he asked, keeping his voice even. “How did you come by the diamond?”

“Roger Eastfield had it. He suggested I wear it when I posed for the painting.” She shrugged, her smile wry. “He was the artist, so I obeyed. When I asked to borrow it, he agreed, telling me it was only paste. It was such a good piece of craftsmanship that I thought it would work well with one of my gowns—as you saw.”

“It drew a man's eyes where you wanted them to go.”

She inhaled swiftly, eyes widening.

He smiled. “I meant no disrespect. Women dress to be seen, and to emphasize their best assets.”

“I would like to think my best asset is my mind,” she said.

“Conversation would show that, of course.” He hesitated, momentarily remembering the wager. “Then again, you'd already had a painting show
several
of your best assets.”

“Believe what you will,” she said firmly, frowning. “So do you want to talk about the painting again, or the diamond?”

He sank down slowly onto a stool at the table. He had so many questions about why she'd chosen to pose nude—but now wasn't the time. “The artist never spoke of the diamond, or how he came by it?”

She shook her head. “I'm sorry. And I didn't think to ask. It was in a box with other jewelry.”

“Perhaps he was a thief,” Julian mused.

“He was a creative person, passionate about his work. Why would he do such a thing?”

“To support his art. I understand that demand is now growing for his paintings, but ten years ago, perhaps that wasn't true.”

“He never sold it, which negates your theory. Would he have had access to the jewel by painting a portrait for someone in your family?”

“Not that I know of,” he conceded. “But he could have heard the tale of the Scandalous Lady, the argument over its rightful owner, and decided to use it to his advantage.”

“Anyone could have done that, Julian,” she said softly. “And wouldn't the thief most likely be someone your family entertained?”

“I always thought so. Then I saw the diamond displayed on your neck.”

She cocked her head. “Did you think someone in my family had stolen it?”

“I considered it. And then I did my research. There would be no reason, for your family certainly has wealth aplenty.”

“Most of that is the duke's. My father is a mere professor,” she reminded him.

“I know, but your mother is the daughter of a duke, and you grew up in a palace. Yet nowhere did I come upon anyone in your family ever accused of evil intentions. Stupidity perhaps, or thoughtlessness.”

He thought her shocked gasp rather forced, because she bestowed a slow, teasing smile on him that made his heart pick up speed. By the devil, if she ever knew what she did to him, she would wield power over him.

“Julian, you know that we are each telling stories that cannot be corroborated.”

He stiffened.

“I don't believe you're lying,” she quickly said, “but I just cannot hand over the Scandalous Lady and be done with it.”

“If you do, your worries—and the danger to you—will be finished. I will proclaim the jewel found, so that everyone will know you don't have it.”

“You're going to do that immediately?” she asked with doubt. “But you won't ever know the identity of the thief that way, will you.”

He said nothing.

“Ah, but you don't plan to announce the jewel's recovery right now. A man like you cannot be content with anything less than the truth, especially if the scandal harmed your father.”

For a moment, he relived the depth of the harm, but he wasn't about to put those memories into words.
He simply locked them away, as he was very good at doing.

“So you want to know how the jewel got from your father to me,” she continued. “But I borrowed the item in question, and I must give it back to Roger, as I promised.”

“He's not the owner.”

“He doesn't know that. Perhaps we can talk to him and find out how he came by the diamond.” She smiled. “But of course you already planned to do that without me.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling a trap settle around him.

“Together, we can solve both our dilemmas,” she said. “You agree to take me with you, and I'll tell you where Roger has gone.”

He came swiftly to his feet and approached the bed. “You know?”

To her credit she didn't cower or shy away from him. Instead, she rose slowly to her feet. They stood far too close together, staring at each other. “He told me.” She gave him a deep, knowing smile. “Do we have an agreement? I need your word, my lord.”

“Now
you trust my word?” he shot back. “Just moments ago you thought I was in league with two common thieves.”

“I feel you've been truthful—with the things you've revealed.”

He felt a reluctant sense of admiration. She saw far deeper into him than he wanted. She had surely led a privileged life compared to him, but there was a wisdom in her eyes that seemed well earned. His curiosity about her wouldn't die any time soon.

“So what shall it be, my lord?” she asked, touching his chest with a single finger, her manner saucy. “Will you accompany me to question the man from whom I borrowed the jewel?”

He caught her hand. “This is dangerous, Rebecca. Not a social outing for a young miss.”

“I know, but it's also more exciting than anything I've ever done. I want to experience it all, Julian.” Her eyes gleamed in the candlelight.

He wanted to refuse, to shake the answers out of her and send her back to the safety of London.

But was he supposed to rip the diamond from around her neck? And how could he trust that she wouldn't simply follow him? What made a gently bred woman want to brave danger, all for a jewel she wasn't even connected to?

And what made this same girl pose nude, revealing everything a young lady had been taught to save for marriage?

And would she want to try other things, now that she'd been ruined?

At last, he heaved a deep sigh. “Very well. You may accompany me, but you must agree to certain conditions.”

She groaned and whirled away from him, going to the table to pour herself another tankard of ale from the pitcher. “From the beginning I've sensed you're a man who thinks he's in charge of everything—and everyone.”

“And in this, I am. You could bring about our deaths with one wrong move.”

“So could you,” she muttered, not meeting his eyes. “Go ahead, spell everything out for me, even though I know what you're going to say.”

“You do.”

“Of course I do! You want to make every decision. We have to follow
your
plans.”

“I would certainly consider any suggestions on your part.”

“How gracious of you, my lord!”

But she spoke too loudly in an old inn with thin walls. He put a hand over her mouth, and she went still. He cocked his head, listening. On their arrival, the inn was vacant but for them, according to the register. But anyone could have arrived in the last hour or two.

Quietly, he said, “It will be very important to keep to whatever story we're going by.”

She nodded. When he removed his hand, she looked guilty, murmuring, “Sorry.”

And then she licked her lips, undoing all his own concentration. Night after night, he would be alone with her, this woman he'd seen nude in a painting. All he
wanted to do was examine the real thing with his eyes and hands and mouth, all laid out before him like a feast.