In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady (10 page)

He sat up and turned to look back at her. She was covering her face with both hands, her tangled hair spilling out all over her pillow, her yellow gown filthy and torn. Yet to him, she looked so inviting, so desirable.

And miserable.

He leaned over, bracing himself on one elbow, and tried to pry her fingers away from her face. “You have nothing to apologize for. We were both asleep. We could not predict what would happen in the night.”

At last she slid her hands away and stared up at him. “Really? You don't think I was deliberately…”

“Of course not.” But as he looked down into her hazel eyes, framed with dark lashes, he began to lose track of the conversation. She was almost beneath him, her mouth so close. She'd wanted him to kiss her.

But now was not the time, he thought with resignation, remembering the diamond. He rose to his feet, ran his hands through his rumpled hair, then turned to face her.

As she sat up, he thought she winced. She might simply have slept in a funny position—although she'd seemed awfully comfortable pressed up against him, he reminded himself with satisfaction.

“The first thing we need is clothing,” Rebecca said, trying to smile as if nothing was wrong.

He appreciated that. “We'll have to buy them.”

“The maid will help, after your generous tip. I'll speak with her.”

“I'll send her up with a tray when I go below. Until I return, don't leave the room. Have her bring the garments to us. And then we're going to have a discussion about our money, and how to make it last.”

“Budgeting,” she said with a smile. “You must be very good at that.”

“I am.”

“And humble, as usual.”

He laughed as he donned his damaged coat and left the room. He wasn't used to being teased by women; they'd always been so respectful and in awe of his title that it was almost boring.

But not Rebecca. She openly asked for kisses and willingly slept in his bed. He was looking forward to the coming night.

A
fter Julian had gone, Rebecca groaned and put her head on her bent knees. She'd tried to behave normally, but she could still feel his big, warm body against hers. Heavens, his backside had been against—

Collapsing back on the bed, she covered her face again. Why hadn't he simply kissed her and put her out of her misery? Surely she'd stop feeling this way once she knew how it felt—how he tasted.

She shuddered, feeling too warm, too sensitive down between her thighs, a strange, unsettling feeling. But she welcomed the sensations, for she wanted to experience everything.

He was able to control himself, a feat that seemed far too easy for him to do, she thought begrudgingly. She needed to do the same.

By the time she washed her face, the chambermaid was already knocking on the door. Rebecca didn't open it without hearing the woman's voice—Julian would be proud of her caution—but at last she bade the woman
enter. After setting the covered breakfast tray on the table, Rebecca explained her dilemma.

“—and our luggage broke apart in the mud,” she finished, spreading her hands wide. “My husband threw everything away, and now we have nothing. Would you be able to find clothing for us to purchase?”

“Of course, ma'am. Tell me what ye need.”

By the time Julian returned, she was feeling very proud of herself. They sat down together, sharing a loaf of bread as they ate their fried eggs.

Rebecca took a sip of strong coffee. “Let me tell you about my conversation with the maid. She's off to find us three sets of—”

“Stop right there,” he said.

She stared at him.

“Did I mention we have little funds? Only what was in my pockets and your reticule. We have to conserve it as much as possible. We need clothing—but not three additional sets. And how would we carry it all? We certainly won't be in a hired carriage—or a train.”

She cocked her head, intrigued. “Do you plan to walk?”

“Of course not. We'll ride in a public wagon, as rural people have done for centuries. I already discovered that one stops here at midmorn. It will take us longer to reach Manchester, but that's for the best. The longer we stay away from the main railways and roads, the better the chance we'll remain hidden from the thieves.”

“And their master.”

He slowly smiled. “Exactly.”

“So if we ride the wagon, and buy fewer garments, will we have enough money?”

“Not likely.”

“You could have lied,” she said, shoulders slumping.

“To protect your sensibilities? You, the great adventurer, a woman who dares—anything?”

She was about to smile, but his voice seemed to change as he spoke. She studied him, but his eyes were lowered as he ate the last of his eggs.

“So then we'll work for money,” she said.

“‘We'?
I
will work for money.”

Nodding, she did not protest, knowing it was pointless. Already he frowned at her, but she tried to blink innocently as she finished chewing her bread. She could not imagine sitting in a room alone all day, doing nothing, while he supported them.

But what could she do? She was intrigued by the notion, and intended to give it some thought, especially on the long wagon ride north.

When the maid returned, Rebecca allowed Julian to negotiate the price for her goods, knowing he enjoyed it. He obviously wanted to take care of her, so she would let him—to a point. But there was no need to tell him that now.

They went through the clothing made of plain linen and course wool, choosing what would fit them best.
The maid surely knew someone of a large stature, for several items seemed like they would fit Julian well. And she'd included toothbrushes and a comb! Rebecca could have hugged her.

At last the maid took her earnings, the garments, the tray and left.

“Oh, I forgot,” Rebecca said, starting toward the door. “I need her to unhook my gown.”

“Won't she wonder how you fastened it this morning?” he asked doubtfully. “After all, she probably doesn't think you slept in it.”

She glanced at him. “You would have had to do it.”

He nodded. “So I cannot allow her to think otherwise. Come here into the light.”

“It's very complicated…” she said, presenting him her back self-consciously.

Was that a chuckle? She turned around, but his expression was composed. Still suspicious, she turned away again.

He was as competent with women's clothing as he was with everything else. “You've had practice,” she accused, feeling curious. It was better to feel so than to imagine what he was thinking as he performed such an intimate task.

He remained silent.

“I know men enjoy relations with certain women before they marry. I do have a brother and male cousins, you know.”

“And they discuss such things in front of you?”

“Of course not, but one…overhears things. Do you have a mistress?”

“No.”

She felt strangely relieved. She felt the last hook give way, and she quickly caught her gown at the shoulders. “That is helpful, thank you. I'm certain I can do the rest.”

But he was already tugging on the laces and tapes of her corset. When he separated it, she took a deep, welcome breath. She'd never slept the night wearing a corset, and now she knew why. It was terribly uncomfortable.

“What is this?” he asked in a soft voice.

She tensed. And then she felt his hands, sliding her chemise off at one shoulder. She was only holding her gown up above her breasts.

“Julian?” she demanded, looking over her shoulder.

He rubbed his finger along her upper back, and she hissed at the slice of pain.

“The corset abraded you. Why did you not say something last night?”

“You mean while I was asking you to kiss me?” she asked dryly.

“Keeping silent was foolish on your part, and now you will suffer when it was unnecessary.”

“Julian—”

To her surprise, he followed the line of her corset,
pulling her chemise away from her skin above it.

“It continues beneath your arm,” he said. “You'll have to bathe and cleanse this.”

She gasped as he pulled her back against him so he could look over her shoulder. His head was so near hers that she felt the brush of his hair.

“And the abrasion continues,” he said.

She tried to hold her gown above her breasts, but he tugged at her hand until he could see where the corset met her chemise. The Scandalous Lady glimmered in her cleavage, and she wondered if he was tempted to take it from her. But he didn't even seem to notice it.

“Julian—”

Then words failed her. Just in front of her arm, he slid his finger into the neckline of her chemise, and separated it from her skin. There was a welt on the upper, outside edge of her breast. She reminded herself that she'd revealed more of her breasts in the ball gown he'd recently seen her in, but such practicalities didn't seem to matter to her overheated emotions. She was breathing too hard, feeling him all around her, against her back, over her shoulder, his hands at her breasts, as if he was about to touch the injured skin.

She pulled away, holding her garments in front of her as she smiled over her shoulder. “I'll be fine,” she said unsteadily. She could not let him think he affected her, or he might put her on the first train—wagon—back to London.

“You need to bathe.”

His voice didn't even sound his own as it rumbled through her.

“We don't have time,” she said. “I still have soap and clean linen. I'll use that. Turn your back.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She sighed. “You cannot keep running out of the room every time I'm changing. I might need you to fasten the clothing anyway. And when it's your turn to change, do you wish me to stand in the corridor alone?”

“Brilliant reasoning.” He turned his back on her.

“You could look out the window if you like. This might take me a few minutes.”

“An excellent idea,” he said, walking to the window and leaning his arms on the ledge.

Quickly, she peeled off her filthy dress and wiggled out of her loosened corset. She removed her drawers and donned new ones, rough linen compared to the silk of her own. But at least they were clean. The maid had seemed surprised she wanted them, but had obligingly found them for her. Rebecca had thought every woman wore them, and would certainly feel naked without them, especially with no petticoats.

She was desperate for a bath, but would save that maneuvering for another night. Lowering her old chemise and washing the scrapes as best as she could, Rebecca bit her lip to hide a laugh as she imagined asking him
to reach the ones on her back. She managed alone, and at last she was dressed in a clean chemise.

“Don't wear the corset,” Julian said.

She had just picked it up. Was he so familiar with women's undergarments that he knew how each one sounded as she donned them? “But—”

“You'll only increase the chafing. Put it in the portmanteau if you must, but please don't wear it.”

It was the “please” that placated her. “Very well.” She donned the brown gown, lacing it up the front, enjoying the feeling of freedom as she took a deep breath. “You can turn around now.”

He did, looking her up and down. “You'll wear a bonnet to shield your face and hide your hair?”

She held one up. “Am I presentable? Do I look suitably working class?”

“You'll want to speak as little as possible—as will I,” he added before she could take offense. “Even if we mimic the correct accent, our choice of words could easily make people suspicious.” He lifted her hand and studied it, rubbing his rough thumb over her delicate palm. “You don't look like you've worked a day in your life.”

“You took good care of me,” she said, lifting her chin. Then she grinned. “Or so I will tell everyone. Will we have stories about our lives that we have to memorize? Who are we? Where have we come from and where are we going?”

“I've been giving it some thought. Allow me to change first. Put your clever mind to work.”

He didn't ask her to look out the window, but she did so anyway, seeing a yard that sloped down to a narrow river. It was difficult to ignore what was going on behind her. She could hear the rustling of his clothing, and it gave her flashes of heated embarrassment—and curiosity—to be witness, even if only by her ears, to such an intimate act.

At last he called for her, and she turned around—and froze in astonishment. Lord Parkhurst had simply vanished, and in his place was a tall, hulking man, rough around the edges, his face unshaven, a cap shadowing his dangerous-looking, East End eyes. It was as if changing clothing revealed something more primitive inside him. He wore thick trousers and heavy boots, a simple waistcoat and jacket, and an open-necked shirt.

“Oh dear,” she murmured.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, in Lord Parkhurst's cultured voice.

She laughed softly. “No, of course not, but you have succeeded admirably in changing your appearance. No one would ever know you were a member of the
ton.
”

“Good. Now let's put the clothing we're keeping in the portmanteau, and I'll carry it. No, not your cloak,” he said. “It is too fine to wear. You have a new shawl.”

She frowned. “The cloak kept me warm at night.”

“I don't think you were cold last night,” he said.

They looked at each other for a moment, remembering the way they'd shared the heat of their bodies.

He was the first to turn away, and she accepted his behavior, understanding his dedication. He had a need to discover the truth about the Scandalous Lady, for its saga had obviously hurt him deeply—and not just his pride.

“If I had to choose which extreme,” she said, “I'd rather be cold. My mother always kept a fire lit in my bedroom, even at the height of summer, on doctor's orders. They didn't want me to catch any kind of chill.”

“Or they were sweating out any chance of sickness.”

“That, too. But it was smothering. When I'm overheated now, I feel a little…panicky.”

“Bad memories,” he said. “Best to let them go.”

“I'm trying, by creating new memories.” She looked at the pile of clothing left on the bed. “I told the maid she could sell what we left behind. Do you think it's dangerous to leave so many obviously expensive garments and fashionable boots?”

“We have no choice. We simply cannot carry it all.”

“Can't our identities be young nobles out for an adventure?” Grinning, she lifted a hand. “I know, I know, too close to the truth.”

“Hardly.”

“Too close to
my
truth.”

He eyed her curiously. “Everything's about an adventure for you, isn't it?”

“No, not everything.” She lifted her chin. “But why can I not enjoy myself, even through the danger? Why be nervous and afraid when I'm doing something I've always longed to do?”

“Run from criminals?” he asked with sarcasm threading his voice.

“I'm living, Julian,” she said earnestly. “Living and experiencing and seeing some of the world, even if it's only the industrial heart of England. That fascinates me, too. I've never been to Manchester.” She sat down at the table and tapped the other stool. “Sit down. Let's plan who we're going to be. We've already said we're married, much as I might have chosen brother and sister. But you didn't give me a choice.”

He sat down and folded his arms across his chest, saying sternly, “We aren't going to be brother and sister.”

She eyed him, folding her arms as well, tempted to tease him by insisting. But…she didn't want to be his sister either. And she was secretly glad he didn't want to play her brother. “Very well, since you seem rather insistent about this, I will acquiesce.”