In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady (21 page)

This was not how he'd planned to spend his second intimate night with Rebecca. But her safety was more important than anything else.

Once again, he wished she would return to London, but knew she would not go. He was taking her closer and closer to danger, and for the first time, he felt nervous about his ability to protect her.

“What are you thinking?” she asked quietly. “You seem tense.”

“I'm planning what we will do when we reach my uncle's estate. It will only be a few more days.”

“Then do we knock on the door and say we've come for the truth?”

He knew she was trying to lighten his mood, but he couldn't even offer a chuckle. “I have a friend who used to be a detective at Scotland Yard in London, but is now the chief constable in Lincoln, not far from my uncle's estate. He'll be able to help us, and discreetly, too.”

“I'm glad, Julian. That makes me feel better.” She
sighed. “Standing will probably make me feel better, too. I'm terribly stiff.”

“I can hardly remember how my bed at home feels,” he admitted as they both slowly sat up.

The bed would not be lonely, he thought, determined that Rebecca would be joining him there permanently.

The dawn sky was overcast, predicting more rain. Everything he wore was already damp. After a meal of cold fish from the night before, they began to walk east, rather than south toward the road they'd been on the night before. A gracious farmer gave them a ride on the back of his cart for most of the morning until they reached the nearest village. Due to Rebecca's bedraggled, tired appearance, another farmer offered them a ride to the next village, where he said they could spend the night in a room above the alehouse.

But at dinnertime, when they reached the small village of Scotter, with its stone buildings around a central green, the alehouse was already full of boisterous, drunken men.

The farmer, a lean, sandy-haired man about Julian's own age, got down from the cart and looked between Rebecca and the alehouse, frowning as he twisted his cap in his hands.

“Ye can't stay there, Mrs. Hill,” he said at last. “Won't be safe for a woman. My name is Stubbes. Ye can stay in me barn. Me wife would snatch the last of me hair if I left ye here.”

Relieved, Julian nodded his appreciation. He hadn't planned to spend the night in the village anyway, and at least now he could keep Rebecca safe. “Mr. Stubbes, we accept your kind offer. Surely there's some way I can offer me help in return.”

Mr. Stubbes scratched his bristly chin and looked Julian up and down. “There's a few chores ye can help with in the morn.”

“I'm strong, sir.”

“And I can help your wife, Mr. Stubbes,” Rebecca added.

Julian thought that would be interesting to watch, but he was wise enough to say nothing aloud. Rebecca's life was quite different than the life of a farm wife.

It was another hour past the village before they reached the cottage. It was a small single-story stone building with a thatched roof. At the door, Mr. Stubbes introduced them to his wife, who was trying to put several children to bed. A small, plump woman with dark hair under her cap, she smiled at them graciously, although with distraction. Julian saw several children running behind her, gleefully avoiding the stairs to the loft.

“Mr. Stubbes,” his wife said, “Please give them blankets. It can be so cold at night.”

Julian saw Rebecca's look of relief.

“I've left stew in a cauldron over the fire,” she continued. “Help yourselves while I see to the children.”

They ate bowls of hot delicious stew, and Julian listened to the eldest daughter, who couldn't be more than twelve, try to settle down several of the younger children in the loft beneath the roof. The main floor was divided into two rooms, the kitchen and what must have been the bedroom of the farmer and his wife. There was another bed in the corner of the kitchen, where a boy of perhaps ten lay, watching them with sleepy eyes.

Soon Mr. Stubbes led them back to the barn, where goats and horses occupied the stalls. He left them the lantern and supplies and wished them a good night. When the big door closed behind him, Rebecca and Julian looked at each other.

“It already feels warmer in here,” she said happily.

“Then up above must be even better.” He settled a blanket over her shoulder. “Climb up the ladder, and I'll follow behind.”

“You simply want to look up my skirts, sir,” she said tossing her head.

She'd worn her hair pulled back in a simple ribbon, with her brown curls flowing down her back. He'd barely resisted threading his fingers through it all day, but now he wouldn't have to.

Unless she objected to being debauched in a barn loft. And a lady might. But she kept telling him she wasn't always a lady, so he had hope.

The hayloft was of course full of hay, but there were
several crates arranged near the wall in such a way that made it seem like the Stubbeses occasionally had guests. Julian unpacked their portmanteau and draped damp clothing over the crates and the railings that guarded them from falling below. Then he stood and watched with amusement as Rebecca used a pitchfork to spread the hay about and make a more comfortable mattress.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, eyebrows raised as if daring him to say something.

He lifted both hands and backed away. She spread a sheet over the mound of hay, then added several blankets, as well as two pillows.

“There,” she said, brushing her hands together.

He came up behind her and began to unhook her gown.

She peered over the edge of the loft. “Are we certain he's gone?”

“You saw him leave. And the animals will certainly let us know when someone approaches.”

Her shoulders relaxed under his hands. When she stepped away to continue disrobing, she kept her eyes on him as he removed his jacket. She wore an expression of eagerness and even hesitation, as if she didn't know what she was supposed to hope for.

He'd let her wonder, and then he'd amaze her.

They watched each other undress. She stopped at
her chemise, but he left all of his clothing behind. Her eyes widened as he approached, and without hesitation, she gathered up her chemise and pulled it off over her head.

He took her into his arms, and the heat of their flesh moved him. “You feel incredible.”

“You feel ready,” she whispered, her eyes wicked as she met his.

“But you're not.” He began to walk her backward.

“Of course I'm ready,” she said indignantly. “I've been thinking of nothing else all day—and all the day before, too!”

He gave a low laugh and lowered her to the blankets. She reached to pull him to her, but he held back, kneeling at her side.

“I was too eager the other night,” he said ruefully.

“Too eager? We both were. And what is wrong with that?”

“I didn't take time to explore.”

He could see her blush even by lamplight.

“Oh, that sounds…lovely.”

“You simply lie there, darling, and let me kiss every inch of you.”

He thought her smile briefly froze at his endearment—or was it because of his request?—but then she folded her hands behind her head, which brought her breasts into prominence. He swallowed hard. Her knees were casually bent, throwing shadows between
her thighs. He had been with women who preferred the dark, and women who unabashedly displayed everything, for whom nothing was sacred.

Rebecca was somewhere in between, unashamed of her own body, yet innocent enough not to understand how he viewed her nudity. Was that why she'd posed for that painting?

She aroused and pleased him, and he wanted to show her so with every soft kiss. Her arms were long and delicate, the skin like silk. He let his tongue glide along the undersides of her breasts, never quite touching the peaks. He could hear her quick breathing, feel her restless movements. But he was taking his time.

He kissed a path down her torso, dipped his tongue into her navel, and continued on south, separating her thighs when she did not do so.

“Julian?”

He heard the hesitation in her voice. He knew she had no idea what he meant to do to her, and just imagining her excitement and response was almost too much for him. His fingers brushed her curls and she quivered and moaned. He parted her gently, held her gaze with his, lowered his head, and kissed her intimately.

A
s Julian kissed between her thighs, Rebecca found herself shuddering, clutching the prickly blanket beneath her, her lips caught between her teeth to keep from moaning. She was filled with such pleasure she thought she would shatter with it. He spread her thighs farther, explored deeper, circling his tongue, nipping at her, taking her between his lips, delving even inside until she came apart, unable to control the way her body quivered and thrashed.

“Oh, Julian—”

She got nothing more out before he came down on top of her and thrust deep. There was no pain, only a sense of the deepest completion and satisfaction. They rocked together, and she tried to hold him with her arms and even her legs, wrapping herself about him, desperate to offer him the bliss he'd given to her.

This time she recognized the signs, knew that with his body's shudder he was pouring himself into her.

Pouring his seed, instead of pulling out of her.

That gave her pause, especially since he was so careful the first two times they'd made love. But she wouldn't think about it now—it was too late to worry. It must not be so easy to become pregnant, or there would be babies every nine months for a married couple.

And she wasn't married.

She liked the feeling of him on top of her, and was regretful when at last he slid to the side. He leaned to blow out the lantern, then pulled the blanket up over them both, holding her within the circle of his arms. She couldn't see his face in the dark, but she found herself tracing his features, lingering on his lips.

He nipped her fingers, suckling the tip of one. Even that made her tremble. She could not forget the things he'd just done to her with his mouth.

“Sleep,” he said, laughter in his voice. “We'll have to arise well before dawn to help Farmer Stubbes.”

“It's hard to turn my mind off, to forget what we just did…what you just did to me.”

“Did you like it?” he whispered.

She felt him nuzzling behind her ear. “Surely you could tell what I thought, how it made me feel.”

“I'm sure every animal below could tell.”

She hit him in the arm, and he laughed and rolled onto his back, bringing her with him until she could snuggle against his side, her head on his shoulder.

“Is it always like this between men and women?” she asked softly.

“No. This is special.”

Those words touched her in some way, made her feel tender and yearning toward this man who had a reputation as someone so logical and impassive.

“Surely you've seen the way some husbands and wives behave,” he continued, “distant and bored. You cannot tell me they enjoy themselves in bed.”

“But they do their duty,” she murmured. “We're always taught that.”

“So this is a duty?” he asked.

“Not with you.”

He hugged her tight for a moment, and gradually they both relaxed. Sleep came with ease—for at his side, she experienced profound peace.

 

Four in the morning arrived swiftly, and the hours before breakfast were as full as many workdays. Rebecca wanted to prove to herself—and to Julian—that she was just as capable as he of showing gratitude to the Stubbeses for giving them a safe place to stay. While Julian worked with the farmer and his sons feeding the horses and hogs, she milked the cows along with Mrs. Stubbes and her daughters.

She'd seen Julian's brief, doubtful expression when she said she was capable of milking, yet after a few minutes her fingers did remember the task and soon she was working swiftly, cheerfully.

Afterward, the two of them were invited to breakfast
with the farmer, his wife and seven children, more children than she'd counted the night before.

This time she knew to watch Julian's face as several children doubled up on their stools to make room for the guests at the table. Although Julian came from a large family, in the past few days it had been very obvious that such broods made him uneasy. If he felt so again, she couldn't tell.

The men and boys went out to sow barley in the plowed fields, leaving Rebecca with Mrs. Stubbes. For a moment, Rebecca stood in the doorway and watched Julian walk away, head and shoulders taller than the other man. In the distance she could see sheep munching grass by the riverbed, and out in the cornfields were portable pens where Julian would next help drive the sheep so they could graze on the stubble. It was a peaceful scene, uncomplicated in many ways, dangerous in others, for one never knew what the weather would bring. But it seemed like a good place to raise children.

Rebecca spent a busy day with the gracious, chatty Mrs. Stubbes, helping wash the dishes and even doing some mending while the woman spun thread and took care of the chickens and dealt with her many children. She was teaching them their letters and numbers, which implied that there wasn't a school nearby for the children to attend.

The farmer and his wife depended only on each
other. Rebecca told herself that being married like this was so restrictive. But then weren't all women restricted in some ways? Yet she'd seen women of the lower classes doing things these last days that women of the
ton
were never allowed, from working to help with the family's expenses to even walking alone down a street.

Though she wanted to think Mrs. Stubbes's life was hard and unrewarding, there was a gentleness in the woman's eyes when she watched over her children, and an eager, happy expression when her husband returned from his long, exhausting day.

That night, when Rebecca and Julian were alone in the loft, she watched him sigh as he sat down in their makeshift bed to remove his boots.

“Tired?” she asked.

He smiled. “It's been many years since I did this sort of work. It feels good to be tired. I was glad to be of help.”

“I know what you mean,” she said, leaning against the open window. One by one the candles were blown out in the farmhouse, and darkness seemed to spread over the land.

“You worked hard. How did you know how to milk a cow?”

She laughed. “You are not the only one who can help the servants. I snuck off with a dairy maid when I was twelve, determined to see what cows were like
up close. She put me to work, and my fingers ached so much I gained a new respect for how hard our servants worked.”

“I hope your mother wasn't too upset.”

“I never told her. I claimed my sore fingers were because she was making me work too much on my embroidery.”

He laughed.

She strolled toward Julian, enjoying the way he regarded her body with bold appreciation. “You've said you're very tired,” she murmured, kneeling down behind him and rubbing her hands over the hard muscles of his shoulders.

He turned and pounced, and she laughed as she found herself on her back in the hay.

“Not that tired,” he said, then kissed her.

Much later, she fell asleep naked in his arms, satisfied and lazily content.

Several hours passed, and she came up from the depths of slumber, shivering. As she started to sit up, Julian rose on one elbow.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“I feel a draft from the open window,” she murmured. “I'll close the shutters.”

“Stay here,” he said.

She knew he was being protective, but she accepted it drowsily. She felt the cold even more once he left her, and shivered for a few minutes.

When he didn't return, she glanced over to see the dark outline of him at the window.

“Julian?”

“I thought I heard something at the house, a child's cry. And there's a light on.”

She got to her feet and slipped on a chemise. She brought a blanket to Julian and wrapped it about his shoulders.

He caught the ends to hold it about him as he smiled down at her in a distracted manner.

She stood at his side and stared at the light that glowed in the kitchen window. “Do you think this is unusual? They do have many children.”

“But none still nursing, so no reason to be up.” He hesitated. “I have a bad feeling about this. Mr. Stubbes mentioned to me that there's rumor of fever in a village north of here, and earlier I heard one of the young boys coughing.”

She nodded, knowing that Julian watched her carefully. This news did not affect her in any alarming way. She'd spent her life constantly worried about illness, and she'd long since become immune to thoughts of it. What would happen, would happen. She could not affect it one way or another.

But she gripped the window frame and thought of the sweet farm family, with so many innocent children. “We should go to them.”

He frowned at her. “I'll go.”

“We'll both go. Julian,” she added when he would have continued to protest, “I cannot insulate myself from life. I didn't become ill in that Manchester lodging house. I'm stronger than I used to be, healthier. I'll be fine. But I couldn't live with myself if we did nothing to help these generous people.”

They dressed swiftly and went up to the house in the dark. When Julian knocked, Mr. Stubbes looked out a side window and opened the door. He wore his shirt untucked from his breeches, and his feet were bare.

“Excuse the interruption, Mr. Stubbes,” Julian said, “but we noticed the light and—”

Rebecca, who saw his wife at the hearth holding a child, pushed past the two men. Mrs. Stubbes looked up, her hair down around her shoulders, her eyes betraying a glimpse of fear.

But she managed a smile. “Sorry I am to disturb ye, Mrs. Hill.”

“Ye didn't,” Rebecca said, coming closer. “I simply couldn't sleep.”

Mrs. Stubbes held one of the boys in her arms. He couldn't have been any more than six, an age when he'd usually push his mother away. But now he laid in her arms coughing weakly, fingers at his throat, fighting to breathe.

“It came on so suddenly,” she said, bewildered. “He coughed terribly loud, the poor mite. I thought…I thought…”

“I recognize the symptoms,” Rebecca said, “I had it much as a child.”

Mrs. Stubbes red-rimmed eyes went wide with sudden hope. “Do ye know what to do, Mrs. Hill? Since me own mother died when I was so young, I learned none of her secrets. The other children never had such a terrible cough.”

“Do you have the herb coltsfoot?” she asked.

The woman shook her head, eyes filling.

Rebecca put her hand on the woman's shoulder. “It's all right. What about thyme?”

“Yes, in my garden! Or do ye want it dried?”

“Fresh would be best.” Rebecca turned to Mr. Stubbes. “Could ye fetch us several plants? Leave the roots in the ground.”

“Take Alice with you,” Mrs. Stubbes said, motioning for her oldest daughter to come down from the loft. “She knows the kitchen garden well.”

“And we'll boil water while we wait.” Rebecca filled a cauldron with water from a jug, and hung it over the fire.

The boy started to cough again, and the terrible bark wasn't nearly as bad as the whistling sounds he made trying to breathe in enough air.

“Keep him calm,” Rebecca murmured.

Mrs. Stubbes rocked and sang to him.

“Is there anything I can do?” Julian asked from behind her.

Rebecca turned to find him watching her closely from his place near the door, as if he didn't want to get in the way. She smiled. “Nothing. Only perhaps keep Mr. Stubbes company, should he need it.”

Alice came in first, eagerly handing several stalks of the herb to Rebecca. While the two men talked softly in a corner, Rebecca boiled the thyme over the fire, instructing Mrs. Stubbes to hold the boy near the steam while the concoction was being made. She took some of the thyme and crushed it with a mortar and pestle, mixing in some hot water and forming a paste that she spread out on his chest. Once the rest of the thyme had boiled long enough, they allowed it to cool, then added some honey to sweeten the taste. The boy's breathing was noticeably better from the steam, and he was able to take sips of the cooling liquid.

The all sat together as the room grew hot from the steam. Their reward was the way the little boy's breathing began to ease, until at last a more natural sleep claimed him.

Mrs. Stubbes leaned down to kiss him, her tears falling into his hair. “Thank ye, Mrs. Hill,” she said softly. “I will never forget yer kindness.”

Rebecca felt hot with embarrassment. “Glad I am to help. Me own childhood was full of the same complaints. What I learned is provin' useful now.”

“And it will be again, when ye have your own children.”

Rebecca didn't want to look at Julian, but she couldn't seem to help it. She tried to smile shyly at him, as she thought a young wife should, but the image of children just seemed so…strange to her. She'd never thought about having them, since she hadn't wanted to marry. But suddenly, the thought of a dark-haired infant held to her breast was not so very terrible.

 

“You were marvelous.”

In the hayloft, Rebecca lay safely within Julian's strong arms, smiling at the wonder in his voice. “I didn't invent the treatment, Julian. It was simply used on me so often that I memorized it.”

“But your very demeanor calmed both of them. You were so competent, so convinced that the boy would be fine.”

“It was what they needed to hear. The more frightened they were, the more tense their son would become.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I still think you were marvelous.”

“And I appreciate it.” Her smile faded. “Julian, I am not a person to be admired when compared to the Stubbeses. They're alone in the world but for each other. They only have the work of their hands to provide for their whole family. In the face of their bravery, I feel very selfish.”

He gave her a brief squeeze. “Rebecca—”

“No, listen to me. I go on and on about wanting my
life to be a great big adventure. My parents let me prattle on throughout childhood, and now you're doing the same, which is very kind of you. But I've been selfish, as if I should have everything I want, when there are so many people in the world who are simply lucky to survive.”