In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady (22 page)

“You are not selfish to want to do something with your life, Rebecca. A selfish woman wouldn't lead thugs away from London, endangering herself to keep her family safe.”

“You're making my motives too pure,” she insisted. “I also thought I was having a shockingly good time, never imagining the lengths these men would go to for a necklace, the murders they'd commit.” She shuddered.

“So you're guilty of naiveté. You always want to see the best in people. I've spent so much of my life only seeing the worst in people, especially my parents.”

“Julian—”

“No, let me finish. I never put myself in their place. I was angry with my father for his cowardice in abandoning us—and I had that all wrong, didn't I?—and angry with my mother for her blindness to the truth. But perhaps she was simply ignorant because my father wanted to keep her that way, to keep her safe and protected as much as he could.”

“But what was your mother supposed to do to avoid having lots of children? She couldn't change her situation or deny your father his marital rights. And it would
have shamed your father to show the world that they were close to penniless.”

He sighed. “I know. And I know now how protective he felt toward her. He would never want to deny her children, even though there are ways to do so.”

Other ways, she wondered? She almost asked him to tell her those methods, so that she would be prepared when they were together the next time. Or would he be hurt, thinking she planned to have a future lover? She couldn't imagine sharing herself so intimately with another man.

Did that mean she was falling in love with him?

The thought stunned her, and she didn't want to believe it could be true. She didn't want to think of it, or the implications for her future.

“Julian, don't you see that you've been living in a past you can't change? I'm trying to spend my life looking to the future.”

“You don't think your love of adventure is a response to everything in your past?”

“Of course it is. Our pasts formed us both. But I can't live my life regretting everything that happened to me. I certainly won't regret what we've shared. Will you? Oh, wait, you never regret a decision once it's made.”

She expected him to be angry at this conversation, but all he did was laugh and hold her tighter.

She fell asleep, but not for long, as a terrible night
mare about illness controlled her mind; only this time she wasn't the victim. It was Julian. Somehow he'd caught the Stubbes boy's illness, and he was the one coughing terribly, struggling to breathe. No remedy worked. His body became still, his breathing failed, and she started to scream—

Rebecca came awake on a gasp, realizing that tears streamed down her face. Her breathing was ragged, and although she told herself it was simply a dream, she couldn't shake the terror.

Julian murmured her name and tightened his hold on her. He was so blessedly cool to the touch, his breathing so calm, so even.

But still, she was caught up in the world of fright.

He came up on his elbow, and with gentle fingers combed her hair off her damp forehead. “What is it? You were tossing and turning.”

“That little boy could have died,” she found herself whispering. “I never imagined how a parent feels at such a time, the utter helplessness and fear. And what if it were you who'd been sick?”

He kissed her forehead. “So now you think of me as your child?”

“Do not make light of this! My whole adult life I've wanted to live in the way denied to me in childhood. But it wasn't just about me, and I never saw that. My illnesses caused my family terrible grief. I never under
stood the heartache and paralyzing fear. I thought of myself as some pure heroine of a book, without flaws, trod upon and rising from the ashes. But tonight, when I looked into Mrs. Stubbes's face, I could see my mother, and for the first time knew her fear. How self-centered was that?”

“All children are self-centered,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “You only experienced one side of your childhood, as we all do. Surely we've learned as we've grown.”

She nodded and tried to calm herself, but the dream was yet within her. Julian was well, thank God, but soon she meant to voluntarily part from him. Could she do it?

Whatever her questions of the night before, she knew one truth now: she was definitely in love with Julian. It seemed so…bizarre, almost frightening. She had never imagined such a thing for herself, and now suddenly she wanted to share a future with him?

But how could she give up striving to have a different sort of life? She didn't even know if he was capable of meeting her halfway, or if he even wanted to.

What would he think if she told him? Would he want to protect her even more? But…he'd already said she would be at his side when he went to the chief constable.

Or would he be awkward with her confession of love, because he might not feel the same way? Everything
was so much more complicated now. She would have to give this new revelation more thought.

But her uncertainty did not stop her from snuggling back into his arms or accepting his comfort in the cold night.

She loved him.

W
ell before dawn, Julian arose to dress. Dazed with sleep, Rebecca lay still for a moment, listening to the sounds of him moving in the dark, imagining what she couldn't see.

She loved him.

She groaned and rolled over.

“You should remain in bed—or in the hay—another hour,” he said. “You worked hard last night. Everyone would understand. We won't leave until after the morning chores regardless. Mr. Stubbes has offered us a ride to the next village.”

“And do you think Mrs. Stubbes yet lies abed?”

“But the sick child is her own.”

“And I can help her. You meet Mr. Stubbes. I'll go into the house and see what I can do.”

She felt his hands cup her face, and to her surprise, he gave her a fierce kiss. Would he call her “darling” again?

“Very well,” he said. “I'll see you at breakfast.”

And then he went down the ladder. She dressed slowly in the dark, feeling bemused and uncertain, then almost giddy with pleasure. Could a man like Julian fall in love with someone like her? Would it matter to her if he couldn't feel the same way? Or was he still fixated on his logical search for a wife?

She suppressed a groan even as she slowly descended the ladder. Outside she headed for the privy, fog swirling about her skirts in the early grayness of pre-dawn.

After she'd finished, she'd only taken two steps before someone grabbed her from behind, one hand on her mouth, another around her waist.

For a shocked moment she didn't even struggle, unable to believe what was happening.

And then she kicked back hard and connected with a shin.

“Fool, help me pick her up,” the man hissed to someone else behind her.

Though she kicked frantically, another man caught her feet and lifted her off the ground so they could carry her between them.

She could say nothing, do nothing, although she continued to flail. But she was helpless.

They were Windebank's men, of course. She didn't need to see their faces to know that. Did they have Julian already? Would they hurt the helpless Stubbes family?

They were breathing harshly as they continued to carry her. It seemed to go on forever, but at last, loom
ing out of the fog, she saw a black carriage.

Good God, hadn't she just wished for one to ride in?

The man carrying her feet reached to open the door, and she was able to kick him hard in the stomach. He let out a “whoof” of pain, but that didn't stop the two of them from throwing her onto the carriage floor.

She scrambled up to her hands and knees and felt the carriage rocking as one of them got in behind her. He shoved hard on her hips and she sprawled face-first onto the dirty floor.

The carriage jerked into motion.

Coming up onto her knees, she backed up against the far wall. Dawn had broken, and now she could see the face of the man holding her, the same face she'd confronted in a London carriage at the start of this fiasco.

He grabbed her by the front of her gown and shoved her backward onto the far bench. Wincing as her elbow slammed into the wooden seat, she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

“Where's the diamond?” he demanded.

“I don't have it.”

“We'll see about that.”

And then came the most humiliating moments of her life. Though she fought him and flailed, she was helpless to stop the vulgar way he searched her body, touching every part of her, even patting the length of her drawers, as if she'd sewn a hidden pocket.

He lingered too long at her breasts and between
her thighs, and for the first time she felt true terror. She was alone with him and he could do anything he wanted to her.

But at last he sat back on the far bench, and she pulled her skirts tight against her thighs as if to shield herself.

“I told you I didn't have it,” she said, striving for bravery, but only hearing the quivering in her voice that matched the trembling in her limbs.

He shrugged. “Don't matter. Your bloke'll come for ye soon enough, and he'll have to hand the jewel over, or watch ye suffer.”

Though it was difficult to swallow, and her eyes pricked with tears, Rebecca forced herself to hold his gaze with one of contempt.

 

After several hours of work, Julian and Mr. Stubbes entered the farmhouse, both of them freshly washed in cold well water. Mrs. Stubbes looked up from the table, where she and the children had been setting out plates and cups.

Julian could see the ill little boy propped up on the small bed near the hearth. He was well enough to look upset that he had to stay in bed, and that made Julian feel much better.

He grinned at Mrs. Stubbes. “Your husband tells me that your son slept well after the coughin' fit.”

She nodded. “Thanks to yer wife, Mr. Hill. I felt ter
rible keepin' ye both awake on the night before yer long journey. Glad I am that she was able to sleep longer this morn.”

His smile faded. “Sleep longer? We arose at the same time. She's not here with you?”

Mrs. Stubbes looked confused even as she shook her head. “No, I have not yet seen her. Perhaps she went back to the hayloft.”

His stomach twisted with the first feelings of fear, true fear, that kind that was like sour nausea, panic, and desperation all rolled into one. He had never felt such a thing in his life. Perspiration broke out on his brow, in the palms of his hands.

“Would she have gone for a walk?” Mr. Stubbes asked.

Julian shook his head. “Would you please help me search for her?” he asked the farmer.

But he knew this was only a formality, something he had to do. Windebank's men had taken her, and might have several hours lead on him.

Rebecca,
he thought, fierce with mourning and anger and guilt. They had been tracked down once, why had he not seen that it could happen again? Why hadn't he kept her with him every moment?

He hadn't protected her. He'd spent his entire life meticulously accounting for every outcome, building his reputation as a man who never made mistakes—who'd been determined never to be like his father.

And when it counted, when Rebecca's safety was at stake, he'd miscalculated. The only thing that granted him any kind of relief was knowing that his uncle wanted the Scandalous Lady—why else kidnap Rebecca? Windebank knew that Julian would follow wherever she was taken, and now Windebank had someone to use against him.

A diamond wasn't worth a person's life; Julian would gladly hand it over if he could have Rebecca back safe and sound. But he suspected it wouldn't be that easy, for his uncle obviously believed the jewel worth killing for. And Windebank must assume that both Julian and Rebecca knew his identity as the man behind the original theft, and now several murders.

It made Windebank desperate and dangerous.

Julian and Mr. Stubbes searched every outbuilding and the nearby grounds, even down by the river, in case she'd gone for a walk. But Julian didn't see any imprints of a woman's boots, and knew she hadn't been swept away by a river current.

Through it all, Mr. Stubbes watched him too closely. When they arrived back at the barn, Julian went up in the hayloft without a word, threw everything into his portmanteau, then climbed back down.

Mr. Stubbes stood looking at him, hands on his hips. “Ye seem to know what's happened to yer wife.”

“I do. I thought I was protecting her, but I was wrong.”

“Ye're leavin'.”

“I know where they've taken her.”

The farmer's sandy brows rose. “'Tis a kidnappin', then?”

Julian nodded.

“Yer wife and you were runnin' from it?”

It was only partially the truth, but Julian nodded again.

Mr. Stubbes narrowed his eyes and spoke softly. “Yer accent has changed, along with yer manner…milord.”

Julian said nothing.

“Let me help ye,” the farmer said earnestly.

“No. This is too dangerous. They won't hurt her; they're only trying to lure me to them. Forgive my words, but you mean nothing to them, and they might do worse to you.”

“How will you follow them?”

Julian hesitated.

“Then take one of me horses.”

“But you're plowing—”

“I can get by with one for several weeks. And I trust ye to return it sooner than that.”

“I will, Stubbes, you have my promise.”

Together they saddled the gelding, placing only the items Julian thought he would most need in one of the saddlebags. Mrs. Stubbes brought out a parcel of food and several stoppered bottles, packing them in the other bag. She watched Julian with a bit of awe now,
so he assumed her husband must have told her of their conversation.

Julian swung up into the saddle. Several of the children stood at the door of the barn, watching him solemnly.

He looked down at the Stubbeses and gave them a grim smile. “I'll return as soon as I'm able with your horse.”

“And with good news,” Mrs. Stubbes insisted. “God keep you and yer wife safe, milord.”

“Thank you—for everything.”

Turning the animal about, he walked it past the children toward the barnyard before breaking into a trot. He wished desperately to gallop all the way, but there were still many miles to go, and he needed to conserve the horse's strength.

He needed to conserve his own strength as well. Now that Windebank had Rebecca, Julian's plan to go to the chief constable had to be abandoned. That would be the surest way to get her killed.

The thought of a life without her at his side seemed barren and worthless. She would be his wife; she was already his love. Somehow he would convince her that they were meant to be together.

But first he would have to face his uncle—and all his henchmen—and find a way to rescue Rebecca without any bloodshed.

Especially hers.