In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady (9 page)

“Do you think someone heard me?” she asked breathlessly. “After all, if they believe you're my husband, they might certainly believe I could call you ‘my lord' with complete sarcasm.”

“Very amusing. But this is serious, Rebecca.”

“I know it is, and I will treat it that way. As long as you listen to my suggestions, and we make decisions by compromising—”

“That wasn't going to be one of the conditions.”

She smiled and batted her lashes playfully. “Please?”

“I agree to listen to you, and I agree to compromise, if I feel it won't endanger us.”

“Or the mission, sir?” she asked, saluting.

He ignored her. “So now fulfill your end of the bargain. Tell me where Roger Eastfield has gone to visit his sick mother.”

“Oh, you remembered the part about his mother, did you?”

“I have a good memory, especially when the club proprietor was explaining the history of a new, scandalous painting.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes. “Very well. He's gone to Manchester.”

“And if we could have stayed on the train, we would
have eventually been there,” he said, briefly closing his eyes. “Is that where you meant to go?”

“Not at first. I was simply running away using the only train ticket I had.”

“Going to…”

“Visit my Great-aunt Rianette in the Lake District.” She grimaced. “It was Susanna's idea to separate so that it wouldn't be so easy for you and your friends to consolidate your resources against us.”

“My friends and I are in a wager against each other,” he reminded her.

“I saw the way you were with each other last night.”

“I think you didn't want me to talk to your sister and cousin,” he said slowly. “I wonder why.”

She suddenly gave a great yawn. “Do you know what time it is?”

He took his watch out of his coat pocket, where he'd hidden it when he'd taken off his waistcoat. “Almost eleven o'clock.”

“I'm suddenly very tired. I'll surely sleep like the dead.”

Was she telling
him
that—or herself?

F
or Rebecca, the lone bed had begun to encroach more and more on her mind as their conversation waned. Julian was too honorable to try to seduce a virgin—and that was almost disappointing.

What was wrong with her? she thought, taking another sip of ale. She was strangely parched.

Julian plucked the tankard from her hand. “I think you've had enough.”

“Trying to control me already?” she demanded.

“Trying to make certain you don't embarrass yourself.”

“I would never—” She broke off, remembering her disappointment that he wouldn't try to seduce her. Grudgingly, she admitted, “You're right. The brew is rather potent.”

He leaned over her. “Did I hear correctly? You admitted I'm right?”

“About this,” she muttered. She looked at the bed, hands on her hips, then faced Julian again. “So what are
we going to do about the sleeping arrangements? And if you say again that we're pretending to be married—”

His smile was slow and dangerous.

One of the candles sputtered and went out, leaving the room just a bit darker. His shadow seemed enormous on the wall. But she wasn't afraid of him. Afraid of herself, perhaps, for what went on between a man and a woman had always intrigued her.

But she'd never truly felt the lure of it, the feelings that made couples risk everything to be together. Yet when Julian had almost kissed her in Lady Thurlow's garden, she'd felt a power greater than herself, one that made her long for his touch. If that was a sampling of desire, then she should be more wary.

“There is nowhere else to sleep,” Julian said. “I suggest we practice the ancient art of bundling.”

“Bundling? We're hardly courting.”

“But the point of bundling was to lie in bed and simply talk, getting to know one another. We'd each have our own blanket.”

“And we're clothed,” she pointed out.

A faint smile touched his lips. “We're clothed.” His mood sobered. “We'll have to be together night and day, Rebecca, and this won't be the last time we sleep in the same bed. That jewel around your neck puts you in too much danger. Perhaps I'd better—”

“No.” She smiled sweetly.

“Very well,” he said with resignation. “I'll step out
again to leave you some privacy. I assume you will remain in the room this time.”

“You have my word.”

He nodded and departed.

She let out her breath in a whoosh, feeling a bit light-headed from the ale. She spent the next several minutes struggling to unhook her gown so that she could be more comfortable, but she couldn't reach most of the fastenings. She wished she had her toothbrush, she lamented, but resigned herself to only washing her face and hands. Then she remade the bed, laying out a blanket for each side, and crawled beneath hers.

At first she pulled it up to her chin, then thought that made her appear frightened. She tried her waist, but that was too drafty—and might make him think undesirable things. At last she arranged it just above her chest, but with her arms lying on top of the blanket. Her corset cut into her flesh uncomfortably, but she pushed it from her mind.

Should she pretend to be asleep? But that seemed cowardly, and surely she couldn't carry off the deception.

After a soft knock, the door opened. Julian returned, his coat hung over his arm. He'd rolled his shirtsleeves up his forearms and opened his collar wider. His face was still damp.

“You could have washed here,” she said softly.

“I didn't mind.”

She watched with interest as he removed his boots—she knew some gentlemen needed their valet's help for such a task. Should she volunteer? But he managed it himself. As he sat on a stool, facing away from her, his back looked so broad. He obviously didn't need padding in his coat to define the width of his shoulders. His height was inherited, but how had he gotten so very muscular, managing an estate and business investments? She wondered if he fenced or boxed or even wrestled—

And then he was blowing out the candles.

After telling herself not to tense, she promptly did so anyway. She thought about how she would tell the story of this journey to Susanna and Elizabeth later, relating it as an exciting adventure.

But in the pit of her stomach, it didn't seem adventurous so much as daring, filled with the excitement of the unknown. She lay on her back, fighting to control her breathing, then exhaled on a gasp as he seated himself and the bed sank beneath his weight. She barely kept from rolling into him. Then he stretched out, and their shoulders brushed, making her jump.

“This bed is not very wide,” he murmured in the dark.

“No, it's not.” She could have groaned at the breathless sound of her voice. What must he be thinking? To him, she was a woman of such loose virtue that she'd
pose nude. Then she'd insisted on traveling with him, and hadn't even blinked when he'd claimed them married. Did he assume…?

After several minutes of tense silence, he cleared his throat. “So how did you hear about bundling?”

She was grateful for the distraction of conversation, even if it was about sharing a bed. “I read about it, of course. My mother may want me to marry well and soon, but she would never mention this as a method of courtship.”

“It does seem…different here in the dark. I believe that was the point, allowing couples to relax after a strenuous day of work and just learn to know each other.”

“You don't want to learn to know me,” she said, staring up at the dark ceiling.

“And now you think to read minds?”

She heard the amusement in his voice. “Julian, I know you don't want me here, that I'm forcing myself on you. You don't have to try so hard to dissipate the tension between us. We can just sleep.”

“So you feel tension?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, even though moving her shoulder meant she rubbed against his arm. “Of course there's tension. We're sleeping in the same bed! But you don't have to worry about me. I will hardly demand that you marry me for such behavior. I am frankly in no hurry to marry at all.”

“I have never heard such a thing from a marriageable young lady.”

“Oh, do not doubt me. I may have gone along with my mother's wishes when I first left the schoolroom, but that was only because I'd never been to many parties as a girl, even ones for other children. Dressing up and flirting and dancing were all a new experience to me.”

“And the experience grew old,” he said dryly.

She gave a soft laugh. “You sound sympathetic. Perhaps we feel the same about some things. I've told you about Susanna's sketching. Mama has given up on her becoming engaged, and for a while I thought Susanna was relieved. But now I'm not so certain.”

“Because of Leo Wade?”

“Heavens, no. Her change in attitude started with our brother's miraculous return. She seems willing to give men a chance again, since Matthew and Emily are so happy. But when it seemed like she was determined to be a spinster, Mama focused all her zealous attention on me. So far, it has been too difficult to tell her I've changed my mind.”

“So you want to put off marriage, when every other lady your age is jumping into it giddily.”

“Well, I don't need money or security. I know my cousin and his wife will never deny me a place to live. It's just that…there is so much to see in this world. All I could ever do was read about it. But now I want to experience it.”

“By luring thieves out of London while wearing the most valuable diamond in the kingdom.”

She laughed. “That's one way. Now if I were allowed to choose my own husband, he would have to be a world traveler, knowledgeable about history and archaeology and dozens of countries.”

“A paragon of an adventurer,” he said dryly.

“Of course! What about you? You're not married, and certainly you need to have an heir someday.”

“Such an important selection should never be left to chance.”

Rebecca felt strange bringing up…procreation, considering they were lying in a bed. But he'd continued the conversation as if he didn't notice. That was strangely deflating.

“It sounds as if you have a detailed plan.”

“I always plan for every possible outcome.”

“You can't simply
live
?”

“I am living,” he said dryly. “Through my efforts to discover the perfect qualities for a wife, I'll marry an
obedient, respectful
woman.”

She knew he emphasized those characteristics to rebuke her, but she ignored the taunting. “If you're actually interested in finding a wife, why have I not seen you at more events?”

“I have not reached that phase of courtship yet.”

“‘That phase'?” she echoed in confusion. “How can
you claim to be looking for a wife while not actually
looking
?”

“But I am looking, through research.”

“Research?” She didn't understand him at all.

“I would not buy a horse without knowing its blood-lines and temperament.”

“Did you just compare a woman to a horse?” she demanded.

“The process of selecting one, perhaps. Family background is of crucial importance, much more so than the chance of love.”

“The
chance
of love?” she echoed. “Were not your parents in love?”

“I believe so, and it did not help them have a successful marriage. But we don't need to discuss something so private.”

He sounded so certain of himself, so ridiculous, that she couldn't even be angry, only bemused. She lay still for several minutes, as the sound of his breathing invaded her consciousness. She could still feel his shoulder against hers. Just touching him in that one spot made her feel far too warm, almost…restless. Yet, she didn't move, didn't break the contact. The tension between them began to rise again, a dangerous awareness that made her think forbidden thoughts. It seemed best to address the situation.

“Julian.”

“Yes?”

The amusement in his voice annoyed her.

“We are lying here in bed, both worried as if we're…expecting something.”

“We're worried?” he asked.

She ignored him. “It's only natural, being that we're two healthy people sleeping in the same bed. It might…dissipate the tension if you get it over with and just kiss me.”

He made some kind of strangled noise—and then she realized that he was trying to hide his laughter. She hit him in the arm.

“Rebecca,” he spoke in a soothing voice, even as he gripped her hand.

Had he sensed she would have gladly hit him again for teasing her?

“If I were to kiss you, things would not be the same between us. It might only make everything worse.”

She went still, feeling his warm hand in hers in the dark. “Why would it make everything worse?” she whispered. “Is the thought of kissing me so repulsive? You didn't seem to think so this afternoon.”

She remembered him looming over her in Lady Thurlow's garden, the way her breathing had become uneven, the way her world had narrowed until she only saw his dark, attractive face, coming ever closer. She'd been full of anticipation and eagerness, even as
she'd pushed away the part of her mind that shouted a warning.

Before he could speak, she said bitterly, “Ah, but I was mistaken. You only tried to kiss me to further your victory in your wager. Or to find out more about the Scandalous Lady.” She tried to pull her hand away but he wouldn't release her.

“It started out that way,” he said, his voice low and husky in the dark. “I meant to distract you, and instead, I was the one distracted.”

Her spirits brightened a bit.

“And if I kiss you”—his breath was warm on her cheek, as if he'd moved closer—“what if
you
don't wish to stop?”

“You think I'm so weak? Or are you deflecting your own worries on to me?”

He chuckled even as he rolled onto his side, away from her. It certainly gave her more room in the bed. She told herself she appreciated the gesture, that she wasn't offended—or hurt. Perhaps he really didn't want to kiss her and couldn't find a way to say so? Listening to his deep, even breathing, she fell asleep at last.

 

Julian awoke at the first light of dawn, with Rebecca curled around him, her thighs behind his, her arms about his waist, her cheek pressed to his back. He felt every curve of her body, especially the softness of her
breasts. Occasionally she had moved in her sleep, rubbing against him, teasing him. But she wouldn't tease him into a loss of control. No woman ever had. He gave pleasure, received it, but knew when to stop.

He'd bedded many women in his life, but none had ever made him feel such overwhelming desire, as if he hadn't been truly alive before he met Rebecca. He kept remembering that painting, and thinking about the kind of woman who would pose nude.

She might not even be a virgin. Yet even if she was, she had put herself beyond the bounds of decent women with the painting, and by fleeing London. Yet, when she'd asked him to kiss her, there'd been a wistfulness in her demeanor. Was she innocent, perhaps even innocent of a man's kiss?

And something dark inside him was lured by that. He'd never bedded a virgin before. What would it be like to be the first to taste her, to show her—

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Enough of that. He would never deflower a virgin unless he meant to marry her. Such a loss of control would change all of his carefully laid plans for his family's return to true respectability.

And then he noticed that she was awake. Her breathing changed, although she didn't speak or roll away. Her hand still dangled loosely in front of his stomach.

“Are you wondering how you can escape this?” he asked softly.

With a groan, she rolled away from him. “I am so sorry!” she whispered.