Chasing Scandal

by Leslie V. Knowles

  She took another tentative sip from her tankard. “Now that I know what to expect it is not so bad,” she mused. “The bitterness is not much different from coffee, though that is not my favorite drink, either.”

  She looked beyond his shoulder and set her beer down. “I see Tom.”

  Tristan shifted to look toward the door. “Which one?”

  “The brown-haired man speaking to the blond woman at the bar.”

  The man in question leaned in and said something in the tavern maid’s ear. His dark blue coat accommodated his broad shoulders, but hadn’t the precise fit or quality of a gentleman’s garment. Nor did his shoes reflect the bright shine of a man of means. But neither did he look poor. Tristan knew that look well. Tom’s lean build was the type that came from a starved childhood and mean streets. Tristan rubbed the still tender spot at the base of his skull. Tom had learned the stealth trade early and well.

  The woman and gestured toward the staircase beside the bar. Tom grinned, patted her on the bottom, slipped past her, and out of sight.

  “I believe it might be time to explore other areas of the tavern,” Tristan said. Standing, he pulled Julia up and into his arms. Nuzzling her neck, he whispered into her ear. “Forgive me, but we must give the appearance of licentious intent if we are to follow him up the stairs.” He gave in to temptation, then, and kissed her.

  She tensed, and her lips resisted only an instant before they softened and he coaxed her to relax against him. He traced her lips with his tongue until she accepted the invitation and met his tongue with hers. She tasted only faintly of the ale she’d sipped and far more of womanly sweetness and curious desire. Dear God! He’d wanted this since the moment he’d heard that seductive voice and looked into the wary depths of those green eyes. He fought to remain in control. They were on a mission.

  Other than a few ribald comments, few paid any attention to them as they worked their way through the crowded tavern. Near the stairs Tristan stopped and took Julia in his arms again so he could assess their surroundings. When the bartender turned his back to put several tankards on a tray and the tavern maid dodged a patron’s groping hand, Tristan grabbed Julia’s wrist hand and tugged her to the next floor.

  In the short corridor, he placed his ear against the door and listened for a moment, but he heard nothing. At the second it was clear someone was well into bed sport, but matters had progressed more than would be expected in the time it had taken them to follow Tom. Undoubtedly the earlier couple.

  The third door yielded the sounds of someone moving about, and Tristan eased it open a crack. Inside, the man Julia identified as Tom stood beside a bed with his shirt off while he poured himself a glass of gin. Bruises darkened his flesh and his left eye had swollen shut. Signaling Julia to stay behind him, Tristan withdrew his pistol and pushed the door the rest of the way open.

  Tom’s grin of welcome shifted to a frown when he saw Tristan and his pistol. “What do you –?” He caught sight of Julia. “So yer back.” He eyed her dress and smirked. “Always thought you had more to show than your prim get-ups hid.”

  “Where is Ned?” Julia adjusted her shawl, but her determination did not waver.

  “Lookin’ for the brat. Though if you’re here I’m guessin’ he found her. He swore he’d take more out of me if he didn’t.” He gazed between them, his battered features proof of Ned’s reaction to finding Julia and Alice had escaped.

  “Lord Summerfield has been arrested for treason.” Tristan told him. “And now I am arresting you.”

  Tom eyed Tristan and released a snort of disbelief. “You think you can take me with a single pistol and a silly female too stupid to know when she’s being used?” He took a swig of his gin, then suddenly swung the bottle at Tristan’s head.

  Tristan ducked, felt the air move past his temple.

  Tom dodged around him and ran for the door.

  Julia stuck her foot out and tripped him before he could reach it. He hit his head on the jamb, crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

  Tristan hauled him onto the bed and pulled two lengths of cord from his coat pocket. By the time Tom regained consciousness, he was bound hand and foot.

  “It seems Miss Dorsey is not as stupid as you thought.” Tristan commented when he saw Tom had woken. “She escaped undetected and she directed me to you—and prevented you from escaping. I believe she is rather resourceful, myself.” He sent Tom an amused grin. “So, perhaps you can tell us where to find Ned.”

  “Not me.” He shook his head. “He already give me what-for fer lettin’ ‘em get away.”

  “He’ll not be able to get to you where you’re going.”

  “So ye say,” Tom said with a grimace. “Ned don’t give up. Even with the old lord dyin’ he went back for the girl. He’ll follow through. He always does.”

  Tristan bent down close to Tom’s face and stared at him for a long moment. Finally, with a feral grin, he whispered. “I grew up in the dials. I don’t give up either.”

  Tom sucked in a breath and his eyes went wide. He swallowed audibly and said, “If the old lordship is still breathing, and Ned has the girl, he’ll see the master’s orders are followed to the end. Then he’ll change his name and run to ground.”

  “Where would that be?”

  “Not in London. Too many folks would be willing to turn him in.”

  “Why not you?”

  “If I turn him in and he gets away, he’ll come back and kill me for sure. I’m for the hangman anyway, and I’ll take the noose over Ned’s brand of revenge any day.” He shot a resentful but calculating look at Tristan. “So what’s in it for me?”

  “Give us Ned and I’ll see that you’re transported instead of hung.”

  “What if he’s not there?”

  “If we can track and arrest him from your information the offer stands,” Tristan said. “If we don’t find him and can’t trace him, I can’t guarantee anything. That will be for the courts to decide.”

  Tom’s jaw tightened and his eyes shifted between his two captors while he weighed his choices. It was clear he feared Ned more than the quick justice of the hangman.

  Finally, he said, “Ned told me he were a cabin boy on a ship the first time he met His Lordship. He ran errands for him when they got to shore, and Summerfield offered him a position as page by the time they made it back to England and his home port of Portsmouth. If he’s not in London, he’s probably there. His Lordship don’t care where Ned does the business so long as it pays well, and female cargo can be sent from any harbor if you know the right captains. There’s plenty of market for blond virgins in foreign ports. Age don’t matter.”

  Tristan heard Julia release a stifled whimper but kept his attention on Tom. He raised an eyebrow, waiting, and Tom frowned before continuing.

  “He favors The Mermaid’s Tail for his lordship’s business and Kate’s for whoring.”

  Julia shifted, wrapping her arms about her waist, but made no other sound.

  “Where does he take rooms?”

  “He owns a gaming house in Portsmouth, he does, though he don’t know I know. He don’t go by Ned there, neither.” Tom touched his swollen eye and frowned. “I followed him once and heard some lackey call him Mr. Newman.” He released a huff of amusement. “Reckon he thought that a right funny twist since it’s his new name for the new man he’ll be.”

  No wonder Ned was loyal, Tristan admitted. From cabin boy to footman, now business man. Quite a step up. Too bad it had been through treason and trafficking.

  Time for that to end.

  “Name of his house?” Tristan asked tersely.

  “The Pandemonium.” Tom’s lip lifted slightly. “Ned calls things as he sees ‘em.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Julia lay awake for a long time after she returned to Ravencliffe House. She worried about Alice, but there was nothing more they could do until morning. Once Tom told them where they were likely to find Ned, Tristan had sent word to the earl. He, in turn, sent bow stre
et runners to remove Tom from the tavern. It was not until she was alone in her room that Julia could take in all that she’d seen and experienced in those few short hours.

  She had believed herself prepared to face Renard’s treason and betrayal the day before, but she’d had no idea how bitterly vengeful his actions had been. His treason would strip her of her own financial support; their familial association would exclude her from any respectable, genteel employment in the future. Yet she needed to find a way to survive.

  Her view of the world had changed vastly in the past few days, and she wondered how she would face the future. She’d heard of brothels despite her sheltered upbringing and singular life at the cottage. Her understanding, however, had been vague. The companion Renard had hired for her Season had explained little of her wifely duties other than they were expected and after the first initiation, not entirely unpleasant, and resulted in children. Brothels were where women were paid to permit men liberties without marriage. Such a life was shocking, demeaning, and scandalous.

  Yet her sister might well have lived such a life from the age of twelve. And Alice—what of dear Alice? Julia still knew so little.

  A bath scented with rose petals and a night shift that did not reek of stale smoke and fish had restored some of her normal sense of self. She lay in the great four-poster bed in one of the Ravencliffe’s guest rooms and explored her reaction to all she’d seen and done tonight.

  From the moment Tristan had assisted her into the hackney to begin their search, Julia had breathed in the faint, rich aroma of sandalwood mixed with an underlying musk and that left her with a deep yearning for something unknown. When he’d slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her to his side in the tavern, she’d been startled to realize how naturally she fit against him. She’d shocked herself when she’d pressed her face into his shoulder and inhaled the heady scent of linen and musk like a child in a bakery.

  The crowd had not disturbed her as much as she’d feared. There had been an air of comradery and lack of animosity that, though unfamiliar, did not threaten. Perhaps she was gaining courage at last. True, loose women clung to their male companions in a most inappropriate manner, but no one seemed to care.

  When the streetwalker led her customer from the room by his—she blushed at the memory—Julia had noticed a similar bulge in Tristan’s pantaloons. A lady did not look below a man’s waist, but the role Julia played tonight had not been one of a lady, and she had looked. She hated that her blushes gave away the direction of her thoughts, but she thanked her lucky stars Tristan had assumed it was the couple that had her blushing, and not her awareness of his condition.

  The entire atmosphere of loose behavior and unchecked pleasure fascinated her at the same time as it repelled her. She hadn’t drunk enough of the bitter ale to affect her control, but the role she played exhilarated her. She wanted to join the revelry with abandon. She wanted to know what it felt like to be free of the constraints of her childhood fears.

  She’d watched that great bull of a man take that young blond girl onto his lap and caress her bosom so blatantly it was as though she could feel it herself. Her nipples had tightened at the sight and Julia had nearly swooned to think of Tristan touching her so possessively. She had craved his touch, shocked to realized she yearned to have him stake his claim as shamelessly as the man had with that girl. Yet the thought of that touch coming from the big brute’s hands made her shudder.

  Julia rolled to her side and wrapped her hands around her waist, determined to resist the urge to test what it would feel like to be touched so intimately. Instinct told her that doing so would only increase her desire and leave her less fulfilled than before. A vague ache radiated from her most private place sending a vibration of awareness from core to fingertips and toes.

  She closed her eyes and allowed herself to focus on the one aspect of the evening she’d hugged to herself. He kissed me.

  It didn’t matter that it had been for show. He’d kissed her and the sensation of his lips against hers had grown and deepened until he’d touched his tongue to hers and set off an explosion of pleasure. Had anyone told her any man would stick his tongue into her mouth, would touch his tongue to hers, she would have found the idea disgusting. But the reality wasn’t. That intimacy, the shared flavor of ale and Tristan’s essence, had sent her pulse racing as her tongue tangled with his. She’d wanted more. She’d wanted the kiss to go on forever.

  Nor did she believe it had been entirely for show. His breathing had been as shallow as hers when he’d broken away. Fire blazed in those brilliant blue eyes and she’d felt the growing bulge pressed against her middle. That knowledge, alone, had appeased her disappointment when he’d stopped so abruptly to lead her up the stairs.

  Who knew that kisses held such power? Everyone who had ever been kissed came the irreverent thought. It certainly explained the severe restriction society placed on single men and women. That explosive pleasure could only lead to more explorations, which led to ruin if not sanctioned by marriage.

  For the first time since she’d encountered him in the woodland downpour, she wondered if he had ever considered marrying anyone.

  TRISTAN ARRIVED AT the Ravencliffe townhouse long before most inhabitants of Mayfair knew the day had begun, let alone begun to stir. Only the servants and hawkers moved about this early. Or travelers on their way to Portsmouth who needed to arrive as quickly as possible. The lifting fog raised his hopes that the day would be clear and fine.

  “Miss Dorsey will be down shortly, sir,” Billings told him when he opened the door and allowed him inside. He nodded, and a nearby footman who picked up a portmanteau carried it outside.

  Tristan stepped past the doorway and looked up when he noticed movement at the top of the stairs. Julia descended the stairs dressed for traveling. The brown ensemble she wore, a muslin dress and darker brown spencer, reminded him of the first time he’d seen her. Now, as then, her clothing was practical and of the simplest design, but there was nothing plain or simple about the woman who reached the bottom step and greeted him with a quiet, “Good morning, Mr. Sheffield.”

  Lady Ravencliffe greeted Tristan with a bit more reserve than usual when she followed Julia down the stairs to the entry hall. It was clear Julia had told her of their plan to leave together for Portsmouth in search of Ned and Alice. “I cannot like your traveling with Miss Dorsey unchaperoned,” she said, “But I pray you find the child quickly and before she is—“ She broke off and turned to Julia. “God speed and guide you.”

  They reached the town of Godalming early in the evening, halfway between London and Portsmouth and a common stage stop on the road. Tristan hoped to find verification that Ned Smith had returned to Portsmouth now that his master had been charged with high treason.

  “We must share a room again,” he informed Julia after arranging for accommodation. “The stage arrived an hour ago and the passengers claimed all but the one I have taken.”

  He watched her eyes widen and that telltale flush creep up her cheeks, but she merely nodded her head. Clearly, she had reacted to their kiss the night before. Neither of them were likely to forget the desire it had kindled. He led her up the stairs to their room, set their portmanteaus on the bed, and excused himself so she could freshen up alone.

  Though they had managed well enough when Julia was his prisoner, their foray into the Gray Whale together had changed everything. He told himself he’d kissed her to maintain the illusion they were a couple, he but knew he’d done so because he had wanted to from the first time he’d looked into those green eyes. He hadn’t expected the immediate flash of heat that had singed his senses and stolen all thought but that he wanted her like no one he’d ever desired.

  He’d behave as a gentleman, of course. He would make a pallet on the floor and hope he could manage an hour or two of sleep before they struck out on the road again.

  Regardless of the fact that they traveled together without a chaperone, she was a lady. Once they rescued Ali
ce, Julia would be able to return to society under the sponsorship of both his foster mother and Lady Ravencliffe. No one else need ever know of their scandalous travel arrangements. Now that Julia had shown she could tolerate crowds, it was not too late for her to make a respectable match and to have a home and family. One she deserved. He would not ruin a lady. And she was a lady. And he was a bastard.

  Down in the public room he ordered an ale then chatted with the serving girl. She rewarded his effort with the confirmation that a man fitting Ned Smith’s description had taken a room for himself and his daughter the night before. The little girl, she’d noted, had been fast asleep as it had been quite late when they arrived.

  ONCE TRISTAN LEFT AND she completed her ablutions, Julia sank onto the bed and let her thoughts focus on Tristan and their accommodations. The way he held his mouth and his rigid posture told her told her more clearly than words that he had not planned their shared quarters. Instead of brother and sister, their host had taken them to be man and wife. They had not discussed such complications to their plan before they left. In fact, they’d not spoken much in the hours of travel other than of their chances of locating Alice. Until they reached the Portsmouth, there was little more they could do, and worrying accomplished nothing. Most of all, they had not spoken of the kiss they’d shared at the tavern.

  She might be inexperienced, but she was smart enough to know Tristan had begun that kiss as a ruse for their trip upstairs to find Tom, but there had been no ruse in the fire it generated between them. That flame still sizzled at the edge of her consciousness, until she wondered if she would ever feel normal again. The brush of his shoulder, every bump of his thigh against hers while riding in the carriage had sent fissures of awareness through her.