In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady

by Gayle Callen

  In that moment, she simply hadn’t cared about the wager. She’d wanted to experience a man’s kiss. She’d spent her life on the outside, hidden away from the possibility of drafts and exposure to illness—and from the risk of giving to others what she suffered with.

  No man had ever held her; they’d always treated her like blown glass that might break if handled too roughly. That was the impression her family gave everyone.

  But all Julian Delane knew of her was a nude portrait and her spirited response to his wager.

  And he liked it.

  Feeling giddy, she hugged herself as the carriage pulled up. The footman folded down the step, opened the door, then held out a hand to help her inside. She looked over her shoulder to smile her thanks, and didn’t realize how gloomy the interior was until she sat down and the door closed behind her.

  Why were the blinds lowered and the glass raised on such a beautiful day? She could barely see anything. When she reached for the window, a hand suddenly gripped her wrist. Before she could scream, another hand covered her mouth, pressing her back into the bench as a man rose up over her.

  The first thing she noticed was the smell of used garments and unwashed skin—and then terror swept through her, shaking her limbs, turning her stomach until she wanted to gag.

  “Quiet!” the man said, his voice impassive and cool though she struggled. “Ye’ll not be hurt if ye do what I say.”

  She forced herself to stop fighting, though she could not control her quivering.

  “I’ll release yer mouth if ye promise not to scream. One scream and I’ll silence ye fer good.”

  She nodded, even as fearful words fluttered inside her head, urging to scream for help, to flee. But he had her pinned to the bench. All she could hope to do was to stall him. Madingley House was not so far across Mayfair, and the coachman had been one of their trusted servants, not a man in league with this thief.

  His gloved hand left her mouth, and she gasped.

  “Easy,” he said, as if she were a horse he was trying to break. He sat beside her on the bench, holding both her wrists prisoner in his hands.

  He wore a soft-brimmed hat pulled low over his whiskered face, but did not shield his identity from her any other way. That sparked her fears even higher, because it seemed as if he didn’t care that she could describe him to the police.

  As if he didn’t plan to release her at all.

  She licked her dry lips and forced herself to speak. “What do you want? I am wearing little in jewelry, and only have a few coins in my—”

  “Aye, it’s jewelry I want, milady, but I don’t see it ’round yer neck. The master wants the one ye wore to a fancy ball several nights ago—the one in the paintin’.”

  For a moment, she tried to organize her scattered thoughts. Who else could connect her to the painting but Parkhurst and his two friends? Was this some foolish attempt on his part to scare her into revealing the truth?

  “The painting?” she whispered. “The only painting of me is in Cambridgeshire, in my parents’—”

  “Don’t play the fool.”

  He pulled her wrists until she half lay in his lap. A putrid smell rose around her.

  “Ye know what paintin’ I mean. I ain’t seen it, but the master tells me ye bared everythin’ God gave ye.”

  She shuddered and a moan escaped her. Then he took both her wrists in one hand, freeing his own to fumble beneath her cloak. He pinched her breast hard, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  This—this thief could not possibly be connected to the earl. She closed her eyes, fighting light-headedness and nausea as doubts assailed her. But what did she know of the earl after all? Evil could lurk within the ton as well as in any East End slum.

  And the diamond pendant she wore to the ball? Lord Parkhurst hadn’t even mentioned it to her. It was made of paste, and she’d only worn it for a lark.

  But this man worked for someone who’d seen it, who wanted it. What would he do to get it?

  “I—I didn’t understand what you meant,” she said, trying to placate him. “Please don’t hurt me again, and I’ll do what you wish.”

  She thought he would continue to paw her, might even do worse, but something seemed to stay him. He released one of her wrists and she pushed off his lap, sitting back on the bench where she trembled uncontrollably.

  “When we get to yer house, ye’ll bring the diamond out to me. No one has to be hurt, includin’ yerself.” He leaned over her, eyes gleaming with cruelty, his breath foul. “But if ye don’t, I’ll follow ye inside. Ye may sic a footman on me, but not before I tell everyone about what ye did in that paintin’, what kind of doxy ye are. Or maybe I’ll hurt yer old mum. Now, is a pricey bauble worth all of that?”

  She shook her head, staring at him. “Sic a footman”? Did he not understand how many people worked in a duke’s home?

  But of course he did. He had no intention of following her inside. He thought she was stupid—or fearful—enough to do anything he said. Yet she couldn’t very well let this thief continue to follow her, or terrorize her family. And she couldn’t go to the Metropolitan Police without revealing everything—including what had been revealed in that painting!

  The carriage jerked to a halt. The thief backed farther into the shadows. “Tell the coachman ye’re comin’ right back. Get the diamond and bring it to me—or else.”

  She nodded frantically, rubbing her wrists, easily able to look terrified and cowed. She gathered her shawl about her as the footman opened the door, then gave him her hand, trying hard not to tremble. She kept waiting for the thief to do something behind her, but he remained silent.

  After descending, she smiled stiffly at the coachman, who stood near the matched pair of horses. “Hewet, will you please wait here for me? I have another errand to run.”

  “Of course, Miss Leland.”

  As she hurried up the stairs, she glanced up at the warrior angels lining the roof, and sent a fervent prayer heavenward that someone would be watching over her. Once inside, she walked swiftly up the staircase, her footsteps echoing in the marble hall. Nodding to the occasional servant, she was glad when she reached her bedroom. Just as Susanna promised, there were two train tickets on her dressing table.

  She pawed through her jewelry box, breathless and shaking, until she found the diamond pendant. It glittered through the light from the window, shining a red-speckled pattern across the carpet. Real, she thought in amazement. And surely worth a fortune, for she’d not seen many red diamonds, especially not one so large. Quickly, she put it around her neck and tucked it within her bodice. Then she grabbed her train ticket, skimmed the printed schedule, and found just what she was looking for.

  The door to her dressing room opened, and Beatrice, her maid, entered. The round-faced woman came up short, and her gaze went right to the tickets in Rebecca’s hand.

  “Miss Rebecca? Miss Susanna told me to send ahead your trunk for the goods train, and that has been done. But you aren’t scheduled to leave for several more—”

  “I know, Beatrice,” Rebecca interrupted, forcing another smile, “but there has been a change of plans. My dear friend Rose decided to go with me, so I’m giving you a holiday.”

  Beatrice blinked, even as a slow smile touched her mouth. “But, miss, won’t you need me?”

  “Surely my great-aunt has plenty of servants. You haven’t been to York to see your family in ages, have you?” Thinking quickly, she held out a train ticket. “Take this and have it transferred to something you can use. I won’t need you for several weeks.”

  She seemed hesitant, thrilled, and Rebecca was so impatient she wanted to shove it into her hand and run.

  “But doesn’t your friend need this?”

  “We’ll buy another one. You just get yourself to the railway station so you can get right home.”

  “I confess, it is my mother’s birthday.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that?” Rebecca asked, in truth this time. “I
would have given you a holiday.”

  “But the Season—”

  Rebecca snorted. “The Season will go on without us. Now go!” With both hands she shooed her maid back the way she’d come.

  Beatrice sent one more smile over her shoulder. “Thank you, miss! Enjoy your holiday!”

  With a groan, Rebecca stuffed the ticket and schedule into her reticule, picked up her cloak, and left her bedchamber. But instead of heading for the front of the town house, she went down the rear stairway to the corridor that led out onto the terrace. She hurried down through the garden to the stables. A groom was happy to prepare a cabriolet that she could drive herself. She asked him to accompany her to the train station so that he could return the carriage.

  “Ye’ll not wait for yer maid, Miss Rebecca?”

  She shook her head, using the power of her smile. “I’ve given her a holiday. It’s Great-aunt Rianette and I alone in the Lake District.”

  Before she knew it, she was out in the alley, the groom holding on at her side as she turned up one street, and then the next until she was driving parallel to the town house.

  She’d kept the top down on the carriage, and made certain she called loudly to her coachman, “Ho, there, Hewet, I decided to drive myself. I’m so late!”

  Even as the coachman saluted and climbed up into the box, she saw the shutters in the carriage move and knew the thief had seen her. She urged her horse faster, not bothering to see how he got out of the carriage, or if someone was waiting nearby for him. There was no time to waste as she led him away from Madingley House and her family.

  It hadn’t been difficult to notice when Rebecca left Lady Thurlow’s reception. Julian followed on his horse as she returned in the enclosed carriage. She was not going to leave town without him knowing about it. At the duke’s town house, he took the opportunity for a little exploring, leaving his horse on the street to follow the garden wall back toward the alley. Over the top he could count the windows on the second floor to estimate the number of bedrooms.

  He wasn’t certain what he planned to do with such information—steal into her bedroom beneath the nose of the dowager duchess? Or should he try to find a way into the garden? Somehow he needed to keep track of her, to discover if she truly meant to leave London. He came upon a wrought-iron door, but it was well locked.

  And that’s when he saw Rebecca hurrying through the garden, wearing her cloak, heading for the stables. He didn’t bother calling out, only began to run toward the back alley. He crept the width of the garden wall toward the great double doors that led to the stables. It seemed to take forever. Surely Madingley House was the largest palace in London. Before he even reached the doors, a horse emerged with a cabriolet behind it. And there was Rebecca driving, her expression intent, even though a wide-eyed groom sat at her side. She was past Julian without even seeing him, and he took off at a run for the front of the house and his horse.

  By the time he caught up to her carriage in the London traffic, he was feeling like a fool. Did he plan to follow her night and day?

  But he just had a bad feeling about all of this. She’d left a carriage sitting out front, only to take another one she could drive herself. Why? He didn’t believe for a moment that she was teasing him about traveling. She had something planned.

  And his instincts were confirmed when she pulled up to the Euston Railway Station, with its massive columns holding up an arch like a Greek temple. She hopped down without waiting for her groom, and more than one man had a fleeting, impressive view of her trim ankles.

  At the entrance to the train station, she looked back one more time at the street—and saw him.

  Julian saluted and smiled, even as he dismounted near her carriage. But to his surprise, her face drained of blood. She picked up her skirts and practically ran inside.

  Frowning, his sense of urgency increasing, Julian caught the Madingley groom before he could step up into the cabriolet.

  “You there,” Julian said. For once he was glad he could say, “I am Parkhurst. I need you to return my horse to my town house on Berkeley Square.” He handed over several coins.

  The boy’s jaw dropped. “A-aye, milord.”

  To Julian’s surprise, he almost didn’t catch up with Rebecca. She had a train ticket, and he didn’t, and she was able to show hers at the gate and hurry toward the waiting train. At least he knew they were headed north, for this station only served the London and Birmingham Railway.

  Was he really going to do this? he thought, even as he purchased his own first-class ticket at the counter. Get on a train without luggage and see what happened, in pursuit of Rebecca Leland?

  Her face flashed in his mind, all pink and languid and expectant just before he’d been about to kiss her. And then he saw a more recent memory, where she’d looked almost terrified to see him. What had happened in the space of an hour?

  Chapter 6

  Rebecca found it terribly easy to switch her train ticket from the 5:10 to the 3:15, even though she dropped her ticket in the booking office from sheer nerves. Two men fell to their knees to retrieve it, and she concentrated on them gratefully, afraid to look behind her.

  The Earl of Parkhurst had been following her.

  She had wanted that to happen, hadn’t she? She’d practically told him she was going on a journey. She’d wanted a grand adventure—

  And then she’d been held captive in her carriage, threatened, forced to run—surely not at his behest. She couldn’t believe that of a peer. Or his friends, men she and her family had socialized with their whole lives.

  But he’d seen the painting and the diamond. Who else could connect that to her?

  She reminded herself she’d worn the necklace to a ball before knowing that the painting wasn’t in a French collection. Probably any number of men, members at the same club, might have connected her to the jewel, once they’d heard that a Society woman had posed.

  But it was Lord Parkhurst following her, no one else. Was the thief following separately, or were they together?

  She prayed that his lordship didn’t have a ticket, that he wouldn’t make the train. She needed to figure out what she was going to do next.

  The London and Birmingham train was already there, steaming in the sunlight. Men and women bustled to their carriages, carrying portmanteaus or having their luggage loaded on carts pushed by porters. Not her, she thought, resisting the urge to give in to a grim laugh.

  But as she was assisted into her compartment in the first-class carriages, she looked behind her and saw the thief. She almost stumbled going up the stair. In daylight, he’d looked more respectable than she’d imagined, in his coat and trousers and white shirt, like a working-class man taking the train to another working-class town, perhaps Birmingham or even farther to Manchester. But from her window she could see him watching her, even as he stood back near the third-class carriage. There were no seats in that carriage; they’d only recently put roofs on the cars to protect the passengers from the elements. He didn’t enter, as if he were waiting to see if she’d run for it now that she’d seen him.

  He was shoulder to shoulder with another man, she realized with dismay. They even spoke together; they wanted her to see she was outnumbered. Had the second thief been waiting near Madingley House and together they’d followed her?

  Did that mean that the earl wasn’t involved with the attempted robbery and kidnapping? She didn’t know what to think. There were always a rare few of the nobility who believed that their title allowed them to do anything in their own interest. Just then, she saw Lord Parkhurst leave the railway booking office, ticket in hand. She wasn’t certain he could see into her compartment, but he walked right toward her. Only six people fit in each carriage, and there was already a family seated in hers: mother, father and two children. Their clothes displayed a rather open wealth, and she imagined they were of the newly rich industrial class since they didn’t seem familiar.

  There was one extra place on the bench, directly acr
oss from her. She gritted her teeth as Lord Parkhurst opened the door and leaned in.

  “Is there an open seat?” he asked politely.

  The man already inside went a little wide-eyed on seeing the earl. He must have recognized him, for he nodded and said, “Of course, my lord.”

  Rebecca wanted to ignore them all. She wanted to chew her fingernails; instead she plastered her face to the window to see what her two shadows were doing. Surely they were waiting until the last possible moment to board their carriage, just to make certain she did.

  She had led them away from her family—what was she supposed to do now? She could hardly go all the way to Aunt Rianette’s home and put even more family in danger. She had hoped something brilliant would occur to her. It didn’t. She put a hand to her upper chest, where beneath her cloak and gown she could feel the outline of the jewel, warm against her flesh.

  She could hear Lord Parkhurst settling in, even as the train whistle sounded. Porters hurriedly loaded the last of the luggage above the train carriages, those that hadn’t been sent with the earlier goods train, as hers had been.

  She had no other clothing but what she was wearing. She pressed her lips together, still feeling a little hysterical amusement.

  And then something brushed her foot and, startled, she was forced to stop looking out the window. Lord Parkhurst’s great legs were sprawled before her, his knees almost reaching hers, his feet beneath her skirts. He was watching her, a faint smile on his broad mouth. She hastily dropped her hand from the hidden diamond.

  At last, with a jerk and a shudder, the train began to move, heading north out of London. She turned to look out the window again. She didn’t want to talk to the earl, didn’t know what she could possibly say to him without revealing their strange connection to the small family traveling with them.

  At least he seemed to realize the same, for he didn’t speak to her either. Yet she could not forget him, for the rumbling and vibrating of the train sometimes let their legs briefly touch—or was he instigating it? She wouldn’t put it past him as he tried to unnerve her.