by Gayle Callen
She made a face that sent him off with a laugh, but her own amusement faded more quickly. She prayed they would only spend one more night in that lodging house, for if she had to listen to all the moaning and thumping again and again, she was going to demand that Julian explain it all in detail.
He wouldn’t be laughing then.
Chapter 16
Julian walked at Rebecca’s side as they returned to the lodging house, feeling tired and sore but satisfied. He looked down at her and jingled the coins in his pocket. She grinned and stuck her hand in, startling and pleasing him.
“Ooh, feel all that wealth,” she said, bumping against him as they walked.
The feel of her hand against his thigh was making him forget his aching muscles, but she seemed oblivious.
She looked up at the overcast sky as a light misting rain continued to dampen their clothing. “Maybe the rain will rid us both of the stench of fish.”
“I was the one who carted them around all day,” he protested.
“And I wandered in the midst of the fish stalls. Trust me, I didn’t pick up this odor just from you.”
He laughed and hefted the wrapped package in his other hand. “But it will taste good cooked, I imagine.”
“Do you cook?” she asked. “Because I never have. Oh, wait, of course you do! You surely spent time in the kitchens as you grew up.”
He smiled. “As a matter of fact…”
“Then you can cook for me.”
“I provided the food, I’m your guard. I imagine I can be your cook, too.”
Slyly she said, “I think I like this arrangement.”
At the lodging house, they commandeered a coal grate and grilled the fish he’d received from his temporary employer. There was more than enough to share, and soon Rebecca moved among the children, offering the plain fish as if it were a feast. And the children treated it as such, although they respectfully waited for their turn. More than one child was sniffling and coughing, and Julian wanted to pull Rebecca away. But that had been her childhood, always kept away from others, and he knew she would no longer accept such treatment. But he understood her parents’ fears.
When the food was gone, and people began to settle in for the night, he saw Rebecca’s hesitation. He took her hand, and when she gave him a puzzled look, he gestured with his head toward the door. She grinned and followed his lead. He led her outside into the courtyard, and they sat down on two crates. Out of his pocket, he brought a small wrapped package and handed it to her. She gave him a curious look even as she untied the string.
She gasped and her face lit up. “A tart!”
“Strawberry,” he said, “I’m sorry if it got a bit crushed.”
“Oh, it will taste the same,” she said, taking her first bite. Her eyes closed with bliss.
He felt hungry for more than food as he watched her. “I never imagined giving such a gift to a woman.”
She chuckled and caught crumbs from her cheek with the back of her hand. “And I never imagined how I would appreciate such a hard-earned gift. But thank you so much.” She broke off a piece. “Take some.”
“No, it’s yours. I’m enjoying watching you eat.”
With determination, she leaned forward and put the piece to his mouth. “Take a bite,” she insisted.
At last he did, his gaze locking with hers as his lips brushed her fingers.
She paused and blushed. “I must taste like fish,” she said awkwardly.
He chewed and swallowed. “I don’t mind.”
Tension and anticipation for their next private moment simmered between them once more. He remembered the way they’d kissed, the feeling of her in his arms, her face lost in pleasure beneath him. It had been three days since that stolen moment, three days where he told himself he’d regained control. And then each night they lay entwined, as they would again tonight. And he would awaken every time she moved against him. He’d see the painting in his mind, and imagine her stretched out on his bed like that, just for him. Lately, his thoughts seemed uncontrollable, something he’d never imagined would happen to him.
He cleared his throat. “So what would your family think if they knew what you were doing?”
Her laughter was more like a snort. “Because it’s me, I imagine they’d be surprised. But I’m a Leland through my father, and a Cabot through my mother. I think it would be more surprising if I didn’t find some kind of trouble.” She eyed him with amused suspicions. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what my family’s done.”
He folded his arms over his chest, deciding not to tell her that he knew much about her family through his search for a suitable wife. “I know your brother was thought dead until he returned—that’s quite a story.”
“Oh, believe me, that was minor on the scale of scandal. That was simply a joyous miracle.”
“Are you trying to say you can compete with my family scandals?” he asked with feigned astonishment. “We’re talking a stolen priceless diamond, a thieving uncle—”
“You didn’t hear about my father caught up in a grave-robbing scheme?”
He blinked at her.
She smiled. “As an anatomy professor, he paid men to bring him the corpses of prisoners, all very legal. He didn’t know that asking for a female made them steal her from a grave.”
“That must have been difficult to bear.”
“It happened before I was born, but it harmed my parents’ marriage for many years. My mother was quite humiliated. But surely you heard that my uncle, the duke, made a common Spanish girl his duchess.”
“I did know that.”
“The present duke married a female journalist who was investigating him by pretending to be someone else! Another cousin won the right to court his eventual wife in a card game with her mother. And my aunt was suspected of murdering her husband so she could claim credit for a symphony he’d supposedly written. And my grandfather—”
“Enough! I cannot believe I’m admitting this, but I think your family is far more scandalous than mine. My association with you might very well be harming my reputation as we speak.”
“You were seen flirting with me by much of feminine Society.” She fluttered her lashes. “And if they knew what we’ve done since…”
He gave her a slow, intimate smile. She watched him, moistening her lips, driving him to distraction.
“But don’t you see, Julian,” she said, “my family is full of scandal, but none of it happened to me. I was always ill, confined to my bed. My family’s exploits might as well have been fictional stories I read in a book.”
“And now you have your own adventure. Surely you’ll be more than able to hold your head up when, in your old age, you and your cousins reminisce about your frivolous youth.” He cocked his head. “Will you tell them someday about the painting?”
A strange expression passed over her face, and she straightened. “That might be asking for too much understanding, don’t you think?”
“Your family seems accepting of artists—there’s your sister’s study of dissections, and didn’t you just say an uncle composed music?”
“And I have a cousin who plays the violin. But none of them took their clothing off.” She ate the last crumb of her strawberry tart and sighed. “Oh, Julian, that was simply delicious. Thank you for the treat.”
They remained silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of overcrowded humanity, from crying children to squabbling adults. At last they could put off sleep no longer and they went inside, where the smells and the sounds assaulted the senses.
“We leave Manchester tomorrow,” he said firmly.
“Thank God.”
Julian assumed he would be tired enough to fall asleep quickly. But when Rebecca was safely asleep behind him, and he’d just begun to doze off, regardless of the crying baby, Rebecca coughed.
He frowned but didn’t open his eyes. Anyone could cough. Who knew what was floating in the air in an industrial city like Manchester?
J
ust as he relaxed, she coughed again—and again.
He looked over his shoulder. “Rebecca?” he murmured.
“My throat is simply scratchy,” she said, then was overcome by a long fit of coughing.
She moved away from him, closer to the wall, as if she didn’t want to disturb him. Julian felt helpless, so he fell back on his instincts, rolling over and hushing her protests as he reversed her position as well. He folded his body around hers to comfort her so she would not be afraid, his hips behind hers so she could share his warmth.
“Relax,” he murmured, stroking her arm and down her hip.
She was faintly trembling, but at last the cough died away. He tried not to think what illnesses she’d been exposed to here—how he hadn’t protected her.
“It was nothing,” she said briskly. “I thought I inhaled a piece of your hair. After all, I was trapped between you and the wall.”
“So would you rather face my back or the wall?” he asked, struggling to sound amused.
“I can’t exactly see the wall, but I imagine it might be a sight better than the filthy shirt you’re wearing.”
He chuckled, continuing to stroke her body. “It is difficult to bathe or wash clothing here.”
“Believe me, I’m looking forward to both those things tomorrow. And Julian?”
“Yes?”
“You must remember that I’ve stopped living my life in constant worry. I won’t live like that again.”
They were silent several minutes, and she gave a contented sigh. By not thinking about her risk of illness, he found himself feeling the softness of her hair against his cheek, the long lean slope of her back, and the way her ass cradled him sensually. He kept imagining the caresses he could show her, the expressions on her vivid face as she experienced unimagined pleasures.
No, don’t think about that tonight, he told himself, but it was too late. If Rebecca noticed that he was aroused, she did not mention it. He should stop caressing her, but that might be even more obvious.
“I can hear the gears in your mind turning,” she said, tilting her head to look back at him.
He came up on one elbow, the better to see her face. “What do you mean?”
“You’re thinking too much. I swear that my throat was only irritated.”
“Prove it to me,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her.
Her lips were as soft as he remembered, and he wanted to moan with the pleasure that flooded through him. But he restrained himself. He kissed her gently, parting her lips more with each kiss, until he could enter her mouth, stroking, exploring, tasting strawberry tart.
At last he lifted his head. “You’re a bold vixen. I guess I can no longer be surprised you’d pose nude.”
Again, he let his hand slide appreciatively over her hip.
Hesitantly, she asked, “Are you…disappointed in me compared to the painting?”
He gave her an astonished look. “How could I be disappointed?”
“Roger made me look so…provocative. I never thought of myself that way. And I could understand if you agreed with me.”
“He captured your spirit perfectly,” he said, nuzzling behind her ear, “as far as I can see. Which hasn’t been all that far.”
Her sensual chuckle made him give her another deep, drugging kiss. He lifted his head, taking a deep breath, struggling to find a distraction. Hoarsely, he said, “You know I’ve already won.”
“The wager?” she replied faintly, inching her body until she lay on her back to look up at him.
“Of course. My proof is the diamond.”
He traced its outline beneath her bodice, and could tell she held her breath.
“I could have borrowed the necklace.”
“An excellent try, but I don’t believe that. But tell me, why did you and your cousin and sister all feel the need to proclaim yourself the model?”
“We’ve always been close, being raised in the same home. When Elizabeth and I were still in the schoolroom, we used to analyze how we would have handled the scandals of our relatives. Susanna overheard us, and being older, she decided that the best way to not get into trouble was to swear a pact that the three of us would always protect each other, always help each other avoid scandal.”
“You swore to this?”
“I was much younger,” she said with a laugh. “I was wistful even imagining that I could ever come close to a delicious scandal, but I wanted to go along with Susanna and Elizabeth, to pretend I was just like them.”
“But now you’ve created your very own scandal. Do you have a plan for what will happen if Society finds out about your connection to the painting? Not that they would through myself or my friends,” he added. “But there are always those who delight in overhearing conversations that they shouldn’t.”
“I will not care,” she said, tilting her chin, her smile delightfully wicked. “I will not be in London. I will be traveling. And my parents are well used to handling scandal.”
“You would leave such a thing to them?”
“Did we not have to bear some of the burden of our parents’ scandal? It is only fitting that they return the favor.”
“How generous of you.”
She laughed, then covered her mouth. “Good night, Julian.”
She was smiling as she turned away from him, but she gave a little squirm with her hips that made him shudder. She was learning far too quickly.
Julian was not sorry to see Manchester fade behind them. The wagon jerked and shuddered on the uneven road, but where once that had annoyed him, he no longer minded it, for every turn of the wheels took them toward fresh country air. Rebecca would not have to breathe in the foul smells of the slums.
Although his uncle lived in Lincolnshire, Julian had felt it wise to travel north for a day. His uncle’s men, who were most certainly looking for them, would probably watch the roads east of Manchester, in the direction of Windebank’s home, or south, if they thought Julian and Rebecca meant to flee to London.
Before dinner, he and Rebecca left the wagon in the countryside, as if they were close to home, and allowed it to go on to the next village without them. They’d decided to camp out of doors for the first night, the better to confuse their pursuers.
Rebecca put her hands on her hips as she looked into the distance. The Lancashire moorlands rose high above the valley of the river, with flat tops of endless grasslands dotted with flocks of sheep. Though some might think the scenery bleak, she looked serene and satisfied.
“Let’s find the most private place on the river,” she said, beginning to walk to where the trees clustered at the banks. “I cannot wait to bathe!”
He could not imagine another woman of his acquaintance so at ease in the countryside, or thrilled at the prospect of a cold bath in an unfamiliar river. His admiration for Rebecca only grew the more he knew her. Perhaps he needed to add another accomplishment to his “perfect wife” list: the ability to adapt.
They walked in peaceful silence for little more than a half hour, listening to the birds as the sun sank low in the sky, the clouds around it beginning to take on a tinge of pink and orange. At last they found a secluded bend in the river, with trees forming a canopy and shelter.
“This will do,” Rebecca said. “Can you help me unhook my gown?”
He’d been anticipating such a request all day, but had to be practical. “Wouldn’t you prefer to eat first?”
“We’ll lose the light too soon, and I don’t fancy bathing in the darkness.” She shivered. “I won’t know what’s coming at me.”
She presented her slim back, and he whispered into her hair, “Perhaps it will only be me.”
She laughed, but also gave a little shudder that satisfied him. To his surprise, his hands trembled once or twice as he worked with the tiny hooks and eyes on the back of her bodice.
“You brought the soap and towels left over from the last inn?” she asked as she stepped away and began to pull the gown forward and down to her waist.
“Yes.”
He could barely get the word out. All he could think was that she wanted his touch—she wanted her adventure. What would he give her? Where should he draw the line? It would all depend on how much passion he could tolerate without taking what a woman prized.
She was already down to her chemise—the sturdy linen one, he saw with regret, rather than the sheer confection that was her own. She left her gown in a heap on a rock.
“I’ll wash our clothing later,” she said, even as she seated herself to reach beneath the skirt of her chemise to remove her boots, garters, and stockings. She gave him a saucy smile. “The drawers are next.”
“It will be cold fast here on the edges of the moor,” he said, openly leering until she blushed. “I’ll start a fire.”
“Afraid to bathe with me?”
Her eyes were lively with humor as she slid her drawers off from beneath her chemise.
“Not afraid at all,” he said with meaning. “But if I join you in the water right now, you won’t get any bathing done and we won’t have a fire.”
Her smile faded and her expression smoldered with interest. The faced each other for a long moment, until at last she went to the portmanteau and rooted around in it for the wrapped bit of soap. With a sigh, he began to gather pieces of wood along the pebble-strewn embankment, watching openly as she stepped into the shallow water and shuddered.
“It’s cold!” she gasped.
“You expected otherwise in late spring?”
“But…” Her shoulders slumped. “I had so been looking forward to a bath.”
“Then you’ll have to look forward to simply being clean.”
She straightened. “You’re right. And that is definitely worth it.”
She waded out a bit farther, the water coming up to her knees. The river wasn’t wide, so it could hardly be that deep, but he’d grown used to always watching out for her.
“Can you swim?” he asked.
She shook her head and spread her hands. “They didn’t allow me to ride a horse. Can you imagine them allowing me in a cold pond?”