In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady

by Gayle Callen

  Her body cradled his erection and he arched his hips, even as he reached to play with her breasts.

  “Oh!” she gasped. “Can we make love like this?”

  He grinned. “See what you can do about it.”

  He let her figure out her position, exploring him with her squirming hips and then her bold fingers. He groaned.

  She stopped. “That hurt?”

  “Not a bit,” he said hoarsely. “But the more you take your time, the sooner I’m going to take control.”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” She lifted herself and held his penis, trying to see how easily they could fit together.

  When she had it just about right, he took her hips and pulled, settling himself deep within her. They both gasped.

  “Oh, yes,” she breathed, eyes closed, head thrown back.

  The sight of her pleasure, and the way her hair parted about her breasts, was erotic and wild.

  “Do I get to do all the moving?” she asked innocently.

  He choked out a grunt of agreement even as she lifted herself. He came all the way out of her.

  “Oops!” she said. “Sorry.”

  When he was inside her again, he took a shuddering breath. Soon she found the rhythm and began to tease him with her movements. She leaned forward to lick his nipples, and he arched into her with desperation.

  She moved his hands away from her hips. “Don’t rush me, Julian. It’s my turn to explore.”

  Never had he been with a woman who cared so much for his pleasure, who wanted to know everything about him. He felt like the luckiest man on the earth as she pleasured him until he was shaking and arching his hips desperately. At last she began to lift herself up and down, her eyes shining as she watched him.

  He lost himself almost immediately, shuddering and groaning when he pulled out of her to empty everything inside him. Again, he used his shirt to clean up, while she watched him speculatively, but asked no questions. At last he went slack beneath her, arms wide, eyes closed.

  She giggled and leaned down over his chest to snuggle against him. “That was fun. Am I supposed to get off now?”

  Without thinking, he mumbled, “Don’t leave me.”

  She went silent, and regretting the words, he cracked open his eyelids to see her pensive expression.

  “I’m not leaving the room,” she said at last.

  “You’d better not,” he said with relief, hoping she didn’t read more into his words than he’d meant to show her this soon.

  In the morning, a bathing tub was sent up at dawn, a gesture of thanks from the maid, Dora. Rebecca watched the kitchen boys troop past a scowling Julian, who wore only his trousers, rendering him sufficiently intimidating. She was still in bed, the covers up to her chin. But she didn’t care how many people saw her nearly naked, as long as they were bringing hot water.

  When they’d gone, she was in the tub before he’d barely closed the door. She gave a delighted sigh, wishing it were deep enough that she could totally submerge herself.

  She expected Julian to busy himself, but instead he pulled up a chair as if her bath was the main entertainment of his day. His interest made her blush. She was naked and he was nearly so; she was surprised to feel a little discomfited, but she thought that was only natural.

  She used a facecloth and dripped water across her upper body. “I was never allowed to linger in a bath as a child. It makes me feel decadent.”

  “Then feel decadent quickly, because we must leave.”

  “But you’ll need a bath—”

  “I’ll use yours.”

  She grinned at him, enjoying the intimacy. He didn’t grin back. She gave an exaggerated pout. “It’s back to the jewel again, isn’t it?”

  His eyes dropped down to her breasts, between which the Scandalous Lady hung, glinting light. “I want to confront my uncle, yes. The sooner it is done, the sooner I can concentrate on you.”

  She quickly scrubbed herself. When her hair was soapy, Julian was waiting with the rinse bucket.

  Rebecca reluctantly rose from the bath, and he was there to wrap her in a towel. She dried herself slowly as she watched him bathe. Just looking at him gave her such pleasure. His body was so different from hers, so large and hairy and masculine. Yet not too large at the moment, she thought smugly, feeling worldly with her new knowledge of men.

  “Let me erase that pleased look on your face,” he said as he rose from the tub to dry himself, “by saying that you could have cost us much with your insistence on being a maid.”

  “Is that an ‘I told you so’?” she said, frowning with irritation.

  He shrugged. “Take it as you will. But things could have turned out very differently. What if they’d all attacked me, and I’d been unable to protect you?”

  “I would have managed,” she said stiffly. “I might even have saved you. Julian, just because we have slept together, I do not suddenly plan to become cowed into behaving as the obedient, respectful woman you seem to want. I am a real woman, with my own ideas, not some doll you can pose.”

  He dropped the towel and came toward her where she sat on the bed. She leaned back to look up at him, a little intimidated, a lot aroused by his nudity. She thought he might be angry, but his expression was playful.

  “A doll I can pose?” he echoed, pushing her shoulder until she was forced to lie back on the bed.

  He tried to take away her towel, but she found herself clutching it to her, feeling uneasy as a shaft of sunlight lit her body.

  “I want to see you pose again,” he whispered, ignoring the towel, but taking her arms up over her head. “In the painting, your back was arched. I remember each brushstroke as if I’d watched it painted.”

  She squirmed now, not enjoying the sensation of being compared to a work of art. “You know that was Roger’s vision, very idealized. I’m not a fantasy woman.”

  “Are you saying you aren’t the model?”

  “Of course not! But it wasn’t real! I was just a body to him, not a real person. How can I even begin to measure up?”

  “It isn’t a contest,” he said, sliding the towel off her belly. He gently adjusted the jewel until it rested between her breasts.

  She held her breath, frozen, wanting him to touch her again, yet feeling uneasy about…everything else.

  With a sigh, he straightened. She could not mistake his arousal now, but he turned away and reached for his clean drawers.

  “Julian, I must warn you,” she said, after sitting up and pulling her chemise over her head. She tossed her hair, tried to be flippant, but spoke seriously. “Don’t fall in love with me.”

  He gave her a casual glance over his shoulder even as he continued to pull up his trousers.

  She was irritated by his nonchalance. “We don’t have a future together, because I probably don’t have one. I’ll enjoy whatever life is given to me, and I want more than to be a subservient wife.”

  He faced her now, and she didn’t like the tenderness that shone in his gray eyes.

  “Rebecca, none of us ever knows what the future brings. Never assume yours will be short.”

  Her throat felt tight, but she forced herself to say, “And never assume you’ll have what you want from me in the end.”

  Chapter 20

  Rebecca put their awkward morning encounter out of her mind. Her optimism resurfaced once she cajoled the grateful maid into finding her fishhooks and string.

  She saw Julian watching her in bemusement as they began their journey on the public wagon. But he didn’t question her, and she felt cheerful and secretive, which lasted until Julian had them disembark from the wagon before it reached the final scheduled village.

  Rebecca regretfully watched the wagon leave them behind. “No inn tonight?”

  “After two nights of visibility, I don’t think it’s wise.”

  She sighed, but followed him up the stream he’d chosen. They’d left the moors behind, and were now traveling through the fertile vale of Yorkshire. Half walls of
stone and hedges divided distant pastureland and farm fields, and in every direction she could see milling sheep.

  She told herself to concentrate on the tasks necessary to sleep tonight, and most especially to eat. But always she was conscious of being alone with Julian, out in the countryside. She had to control a blush of excitement at the thought of making love outdoors.

  Julian at last agreed to allow her to fish when he felt they were far enough away from the road. After he finished building their fire, she felt him standing behind her, watching.

  “Have you never fished for your own meal before?” she asked over her shoulder. She sat on the bank of a stream, holding her string, gently pulling the hook through the water.

  “Of course, but I must say I’ve never seen a woman put a worm on a hook.”

  “I have many talents.” She winked up at him. “My brother taught me.”

  “In truth?” he asked, coming to sit beside her. “I’m surprised your parents allowed it.”

  She offered him his own string and hook. He proceeded to tie his to a stick and cast the hook out farther.

  “They didn’t know. My brother managed to sneak me out of the house away from my protective nanny. Did you do such things with your siblings?”

  “My sisters are not as adventurous as you,” he said, watching his pole rather than looking at her.

  It gave her the chance to study him. “Then they were as most of my friends, concerned about behaving like a proper young lady in hopes of attracting a proper gentleman.”

  He smiled. “Do not think ill of them. They were very conscious of our monetary status, and their lack of dowries.”

  She winced. “Of course. I did not mean to make light of their situation.”

  He looked down at her, his smile lazy. “I know you didn’t. Luckily, they are two and four years younger than I, and by the time they were ready to look for husbands, I had money to offer on their behalf.”

  “What a good brother you are,” she said, elbowing him.

  They were distracted when Rebecca’s line went taut, and she pulled a wriggling fish out of the water in triumph. She insisted on removing it from the hook herself, even though it wiggled terribly, and Julian laughed at her. She felt he’d been punished sufficiently when he missed a fish nibbling at his hook, and lost his worm as a result.

  When at last they both had newly baited lines in the water, she said, “Your sisters surely appreciate your efforts, but I imagine your brothers are far too carefree to admit they’re grateful.”

  He shrugged, and for the first time he didn’t seem tense when she brought up the subject of his brothers.

  “They’re young,” he said.

  She gave an exaggerated gasp. “I have not heard you make excuses for them before.”

  “I am attempting to give their age more consideration.”

  “They will make their own mistakes, as surely you did.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “I certainly never made mistakes.” But there was a faint smile on his mouth.

  “It’s difficult to be so perfect. Perhaps you wistfully envy your brothers because they’re younger, with less responsibilities.”

  He rolled his eyes and looked back at his pole, which she could see suddenly bow beneath the furious tugging of a fish. He expertly kept it on the line, then pulled it in.

  “My brothers surely envy me, Rebecca,” he chided her.

  “I’m not so sure about that. They seem to be enjoying themselves, which you must wish for eighteen-year-olds—but that’s just my opinion.”

  She sent him a sweet smile, and was glad when he suddenly seemed to focus on her mouth. For a long moment, she felt more aware of him than anything she’d ever experienced before. He knew her in ways she hadn’t imagined offering to a man, and it was a little frightening.

  But then he shook himself and went right back to the business of fishing. After all, he was a provider, she thought with bemusement.

  Later, he was teaching her to clean a fish—a subject she’d avoided in her youth—when he suddenly stopped and lifted his head.

  When she opened her mouth to question him, he put a finger near his lips, and she obediently remained silent. After several long minutes, where all she heard was the gentle gurgling of the stream and the croaking of frogs, she cocked her head at Julian.

  “I thought I heard something,” he said.

  “A badger?”

  Now that she knew what it was, she would not let herself become so disturbed by the sounds of the countryside.

  But he didn’t answer, only took their fish back to the fire, and laid them out on flat rocks he lined up near the flames.

  Rebecca felt subdued as she waited for her dinner and watched Julian. He seemed tense, far too alert, and she knew he was still concerned about what he thought he’d heard. She gave him his solitude, letting him think and listen rather than pestering him with questions.

  She, too, was thinking of Windebank’s thugs, the men who’d come after her. They’d killed Roger Eastfield and his mother after all. To get their hands on the Scandalous Lady they might do worse.

  But she and Julian had taken such pains to hide their journey, traveling north first, and now using public wagons. They’d constantly used different names.

  But the man lurking outside the Eastfield home the night of the fire would have told Windebank that Julian and Rebecca had been in Manchester, that they’d talked to Mrs. Eastfield. Windebank would have to assume they knew of his part in these crimes. It put them in even more danger.

  “Rebecca,” Julian murmured, setting down a second fillet uneaten, “do not panic, but I believe someone is quietly approaching.”

  She tensed, straining to listen, but heard nothing except the wind and the rising chorus of crickets. The sun had set, and in the sky was the last gray of daylight. “I assume you don’t mean a friendly shepherd,” she responded through barely moving lips.

  He briefly shook his head.

  She should be panicked and frightened—but it was hard to be so when she had Julian to defend her. “What do you intend to do?”

  “I will wait until they commit to a course of action. We can slip into the woods beside the stream.”

  “That is surely too cautious. I think we should challenge them.”

  He closed his eyes briefly, as if he were struggling to control himself. “We don’t know how many there are, and you are not able to fight at my side.”

  “I still have the knife I used to gut the fish.”

  “And someone might very well take it away and use it on you. Now, casually walk with me toward the stream to wash our hands. When we squat, we’ll be below the embankment, out of sight. We’ll crawl into the copse of trees and then evaluate the situation.”

  She nodded, although regretted her agreement when it came time to stand. She felt so exposed. Would someone simply shoot them? Her back twitched all the way down to the stream.

  Before she could even squat, she heard the sound of running feet. Whirling, she saw Julian knock over the first man before he could reach Rebecca. The man gasped and clutched his throat, where Julian’s fist had slammed.

  She was a liability to him, she knew. Without warning anyone—Julian and the second thug were occupied grappling with each other—she dove into the copse of trees where Julian had first wanted her to go.

  He probably expected her to run as far away as possible, but she couldn’t leave him alone. So she crouched in the underbrush between the trees and tried to keep as still as possible. She could just make out the fighting, covering her mouth instead of gasping when the first man rose behind Julian’s unguarded back.

  But as if he had a second pair of eyes, he drove his elbow backward, catching the first man off guard and sending him to the ground. The second man raised a knife—she stifled a scream—but Julian caught his wrist and twisted hard. The knife dropped. She heard the audible sound of a bone cracking, and the man’s high-pitched scream as he collapsed.

  The first
man rose up again, and in his hands was the knife.

  “Julian!” she shrieked.

  He caught the knife, and guided its momentum as it swung about and imbedded in the villain’s chest. The man crumpled to the ground.

  She gaped at the scene as Julian stood over the still body of his attacker. Then he looked up as he realized the one with the broken arm had gotten away, and even now was riding off on one horse, and leading another.

  They could have used a horse, she thought, feeling distant and rather off balance. Julian had almost been stabbed, she realized with a sick feeling of horror. What would have happened if he’d been injured? She would have had to find him help—with little money and no true knowledge of where they were. She was vulnerable in a way she hadn’t felt since childhood.

  “Rebecca!” Julian was almost running as he skirted the edge of the stream.

  “I’m here!” she cried, emerging from the under-growth.

  He caught her hard against him, lifting her off her feet.

  “I didn’t see where you’d gone,” he said gruffly against her ear. “One moment you were beside me, and the next…”

  His voice faded off. She winced as her ribs seemed to creak, and he set her down.

  “I did as you wanted, escaping into the copse of trees.”

  He lifted his head to look down at her, his gaze searching as if he thought she might be wounded. “And why ever would I assume you’d done what I asked?”

  “Well, what else did you think, that I abandoned you in a panic?” she asked, affronted.

  “I don’t know what I thought. I’m the one who panicked.”

  Mollified, she smoothed her hand down his crumpled lapel. “Well, that is…understandable, then. I just didn’t want to distract you when you had to confront two men. Are you all right?”

  He nodded. “A bruise or two.”

  “For a man who doesn’t fight, you are getting too much practice.”

  He nodded, but his gaze followed along the stream, the way the injured man had disappeared. With the approach of night, they could no longer see far at all.

  “I was foolish to engage in that fight last night,” he said ruefully. “It made us too visible. I should have controlled myself.”