In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady by Gayle Callen

shoulder of his coat and the hem of Rebecca’s cloak.
    But it was difficult to hide her natural, ladylike grace, the proud way she carried herself. And although he kept warning her of the seriousness of their situation, she actually seemed to be enjoying herself. Other women would protest as they entered narrower, more decrepit lanes, but she only looked about with interest, studying everything she could.
    Or memorizing the path they’d taken. Intelligent of her. But although he kept reminding her to lower her gaze in a docile fashion, she couldn’t seem to remember.
    At last he thought they were far enough from the train station that he felt safe entering a tavern to ask for the nearest inn. His size tended to inspire quick answers, so he didn’t have to leave Rebecca standing outside the door for any length of time. And although his garments called attention to himself, his rural accent was flawless.
    When he emerged back onto the twilit street, Rebecca looked up at him with grudging interest. “That was well done,” she said softly. “And I thought I was the only one who could mimic the servants.”
    â€œThe talent will come in handy,” he said. “This way.”
    They walked side by side and he considered her. “Why did you learn to mimic the servants?”
    She shrugged. “If you know anything about me, you know that I was ill often as a child. That left me with much free time. I learned to read aloud and alter my voice to fit the parts. It was a game my brother and I played. We became very good at it. And you?”
    She seemed so vibrant that it was difficult to imagine her pale and ill. He looked ahead of him, at a lounging man who came to his feet when he saw them. Julian frowned, and the man promptly sat back down on his crate and hunched his shoulders.
    â€œAccents came quite naturally to me,” Julian said, “probably because I was with the servants more than anyone else.”
    He sensed her curiosity, but didn’t see the need to satisfy it.
    â€œYou have a large family,” she said, “or so my mother tells me. One would think they would take up most of your time.”
    â€œThe inn should be nearby.”
    She was still studying him too intently, but she didn’t continue her questions.
    On the next block, they found the inn, The White Hare, whose faded sign hung crookedly. There was an arch leading into a stabling yard where several broken-down carriages sat among the weeds. The stables stood open and empty, without horses to rent.
    â€œYou have investments in railways?” she asked quietly.
    He frowned down at her. “You heard me discuss it with Mr. Seymour. Why?”
    â€œ This is what happened to small towns because of the railways.”
    He nodded. Coaches no longer moved up and down England, leaving posting inns to fade into oblivion.
    â€œBut how many days would it have taken us to get here by coach?” he countered.
    â€œI didn’t say there weren’t benefits. I enjoy the train. Someday I’d like to travel it as far north as I can and see even more of England.”
    Now she seemed to be babbling, and he couldn’t blame her. They stepped into the hall of the inn, with its unswept floor and empty sideboards. A lone young man occupied the counter, propped on a stool and looking bored. The youth barely glanced at them when Julian signed the register.
    Rebecca peered over his shoulder, and he knew she saw the signature, “Mr. and Mrs. Bacon.” She only arched a brow and turned away.
    He needed to be alone with her and keep both her and the diamond safe. But it didn’t seem to bother her to be labeled his wife.
    And his groin tightened at the thought.
    A shuffling chambermaid showed them to their room and started a fire in the coal grate. She turned down the bed, not meeting their eyes.
    â€œWe’ll be needin’ a meal,” Julian said, handing over a coin for her trouble.
    The