In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady by Gayle Callen Page A

girl looked at it in surprise. “Aye, sir. Me mum made a fine mutton and pudding.” Then she truly looked at him, and bobbed a curtsy.
    When she had gone, Rebecca said, “I imagine you tipped her far too well, which made her notice your garments—and remember us.”
    He glanced at her and gave a faint smile. “I will not make that mistake again.”
    â€œWe won’t be dressed like this for long. For more coin, she will be able to find clothing for us, so your generosity won’t go to waste.”
    He stood in the center of the room, watching as Rebecca prowled about. She ducked her head behind a changing screen, partially torn. The chamber pot must have been hidden behind, for her cheeks were a delicate pink when she straightened. There was one bed, and he wasn’t even sure his shoulders would fit across it, let alone the two of them.
    Had she realized yet?
    She stumbled to a halt at the foot of the bed. “Lord—Julian,” she began. After a pause, she turned away from the bed. “I need a moment’s privacy. Would you wait in the hall?”
    He used the privy in the stable yard, and by the time he returned, she was seated before the grate, finallylooking uncertain. She’d lit several coarse candles, but there wasn’t a lamp. Her hair, though disheveled, gleamed in the warm yellow light, and her eyes, great pools of mystery, regarded him steadily. She’d removed her cloak, and with the shadows, he could see the faint lump of the diamond, the Scandalous Lady, she kept hidden. How much should he reveal to her? And what should be their next move?
    But before he had to think about it, the maid returned with a tray, and the two of them sat down on stools at the wobbly, rough table and began to eat.
    They were both clearly famished, for even the pudding was appetizing, though it tasted of onions. The coarse bread steamed, and the butter was fresh.
    â€œOh, heavens, this tastes like the best feast,” she said, speaking with her mouth full. “I didn’t even have time to eat the luncheon at the reception.”
    â€œYou mean before you ran away from me?”
    â€œI don’t run away.”
    But she had, he thought, not arguing the point, for she knew it well. But now the specter of the near kiss rose between them—at least in his mind. She seemed determined to devour every last crumb, then washed it all down with ale.
    â€œDo you usually drink such a strong beverage?” he asked as she wiped the foam from her lip.
    â€œI have sampled it, but it is not my first choice. Tonight it tastes like the nectar of the gods.”
    He didn’t want to laugh, for this was no journey of amusement. Yet, she kept surprising him, even her performance on the train, where she’d pretended he was her ardent suitor.
    She leaned back against the wall, her arm across her stomach. “I am sated at last,” she murmured, eyes closed with weariness.
    He arched a brow, thinking of far more wicked ways she could be “sated.”
    Being alone with her was giving him interesting ideas, he told himself. Perhaps it was because for the first time in almost ten years, he didn’t know what would happen next, had no plan for the coming moments, hours—night. There were so many ways they could amuse themselves.
    She suddenly shivered and hugged herself. “Julian—” She broke off, as if surprised to hear his Christian name from her lips.
    He’d never heard another woman call him such, except for family. It sounded intimate here in this room where they pretended to be husband and wife.
    She gave a rueful smile and started again, “Julian, when you take the tray down, will you fetch me another blanket? The coal grate is only meagerly filled.”
    He noticed the extra blanket on the end of the bed. And she did not? And why not leave the tray for the maid in the morning?
    Something made him agree and lift up the tray. Shegave him