A Notorious Love (22 page)

Under other circumstances it might have sparked his temper, but he knew she was feeling poorly in both body and mind after her night’s drinking and the revelations about her sister’s situation. Her complaints about his driving masked a great and understandable worry, so he didn’t protest them too much. Especially since he’d lied to her, was still lying to her.

She grabbed at his arm. “Be careful of that curve…oh, heavens, you’re taking it too fast!”

“Do you always go on like this when somebody else has the reins?”

“Only when they don’t know what they’re doing,” she snapped. Then, as if realizing she was being unreasonable, she added, “I’m sorry, Daniel. I’m being a trifle annoying, I suppose.”

“A trifle,” he said mildly.

“I promise to hold my tongue from now on.”

He bit back a smile. She’d said that three times in the past hour. “I have a better solution.”—

She eyed him nervously. “What?”

“Why don’t you drive? I could use a rest.” Besides, the best way to keep a woman’s mind off her troubles was to put her in charge of something.

“Me? Drive the gig?”

“You do know how, don’t you, lass?”

She blinked at him. “Why, yes.”

“Good. Then have at it.” He held the reins out to her expectantly.

She hesitated only a moment before taking them. “Very well. Since you need a rest.”

Settling back against the seat, he watched as she began tooling the gig with a deft hand. He shot her a surprised glance. “I take it you’ve done this before.”

She kept her eyes fixed on the road. “At home, my only choice was to take the coach or our gig, since I couldn’t ride or walk into town. The coach was far too much bother, so the gig and I became well-acquainted.”

“Then you should have little trouble driving this one.”

And taming the bad road would keep her from thinking too much about Crouch.

Damn that Will Morgan or Morgan Pryce, or whoever the bastard was. To seduce Juliet into Crouch’s power was unconscionable. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the blackguard. He’d teach him a thing or two about not taking advantage of young women.

The way you took advantage of Helena last night.

He swore under his breath. What a bloody stupid thing to do. He was lucky she’d reacted as she had this morning. Any fool knew you didn’t seduce a woman while she was drunk, no matter how willing she appeared. Because when she sobered up, she gave you hell for it.

Though Helena had done something worse—she’d looked at him with those soft hazel eyes and made him wonder if perhaps she
had
been willing. He shook his head sadly. He was merely imagining things. She’d told him only too clearly that she hadn’t wanted him to make love to her.

Yet she’d also seemed awfully eager to know why he hadn’t. It was enough to give a man hope…

He snorted. Hope that a woman like her would come
willingly to his bed? He’d lost his bloody mind. Last night had happened only because she’d been upset about their quarrel and drunk enough to want to make amends. Probably she’d also needed reassurance about her desirability after Wallace’s insulting remark. All that, combined with a virgin’s natural curiosity, was sure to make even the most virtuous woman slip.

And if she ever slips again? When she’s sober?

He’d have her in his bed so fast her head would spin.

His gaze drifted over her elegant form. It was a bloody shame that refined women had to wear so many clothes. Still, now that he knew what lay beneath all that fabric, memory quickly supplied the details. The creamy thighs, no less attractive to him for being marked by her illness. The trim waist with its dainty navel. And those lovely breasts puckering up beneath his kisses last night.

Ah, yes, it had almost been worth going to bed iron-hard just to see her in all her glory. And then to watch her reach her peak of enjoyment…that was something he’d never forget.

Thankfully, she’d been too drunk to notice him finding his own release later in his bed. Not that he would’ve minded too much if she had. He’d had only two choices—toss off or climb back into bed with her and make love to her until morning.

“Daniel?” she asked, yanking him from his pleasant ruminations.

“Yes?”

“About this Crouch person…”

He stiffened, preparing himself for the worst.

“Was he smuggling while you worked for smugglers? Is that why you know so much about him?”

His gaze shot to her, but he saw no evidence of distrust. She looked curious, that was all. “Yes, that’s why.”

He had to get her mind off this bloody subject. The gig lurched, throwing him to one side, and as he straightened, a hard object in his coat pocket bumped against his thigh. Perplexed, he reached in and pulled out a slim volume.

Mrs. Nunley’s Guide.
Ah, yes, just the thing. “Why don’t I read to you while you drive? It’ll make the hours pass more quickly.”

“You brought something to read?” She glanced over at it, then groaned. “Where did you get that?”

He rifled through the book. “It was in your bag—the groom gave it to me before we left. I thought to leave it behind, but now I’m glad I didn’t. It might prove interesting.”

“For you?” she said skeptically.

“Why not?”

“Because as far as I know, you’re not planning a coming out. Or didn’t you notice that the title says it’s for young ladies?”

“You’re a young lady. I’ll read it to
you.
”

“There’s no point. I have it memorized.”

He gaped at her. “All of it?”

“Of course. I’ve been reading and following it for twenty years.”

“You’re shamming me! Twenty years?”

“Mama gave it to me when I was only six. She died when Juliet was born, so Juliet doesn’t have one, but she gave Rosalind and me copies as soon as we could read.”

“Hard to believe Rosalind even looked at it.”

Helena smiled for the first time since they’d left Tunbridge. “She conveniently ‘lost’ hers some years ago.”

“Now, that I can believe.” He eyed her soberly. “But you kept yours and memorized it.” Was it any wonder the woman had such rigid notions?

“Yes, Mama may have been an actress, but once she married, she knew her duty to Papa as his countess. She
tried to instill a lady’s behavior, manners, and speech in both Rosalind and me.”

“It didn’t work with Rosalind. Why did it work with you?”

She shrugged. “Because I’m the oldest, I suppose. And the closest to Mama in temperament. I admired her very much.” A faraway look passed over her features as she maneuvered the reins. “She was so lovely, so elegant and graceful. Even after she died, when I was ten, I wanted to grow up to be just like her.” She cleared her throat. “That’s why I learned the rules so well—because it seemed the best way to follow in her footsteps.”

His throat tightened. Poor motherless lass, clinging to the likes of Mrs. Nunley for advice because her own mother was gone. Daniel glanced down at the book. “Now you’ve made me all the more eager to read the thing.”

“Why?”

“Because it’ll help me understand you better.”

Her gaze shot to his, perplexed and a bit alarmed. “What’s there to understand?”

“Everything. But mostly, why you keep your real self locked up tight inside where nobody can see it.” Bending close, he whispered, “Except when you’re drunk, of course.”

Against the dark green of her bonnet, her cheeks glowed as pink as peaches. “You’ll find Mrs. N’s guide to be very dull reading.”

“I doubt that.” Settling back against the seat, he opened the book to a random page. It was a mite hard to read with all the jouncing and the wind ruffling the pages, but he managed it. “Let’s see. ‘The Well-bred Young Lady refrains from arguing.’ Hmm. You must’ve skipped this part.”

She cast him an arch glance. “You make it rather difficult to follow the rules.”

“Thank God. I like you better when you break them.” When that coaxed a small smile from her, he grinned and thumbed forward a few pages. “Here’s an interesting bit. The Well-bred Young Lady does not show her stockings in public. She must arrange her skirts to protect her modesty at all times.’ Fancy that.” He reached down and lifted her skirt to peruse her lovely leg, and she swatted his hand away. “Very good. Seems you’ve mastered that one.”

She laughed, though a fresh blush bloomed on her cheeks. “I swear, Daniel, sometimes you are such a rascal.”

“Is that the best insult you can manage? Tell me, where’s the part about what the well-bred lass is s’posed to say when a man misbehaves?”

“Page fifty-five.”

“Bloody hell, you
do
have it memorized, don’t you? Though I s’pose it’s fitting that you marked
that
page in your mind.” He found it, read the rule, and then chuckled. “So this is the grand insult of fine ladies: ’You are no gentleman, sir.’ A milk-and-water remark if I ever heard one.”

“It’s generally effective,” she said primly.

“Then how come you never use it on me?”

“Because you’d probably consider it a compliment.”

He smote his chest in a mockery of injured pride. “You wound me to the heart, lass!”

She snorted. “If you have such a thing.”

“That’s more like it—a fine insult, to be sure,” he teased. “I see you’re not deterred by Mrs. N’s lack of set reproaches for a highwayman’s bastard. You improvise your own insults bloody well.”

“If you don’t behave, Daniel Brennan, I shall impro
vise a way to leave you standing by the side of the road,” she warned, eyes gleaming with suppressed amusement.

“You wouldn’t do that, and you know it.” He chuckled. “You need me.”

“True, though I wish it were otherwise.”

“Liar.”

He could see her fighting the urge to smile, but she lost, and he laughed. Feeling decidedly cheerier than before, he flipped to another page in the book. “‘The Well-bred Young Lady keeps a respectable six inches between herself and her gentleman companion at all times.’” He glanced down to where her thigh lay flush against his. “Move over, Helena. Your improprieties are embarrassing me.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’d have to be capable of embarrassment, which you clearly are not. You illustrated that amply the day I came to your lodgings.”

“Because I answered the door wearing only my drawers?”

“Because you considered drawers to be adequate attire for home.”

“You caught me at a bad time, y’know. You ought to be glad I bothered to dress a’tall.” He bent close and murmured, “As I recall, you didn’t mind the sight of me in my drawers so much.”

“Don’t be absurd!” she protested, but she blushed a lovely shade that made his blood run fast and hot. He did enjoy making her blush. Sometimes it seemed the only way to melt the haunting sadness in her eyes.

“D’you know what seems to be missing from this fascinating little book?” he went on as he flipped through it, scanning here and there.

“Sketches of naked women?”

He laughed at her snippy tone. “That, too. But what I
was about to say before m’lady so rudely mocked me is that this book lacks any rules about not getting drunk in a tavern with a lot of free traders. Is that why you figured it was all right to do it?”

That got her dander up. “I was playing a part,” she said defensively. “I was trying to help you. And for your information, the book does mention getting drunk. Page twenty-two states that ‘The Well-bred Young Lady does not overimbibe.’ Believe me, I’m fully aware of my folly in ignoring that rule last night.”

He grinned at her, “Ah, but you’re great fun when you overimbibe.”

She glared at him. “Precisely why there’s an admonition against it.”

“Seems to me, lass, that there’ve been entirely too many admonitions in your life, or else you wouldn’t have been tempted to break them all at once. Sometimes even a Well-bred Young Lady should have fun and enjoy herself.”

“Mrs. N would not approve,” she said dryly.

“Then to hell with her.” He flashed the book in front of her face. “This is ballocks, all of it. Pure drivel. Telling a woman how to live her life—or rather, how
not
to live it. Nobody’s got the right to do that to you, and you don’t have to take it, either.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Her back was straight and her shoulders firmly set, though her face showed every nuance of her agitation and confusion. “No one expects you to follow the rules.”

He bristled. “You mean, because I’m a scoundrel and my da was a thief?”

“No! Because you’re a
man.
” Her eyes were fixed on the cantering horse, but the bitter glint in them had nothing to do with the road’s perils. “You’re rewarded for taking risks. You’re not punished for your…enjoyments. A
woman’s life is different. She must follow the rules or be cut off from her family and good society, from any possibility of a future.”

“I thought you already said you had no possibility of a future.”

She blinked. “Well…yes, but—”

“And even if you became the toast of London tomorrow, you’d still be imprisoned by all these petty proprieties. You’d be even more imprisoned than you are now. So what have Mrs. N’s rules gained you? Have they made you happy? Do you wake up each day glad that you’re alive, that you’re safe and warm and healthy? That the day holds boundless opportunities? It’s one thing to follow rules if they lead to happiness, but when they hold you back—”

“What about you, Daniel? Does
not
following rules make
you
happy? Are you happy living in St. Giles among people who couldn’t possibly understand you? Or working for gentlemen who probably despise you for your upbringing when you know you’re cleverer than any of them?” Her voice shook. “Are you happy having your romps with fancy women who don’t care about anything but the money you give them?”

“Bloody hell, you know nothing of it,” he growled, and threw himself back against the seat.

But he was lying. She knew a great deal more than he’d expected from a woman who’d barely been out in the world. Damn her for seeing things no one else ever saw.

The gig raced past hedgerows and heath, with Brent geese honking overhead on their way south for the winter and white-wooled sheep bleating from surrounding pastures, but he scarcely noticed. Her perceptive words thundered in his brain.