Love and the Shameless Lady (Scandalous Kisses Book 3)

by Barbara Monajem

  Drat, she didn’t want to discuss this with Sir Julian, of all obnoxious people. Oh, to Hades with him. She refused to be embarrassed when discussing unladylike matters.

  “But she went with him willingly. Lady Bilchester has taken a few lovers since her husband’s death, so the heroine’s wanton behavior makes people think The Lady’s Ruin is actually a dramatic version of Lady Bilchester’s past.”

  “Which it isn’t,” he said.

  “No, I’d never even heard of her until the day before yesterday, and I would never, ever write about a real person.”

  “And how does this relate to The Lady’s Revenge?”

  “It’s about the heroine’s daughter, Dianthus, who sets out to destroy the villain of The Lady’s Ruin. Unfortunately, her name is somewhat similar to Miss Bilchester’s Christian name, Diana. As far as I can tell, Lady Bilchester and her daughter feared that the heroine of The Lady’s Revenge would be as wanton as her mother, thus ruining Diana’s reputation.”

  “Only a pack of fools would believe that.” He paused. “Which describes far too many of the haut ton.”

  “But the story isn’t like that at all. Dianthus is as intrepid as her mother, but she is a virgin when she marries the hero. Granted, the names Dianthus and Diana are somewhat similar, but even if people are so stupid as to believe I’m writing about Diana, the book shows her to be a virtuous woman, so there is actually no harm done.”

  “You suspect that Lady Bilchester or her daughter hoped to prevent publication,” Sir Julian said.

  “Who else?”

  “And learned your identity, sent a death threat, and then hired someone to kill you when the book came out after all? It’s hard to believe.”

  “I know, but what else am I to think?”

  “I can believe Lady Bilchester might dispatch her current lover to question your publisher. I can almost bring myself to imagine that, in a rash moment, she might send a death threat, but it’s highly unlikely. As for hiring a murderer? Impossible. She has no contact with such people, and I cannot imagine her or her current lover taking such a risk. She is simply not that sort of person.”

  “You are acquainted with her?”

  “Yes, very well.”

  “But you can’t say for sure.”

  Julian closed his eyes and longed for patience. Why couldn’t Daisy just believe him? Why couldn’t she be more fearful and compliant, like most women, and let him manage things?

  “Do you have a better explanation?” she demanded.

  Not one that he could give her. The image of the marquis engrossed in The Lady’s Ruin filled his mind. Coupled with the knowledge that Antoine was reading The Lady’s Revenge, and the suspicions the two had aroused, he couldn’t help but assume that something more sinister was at play. What it might be, he had no idea. There was no obvious connection between romantic novels and French spies. If he suggested this to Daisy, she would scoff, just as he had at her. In any event, secrecy about his occupation forbade it, and he couldn’t swear to Daisy’s innocence, either. In what way might she be involved? Popular as these novels were, they weren’t universal enough to be used as the key for a cipher, and that wouldn’t require reading the novel itself, as the marquis had done.

  He remembered those sheets of paper written in a crude shorthand, one of which remained hidden in his pocket. He would have a good look at the first opportunity.

  “There is no other explanation,” she said after a while. “Therefore I am correct, and the danger will soon be over. Lady Bilchester will read The Lady’s Revenge and realize that it in no way ruins her daughter. She will write recalling the murderer, and I shall be safe once more.”

  “I don’t think it’s that easy to recall an assassin.”

  She turned to him with knit brows. “Why not? Surely he doesn’t want to risk being hanged! He’s doing it because he needs the money.”

  “Precisely, and if he’s recalled, he won’t get paid.”

  “Oh,” she said. “And if he doesn’t get paid, he might get upset and revenge himself on Lady Bilchester. That’s what would happen in a novel.”

  Assuming he even exists. Which he probably didn’t. At least, not an assassin hired by Lady Bilchester. However, if this train of thought would make Daisy more reasonable, Julian should encourage it. “Or he might go ahead and kill you and demand his payment regardless.” He paused. “One cannot even be sure he has left an address where one may contact him.”

  “In one of my books, he would,” she said firmly.

  “And the hero and heroine would live happily ever after. This isn’t a romance, Miss Warren.”

  “You know nothing about romance!” she flashed. “I write about women who face adversity. Who take their lives into their own hands. Who do not give in to the dictates of society.”

  “And the heroes? Do they play a genuine role, or are they merely puppets, invoked to satisfy the heroines’ carnal desires?”

  Oh, hell. He shouldn’t have said that.

  She drew herself up. “You are crude and disgusting.”

  He blew out a frustrated breath. “I beg your pardon.”

  “I suppose you’re one of those men who believe women shouldn’t have carnal desires,” she said. “While at the same time they shouldn’t be boring bedmates.” He could have sworn she gnashed her teeth.

  “Not at all. Everyone has carnal desires. I apologize.”

  She sniffed at that, and he didn’t blame her.

  “My heroes are strong, courageous, kind, and trustworthy,” she said. “And therefore completely imaginary.”

  Daisy waited for him to cringe, or at least bristle at the insult, seeing as he deemed himself so chivalrous and pure.

  Instead, his mouth curled. “You haven’t met even one good man?”

  “Yes, and that one is my brother Colin.” Actually, she thought well of her cousin Miles as well, and she’d loved her father dearly. “The driveway to Warren Hollow is just ahead. Kindly turn in at the gates.” At last they had arrived, and she could get rid of Sir Julian once and for all.

  “I don’t know the details of your grievance against the male sex,” he said as they ascended the short drive, “but we’re not all bad, and definitely not imaginary. Behold me, in the living, breathing, chivalrous and nevertheless virile flesh.”

  She closed her eyes for a long, unhappy second. She didn’t want to think about masculine flesh. It would be her undoing. Again.

  “I don’t care how virile you are, and I’ve had enough of your chivalry. Follow the drive around the house. You may set me down at the stables.” He complied, and the instant the gig came to a halt, she clambered down and reached for her bags. “I’ll say goodbye to you now.”

  “Not quite yet.” He took the bags and jumped down.

  “One of the footmen will carry my belongings,” she said. “Leave them, please.”

  “If you insist, but as I’m coming indoors . . .”

  “Why?”

  “To speak to your brother,” he said.

  Unbelievable. “My brother isn’t here at the moment.”

  Julian’s expression said he didn’t believe her. “Then I shall wait.”

  Young Harry and Bussey, the head groom, had so far merely gawked at the well-dressed stranger with whom she’d arrived, but this comment made them grin. Colin wouldn’t return for a fortnight.

  She preferred not to explain this to Sir Julian in front of the curious servants. “Oh, very well, come indoors. I suppose I should offer you refreshment.” She took him through the herb garden to the kitchen door. “We’ll see if Cook has made some of her rock buns, which are far better than anything Sally and I have achieved so far.”

  “Why don’t you use her recipe?”

  “It’s a secret. She won’t give it
to me, nor will she let me watch her make them.”

  The kitchen door stood open to the summer’s morning. Daisy led him inside and addressed the only occupant of the kitchen, a scullery maid. “Good morning, Ellie. Is Cook about somewhere?”

  The scullery maid shook the soapy water from her hands and bobbed a curtsey. “Morning, Miss Daisy. Cook ain’t here. The master gave her leave of absence.”

  “Oh, dear. Stuck with Mrs. Kent’s cooking, are you?” Mrs. Kent was the housekeeper.

  Ellie giggled. “Or mine.” She smiled shyly at Sir Julian and bobbed another curtsey. “Morning, sir.”

  His obvious virility was a bloody nuisance. “There aren’t any rock buns about, by any chance?” Daisy asked. “Sir Julian would like to sample one.”

  “Sorry, miss. No one makes them as good as Cook, so no one tries.”

  Daisy turned to Sir Julian. “You’re out of luck, but we always have ale and small beer. Which would you prefer?”

  “I’d prefer breakfast,” he said, and Ellie giggled again.

  Daisy blew out a breath. She should have known she couldn’t get rid of him so easily.

  “I’m fair famished,” he added. “I didn’t care to inconvenience Mr. Bennett’s cook, and one rock bun at the Diving Duck isn’t enough for a man my size.”

  “Mrs. Kent will be that put out that she’s not here to prepare it for you, Miss Daisy. But we wasn’t expecting you, so she went to see her sister.”

  “Just give us whatever you have,” Daisy said. “Bring tea and ale as well.”

  “Coming right up,” Ellie said. “I does eggs just fine. And there’s fresh bread and cheese, and the last of a ham.”

  “That sounds perfect, Ellie.” Sir Julian gave her his charming smile, and the maid dimpled and blushed. Daisy barely refrained from rolling her eyes.

  “We’ll eat in the breakfast parlor.” Grudgingly, Daisy led Sir Julian there. The windows overlooked the drive, so she and her guest were plainly visible to the stables. Good, because she mustn’t give the servants any reason to think she had reverted to her wanton ways. They would gossip, and the gossip would spread, and . . .

  She shouldn’t care. She’d already been ruined, and soon her name would be even more muddied by the revelation that she wrote scandalous novels. Even now it might be on the tongue of every gossipmonger in the ton, so her scruples about breakfasting alone with Sir Julian were frankly ridiculous.

  Sir Julian set her bags down by the door. She huffed. “Why didn’t you just leave them for one of the footmen?”

  “Because I didn’t see a footman. Is there one, by the way? Or is he on leave of absence, too?”

  “The movements of my brother’s servants are none of your business. After breakfast, you must leave.”

  Ellie came in with a tankard of ale and deposited it before Sir Julian. “I’ll be back straightaway with the tea, and after that I’ll bring the ham and eggs.”

  “You shouldn’t have to do all the work, Ellie,” Sir Julian said. “Is there no footman to serve us?”

  “Aye, we’ve two, but one’s gone to see his granny for a fortnight, and the other’s in Preston fetching the post.” She grinned. “I don’t mind, sir, truly I don’t.” She tripped away to the kitchen.

  “One footman, and he’s not even here,” Sir Julian said. “Are there any other male servants in the house?”

  “The butler,” she said.

  “Let me guess. He’s a strapping young fellow, capable with both guns and knives, entirely able to protect an entire household. Am I correct?”

  Since the butler was sixty years old and slower than a turtle, she didn’t dignify this question with an answer.

  “Shall I carry the bags to your chamber? I expect it’s suitably distant from the servants’ quarters.”

  If only she were a man and could plant him a facer.

  “So distant, in fact, that no one will hear you if you call for help.”

  “There’s a bell pull,” she snarled, and clamped her mouth shut as Ellie arrived with the tea. Once the maid had left again, she said, “I repeat, after breakfast, you must leave.”

  “When,” he asked gently, “does your brother return?”

  Chapter 5

  For a long moment, Julian wondered if Daisy would answer. She would be foolish not to, as he could get the same information from the obliging Ellie.

  “In a fortnight or so,” she grumped. “He and his family are visiting relations in Ireland.”

  He’d suspected something of the sort. She was in even greater danger here than if she’d stayed at the Diving Duck. At least there he could have stayed in the same building without causing a scandal.

  She poured herself a cup of tea. “But my brother’s absence makes no difference. Forewarned is forearmed. I shall be perfectly safe.”

  “You, Miss Warren, are the most stubborn woman I have ever met. You will not be safe until whoever threatened you has been taken care of.”

  “As I already told you, Lady Bilchester—”

  “If you were acquainted with Lady Bilchester, you would know that your theory is nonsensical.”

  “You can’t know that for certain.” A light appeared in her eyes. “I’ll bet you don’t even know her Christian name.”

  “Indeed I do. It’s Katherine. Why, what is the name of the intrepid Dianthus’s mother?”

  “Narcissa,” she mumbled. “But it doesn’t prove anything one way or another.”

  He broke out laughing. “Does she spend the entire story admiring herself in the mirror?”

  “Of course not. It means daffodil. Dianthus is a flower, too. I wanted to use names that no real person was likely to have.”

  “And you succeeded. Listen to me, Miss Warren. I don’t know who is threatening you or why, but until I find out, I intend to protect you.”

  She said nothing—for a minute or so, while she nipped off a couple of lumps of sugar and stirred them into her tea. Marshaling her arguments, no doubt.

  “Sir Julian, we scarcely know one another. I can conceive of no reason why you should feel obliged to protect me.”

  He shrugged. “Nevertheless, I do.”

  “And don’t spout some nonsense about chivalry. I don’t believe in chivalry, and I can’t allow you to remain here. Ruined or not, I must hold to some semblance of propriety.”

  “Understood,” he said, “but I cannot and will not leave you in the care of a few servants who, by the way, are now also at risk.”

  She paled at that. “Surely not.”

  “A man who does not scruple at murdering a lady of quality will certainly not mind dispatching a few servants who get in his way.”

  She digested that, but needless to say had a response. “Perhaps not, but surely he won’t wish to leave a trail of bodies in his wake.”

  “That depends on—”

  Ellie arrived with a platter of scrambled eggs and ham. She brought plates, cutlery, and napkins from the sideboard and set them out neatly. “Be right back with the toast.” She scurried away.

  “That depends on the reason he threatened you, which evidently has something to do with your novels.”

  “And that makes no sense at all.” Daisy served him an ample helping of ham and eggs and then served herself. “I don’t imagine there are two ladies in the ton who were abducted by smugglers and also have daughters of marriageable age, as well as a succession of lovers. And there are certainly none who ran off with a smuggler for a life of high adventure.”

  “Except you.”

  Daisy bristled. “I didn’t run off with him. I merely seduced him.” She would have fled with the dastard, fool that she was, but that wasn’t what he’d had in mind.

  “Would he have reason to murder you?”

  Qui
te the other way around. But she didn’t say that. “The question doesn’t arise, since he was killed in a brawl. Colin wanted to be sure he was dead, so he went to see the body. I made him take me along.” Gazing down at Reggie’s corpse, she’d wondered for the thousandth time what had got into her. Handsome, yes, somewhat dashing, perhaps, but otherwise completely uninteresting. A mere nothing, unworthy of her affection. “I would have danced a jig right there and then, if I’d dared.”

  She hoped she had disgusted Sir Julian, but he merely seemed amused. “Why didn’t you dare?”

  “Because I didn’t want to set the other smugglers against me. Reggie was well-liked amongst the fraternity.” And a cruel man who deserved to be dead, but she didn’t say that either. She’d already revealed far too much with that comment about dancing a jig.

  “I wouldn’t want to be the target of your vengeance, Miss Warren.”

  “Then go away, and you won’t be.”

  That made him laugh, annoying man. He eyed her for a long moment, but she had the feeling his thoughts were elsewhere. He took a few mouthfuls of ham and eggs and a swallow of ale.

  She sighed and ate a forkful of eggs, wondering how to get rid of him.

  “To return to our earlier discussion, Miss Warren: you have two choices. Either you remain here, in which case I shall inform your servants of the danger in which you stand, and find out from them who is the nearest magistrate and inform him as well. Unfortunately, this will involve revealing that you are an authoress, but I will have no choice.”

  She stood, aflame with rage, just as Ellie trotted in with a rack of toast. “There you go. Shall I bring anything else?”

  Hurriedly, Daisy rearranged the expression on her face. It wasn’t quite enough, for the maid’s eyes widened. Daisy took a breath and managed a bit of a smile. “That’s all, thank you, Ellie. Everything looks delicious. You’ve done a marvelous job. Please have someone bring my cases to my bedchamber.”