A Notorious Love

by Sabrina Jeffries

  She leaned forward. “So what is your ‘furtive’ approach?”

  Lifting an eyebrow at her, he ate a slice of sausage. “If I had my druthers, it wouldn’t concern you, lass. I’d be sending you back to London this very morning.” When she started to protest, he held his hand up. “But I don’t have my druthers. That bloody Wallace is still hanging about, asking questions of the innkeeper about you and me. If I send you off to London alone, he’ll be after you like a fly after treacle. I can’t take that chance. I can look after you better if you’re with me.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. If he’d even attempted to send her back, she would have fought him.

  “Hastings isn’t but half a day’s journey away, if this storm will ever quit. I’ll take you with me as far as Sedlescombe—and we’ll try to shake off Wallace on the way if he follows us. Then I’ll leave you in Sedlescombe while I go to Hastings and nose about for Juliet. It might take a day or two to figure out where Crouch and Pryce are holding her, but once I learn it, I can steal her right out from under their noses.”

  “Won’t that be dangerous?”

  Her concern must have shown in her voice, for he smiled warmly. “Not if I do it right. They’re not expecting anybody to come after her—Pryce took great care to cover his tracks in London and travel under a different name. They’re probably figuring on a long wait until Griff receives their ransom request. Even then, I’m sure they kept Crouch’s involvement quiet so Griff wouldn’t know to come after them. And they took great pains to keep me from knowing of it, so they won’t be expecting me. I can be in and out with her in a trice as long as—” He broke off. “Well, in any case, it shouldn’t be any trouble.”

  “As long as what?” she prodded.

  His face grew shuttered. “Nothing to worry you. I’m just thinking aloud is all.”

  “Daniel, tell me.”

  He stared her straight in the eye. “There’s naught to tell. Now eat your breakfast. Looks as if it might be clearing outside, and the muddy roads will slow us down as it is. If we eat hearty, we might make it to Sedlescombe without having to stop for another meal.”

  While he returned to eating, she sat there seething. The man could be so infuriating! She knew he was hiding something from her.

  But what? She thought back through the past two days, their many conversations, their discussion with the smugglers, and this morning’s revelations.

  A horrible suspicion crept over her. Could it have been Crouch that Daniel had worked for in his smuggling days? Could that be what he was hiding?

  It made sense. If Daniel had worked for Crouch, then he knew precisely how the man would behave. Her stomach sank. That would also mean Griff knew the man well, too. So this entire elopement/kidnapping had been planned with Griff and Daniel in mind. A gang of smugglers had come after her poor sister because she was connected to their old compatriots…

  Wait a minute, she chided herself sternly, there you go again, jumping to conclusions about him. Remember what heartache that caused you yesterday?

  She simply must stop this. If Daniel had worked for Crouch, he would have said so. She’d asked him if he’d known the man, and he’d answered quite plainly that he hadn’t. What’s more, he’d sworn never to lie to her again.

  Besides, he’d revealed his suspicions about Crouch and the kidnapping when he hadn’t needed to do so. Why tell her all that if he wanted to hide some connection to Crouch?

  Though he’d sometimes tried to keep her from being involved in his plans—probably wisely so, last night—he’d been forthright about the situation from the beginning. So why should he start lying now?

  No, this time she would not allow her overdeveloped sense of caution about men to rule her thinking. If ever there’d been a man she could trust, it was Daniel. For heaven’s sake, the man didn’t even hide his past from his clients! Why bother to hide it from her?

  So if he said there was nothing to worry about, then there was nothing to worry about. Because she refused to believe that after all they’d shared, all he’d promised, he would look her in the eye and lie to her.

  Chapter 12

  So gaily sings the lark and the sky is awake,

  With the promise of a new day

  for the road we gladly take.

  Tramping song from the Outer Hebrides off

  the coast of Scotland

  Damn it, he’d lied to her, Daniel thought for the fiftieth time in the three hours since they’d left Tunbridge. He was driving them in the only equipage for hire at the Rose and Crown: an ancient gig with two dips worn into the seat and tarnished harness buckles. The post chaise had been rented for a return trip to Bromley and nothing else had been available.

  What had possessed him to lie after swearing never to do it? He’d never hidden his connection to Crouch from anybody else. He’d never hidden any of his past. That was why he lived in St. Giles, to make sure people understood who he was, what he was. They knew who they were getting when they consulted Daniel Brennan.

  The trouble was, he didn’t care about those other people. It was Helena he cared about. He cared too bloody much. This afternoon she’d turned to him for help with her problems, her eyes full of trust and respect, and he’d balked at telling her the truth. It was as simple as that.

  He’d had no choice—it was either lie and have her keep trusting him, or tell all and risk shattering that trust. He couldn’t do it. Her faith in him intoxicated him, made him want to leap mountains on her behalf. When she looked at him, she didn’t see a highwayman’s son or Danny Boy, the smuggler. She saw only Daniel Brennan, the man she trusted to rescue her sister.

  So he bloody well would never tell her the one thing sure to make her despise him. If she ever learned that he hadn’t been some errand boy for free traders, that he’d worked for the very man who’d kidnapped her sister…

  His fingers tightened into fists on the reins. It didn’t bear thinking on. Besides, she needn’t ever know. He could snatch Juliet out of the jaws of her captors without their even realizing who’d done it.

  “Watch it!” Helena cried as a hare darted in front of the horse’s hooves, barely missing being struck. “You nearly hit that poor creature! And look how you’re hugging the side of the road—we’re liable to end up in the ditch. Lord, who taught you how to drive?”

  “Clearly somebody you wouldn’t approve of,” he said dryly.

  “I should say not,” she grumbled, but he could tell he’d squelched her complaint for the moment.

  It wouldn’t last long, judging from how she’d been since they’d departed from Tunbridge. Though the day had turned fine after the storm passed, it had left the road so pockmarked with puddles and ruts that it might as well have been Romney Marsh. He’d tried his damnedest to keep the great wheels from bogging down in the mud and avoid slinging too much water and filth on them both, but still Helena had complained about every maneuver he made.

  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 wom
an’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 improvise 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.