Scandal Becomes Her. Shirlee BusbeeЧитать онлайн книгу.

      It was the ache in her leg that woke Nell. As she struggled upright, daylight was seeping into the cottage, but it was cold and gray and a glance out the window revealed that the day would be the same. The worst of the storm seemed to have passed—a steady rain was falling but nothing like the downpour of the previous night. And Tynedale had not found her. With her back once again against the wall, she stretched and rubbed her eyes, disoriented from the events of the previous night.

      The room felt warmer and Nell wrestled out of Tynedale’s cloak and pushed it aside. She looked down at her nightgown and made a face. Even protected by the cloak, it was ripped and torn in places and splattered with mud and who knew what other disgusting substances.

      A sound—a snort? a cough?—alerted her to the fact that she was not alone. Heart banging in her chest, she rose un-steadily to her feet. Her gaze fell upon the greatcoat and boots a second before she spied the dark head of the man who slept in a chair in front of the dying fire.

      She gasped and shrank back, terror flooding through her. Tynedale had been bad enough, but to be at the mercy of a stranger, possibly a robber, a murderer or a highwayman was far worse. At least Tynedale had not frightened her. Not really.

      Her gasp had been soft, but it had been enough and in one lithe movement the black-haired man surged to his feet. He spun around to face her, a silver-bladed knife appearing in one of his hands.

      Nell’s eyes dominated her face, the tawny hair hanging in tousled glory around her slim shoulders. Helplessly she stared at the tall man who confronted her, thinking she had never seen such a dark, dangerous face in her life. His eyes were a bright, glittering green beneath the scowling black brows; his black hair was untidy and tumbled across his wide forehead. The word dangerous came again to her as she stared at him.

      She would not have called him handsome, but there was something about those granite-hewed features that made Nell think that, in other circumstances, she might have found him attractive. His nose was certainly handsome, straight and haughty, and those hooded jade green eyes with their thick lashes were mesmerizing. His mouth was wide and well shaped, the upper lip thin and the bottom one full. As she stared, his lips lost their grim line and a smile appeared. A very, very appealing smile.

      “Forgive me,” he said in a cultured voice for such a rough-looking fellow. “I did not mean to startle you.” Before Nell’s astonished gaze, the knife disappeared and he added, “I did not realize that anyone lived here.”

      “Oh, I don’t—” she caught herself and cursing her impetuous tongue, looked away from him.

      Over his first shock at finding himself not the sole inhabitant of the cottage, Julian frowned as he studied the slender creature in front of him. He cast a considering glance around the room, his frown increasing. The place was a hovel, a mere shell, and revealed none of the usual effects found in even the poorest of homes. And the girl…No, he decided, not a girl, a woman, young to be sure, but past the first blush of youth. The woman did not belong here. The lace at the throat and cuffs of her tattered nightgown was too fine and that face…Instinct shouted that all was not as it seemed.

      The sight of that fairy-fashioned face left him reeling, as if a fist had slammed into his belly. He was breathless and dizzy at the same time. The sensation had been so powerful, so unexpected, that it was a wonder that he had recovered quickly from the jolt she had given him. Unsettled, as much because of the effect she had had upon him as a strong feeling that there was something very wrong about this situation, his gaze narrowed as he stared at her.

      Her eyes were downcast and she was chewing uneasily on her bottom lip. A bottom lip that Julian found himself fascinated with, the strong desire to replace her teeth with his own sweeping through him. That lip would be warm and so very sweet…His gaze swept down her slender form, his loins suddenly pulsating with a decidedly inappropriate reaction. Cursing the unruly member that swelled in his breeches and annoyed at his wandering thoughts, he pushed aside the unexpected and unwelcome notion of dalliance and considered the situation.

      She did not belong here, of that he was convinced. There was something about her…Her night attire spoke of wealth—at least at one time—and aside from their effect on him, her features had an aristocratic cast to them. The skin was too pale and fine to have suffered the effects of poor food and the unsanitary conditions that many of the common folk endured. And there was nothing common about her. She was no tavern slattern, or hulking farm maid, nor an apple-cheeked milkmaid. There was something about her, an air, an impression of gentle breeding, that puzzled him. Her form was dainty and appealing; the flowing tawny hair gleamed with good health, and no lice that he could see.

      He shrugged. Nothing would be gained by simply staring at her, although he found it, to his unease, vastly enjoyable.

      “You don’t—?” he asked gently, picking up the thread of conversation.

      Confused, Nell stared up at him. It took her a moment to realize that he was referring to her earlier exclamation. She quickly gathered her thoughts, deciding to stick to as close to the truth as possible.

      “This isn’t my home—I do not live here,” she said carefully. “You may have passed my curricle a few miles back. The horses spooked during the storm and broke free of the traces. There was nothing for it but for me to remain here, while m-m-my driver went to find help.” Left unexplained was why she had been out on such a foul night in the first place and only garbed in her nightgown.

      “I see.”

      “I hope you do,” she added, looking down her delightful little nose at him. Boldly she demanded, “And you? How is it that you are here?”

      He smiled that singularly attractive smile. To Nell’s dismay, her knees turned to mush.

      “I, too,” he admitted, “am the victim of the storm. My horse bolted and I sought shelter here. I did not realize that you had already taken possession.”

      She nodded regally. “Well, these things happen. Now if you will give me a few moments privacy, I shall gather my things and be on my way.”

      “Will you not even give me your name?” he asked, with an upward flick of his brow.

      “N-n-no, that is not necessary. We are strangers. Let us leave it at that.”

      “I think not. Allow me to introduce myself.” He bowed. “I am Julian Weston,” giving his family name, “and at your service should you need it.”

      She looked uncertain, thinking that he must be one of those gentlemanly highwaymen often mentioned in the newspaper. “Thank you,” she responded shyly. “But it will not be necessary. M-m-my driver will be along any moment. You may be on your way.”

      In the distance the sound of an approaching vehicle gave credence to her words, but Julian paid no attention. He knew that he should turn away from her, but he could not. She was a mystery to be solved and heaven knew that curiosity had gotten him into more than one quagmire in his life.

      Fascinated against his will, all his instincts telling him to turn his back on her, Julian looked her up and down, noting with a smile the pink toes peeping from beneath the bedraggled hem of her nightgown. He found those dirty little digits charming and deciding that he was quite mad, he forced his gaze upward. His eyes landed on the small, high bosom and he could not look away, the most lascivious urges flashing through his mind. He jerked his gaze away and swallowed. Lud! Had he been that long without a woman?

      Keeping his eyes averted