Page 8 of Love and the Shameless Lady

“This is a delightful opportunity to get to know you better, Miss Warren,” Sir Julian said.

What a lie that was! No decent man wanted to get to know her, unless in the biblical way. That must be his motive, although she found that surprising. After that first night, he’d scarcely seemed to notice her.

Regardless, Sir Julian wasn’t a stupid man. Surely he must know she wouldn’t be taken in by such nonsense.

“Do you often ride to Liverpool?” he asked.

“Now and then.” She hurried forward, practically dragging him, and they reached the bakery. She wanted to get home, to read that letter again, to think and think.

She chose little cakes and pastries at random. She’d lost her appetite completely. Sir Julian paid before she could open her reticule, took the box wrapped in twine, and steered her willy-nilly outdoors again.

“Why did you pay for it?” she demanded. “That was my purchase.”

He shrugged. “I’m accustomed to paying. It never occurred to me not to.”

“Humph.” What utter nonsense. You won’t get anything in return.

“It was my pleasure,” he said.

Julian could see she didn’t believe him. She must think he wanted to go to bed with her.

Which he did, but he didn’t intend to do anything about it. She probably anticipated a carte blanche. She had no doubt hardened herself to such approaches. How many years had she been a social pariah? Since the age of eighteen, Bennett had said. Julian judged her to be in her mid-twenties now.

He’d had to control the urge to speak to her during the last two days of his visit to Mr. Bennett. The old smuggler had explained to him that Daisy didn’t want her story recounted to every stranger that entered the inn. As far as most visitors were concerned, she was just Daisy, a barmaid.

Therefore, Julian was obliged to treat her as such, when they were at the inn. Here in Liverpool, he could do as he pleased. Soon enough, they would be back at the Diving Duck, and he would have to concentrate on assessing the two Frenchmen, who had been seen in the area again.

At the livery stable, he deposited the bakery box in the basket that was strapped to her white stallion, which did its best to bite him.

“Snappish is unfriendly,” Daisy said, adding after a pause, “like me.” She mounted gracefully from the block.

He mounted his mare, who showed as little interest in Snappish as Miss Warren did in Julian, and they set off. “I don’t think you’re unfriendly, Miss Warren. You’re simply in the habit of rejecting people before they have a chance to reject you.”

She gave him an astonished glare. “How dare you make such a comment? That is none of your business!”

“No, but you opened the subject. I am merely pursuing it.”

She tossed her head and urged her brute of a stallion ahead, but this wasn’t the Diving Duck. She couldn’t escape into the kitchen to avoid him. Once they were on the outskirts of the town, he moved alongside her.

“I don’t care about your past,” he said. “I won’t reject you.”

She made a rude noise. “Until you’re forced to choose between shunning me or being shunned by someone more important.”

“Is that what you’ve experienced? If so, I’m sorry, but I’m not such a hypocrite.”

She shrugged. “How commendable, but it makes no difference to me.”

What a lie, thought Daisy bitterly. Of course it made a difference, and under ordinary circumstances she might even allow herself to converse with him, but all she could think about was that letter.

Perhaps it was a cruel jest. She’d experienced a number of those. They were part and parcel of being ruined.

They rode along in silence for several miles, while she mulled over this conclusion and decided it made perfect sense, in which case she should burn the letter and forget about it.

She should exert herself to converse. Even if Sir Julian had an ulterior motive, it was pleasant to speak with a rational man other than her brother or Mr. Bennett, and such an opportunity might not recur.

“I’m surprised to see you in the area again. I thought you were off to see Roman ruins.” She couldn’t help a reminiscent sigh. “My father took me to see some as a small child. I still have his copy of Camden’s Britannia.”

“Do you indeed? I carry mine with me wherever I go.”