[Cornick Nicola] The Last Rake in London(Bookos.org) (19 page)

‘That,’ Sally said ruefully, ‘sounds much more like you, Mr Kestrel.’

Jack smiled at her. ‘Have you noticed,’ he said conversationally, ‘that when you are trying to keep me at arm’s length, you always call me Mr Kestrel?’

Sally’s heart skipped a beat at the intimacy of his tone. ‘You are at arm’s length,’ she said. ‘You are practically a stranger to me.’

‘Rubbish.’ Jack straightened. ‘You have met my family. You have
slept
with me.’

‘Yet another bad reason for marriage.’

Jack took her hand and pulled her to him. ‘Sally,’ he said, ‘we were both a little carried away these past two nights, and as a result I have a need to protect you and your reputation—’

‘Nonsense!’ Sally said. She spoke abruptly to quell the little quiver of feeling that his words aroused in her. ‘I can look after myself.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You said it yourself, Mr Kestrel. I am a widow, I was almost a divorcée, I own a nightclub, and I have a scandalous reputation already. It was one of the reasons why you—’ She stopped.

‘Why I took you to bed,’ Jack said helpfully.

The gardener’s boy, who had stuck his head around the tree again to see if the coast was clear, disappeared with a strangled squeak.

The colour flooded Sally’s face. ‘You thought me experienced,’ she whispered.

‘I did. And now I know you are not. So—’

‘No,’ Sally said, before he could finish. ‘No one knows what happened. No one will know, least of all your strait-laced great-aunt. And even if they did, my reputation, such as it is, could stand it. It is the height of hypocrisy only to propose when you have it proved to you that I am virtuous.’

‘Could your reputation stand having a child out of wedlock?’ Jack asked softly.

Sally caught her breath. It was not that she had not acknowledged the possibility to herself already, but she was not ready to talk to Jack about it. She gritted her teeth.

‘That will not happen,’ she said.

‘Do you know that,’ Jack enquired, ‘or are you just burying your head in the sand and hoping that you are right?’

Sally looked at him. She wanted a child. She had wanted one for a long time, with a desperate ache that she had sublimated in her work. But she did not want one like this. She thought of little Lucy Harrington and the love and happiness that surrounded her and the fact that Jack was so indulgent and adoring an uncle and her throat ached with tears at the thought of what might have been. He would be a good father. But she wanted him to be a good husband first and she was not sure he had it in him to give her that, not when he could not love her because his heart was already long given to another woman.

‘That must be at least the fifth bad reason you have given me for marriage,’ she said.

Jack sighed. ‘Sally—’

‘No,’ Sally said. ‘You do not love me.’

Jack did not contradict her. ‘I want you,’ he said. ‘I need you. It is enough.’

‘It is not enough for me,’ Sally said stubbornly.

‘It will have to be because I will not let you go.’

Sally shook her head.

‘I will court you.’

‘You make it sound like a threat,’ Sally complained. ‘Jack, be sensible. You have loved only one woman in your life. Perhaps you are still in love with her and, because she is dead, she is untouchable. How do you think I would feel as your wife, knowing that I was competing with a ghost? I have made one bad marriage in my life and I do not intend to make a second. And when the physical passion between us dies, as it surely will, we would have nothing left.’

‘Very well,’ Jack said. He loosed her and stood back, still holding her hands. There was a bright, challenging light in his eyes, the same light Sally had seen there that night at the Blue Parrot when he had been on a winning streak. She looked at him with misgiving.

‘Give me this weekend to court you,’ Jack said. ‘Don’t reject me outright. Give me two days in which to make you change your mind. Give me your answer on Monday.’

‘Two days!’ Sally said incredulously. ‘You think you can win my consent in only two days?’

‘Yes,’ Jack said. He did not smile. The intensity of his regard rocked her to the soul.

‘And if I do not succumb?’ Sally questioned. ‘Then will you accept defeat and not press me to wed you?’

‘I will.’ The touch of his hand gave her a different answer.

‘You lie,’ Sally accused.

Jack laughed. ‘All right. I will continue to try to persuade you, Sally, for the need I have for you burns me up. But I swear I shall not press you.’ He raised one of her hands and kissed the tips of her fingers. ‘It is your call now.’

They had the whole day together. They went riding in the park and took a picnic luncheon. It was scandalous, of course, because they went out without servants or chaperonage, but even Lady Ottoline smiled indulgently. They spread a blanket beneath the broad oaks of the park and ate their fill of cold ham and chicken pie and cream pastries with strawberries, washed down with champagne. The drink and the warmth made Sally sleepy and she lay back in the dappled sunshine and watched the shadows of the leaves dancing over her head.

‘It is nice to experience an English summer again,’ Jack said. He was lying beside her, his body relaxed, hands behind his head as he too looked up at the trees silhouetted against the sky. ‘I had almost forgotten what it was like, so fresh and cool after the heat of southern France.’

‘Tell me about what happened when you left England all those years ago,’ Sally said sleepily. She turned her head to look at Jack. His face seemed tranquil enough, but there was some tension now in the long lines of his body. She knew he hated talking about the past, but she thought that if he was not prepared to let her into even a small part of his history then there really was no hope for them. She could not marry a man who kept his innermost thoughts locked away.

‘I was twenty-one when I left,’ Jack said, after a moment. A rueful smile twisted his lips. ‘Until the business with Merle I had thought myself so much a man, but when my father banished me I felt no more than a lost boy, though I would have fought with my last breath to keep that weakness hidden.’

‘You had not expected him to send you away,’ Sally said.

‘No.’ Jack shifted a little. ‘Oh, I could see that I had let my family down monstrously, but in my youthful arrogance I had thought that I could have it all—a glittering future, the support of my family, and…Merle.’ His voice fell. ‘And then I lost it all. Merle died and I was disgraced and my privileged and golden future disappeared.’

Sally shifted so that she could look at him properly. His gaze was thoughtful and dark with memories.

‘I heard,’ she said, ‘that you joined the army.’

‘I fought against the Boers,’ Jack said. ‘I tried to get myself killed in a glorious way that would make my father proud, but all I succeeded in doing was living when I wanted to die.’

His voice was devoid of expression, but his face was grim. Sally’s heart ached for him. After a moment she slipped her hand into his and felt his fingers, long and strong, close about hers. His touch brought a sense of relief and peace to her. If she could only reach him, she sensed she could thaw some of the bitter chill in his heart.

‘Life has an inconvenient habit of thwarting you,’ she said, and saw him smile.

‘Yes. After the war, when I realised that I was not only going to live, but needed to make a living, I went into the aviation business. The rest you know. I came home at the end of last year.’

‘Did you never come back before?’ Sally asked. When he shook his head, she protested, ‘But Charley must have missed you terribly! And you would not have seen Lucy when she was a baby, and when your mother died…’

Jack’s fingers tightened cruelly on hers for a second before he let her go. ‘I could not return until I had wiped out the shame of what I had done.’

Sally shook her head slightly, trying to understand the demons that drove this complex man. There was something here that he was not telling her. It had been a long and bitter struggle for him to come to terms with the past; even now, she suspected there were matters he still could not forgive himself for.

‘They have welcomed you back with open arms,’ she said. ‘Both Charley and Lucy dote on you, and I think Lady Ottoline probably likes you much more than she pretends.’

‘Oh, everyone has treated me like the prodigal son,’ Jack said, and once again Sally heard the thread of bitterness in his voice.

‘You do not feel that you deserve it,’ Sally said.

Jack shook his head, but he did not speak and after a second Sally leaned over to kiss him, wanting to comfort him in the only way she could. For a moment he was still beneath her and then his mouth moved on hers and his hand came up to clasp the back of her head to hold her still so that he could kiss her more deeply. He tumbled her over on to the rug beside him and raised himself on one elbow to look down into her face. There was a hard glitter of desire in his eyes, barely leashed, and it lit an excitement like wildfire in her blood.

‘Jack,’ she whispered.

His expression was dark. ‘This was not how I had planned my courtship of you to be.’

‘I don’t care,’ Sally said recklessly. ‘I want you.’

Somewhere deep within her she did care; she loved him and wanted his love in return, wanted it to wash away all the doubts between them and the pain of the past. But this was all that Jack could give her, this intense, sensual need that could not be denied, but threatened always to rule her.

‘When I am with you I feel alive,’ she said. ‘I want that, Jack. Make me feel alive.’

He was on her in an instant, kissing her deeply, his hand buried in her hair. His tongue thrust, demanding a response as though he owned her and wanted to taste every inch of her. Her body felt hot and heavy as though they had been apart a long time and she could not wait to welcome him back. The champagne fizzed through her veins and the sunlight danced against her closed eyes, hot on her skin. Jack’s hair felt warm and silky beneath her fingers. She felt him shift, his hand coming up to clasp her breast and tease her nipple beneath the material of her riding habit. She writhed against him, desperate to be free of the constriction of her clothes, and he started to unbutton the bodice of her gown and unlace the chemise beneath. The summer air played across her heated skin and Sally moaned with pleasure.

Then, suddenly, shocking her, Jack stood up and bent to lift her in his arms. Her head spun and the green darkness of the tree cover closed about them.

‘What—?’ she began, but Jack silenced her with another searing kiss that stole her very soul. He placed her gently on her feet, giving her a gentle push so that her back came up against the warm, rough bark of a tree. Understanding came to her then and she gasped, but he silenced the sound with another searching kiss, his mouth moving over hers, then dipping to taste the hollow above her collarbone and the sensitive skin at the base of her throat. Sally leaned back and felt the bark score the palms of her hands. Jack pulled open the bodice of her habit and dipped a hand inside, warm against the silk of her chemise. Her nipple hardened against his palm and he pushed the silk aside. Her bodice fell down, leaving her naked to the waist.

‘Thank goodness,’ he murmured, ‘that you wear no corset for riding.’

‘I protest,’ Sally said weakly, ‘that I am losing my clothes and you are still fully dressed.’

‘And that is the way that it is going to be,’ Jack said. He bent his mouth to hers again, stifling her protests, his kiss deep and hungry. His hands moved. Sally heard something give. Her legs felt weak and she leaned back against the tree for support, held there by the press of Jack’s body against hers. When he released her mouth abruptly, she swayed, her body hot and melting, her mind dark with wanting.

Jack moved a little away from her and she looked down to see that he had caught hold of the hem of her riding habit, looping it over his arm. Beneath the habit she wore only her bloomers, which were no protection as they were designed to be open. Jack lifted her, then slid her down so that he held her by the hips, forcing her back against the tree trunk even as his erection pushed just inside her. Sally screamed at the unbearable and pleasurable tension within her.

‘Hush, my sweet.’ Jack’s tone was laced with wickedness. He thrust lightly. ‘You would not wish the gardeners to hear you, I am sure.’

Sally sobbed as he bent his head to her breasts and slid inside her a few inches further. She squirmed against his body, needing nothing now other than the intense satisfaction of being impaled on him. He continued to tease her breasts, nipping and biting gently whilst she writhed desperately, seeking release. And when he finally buried himself within her, thrusting deep again and again, the pleasure overwhelmed her and she gave another choking cry and hung limp in his arms.

When she could breathe again, and move, and look at him, she found that she was lying once more on the rug beneath the trees, her body boneless with bliss. Jack wrapped his arms about her and drew her close to his body and she listened to his breathing slowing and felt the gentleness in his hands and a part of her felt exultant to be so close to him. But even in her physical satiation a small part of her felt lonely too, because she knew that Jack had given everything that he could and she still wanted his love, but perhaps he would never be able to give it to her.

It was Lady Ottoline’s birthday dinner that night and because they were a small family group they were seated at a round table exquisitely decorated with pale pink and old gold roses amongst asparagus fern and ivy. The main course of pheasant was decorated with its tail feathers and Connie laughed herself into a fit at the fact that Lady Ottoline was wearing osprey feathers in her hair.

‘Two old birds together that are well past their best,’ she whispered to Sally.

There was dancing after the meal. Jack behaved with impeccable propriety, the attentive fiancé, always at Sally’s side, his attention on her alone. But for all his surface decorum the touch of his hands would remind her of their encounter in the park and her whole body would flush with the heat of remembered desire as she wondered if he might come to her room that night.