Between the Devil and Desire (29 page)

“B
riarwood.”

“Good God, I said I was not at home. Do you not know what that means?”

Jack walked farther into the man's study, having ignored the butler's attempt to stop him from coming in. The room reeked of cheap liquor and stale sweat. Sprawled on a couch, Briarwood was slovenly, his shirt stained, his jacket, waistcoat, and neck cloth discarded.

“I wanted to know if you'd ever heard of Emily Dawkins,” Jack said.

Briarwood rolled his eyes. “No.”

Jack persisted. Since Stanford had known her…

“She worked in the Lovingdon household, thirty-six years ago.”

He stared at Jack. “I was ten years old, man. What did I care of servants?”

“Stanford knew her.”

“He was twelve years my senior. Maybe he had an interest in her.” He groaned. “Although that seems unlikely. Apparently, he preferred boys. Scotland Yard was here this morning. They've found bones in his garden,
for Christ's sake. Small bones. Children's bones. Hundreds of bones. The family is ruined.”

And what of the families of the children?

Jack could see the despair clearly outlined in Briarwood's face, a man who always put his own interests first.

“Beckwith was here as well. I've inherited a house that someone tried to burn down. Stanford had no money to speak of and as I have none, what good does a burned-out house do me, I ask you?”

“I'll purchase it,” Jack said, before he even thought through all the ramifications. He could totally destroy the residence and build a hospital for Graves there. A memorial hospital for those boys he'd not been able to save.

Briarwood sat up. “How much?”

“Get yourself sobered up and we'll discuss the particulars—including gaining control of your gambling habit.”

“I don't like you, Dodger.”

“I don't like you either.”

Briarwood nodded. “As long as we're clear on that.”

“I could also do without the rumors—”

“Consider them squashed. Not that I have any choice. Rupert Stanford is sure to be the name on everyone's tongue in the coming days. I can hardly blame my cousin for naming you guardian. As disreputable as you are, I'm beginning to see you are far better than either Stanford or I.”

Jack accepted the praise graciously and said only, “We'll talk” before taking his leave.

 

The ceremony was to be small, private, with invitations issued to only a select few.

Jack, Olivia—wearing a modest ivory gown—and Henry arrived at the chapel to discover their guests waiting for them near the front steps.

“We're so glad you came,” Livy said, greeting each in turn: Luke and Catherine, Graves, Swindler, and darling Frannie.

“This is an event I had to witness for myself,” Luke said. “The notorious Jack Dodger taking a wife. It's bound to be the talk of London once word gets out.”

“We hope to keep it quiet for a bit,” Jack said. “After all, Livy is in mourning.”

“As though you've ever cared about proper etiquette,” Graves said.

“You're right. I've never been one for rules.” He winked at Henry, who was going to stand with Jack at the altar. The ring was nestled in the boy's pocket.

“I'm so happy for you, Jack,” Frannie said as she kissed Jack on the cheek. He could see the truth of her words sparkling in her green eyes.

“We should probably go inside so we can get the ceremony taken care of,” Livy said.

As he offered her his arm, he asked, “Nervous?”

“No, not at all. I'm too incredibly happy to be nervous.”

It was as they were going up the steps that a movement to the side of the building caught Jack's attention. “I forgot something. I'll catch up with you in a bit. If you don't mind, go on and see that things are ready.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Just a small matter I need to attend to.” He gave her a quick buss on her lips. “I'll be right in.”

When the door closed behind them all, Jack went back down the steps and walked around the corner of the church.

“Hey, me dodger. I've got a present for ye,” his old mentor cackled. Leaning on his cane, Feagan held out his gnarled hand and there in his palm rested Jack's locket.

With a tightening in his chest, Jack took the precious offering, opened it, and studied his mother's portrait. How young she looked, much younger than Olivia was now, he suspected. A girl really. Still, it would be as though she were with him during the ceremony. “Thank you, Feagan. But I don't have the money I owe you with me.”

He waved his hand in the air. “Awk. Don't worry 'bout it. Next time yer in the rookeries, bring me a bottle of gin.”

“How did you know I'd be here today?”

“I pick up things along the way.”

“You should come inside.”

“Nah, me and God, we never got along once 'e took the love of me life. Wouldn't want 'im thinkin' I've fergiven 'im, 'cuz I 'avn't.”

“Frannie told me once she thought you were her father.”

“Wot'd ye tell her?”

“Nothing.”

“Ye was always me best at keepin' secrets.”

“Because I learned from the best.”

Feagan cackled. “That ye did, me boy, that ye did. Best wishes to ye and the new mizzus.” He turned to go.

Jack called out to him. “Feagan, at least let me have my carriage take you back to the rookeries.”

“Nah, I loikes to walk.” Feagan winked. “Never know wot useful things I'll pick up along the way.”

Jack watched him ambling off, crooked and bent, a man who'd been a father to him in many ways.

Jack could only hope he'd do as well by Henry.

 

The wedding had not been as grand as Olivia's first one, but as she brushed her hair at her vanity, she found no fault with it. Henry had stood beside Jack as his best man. Following the ceremony, the sight of the two of them, heads bent, conspiring about something, had brought tears to her eyes. Jack gave Henry far more attention than Lovingdon ever did.

A small part of her couldn't help but mourn what she and Lovingdon had never had. She wasn't certain why, but she thought he'd be happy for her, would approve her marrying Jack. Since he'd named Jack guardian and given him so much, he obviously thought well of the man. She thought it might have gone better all the way around, though, if Lovingdon had shared with her the weaknesses his cousins possessed.

She realized it was sometimes impossible to know everything about a person, but she had faith Jack would not keep harmful secrets from her and that their marriage would be very different from her first.

As she stood up, she couldn't help but smile at her gossamer nightgown. It left very little to the imagination. She walked across her bedchamber, opened the dressing room door, and screeched at the sight of Jack standing there.

“I was coming to get you,” he said. “I'd grown tired of waiting.” He angled his head. “But I can see now it was worth the wait.”

He lifted her into his arms, and she laughed joyously. She wondered if these walls had ever heard so much laughter. “I'm perfectly capable of walking.”

“I prefer to carry you, so I can judge your weight.”

“How romantic.”

“You need more weight on you. It'll keep you healthier, and I want you to be healthy for a very long time.”

“I'll have to purchase new gowns.”

“You'll need to do that anyway. I finally found your clothes in my ledger.”

She laughed again. “You did not.”

“I did. I'm taking them away from you so you'll have to be naked all the time.”

“Have you forgotten that we have servants and a child in the residence?”

“Damn.”

She burrowed her face into his neck. “But I promise to be completely nude when it's only the two of us.”

“I suppose I can live with that.”

He laid her on the bed. She scrambled up to her knees and began unfastening the buttons on his shirt. “And what about you?” she asked. “Are you going to make me work for what I so enjoy gazing on?”

With all the buttons undone, he pulled his shirt over his head. “No. I promise to be naked as well.”

He was out of his clothes in short order. Then he took a few moments to appreciate her nightgown before working quickly to add it to the pile of clothes. She didn't know why she'd bothered to try to be enticing, but she found joy in knowing he was so eager to get her undressed.

“Let's dispense with the two bedchambers,” he said as his mouth took a slow journey across her shoulders. “We have plenty of room in here for your vanity and anything else you want. Rearrange the whole blasted house.”

“All right.” He could have asked anything of her at that moment and she would have granted it. She rubbed his shoulders, stroked his back. She thought she'd never grow tired of this, of being with him. She couldn't imagine being without him, without this if she got with child.

“You'll never leave me, will you?” she asked.

He lifted his head, gazed down on her, and she could see the barely banked passion. She did that to him, made him want her as much as she did him.

“Whatever brought that question on?” he asked.

“If I get with child—”

His hot mouth cut off whatever she'd planned to say. His hands came around, holding her head in place, while he devoured her mouth, tasted deeply, urged her to do the same. When he tore away from the kiss, she might have been left bereft if not for the hunger she saw remaining in his eyes. “Whether you are with child or not, you shall spend every night in
my bed, in my arms. There are ways, sweetheart, ways around all things.”

In his smile, she saw wickedness and a dark teasing. Easing himself between her thighs, he lowered his mouth to her breasts, kissing one and then the other. She'd expected him to move up then, to slide into her, but he began moving down, his hands bracketing her ribs as he kissed above her stomach, before he moved lower and lower and lower.

“Oh, my God,” she said breathily. “What are you—”

“Shh.” It was so simple a sound, but within it she heard the promise of ecstasy.

He parted her thighs further and lowered his mouth to the nesting of curls. The first stroke of his tongue almost had her coming off the bed. Lifting her arms, she grabbed either side of the pillow, but it wasn't enough as he carried her into sinful pleasures.

She jerked, dug her fingers into his hair, knowing she should push him away, and instead realizing she was holding him closer. It was an intimacy she could share only with a man she loved. And she did love him.

She was fairly certain what he was doing to her was unlawful—and if not, it should be. Because it was deliciously wicked. He knew so many wondrous ways to be wicked, and she had a lifetime with him now to learn them all and to discover more ways to pleasure him.

She stuffed the pillow into her mouth to stifle her cries. He reached up and pulled it free.

“I want to hear you,” he rasped.

And hear her, she was certain he did. Writhing beneath him, she heard her cries echo low and breathless,
hardly aware they were coming from her. She held him close, dancing at the edge of intense pleasure. He knew when to stroke, when to suckle, when to pause, when to thrust with his tongue. He tempted and teased. He of the nimble fingers had a more nimble mouth. It stole her strength, her resistance.

Then she was screaming out his name and before the last of the shudders had wracked her body he was buried deep within her, his gaze holding hers as he rocked his hips against hers, his powerful thrusts causing the sensations to begin building again. She skimmed her hands down his back, cupped them around his buttocks, urging him on.

He sipped at her mouth, then drank greedily, and this time when she cried out, he captured the sound, his rough growl quickly following as he reached his own release. He collapsed over her, resting on his elbows, keeping some of his weight off her. She ran her soles along his calves, ran her hands over his back.

“Oh, you are the devil, and I am glad of it,” she whispered lethargically.

He chuckled with satisfaction. “You're everything I could possibly desire, and I'm glad of that.”

 

Jack awoke to the incredible sensation of his wife nibbling on his ear.
His wife
, a term he'd never thought to associate with himself. He was discovering she was insatiable, and he thought a wife could have no finer quality.

With a growl, he pounced on her, which caused her to shriek and giggle at the same time.

“I didn't think you'd ever wake up,” she said.

He kissed her nose, her forehead, her chin. “I don't know if I've ever slept so well in my entire life. You fairly wore me out last night.”

“I have no inhibitions left. You've chased them all away.”

“How fortunate for me.” He glided his hand down her side, cradled her hip, and urged her nearer, relishing the feel of her bare body against his. He thought flesh against flesh was the most remarkable of sensations, and nudity had the advantage of revealing everything a man might treasure. If he were king, he thought he might dispense with the practice of wearing clothes—well, except for brightly colored waistcoats.

“We need to get up,” she murmured as he kissed the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

He playfully ground himself against her thigh. “Have you not noticed? I am up.”

Her laughter echoed around them, shimmied through him. He wanted to be inside her when she did that.

“I did notice, but—” She pushed out from beneath him and scrambled out of the bed, not bothering to grab sheet or counterpane. She'd become quite the exhibitionist. Again, what a fortunate man he was.

“Come back here. Everything else can wait a bit longer,” he said. “I've already told Henry he's having breakfast served in his bed this morning, and so are we.”