[Cornick Nicola] The Last Rake in London(Bookos.org) (8 page)

It hurt. It hurt quite a lot, enough to pull her out of the deliciously warm and sensuous world she had been wrapped up in. She winced and he shifted slightly and that was painful too. She felt anxious, disappointed, and unsure how her pleasure could have melted away so quickly. He raised one hand and pushed the tumbled hair back from her face and his fingers were gentle against her cheek.

‘Sally?’

Sally closed her eyes for a moment of pure mortification. All those wonderful, mindlessly exciting sensations had died completely now, leaving her feeling nothing other than embarrassment and extreme discomfort. How could she still be entwined in such an intimate embrace with this man—
a man who was a virtual stranger
—and feel nothing but awkwardness?

‘Must we talk about this now?’ she said beseechingly.

A smile touched the corner of his mouth. ‘No,’ he said, ‘we don’t need to talk now.’

‘Good.’ She tried to move away from him, intending to get up and find her clothes—any clothes—anything with which to cover herself, but he followed her movement, still keeping himself inside her. It made her nerves prickle with an echo of the excitement that had possessed her so recently. Despite herself, she shivered.

‘Jack—’ she said.

‘You didn’t want to talk.’ He shifted her more closely beneath him, sliding deeper into her. To her shock, her body responded, rocking against him. He made a sound of satisfaction in his throat and bent his head to her breasts, sucking her nipples, sliding within her with slow, deliberate strokes, his skin slick against hers until she started to feel heat pooling low inside her again and her body twitched and shook with a need that was a shocking, dazzling, exquisitely unbearable revelation to her. He was so high and hard within her, the demand of his body on hers was absolute, and she felt overwhelmed with the sensation and she screamed aloud and felt her mind reel and shatter into tiny pieces. She felt Jack shudder and collapse beside her and she lay still, breathing hard, in awe and astonishment.

Jack rolled over and turned up the lamp. His face was dark, the expression hard, and her heart missed a beat.

‘And now,’ he said politely, ‘we talk.’

Jack propped himself on one elbow and looked at Sally Bowes. On the floor beside the bed were the scraps of her underclothes that he had cut from her body. The scissors glittered on the side table. The sheets were tangled and Sally was tumbled amongst them, her hair about her shoulders, her skin flushed with latent arousal. The expression in her eyes was bemused and heavy with satiation. She looked like a fallen angel.

She also looked very, very desirable. Jack felt his body stir and ruthlessly clamped down on the urge to make love to her again. So much for his misguided belief that once he had had her the fever would be gone from his blood. It burned all the hotter now, now that he had tasted how delicious she was, now that he wanted more.

Now that he knew she was his alone.

He felt a huge, primal surge of masculine satisfaction, something that he had never experienced before. It was disconcerting to discover that he could feel this way. It hinted at emotions he did not wish to explore.

‘So,’ he said, when she seemed disinclined to start the conversation, ‘you were a virgin.’

He looked at her. She was avoiding his eyes, fidgeting with the covers, looking both tempting and defiant. Something like indignation stirred in him. ‘You,’ he said, ‘are a widow, damn near a divorcée, you’re the owner of the most sophisticated club in London…’ He stopped. ‘How the hell,’ he finished slowly, ‘did that happen?’

She smiled ruefully. ‘It…didn’t happen.’

‘No,’ Jack said. ‘I appreciate that now.’

Sally looked down. She had wound the sheet about herself so that it wrapped her lovely, voluptuous body up in a column of white. He wanted to unwind it again, take her again.

‘Jonathan was unable to consummate our marriage,’ she said, after a moment.

‘Clearly.’

‘He…did not find me attractive.’ She looked defensive, blushing. ‘I thought that there was something wrong with me.’

‘So you thought to use me to prove that there was not?’ The words came out more harshly than Jack had intended. He saw her flinch and cursed himself.

‘I thought,’ she corrected him, ‘that it was extraordinary that you seemed to want me.’

It did not seem extraordinary to him. Resisting her was his only difficulty. Her husband had evidently been a fool. Unless…

‘Did he prefer the company of men?’ he asked.

Sally shook her head. ‘I do not think so. I think he preferred street women. He said that he had no difficulties with them, but that I was too…’ she hesitated, her tone flat ‘…too dull to interest him. He tried to make love to me, but it was no good. After we had tried—and failed—several times, he never came to my bed again. It was mortifying. I thought that it was my fault.’

Jack made an involuntary move towards her, then let his hand fall. He wanted to reassure her, to prove to her—again—that he found her incredibly attractive, but they needed to finish the conversation first.

‘Listen to me,’ he said. He caught her hand. The sheet slipped a little. She made a grab for it, but he held her still.

‘It must be apparent to you now,’ he said, ‘that you are an exceptionally attractive woman. Your husband’s lack of interest in you was in no way your fault.’

She bit her lip. ‘Thank you.’ She sounded as polite as though he had handed her a plate at a tea party. Jack wanted, suddenly and violently, to kiss her.

‘And there was never anyone else?’ he said.

She shook her head slowly.

‘So why me?’ Jack said. ‘Why now?’

She looked at him with those beautiful hazel eyes and hesitated.

‘Sally?’ he prompted.

‘Perhaps I should not say it,’ she said, ‘but it was because I wanted to.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘Maybe it is immodest in me to admit it…’

Jack gave her a look. ‘A little late for that now.’

She smiled a little. ‘Yes.’ She looked at him very directly. ‘I wanted to find out what it was like. And…’ suddenly she blushed very vividly ‘…I wanted to find out with you.’

‘You could have warned me,’ Jack said mildly. ‘It would have been nicer.’ He smiled. ‘Nicer for you.’

She evaded his gaze. ‘It wasn’t exactly bad for me, Jack.’ She traced a pattern on the sheet with her fingers. ‘Would it have made a difference to you, had you known? Would you have refused me?’

Jack thought about it. He remembered the absolute, driving need that he had felt to possess her, the sweetness of her surrender, the desire he had, even now, to slake his hunger for her again. He shook his head.

‘No,’ he said. He put a hand out and caught hold of the sheet that wrapped her up. ‘But then, I am a rake.’

Her eyes widened. He realised she was shocked.

‘I thought—’ She cleared her throat. ‘I thought that you would leave now.’

He laughed and tugged suddenly on the end of the sheet. It unfurled, leaving her naked to the waist.

‘What a lot you have to learn, my sweet,’ he said.

S
ally woke up as the morning sun crept across the floor of the bedroom and touched her face with its warmth. She opened her eyes slowly. She could tell that it was very early, for the light still had its dawn pallor. Out in the street she could hear the rumble of carriage wheels and the scrape and crash of the vendors setting up their stalls, but behind that noise were the calls of the birds in the garden at the back of the house and the splash of water in the fountain. It sounded peaceful.

She yawned, stretched and reached out a hand. The bed was empty. Somehow she had known that it would be. Jack had gone whilst she was asleep.

He had made love to her twice more through the long, hot darkness of the night, teaching her things she could never have imagined, taking her to places she had never even thought could exist, showing her things about herself and her responses that had dazzled and overwhelmed her. He had held her in his arms and shown her tenderness, but despite her inexperience she had not confused that with love. She knew he did not love her. There was something within Jack she was already all too aware that she could not reach, something dark that he had locked away.

He had left a note. On the table beside the bed was a crisp white piece of paper.

‘Dinner tonight at eight.’ The arrogant black scrawl suggested that he had not for a moment considered that she might refuse him. Despite herself, Sally smiled a little. So it was not over yet. Her body suffused with heat at the thought.

With a sigh she sat up, reached for a robe and thrust her feet into the little swansdown slippers that were one of her few concessions to frivolity. She frowned a little to see the pink dress crumpled on the floor, but the pieces of the corset made her blush. She would never, ever be able to view Matty’s needlework scissors in the same light again.

She opened the door of her room and walked along the landing to the stairs. Her body ached a little. It felt unfamiliar, heavy, lush in its satiation. Sally examined her feelings. There was no guilt. She felt more astonished at herself than anything else. Astonished and pleased…But beneath the pleasure she was a little afraid. She was afraid that she might have fallen in love with Jack Kestrel last night. Everything had happened so fast, like a whirlwind. If she opened the door a crack and acknowledged her feelings, she was afraid that the love would swamp her. Her parched soul, which had welcomed Jack’s desire for her, would give freely of its love as well. And he would not want that.

She had not mistaken lust for love the previous night. She might be inexperienced—less so now, admittedly—but she was no impressionable girl. She knew that Jack had wanted her desperately, violently, in the same way that she had wanted him, but equally she knew that it was just an affair to him. Yet she could not help herself. She could feel all the danger signs: the swooping sensation in the region of her heart at the thought of seeing Jack again, the breathlessness that was not merely from anticipation of his lovemaking, the pleasure she took in his company.

She would have to be careful and sensible, for Jack would surely not want her love and she did not wish her heart to be broken…

Yawning, she went down the staircase and into the hall. She loved the early morning when the building was quiet and felt as though it belonged to her alone. This morning all her senses seemed to be more acute; she could smell the rich beeswax and lavender furniture polish, see the way in which the early sunlight gleamed on the wood and hear the sounds of the carts outside in the street. The Strand never slept. Even this early there was the rumble of wheels and the sounds of raised voices. But here in the club there was no noise but the splash of the little waterfall in the atrium as it played amidst the spiky palm fronds and cool marble statuary.

There was a letter on the mat by the door. It had been hand delivered and must have arrived at some point in the night. Sally recognised her sister Petronella’s scribble on the envelope. She picked it up and sat down on the stairs to read it.

Please, dear Sal, please, please help me! Clarrie and Anne are in Holloway Prison because they refused to pay their fines and their families are without support and have nowhere to turn. I need money for food and lodging and medicines. My own little ones are sick with the fever. If you could but loan me two hundred pounds…

The feeling of well being drained abruptly from Sally’s body and she read the letter again carefully. Two hundred pounds…A cold, cold shiver touched her spine. She let the letter drift from her fingers. Two hundred pounds was a fortune, enough to buy a house, more than enough comfortably to keep a family for a whole year. But she knew medicine was prohibitively expensive and fever could sweep through crowded tenements like a fire, destroying all in its path. She also knew that Nell would not ask for money unless she was absolutely desperate. Like Sally herself, Nell was too proud for charity and was determined to earn her own money.

Sally leaned her head against the banister and closed her eyes. She did not have two hundred pounds to spare. She had overreached herself with the refurbishment of the Blue Parrot and was already in debt. Yet she had always looked after Nell and Connie, trying to help them if she possibly could. It was part of the pact she had made with herself because of her guilt about their father’s death. She thought of Nell struggling to look after her own and other women’s children when their men folk were dead or had deserted them and they were in prison. Her throat locked with pity and distress.

I do not know how I may manage if you cannot help me,
Nell had written.
I have my own fines to pay for breach of the peace and sometimes I feel it is not worth the struggle, and yet I cannot abandon the principle of universal suffrage. But if the choice is between that and Lucy and George starving, then I do not know what I can do. Please help me, Sally. You are my only hope.

Sally sighed. She did not support the suffrage movement through militant action as Nell did and felt a terrible guilt that she professed the politics and yet did so little to help her sister. And now there were children suffering and dying of the fever for want of the money to buy medicines. Sally could not bear for anything to happen to them.

She picked up the letter and went back upstairs, her mind running over ways in which she might raise the money to help. She could not borrow further from the bank unless she mortgaged the house, a course of action she was loath to take. There were perhaps a few people whom she could approach for a loan—Gregory Holt, an investor in the club and an old friend of her family, had always offered himself as a shoulder to cry on, but Sally knew he wanted more than friendship from her and did not wish to take advantage of him and put herself in his debt. She could not ask Jack. She barely knew him and that would put their relationship on quite a different footing. She was determined to maintain her independence.

She knocked on Connie’s door as she passed along the landing, but there was no answer; peeping around the door, she saw that the bed had not been slept in. With another sigh she went back to her room and rang the bell for the maid to bring her morning tea. The day did not seem quite so bright with promise now. She knew she had to find a solution to Nell’s problems and find it fast. She had no idea what to do.

‘What do you think?’ Jack said. He was watching Sally’s face as he waited for her reaction. They had dined at White City, in the Grand Restaurant at the Franco-British Exhibition, and now they were poised two hundred feet above the ground in the fairground amusement called the Flip Flap. Beneath them the white-stuccoed buildings of the exhibition were spread out like a magical world that gleamed in the moonlight. The cascade was lit by a thousand coloured lanterns that were reflected in rainbow colours in the waters of the lagoon. Sally gave a sigh of pure enjoyment and Jack felt a surprising rush of pleasure to see her happiness.

‘It is quite, quite beautiful.’ She turned to him, smiling. ‘And quite absurd of you to pay for us to have the entire carriage to ourselves.’

Jack shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to have to share the experience with anyone but you,’ he said.

Sally turned away, resting her elbows on the side of the carriage and looking out across the lights of the capital.

‘They say you can see as far as Windsor on a fine day,’ she said. ‘We came when the exhibition first opened. It was a terrible crush. I brought my sister Nell and her children.’ She laughed. ‘Connie refused to come because she said that, although it was fashionable to be seen here, there were too many ordinary people. Her loss, I suppose. We had a splendid time.’

Jack was not surprised at this insight into Connie Bowes. The more he got to know her sister, the more different they appeared. He’d had someone out looking for both Connie and his cousin Bertie Basset all day, ever since he had received a message from Sally that morning informing him that Connie had not returned home the previous night. He was not sure which of them irritated him the more, Bertie for causing his family so much distress at a time when his father was dangerously ill, or Connie for undoubtedly having an eye to the main chance.

It had been an unsatisfactory day. Jack was not accustomed to finding his attention wandering in business meetings, a fact directly attributable to the woman now standing beside him enraptured by the view. His concentration had been severely affected all day. He had a pile of work requiring his consideration, several urgent decisions to be made and a diary full of appointments to keep, yet he had chosen to take Sally Bowes to the exhibition rather than using the evening for the business dinner he had originally planned. His sanity must be in question.

He had been shaken when he had awoken that morning to realise that he did not want to leave Sally’s bed. He had wanted to stay with her so strongly that the impulse had completely perplexed him. He had never wanted to stay with a woman any longer than it took to say goodbye. But Sally had been warm and soft curled up beside him in the big bed, her body satiated from the passion of their lovemaking. He had found himself holding her as though he never wanted to let her go.

Somehow he had found the strength to leave, but then he had lost the advantage by spending the entire day thinking about her anyway. He smiled ruefully to himself. He had thought that to take her to bed would drive this need for her from body and his mind, only to find that his desire was more acute than ever.

Just as disturbing as his unquenched lust was the guilt he felt on seducing an innocent. Jack played the game by the rules and ravishing virgins was not his style. He knew that Sally would say she was as much seducer as seduced, that his scruples were unnecessary, and that she could take care of herself, but he still felt that what he had done was wrong. Perhaps he was more old fashioned and conventional than he had imagined, for despite the fact that he had known her three days, and despite his deep-rooted rejection of marriage, he wanted to do the right thing. His instinct to propose to Sally was very strong and he assured himself it was nothing to do with the pleasure he took in her company, but simply because he had been brought up a gentleman.

‘Jack?’ Sally was standing looking at him, her face tilted up towards him, eyes bright with excitement. Tonight she was wearing a gown of deep green silk that seemed to flow fluidly over her body. It was embroidered with flowers and decorated with lace at the neck, a concealment that only served to emphasise the lush curve of her breasts. The night was warm and so she had only a diaphanous shawl about her shoulders. Beneath it her skin gleamed pale and tempting.

‘I wondered,’ she said, as the Flip Flap started to descend to the ground again, ‘if you would care to take a swan boat on the lagoon with me before we go back?’

Jack’s preference would have been to go directly back to the club and take up where they had left off the previous night, but Sally looked so excited and happy, and she caught his hand and pulled him towards the lake. They paused on the white ornamental bridge that crossed the water.

‘Such a beautiful night!’ Sally said. She glanced sideways at him. ‘With anyone else I would say that it is a night made for romance, but I remember you telling me yesterday that you do not believe in such fanciful stuff.’

‘I do not believe in love,’ Jack said. ‘It is a convenient fiction invented to dress up physical desire.’

Sally sighed, her gaze on the rippling water. ‘And yet you must have been in love once?’

‘It is true that I thought I loved Merle.’ Jack spoke harshly. Her words echoed too closely the painful memories he had been thinking of only moments before. ‘I did love her. It was the single most destructive experience of my life.’

Sally’s eyes were wide and dark on his face. ‘Why?’

‘Because I lost all control and all judgement.’ Jack shrugged. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Suddenly he made a sharp gesture. ‘You thought you were in love with your husband when you married, didn’t you? And that could hardly be said to have turned out happily.’

Sally was silent for a moment. ‘I was young,’ she said. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing. I expect you did too when you eloped. Everyone makes mistakes.’

Jack laughed harshly. ‘Not everyone makes mistakes that were as unforgivable as mine.’

Even though he was turned away from her, he could feel Sally’s gaze on him. She put a gentle hand on his arm.

‘Do you ever talk about Merle?’

‘No.’

‘It was a long time ago. Do you still love her?’

Jack did not answer, did not know the answer. He had loved Merle passionately and then he had wanted to forget her equally as passionately, but had never been able to escape her memory and her legacy. He was haunted by his guilt over her death and his self-loathing at his own weakness. But he did not want to think about that now. He wanted to wipe out the memory in the passion of Sally’s embrace.

Sally shivered and drew her shawl more closely about her shoulders as though she could sense his disquiet. ‘Never mind the boat ride,’ she said. ‘Let’s go back,’ and although she did not utter a word of reproach, Jack knew that his abruptness had broken the spell between them.