Pure Temptation (11 page)

“Ah, there you are, Lady Moira. An admirer would like to meet you.”

Pasting a smile on her face, Moira turned to acknowledge Lord Peabody. But when she saw who was with Peabody, her smile wobbled dangerously and she nearly collapsed. Strict control was all that kept her knees from buckling when Lord Roger Mayhew took her hand and raised it to his lips.

“Dear lady, I just had to make your acquaintance. I am Lord Roger Mayhew. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.” The malevolent glitter in his colorless eyes told Moira that he remembered her, and not fondly. “I understand you’re Black Jack Graystoke’s ward.” The corners of his mouth curled upward into a parody of a smile. “How extraordinary.”

“Sir Jack is a distant relative,” Moira endeavored to explain. She knew he didn’t believe her, but for appearance’s sake she had to play the game out to the bitter end—which was approaching sooner than she’d like.

“So I understand. Would you honor me with a dance?”

“No, I’m tired and…”

Roger wasn’t about to take no for an answer. He grasped her elbow and led her out onto the dance floor. Moira stumbled over the steps, wanting desperately to flee in panic. Had she known Lord Roger would return from the Continent so soon, she would have fled London weeks ago. She had hoped to be married and out of his reach long before he returned.

“I need to talk to you alone,” Roger whispered into her ear. “I could unmask your little masquerade right now if I’ve
a mind to, but I’m curious to learn what Graystoke’s stake is in this game. I thought you were dead, you know.” He squeezed her waist so hard she winced in pain. “Meet me in the summer house in fifteen minutes.”

Moira blanched. “I can’t. Jack would notice my absence and come looking for me.”

“Very well, I’ll play along with your game until I learn more about it. Plead a headache and go home. My carriage will be in the alley behind Graystoke Manor. Sneak out at midnight. I’ll be waiting.”

“No!”

“Do it or I’ll announce to one and all that you are a fraud and your lover has made fools of his peers. Do you want to see Graystoke ruined?”

Moira blanched. She didn’t want that at all. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not stupid. You and Black Jack are lovers.”

The dance ended. Roger escorted Moira off the floor, bowed gallantly and left after imparting one last word. “Tonight.” She was shaking uncontrollably as she watched him walk out the door.

“What’s wrong, Moira? Did that bastard insult you? Roger Mayhew doesn’t ordinarily attend tame functions like this. I’d heard he was abroad. A pity he returned. England doesn’t need his kind.”

Moira was so glad to see Jack she could have kissed him. As it was, she clutched his arm with a desperation that both pleased and astonished him.

Jack’s brows furrowed. “Something
is
wrong. What in the hell did Mayhew say to you?”

“N—nothing. I have a terrible headache. I wish to go home.”

Jack expressed immediate concern. “I’ll take you.”

“No! I don’t want to cause a fuss. I’ll hire a hackney and…”

“Damn it, Moira, I said I’ll take you home and I meant it.”

“But Lady Victoria…”

“The hell with Victoria. She can entertain herself until I return. I’ll let her know I’m leaving for a bit and retrieve your wrap. Meet me in the foyer.”

Moira didn’t wait around to watch Victoria’s reaction to Jack’s announcement that he was leaving. She left the room immediately and headed directly for the foyer. Five minutes later, Jack arrived with her wrap. She could tell by the look on his face that it hadn’t gone well with Victoria.

“This really isn’t necessary, Jack. I can get home on my own. Lady Victoria is important to you; you shouldn’t upset her.”

Jack searched her face. “I fear she’s been upset since the day I brought you home. She’ll get over it. Besides, I’ll be back in time to escort her to the midnight buffet and take her home.” What he didn’t say was that Victoria’s mother had finally left and Victoria expected him to spend the night in her bed.

Both Jack and Moira were somewhat subdued during the ride home. Had Moira been privy to Jack’s thoughts, she would have been surprised. Jack was thinking how tiresome Victoria was becoming with her demands. Because she knew he needed her money, she expected him to dance to her tune. During the past weeks, Jack had decided that her demands had become excessive. True, he needed blunt, but he was too proud to be dictated to by a woman. It occurred to him that he had no desire to make love to Victoria. The only woman he wanted to make love to was sitting beside him. What in the hell was wrong with him? he wondered distractedly. Gambling no longer appealed to him, drinking himself into a stupor seemed a waste of time, and other women paled in comparison to Moira. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be mending his wicked ways and destroying a legend.

Lord, wouldn’t Lady Amelia be pleased!

Intuition warned Jack that everything that had happened
was the result of Lady Amelia’s meddling. He wished he knew what she had planned for him. He could see no way out of marrying Victoria or someone like her, unless he wished to end his days in debtor’s prison.

All too soon the carriage rolled to a stop before Graystoke Manor. When Jack prepared to step down, Moira placed a restraining hand on his sleeve. “Don’t bother, I can see myself in the house. Lady Victoria is expecting you.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Moira’s gaze met his and skittered away. Did Jack suspect anything? No matter how much she dreaded meeting Lord Roger, it had to be done. She’d do anything to keep from hurting Jack and ruining his plans to marry wealth. “No, it’s nothing like that. Why would I wish to get rid of you?”

“I don’t know. Ever since you danced with Mayhew, you’ve been acting strangely. The man is debauched and unfit for polite society. But for his family name he would be black-balled. His family is a very old and powerful one. I know things about Mayhew that would shock you.”

He helped her down from the carriage and walked her to the door. But instead of leaving her as she hoped, he followed her inside. “Moira, what
did
Mayhew say to upset you?”

“Please, Jack, I have a splitting headache. I don’t want to talk about Lord Mayhew. Go back to Lady Victoria; she’s waiting for you.” She turned abruptly and walked briskly toward the stairs. Jack sprinted after her, grasping her arm and turning her to face him.

“Damn it, Moira, Victoria can wait forever as far as I’m concerned. I’m tired of being dictated to. She doesn’t own me, and I don’t like the feeling of being led around by the nose. As for her money, I’d rather ask Ailesbury for a loan. William is a good sort; he wouldn’t turn me down.”

“You don’t need to explain a thing to me,” Moira said, still upset over the wager Jack and Spence had engaged in at her
expense. “After I marry Lord Renfrew, perhaps I can convince him to discharge your debts.”

Her words sent Jack into a fine rage. Moira belonged to
him.
He’d been the first with her, and the thought of her in another man’s bed sent his temper into orbit. He couldn’t ever recall feeling so strongly about a woman. The turmoil in his heart played havoc with his emotions. His feelings were in direct opposition to the way he’d lived his life up until Moira O’Toole entered it. Black Jack the rogue, the hard-drinking womanizer, the gambler—where had that man disappeared to? And why?

“Let me go. I told you I had a headache.” Moira didn’t want him to touch her. One touch was all it would take for her to recall in vivid detail everything that had happened between them last night, each arousing caress, every provocative word and intimate look from his smoldering gray eyes.

But Jack did more than merely look at her—much, much more. Pulling her into his arms, he lowered his head and kissed her. His kiss had no boundaries. It was hungry, open-mouthed and intimate. It was bruising and possessive. He tasted all of her, plumbing her mouth until she had no control over her body’s response. It thrilled and terrified her. Never had she felt so out of her depth. Never had she wanted a man like she wanted Jack Graystoke. She let his kiss carry her away, let his hands roam freely over her body, let him pick her up and carry her up the stairs to her room, let him lay her down on the bed.

Mesmerized, Moira watched as Jack tore off his clothes, his piercing gray gaze never leaving hers. When every glorious inch of him was finally revealed, her mouth went dry and she licked moisture onto her lips. She tried but couldn’t resist looking at him, fascinated beyond her ability to control her reaction. Last night she’d been too embarrassed to really look at him, but tonight she wanted to see him, all of him. She knew this was wrong, knew allowing Jack to make
love to her again would complicate her life, but God forgive her, she wanted to feel him inside her, wanted him even knowing that she was merely a pawn in his wicked game. With Roger Mayhew threatening her, this might be the last time she’d be with Jack like this.

His shoulders were broad; his chest and arms rippled with supple muscles. The strong columns of his legs rose to meet lean hips, and at their juncture rose a rigid column of flesh that pulsed with a life of its own. She stared, impressed and a little frightened by his maleness.

“God, Moira, don’t stare at me like that. ’Tis hard enough to maintain control without you devouring me with those golden cat’s eyes.” He lowered himself to the bed and kissed her, carefully working the fastenings on her dress loose so he could push it down past her shoulders.

“This shouldn’t be happening.” Moira gasped, annoyed by her failure to discipline her emotions. So much for her resolve not to let Jack take advantage of her again. “I told you I wouldn’t be your mistress. I swore I wouldn’t allow you to take advantage of me, but it’s happening again. What am I going to do?”

“Let me love you,” Jack said, “that’s what you’re going to do. I’ve never felt like this before, never wanted a woman like I want you. This is pure madness, and you’re pure temptation.”

Suddenly Moira recalled Roger’s words about meeting him at midnight, and she went still beneath’s Jack’s roving hands. “What time is it?”

“Does it matter?”

Moira swallowed her rising panic. “It matters a lot. Please, what time is it?”

Jack sighed, reached across the bed to his discarded jacket and pulled his pocket watch out. “Ten-thirty. Can we continue now?”

“We shouldn’t. I’m still angry over that ill-advised wager
you made with Spence. I’m not a possession you can manipulate at will. I’m a flesh-and-blood woman.”

Jack nailed her with a piercing look. “God, don’t you think I know that? You shouldn’t have lied to me about something as important as your virginity.”

“It’s too late for recriminations. What about Victoria?”

“What about her?”

“She’s expecting you.”

“Not until later. Besides, I’m having second thoughts about marrying her. She won’t be too disappointed; she already suspects I’m losing interest.”

“But you need her,” Moira persisted. “What about Graystoke Manor?”

“I’ll survive, and so will Graystoke Manor.” He continued to undress her, making short work of her dress, petticoats and underclothes.

“Wait!” She rolled away, emerging from the opposite side of the bed. “I’m not a whore, Jack. I can’t do this. We settled that last night. Go back to Vauxhall. Make amends with Lady Victoria. If you care about me…” She choked back the rest of her sentence. It was ridiculous to think that Jack had feelings for her. Even if he did, those sentiments would do neither of them any good. She still had Roger Mayhew and her past to contend with, and Jack needed Lady Victoria’s wealth. The last thing she wanted was for Lord Roger to hurt Jack’s chances for a prosperous marriage.

Jack looked stunned as Moira tore the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around her. “I thought you wanted me. You let me kiss you, you kissed me back.”

“You don’t understand, do you?” Moira said softly. “Kissing and making love mean nothing to you except pleasure.”

Jack sent her a mocking grin. “Are you telling me you didn’t enjoy it?”

“I enjoyed it so much I lost sight of my principles. You have a way of distracting me, of making me forget the morals I
learned at my mother’s knee. I can’t do this; it isn’t right. I’m going to try to forget last night ever happened.”

“You little tease!” He reached for his trousers, pulling them on in angry jerks. “I’ve never taken an unwilling woman, and I never will.” Frustration and disappointment churned inside him. He regretted the wager he’d made with Spence, regretted trying to find Moira a husband, regretted everything but making love to her. He could make love to her every night for the rest of his life and not regret it. But he was smart enough to know he was no good for Moira. She needed someone who could provide for her and her family, and he wasn’t that man.

He slammed out the door carrying his boots, pulling them on as he raced down the stairs. When Moira heard the carriage roll down the gravel drive, she collapsed on the bed, aching for Jack’s touch and knowing she could never have him. Even if she dared think of Jack and love in the same breath, it would be wishful thinking. She had no idea what evil Lord Roger planned for her now that he was back in London. Whatever befell her, she had to protect Jack at all costs.

The clock on the mantel struck midnight as Moira eased out the kitchen door. Jack hadn’t returned yet from Vauxhall, and she supposed Lady Victoria would keep him occupied until dawn. Though it pained her to think of him with another woman, it was for the best, Moira thought as she crept toward the back gate leading into the alley where Lord Roger had said to meet him. No matter how frightened she was, she had to find out what he wanted from her. She feared he would use his knowledge of her past to ruin Jack, and she couldn’t allow that to happen.

The hackney was waiting just beyond the back gate. Moira approached it with trepidation, noting that the driver was hunched over the reins, looking neither right nor left. Lord Roger must be paying him well to mind his own business, Moira thought dimly. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with Roger, and she had no intention of entering the hackney, but the choice was taken from her when the door swung open and a hand reached out, hauling her inside. Moira cried out in dismay as she sprawled across the seat in a flurry of swirling skirts. The door slammed shut and the hackney rattled off. Moira righted herself with difficulty, pushed down her skirts and glared at the man lounging in the opposite seat. Neither Moira nor Roger saw Jilly watching from the rear door. The little maid couldn’t sleep and had gone to the kitchen for a snack when she saw Moira creeping out the back door. Jilly stared in disbelief when she saw the dim outline of a man’s face through the window of the hackney.

“You were wise to show up,” Lord Roger said with quiet menace.

“Where are we going?” Panic gnawed at the edges of Moira’s control. She recalled with rising panic what had happened the last time she was alone with Lord Roger. She had nearly been killed jumping from his coach.

“To rooms I keep for occasions like this. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything you haven’t allowed your lover to do. And I’m not taking you to Newgate. I have other plans for you.”

“You’re despicable. You know I didn’t steal that necklace. Why don’t you tell your parents the truth?”

“Not bloody likely. They’re already angry with me for letting you go and for leaving London without a word of explanation. I had to borrow passage money to France. I won’t come into my inheritance for another fortnight, and my father keeps me on a tight budget. Damn bloody sod.”

They had gone but a short distance when the coach rolled to a stop. “We’re here. Come along. We’ll continue this conversation inside.” Grasping her arm, he hauled her from the coach, instructing the hackney to wait. A frisson of fear slithered down Moira’s spine when she realized Roger intended taking her into the most disreputable inn she had ever seen. A weathered sign hung askew over the door, and despite the late hour, boisterous laughter could be heard coming from within the dimly lit interior.

Moira balked when Roger tried to drag her inside. “I’m not going in there.”

“You will if you know what’s good for you. Pull your hood over your head. You’re not the first whore I’ve brought to my rooms at the Hen and Rooster, and you won’t be the last. The riffraff that frequents this place pays little heed to a doxy plying her trade.”

When Moira continued to resist, Roger jerked viciously on her arm and hauled her through the door. The sound of ribald revelry assaulted her ears. The nauseating odors of
stale liquor and unwashed flesh gagged her. She flinched away from curiosity seekers and burrowed deep within her hood as Roger pulled her up the rickety stairs.

“Here we are,” Roger said, opening a door and pushing her inside. “Take off your cloak and make yourself at home.”

“No, thank you,” Moira demurred as she gave the dingy room a cursory glance. “I’m not staying long. What did you wish to discuss?”

“You know damn well what I want. What happened to you after you jumped from my coach? I was certain you were dead; that’s why I fled London. You can’t imagine how shocked I was when I saw you at Vauxhall tonight. When I was told you were the daughter of an Irish baron, I was nearly overcome with laughter. Then I learned that you were Jackson Graystoke’s ward, and I wanted to expose you for a felon immediately. But after considering the situation, I changed my mind. I decided that keeping your little secret might better serve my purposes. I still want you. Seeing you in the trappings of a lady tonight whet my appetite for a taste of what you denied me weeks ago.”

Moira sent him a scathing glance. “You disgust me.”

Roger laughed nastily. “Unless you wish to be jailed for theft and Jack Graystoke reviled and ostracized by his peers, you’ll do exactly as I say. Rumor has it that Graystoke needs to marry money and he’s set his sights on Lady Victoria Greene. I’ve had her. She’s a hot little piece,” Roger observed. “What do you think will happen when Lady Victoria learns you’re no more Graystoke’s ward than you are mine? She’ll think the worst, of course. Marriage to an heiress will be out of the question for Graystoke once society learns how he hoodwinked them. Is that what you want for the man who saved your life? He did save your life, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t leave me lying at the side of the road to freeze to death or die of injuries,” Moira charged. “He has compassion, something you lack.”

Roger sneered derisively. “Whose idea was it to pass you off as a lady? Sounds like one of Graystoke’s brilliant ideas.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’m making it my business. If you don’t do as I say, I’ll ruin Graystoke. Society has little use for him anyway. He’s called Black Jack with good reason.”

“What do you want from me?” Moira asked, rounding on him in fury. “Whatever it is, leave Jack out of it.”

Roger gave her a sly grin. “Perhaps. If you do as I say. I think you know well enough what I want. You cheated the disciples once, but you shan’t again.”

The Hellfire Club. The man was truly evil. “No! I’ll never agree.”

“Wait, I’m not finished. If you refuse, I’ll turn you over to the magistrate and inform him that Graystoke was your accomplice in the theft. Did you know there’s a reward for your capture? Your choices are limited. It’s either Newgate or the Hellfire Club.”

Never had Moira hated a man more. Rage scorched the edges of her temper. “I’d rather die than be debauched by you and your vile friends. I’ve heard that few women survive a night with those Satan worshipers. If I live through the ordeal, I swear I’ll go straight to your parents and expose you as a member of the Hellfire Club.”

“Oh, you’ll survive. I’ll see to it. Afterward, arrangements will be made to place you in a brothel. You may even like what the disciples do to you. Most prostitutes we hire seem to enjoy it. Graystoke has been a member for some time. I’m surprised he didn’t bring you to our rituals before this. The bloody bastard probably wanted to save you for himself.”

“Blessed Virgin help me!” Moira cried. “You’re lying. Jack would never become a member of a vile organization like the Hellfire Club.”

“Pray all you want, sweet Moira, it will change nothing.” Roger congratulated himself for his cleverness. Planting seeds
of doubt in Moira’s mind about Black Jack’s involvement with the Hellfire Club was a stroke of genius, even if it was a lie. “Newgate is an unpleasant place, I’m told. Disease, pestilence, filth, starvation—you’ll experience all of those and more. It won’t be difficult to name Black Jack your accomplice. I could easily get someone to swear that he talked you into stealing Mother’s necklace. ’Tis common knowledge he is always in need of blunt.”

Moira blanched. “Not even you could be that reprehensible.” Was he lying about Jack? Her mind said he was not, but her heart utterly denied that Jack could be involved with a group dedicated to evil. Yet it made sense. No doubt he had earned his nickname.

Roger smiled thinly. “I could and I am. As a disciple of the Hellfire Club, I learned that nothing is more important than gratification of all the senses. Whatever it takes to get what we want is acceptable. Evil is exciting. Ask Black Jack if you doubt me. Or Lord Renfrew. They are all disciples. All dedicated to pleasure.”

Color leeched from Moira’s face. Lord Renfrew, too? “If your parents knew the kind of man you were, they’d disown you.”

“Father is a pompous ass who constantly berates me for my wicked ways, though he doesn’t know the half of it. He’s threatened to disinherit me in favor of my younger brother, a self-righteous twit if I ever saw one. No one will cheat me out of my inheritance. The title belongs to me.”

There was so much evil in his voice that Moira feared for the life of his father and brother. Revulsion speared through her. Corruption of this sort frightened her. “I can’t do what you ask, no matter the consequences.”

“I’m giving you no choice. Take off your clothes. I have a yen to sample you before the others take their turns with you.”

Moira took a step backward. “No.”

Roger reached for her, pulling her against him roughly. “I’m not a patient man.”

He bore her backward onto the bed. Panic raced through Moira, imbuing her with courage beyond her meager strength. She felt his hands on her breasts, felt him searching beneath her skirts, felt his hot tongue probing against her closed lips. She gagged and swallowed bitter bile. She couldn’t allow this abomination.

Roger’s lean, wiry body was hard as steel as he pinned her to the bed and ground his loins into her. His slobbering kisses tasted of sin and corruption. She fought valiantly, but when she realized Roger was enjoying the struggle, she went limp beneath him. Then she saw it, the crockery water pitcher sitting on the decrepit nightstand, barely within reach.

Roger had her skirts to her waist now and was momentarily distracted with the fastenings on his trousers and by the mesmerizing sight of the shimmering copper curls between her thighs. Driven by desperation, Moira stretched out her arm, offering a heartfelt prayer of thanks when her fingers curled around the pitcher’s handle.

Aroused to the point of madness, Roger grasped the obscenity between his legs and positioned it at the portal of Moira’s delicate petals. “Prepare yourself for a real man between your white thighs,” he said hoarsely as he flexed his hips for the plunge to sweet rapture.

Moira had other ideas. Even as Roger tightened his buttocks and flexed his hips, she lifted the pitcher and brought it crashing down on his head. He reared up, stared at her in disbelief, then slumped heavily against her as his eyes rolled upward in his head. Moira scrambled from beneath him, still holding the severed handle of the pitcher. She looked at it in horror, then let it drop from her nerveless fingers. Roger lay face down on the bed, utterly still, and she pushed him away from her. Sparing him but a single glance, she straightened her clothes, donned her cloak and ran from the room.

She thanked God that the inn was emptying for the night as she raced down the stairs and out the door. The hackney stood at the curb. Moira had nearly forgotten that Roger had told the driver to wait. Gathering her courage, she called to the driver in an authoritive voice, “Take me back to Hanover Square.”

The driver shook himself awake and peered down at Moira through bleary eyes. “Where’s the gent?”

“He decided to stay. You’re to take me home.”

The man scratched his head. “I don’t know, miss. I was paid to wait.”

“And so you did,” Moira said curtly. “You have your money, now take me home to Hanover Square. No need to climb down; I can get myself into the coach.”

The driver stared at her in confusion, then nodded agreement. Moira practically threw herself into the conveyance, keeping a sharp eye on the inn for any sign of Lord Roger. But she needn’t have worried. No sooner had she slammed the door shut than the hackney lurched forward. Moira leaned back and closed her eyes, still shaking from her close call. When Roger awakened he’d be furious with her. She had no idea what he’d do, but she held one trump card. She knew about his involvement in the Hellfire Club and had no qualms about informing his parents.

Jack let himself into the house and trod wearily up the stairs. Getting rid of Victoria after the ball had been no easy feat. She’d been angrier than he’d ever seen her when he refused her blatant invitation to spend the night in her bed. He couldn’t even recall the excuse he’d used this time, but it hadn’t satisfied her. She had given him an ultimatum: Unless he proved his devotion to her, she’d take herself and her money elsewhere. She did not lack for suitors, she’d told Jack in no uncertain terms.

Jack hadn’t even bothered to apologize for his lack of
passion. He’d turned abruptly on his heel and left. Not long ago, marrying Victoria had seemed a good idea, given his desperate state of finances. It shocked him no end when he came to the realization that no amount of money could make up for lack of love in a relationship. Bloody hell! He found it difficult to believe he’d changed so drastically in the past few weeks. Where had the old dissolute Black Jack disappeared to? Where was the debauched rake he knew and loved?

When Jack reached the top landing, his thoughts turned to Moira. She had claimed a headache and the need for bed, and now his brow furrowed in concern. He knew he shouldn’t, but the urge to look in on her was too pressing to ignore. Pausing before her door, he turned the handle and eased it open. The dying fire in the grate spread a dull glow throughout the room, providing just enough light to see that the bed was empty. Jack went rigid. Where was she? After lighting a candle, Jack searched the room, feeling relief when he saw that all Moira’s clothes were in place except for a dark cloak. The next emotion he experienced was unbridled rage. Where had she gone—and with whom?

Charging down the stairs, Jack had the front door open and was ready to rush out when he heard a noise behind him. Whirling on his heel, he saw Jilly, her cowering figure a grotesque shadow against the wall.

“For God’s sake, Jilly, if you know where your mistress is, tell me!”

Jilly blanched, more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. Black Jack’s fierce expression made him appear every bit as dangerous as his infamous name implied.

Jilly’s fright must have gotten through to Jack, for his expression softened. “I’m not going to hurt you, Jilly. Did you speak with Moira? Did she tell you where she was going this time of night?”