Authors: Connie Mason
Jack awoke slowly, aware of pain and sunlight and more pain. He moved his hand and encountered something soft and silken. Adjusting his eyes to the light pouring in from the window, he was surprised and pleased to see Moira sleeping with her head resting on the edge of the bed. She hadn’t left him. He rested his hand on her head, savoring the feel of her tousled copper curls beneath his fingers. She was safe and she was here and he was never going to let her out of his sight again.
Suddenly the door creaked open, and Pettibone poked his head into the chamber. Seeing that Moira was sleeping, he tiptoed inside so as not to disturb her.
“Is there anything I can do for you, milord? Breakfast will be up directly. Nothing substantial, mind you. The doctor left specific orders.”
Jack shifted uncomfortably and glanced down at Moira, still sleeping peacefully. “I do have a rather urgent need, Pettibone. But first see to Moira. She’s been here with me all night and needs bed rest. Later you can fix me more of that laudanum. I fear the pain is rather unbearable.”
“Shall I wake her or will you?”
“I will,” Jack said, gently caressing Moira’s cheek. Moira sighed, murmured and pressed her cheek into his caress. Grasping her shoulders, he gently shook her. Moira jerked awake.
“Jack! What is it? Do you need something?”
Jack managed a wobbly smile. “I need for you to go to bed.
Pettibone can see to my needs. You’ve sat up with me all night; you must rest.” Moira started to protest, but Jack forestalled her. “No, no argument. I’m in no danger.”
“Very well,” she reluctantly agreed. “But Pettibone must call me if I’m needed.”
“I will, Miss Moira. Indeed I will.”
After Moira left the room, Pettibone quickly and efficiently took care of Jack’s personal needs. “And now the laudanum, if you please, Pettibone,” Jack said. As badly as he wanted an explanation of Moira’s escape and his shooting, he simply was in no condition to concentrate on details.
Pettibone administered the drug, then left quietly after Jack dropped off to sleep. A few minutes later, Spence slipped into the room and took the chair Moira had vacated a short time earlier.
Two days later, Jack was sleeping less, taking solid food and felt well enough to hear everything that had transpired after he had taken a bullet in his back. Spence related the details of their wild ride to London.
“Has anyone seen Mayhew after he shot me?” Jack asked his friend.
“Not that I know of. The talk around London is still about Moira’s unsuccessful bid into society. There’s even a bet on the books at White’s on how long you’ll keep her as your mistress. There hasn’t been a whisper about what transpired at the Hellfire Club the other night.”
“And there won’t be,” Jack said. “Dashwood and Mayhew are the only ones besides you, me, Pettibone and Moira who know about the shooting, and they aren’t about to incriminate themselves.”
“There’s Matilda.”
Jack grew thoughtful. “Can the woman be trusted?”
“She helped Moira. Pettibone seems uncommonly fond of her.”
Jack raised a well-shaped brow. “Pettibone? You mean that old reprobate finally found his match?”
Spence shrugged. “I just mentioned it in passing.” He rose to leave. “Well, I’m off, old boy. Moira will have my hide if I tire you. She’s a veritable dragon about your state of health.”
Jack smiled, inordinately pleased at Moira’s protectiveness. “I could use a rest. Keep your eyes and ears open; I’m not finished with this caper. I’ll be up and about in a day or two, and then I’ll decide what must be done, if anything, about Mayhew’s unprovoked attack.”
If Moira let Jack out of bed in a day or two, he’d eat his hat, Spence thought.
An hour later, Moira peeked in on Jack on her way downstairs, saw that he was sleeping and smiled in satisfaction. He was gaining strength rapidly, and she was convinced now that he would recover with no ill effects. That meant she had decisions to make, none of them easy. She was grateful that Matilda was fitting nicely into the household. She had taken over the housekeeper’s duties and seemed to get along famously with Pettibone.
Moira stepped into the parlor, surprised to find the new maids and Jilly in a huddle in the center of the room. Hands on hips, Jilly appeared to be engaged in a heated argument. Moira’s entrance caused them to spring apart guiltily, and Moira realized that they had been gossiping about her. They scattered as soon as she stepped into the room, except for Jilly, who hung back with a hangdog expression on her face.
“I’m sorry, milady. I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again.”
“I presume you were discussing me.”
Jilly bowed her head. “Not I, milady. I’d never do or say anything to hurt you. You know how gossip travels among servants. I was merely setting them straight about a few things.”
“First of all, you must stop calling me milady. Moira will
do. I am no lady, as you must know by now. And I’m not even remotely related to Lord Graystoke. Second, I want to know the nature of the gossip circulating about me.”
“I don’t care what they say, mila…Miss Moira. They don’t know you like I do.”
“Thank you, Jilly,” Moira said gratefully, “but I insist you tell me what is being said about me.”
Jilly swallowed hard, clearly uncomfortable. “The gentry are saying that you seduced Lord Graystoke, then convinced him to pass you off to society as a lady. They say you’re his mistress. Rumor has it that you also enticed Lord Roger Mayhew into your bed while in his employ before setting your sights on Lord Graystoke.”
Moira’s nostrils flared angrily. “Go on.” She was determined to hear everything no matter how damning.
“Are you sure?”
“Aye.”
“There’s a bet on the books at White’s concerning the date Lord Graystoke will send you packing.”
Moira’s face drained of all color. “What are people’s feelings about Lord Graystoke?”
“They’re ready to forgive him once he releases you from his protection. They think the whole prank is entirely your fault, but feelings are running against him, at least until he redeems himself in their eyes.”
It never ceased to amaze Moira how fast gossip traveled from household to household among servants. It was ever so when she was employed in the Mayhew household, and it would be ever so until the end of time. Servants managed to get to the heart of the matter rather quickly.
“Thank you, Jilly. I appreciate your honesty.”
“I don’t care what they say, Miss Moira,” Jilly declared staunchly. “You’re good and kind and not capable of duplicity. “I don’t even care if you’re Lord Graystoke’s mistress.”
After Jilly left, Moira felt the weight of the world pressing
down upon her. If Jack hadn’t inherited the dukedom, his high jinks would have been considered normal behavior for a man with Black Jack Graystoke’s unfavorable reputation. Gaining a title had changed everything. Jack now had certain standards to maintain whether he liked it or not. Instead of flouting society, he must now conform. And conforming meant marrying a woman of equal rank and position. Oh, he could still drink, gamble and womanize—most members of the gentry did—but when it came to marriage, there were strict rules to uphold. The gossip, combined with Jack’s exalted rank, made her decision about her future painful but clear.
Within a few days, Jack was taking tentative steps around his chamber and determined to venture downstairs despite both Moira’s and Pettibone’s objection.
“This bloody wound is
not
going to keep me in bed,” Jack said belligerently as Moira fussed over him one afternoon. “I have pressing duties and numerous responsibilities that must be attended to.”
“They’ll wait,” Moira said, stifling a smile. Not long ago, Jack’s sole responsibility had been to marry a wealthy wife, his only duty to uphold his reputation as a rake. “Has Mr. Pettibone spoken to you about Matilda?”
“Aye. I’ve never known Pettibone to take up a woman’s cause as he has Matilda’s. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was smitten.”
Moira sent him a smug look. “Matilda has taken over duties as housekeeper and is doing a remarkable job. I’m beholden to her for helping me. She has no relatives and nowhere to go. I fear Sir Dashwood will find her and exact punishment for her betrayal if she’s turned out on the street.”
“I’ve already told Pettibone to put the woman on the payroll,” Jack said. “I’m more than grateful for what she did for you. She has a job in my household for as long as she likes.”
Moira’s relief was immediate. She wanted no loose ends when she left. “Thank you. Is there anything you’d like while I’m here? Perhaps I can read to you.”
Jack gave Moira an enigmatic look, then patted the bed. “Sit here beside me.”
“I don’t think…that is…”
“Please.”
Put that way, she couldn’t refuse. Perched gingerly on the edge of the bed, she had no idea what Jack intended until he pulled her into his arms.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he rasped breathlessly. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling deeply of the fragrant scent she used on her hair. He loved the color; more copper than red, so vibrant it had a life of its own.
Raising her chin, he lowered his mouth and kissed her, starved for the taste of her sweet mouth. Stunned by his strength after suffering so grave an injury, Moira submitted willingly to the hungry violence of Jack’s mouth, parting her lips so he could deepen the kiss. His hand fell to her breast, and she leaned into the caress, loving him so extravagantly she had no control over her response. Her body burned with longing, making her forget he was recovering from a serious wound.
After several long minutes of frenzied kissing, Jack tore his mouth from hers. “I want you, Moira. It frightens the hell out of me when I think how close you came to becoming a victim to the disciples of the Hellfire Club.” His hands sought the buttons on her dress. “I need you. I didn’t realize how much until you were gone.”
Moira went still. “You’re not well enough for this, Jack.” Deliberately she removed his hands from her bodice. “Besides, there are things you don’t know about me.” She took a deep breath. “About Lady Mayhew’s necklace…”
“I know you didn’t take it. You could never do anything dishonest.”
Moira cleared her throat and said, “The night you found me lying in the gutter…Your carriage didn’t strike me. I had jumped from Lord Mayhew’s coach. He was taking me to the Hellfire Club, and I’d rather die than let that happen. He thought I was dead and left me lying in the gutter. It’s a miracle you came along when you did.”
A ghost of a smile hovered at the corners of Jack’s mouth. “It was no miracle. Lady Amelia knew exactly what she was doing that night.”
Moira was too distraught to catch Jack’s meaning. “It was wrong of me to let you think you were responsible for my injuries. I didn’t know you and feared you would hand me over to the authorities if I told the truth. The Mayhews were determined to press charges. I had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. I took advantage of you, Jack. How can you forgive me?”
“It was I who took advantage of you,” Jack corrected. “Spence and I had no business using you for our amusement. At the time, his two-thousand-pound wager was mighty tempting. At first, I sincerely wanted to find you a rich husband. After I came to know you, I couldn’t bear the thought of another man having you. What a muddle I’ve made of things.”
“I’m as much to blame as you. I could have told the truth any time I wished.”
“It’s over. I haven’t decided yet what to do about Mayhew, but I swear he’ll never harm you again. I want you for my wife, Moira.”
“Wife? No! It’s impossible. You can’t. It just isn’t done.”
“I can do as I damn well please.”
“You’re a duke. I’m a farmer’s daughter.” She clutched the locket hanging from her neck, wishing she knew how much truth she could place in her mother’s tale about noble blood flowing through her veins.
“I don’t care what you are. You’re the woman I want to
marry, the woman I want as the mother of my children.” Moira looked confused. “You still don’t understand, do you? I love you, Moira.”
“Oh, no, you can’t!”
“And I think you love me.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve heard the gossip. Society will never forgive you. Marrying me will ruin your reputation.”
Jack laughed. “What reputation? Is that a polite way of saying you don’t love me?”
Moira wanted to blurt out to the world that she loved Jack Graystoke beyond reason, beyond time and space, but she loved him too much to ruin him. “I’m saying I can’t marry you.”
Jack’s face hardened. “I can’t believe you’d rather become my mistress than marry me.”
Moira blanched. “I’m not saying that, either.”
“You’re the most exasperating female I’ve ever known. I don’t want you for a mistress.”
He gathered her close and held her tightly as he fought the fear of losing her. It seemed as if he’d waited his entire life for Moira. He kissed her tenderly. Fiercely. Ignoring the twinge in his back from his healing wound, he framed her face in his hands. He brushed his lips over her eyelids, the upward curve of her brow, down her silken cheeks. His tongue flicked over her lips, tasting them, teasing them, then parting them to explore the sweet depths within.
His hand trailed down her throat, across her breast, her stomach, continuing along her hip to the juncture of her legs. Cupping her between her thighs, he felt the incredible heat of her need seeping through her clothing. “You want me,” he whispered raggedly. “You’re hot and wet down there.” He eased her down on the bed and raised her skirts with an upright sweep of his hand.
“Jack, no! Someone could come in. There is enough talk
in the household without providing more fodder for the gossip mill.”
Before she knew what he was about, he slid out of bed and locked the door. Moira gasped, unaware that he had been naked beneath the sheets. She had assumed he wore small-clothes on the lower part of his body. She gaped at him, mesmerized by the beautiful symmetry of his form. Except for the bandage covering his wound, he was pure perfection. Strong and virile and wickedly tempting. Because of his healing wound, his steps were slow and deliberate, but his body was strong and determined when he returned and pressed Moira down onto the mattress.