by Jenna Jaxon
“My lady.” Almost biting his tongue, Jack strained to get out each word without erupting. “Tell me you did not entertain such a notion for the briefest of seconds?”
Leaning upon his shoulder, she let tears rain upon his jacket. “For the briefest of seconds, I did consider it, my lord,” she whispered, raising her pale face to him. “I did not want to be the means of your death, Jack. I love you.” Tears flew freely. “But I knew you would prefer death to dishonor. That is why I have told you his name myself at last. Oh, Jack. Please forgive me.”
He tightened his grip on her, never wanting to let her go. Of course, she wouldn’t want him in danger. She still grieved for her brother’s death. She blamed herself for their marriage. And she had no idea how deeply his feelings for her ran. Well, he would put at least some of those fears to rest in their bed tonight.
Bending only slightly, he stole a kiss from her upturned mouth. “Nothing to forgive, my dear.”
He pushed the tip of his sword further into Fitch’s neck. “I will make entirely certain you have no chance to accost my wife and make filthy propositions to her ever again. If you pray to God, do it now.”
The cur’s eyes widened, his mouth went slack, and a thin line of spittle dripped onto the breast of his suit. Slowly, he backed toward the building opposite, sweeping his head from side to side searching for a way out.
From the shadows, the large, impeccably dressed Lord Trevor appeared through a scarcely noticed door in the building’s side.
“Do you require assistance, Manning?”
Fitch yelped and tried to turn up the alleyway.
Trevor grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. The powdered wig the villain wore slid over to the side of his head, then fell into the mud. With a devilish grin, Trevor trod squarely on it.
Fitch’s thinning, straggling hair stood up in all directions from his head.
Alethea trembled in Jack’s arms. “You have nothing to fear now, my dear.” A stealthy noise behind him made Jack whirl around, pushing Alethea behind him and leveling his sword at Lady Trevor who backed up immediately.
Instantly he dropped his guard and saluted her. “My pardon, Lady Trevor. Would you kindly see to my wife while Trevor and I dispose of this cankerworm?”
“Violet.” Alethea broke away from Jack, and Lady Trevor took charge of her.
“Come with me, my dear.” Placing a comforting arm around Alethea’s shoulders, Lady Trevor led her away. Hopefully to their carriage.
Gazing at the pair as they trudged up the alley and into the bright sunlight of King Street, Jack heaved a sigh of relief. Alethea should not be witness to the hell about to rain down on the head of Sir Peter Fitch. He swung back around to the blackguard, to find Trevor still holding him an inch off the ground.
“Do you wish me to dispose of…this vermin, Manning? I can shake it like a terrier until I break its neck,” Trevor asked cheerfully. “Hanging is too good a death for him, much less a sword.”
“Unhand me, my lord.” Fitch swung his legs, seeking purchase where none existed. “I demand satisfaction of you. This treatment of a fellow peer is beyond the pale of decent society.”
“That would be a grievous charge, Fitch, if it were true. However, as you are a baronet your title is not that of a peer of the realm.” Trevor shook the man again and dropped him to the ground.
Fitch landed squarely on his backside in a pile of stinking offal.
“Good shot, Trevor.” Jack swung his sword in a series of arcs, limbering up his wrist. “I cannot decide whether to just run him through right here and now or go through all the fuss of a duel. Seems hardly worth it.”
“Hardly worth your wife’s honor, Manning?” Sir Peter rose, straightening his jacket as best he could without getting the mire on his hands.
“Have a care, Fitch.” Jack leveled the blade at the man once more. “I do not wish for you to even think my wife’s name.”
“I can think of much more than her name.” Fitch leered at Jack.
As if seeing through a curtain of red, Jack lunged at the craven miscreant.
Trevor intervened, but only just, grabbing Jack before he could stab Fitch. “Hold on, Manning. I believe you must do this by the book. You don’t want to bring the watch sniffing around, do you? Nor, God forbid, your relation, Mr. Matthews. You’d put him in a ticklish situation, having to arrest you.”
Blood boiling, Jack shook him off and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. Nothing would give him more pleasure this moment than to cut out Fitch’s heart and present it on a platter to Alethea. She might rest easier knowing this mongrel would never bother her again. Breathing deeply, he relaxed his shoulders. Retribution would come to Fitch for everything he’d done to Alethea. Soon.
“Just think, Manning. Living long will be your revenge on this lout.” He shook his head. “This worm is scarcely worth your time, I agree, but you must make the effort.”
“Very well.” Glaring, Jack removed his left glove and tossed it down before Fitch. “Consider yourself challenged. Name your weapons.”
Fitch stared at the glove, then at Jack’s resolute face. “Pistols. Tomorrow morning in St. James’s Park.” He sent a furtive glance to Lord Trevor before refocusing on Jack. “You know where?”
“I do indeed. By the duck pond is the usual spot.” Jack bent to retrieve his glove. Pity to have to soil it in such a manner and for such a man. “Been there before, though only as a second. Yours are?”
“Lord Bartholomew, Sir Richard Johns.”
“Very well. Mine are Lord Trevor here and—” Damn. It had been on the tip of his tongue to say Dalbury, but he was still in Gloucestershire. Who else could he trust with this? Cryr might not be speaking to him still over his marriage to Alethea. Braeton was the most likely candidate then.
“Mr. Reginald Matthews, perhaps?” Trevor inquired. “He served well at both mine and Dalbury’s duels this past year.”
“Splendid suggestion, Trevor. Mr. Matthews it is.” With a smirk on his face, he made an overtly flourished bowed to Sir Peter. One more jab at this popinjay. “Until tomorrow, Fitch. I can hardly wait.”
Sir Peter looked from Jack’s devious grin to Lord Trevor’s nonchalant indifference and swallowed.
If the man had wanted to strike fear into their hearts, he’d chosen the wrong men to do so.
Fitch bent to retrieve his filthy wig and slowly made his way out of the alleyway, glancing over his shoulder as though he thought they might still chase him.
Jack blew out a breath and sheathed his sword. “I don’t know from whence you came, Trevor, but I was more than happy to see you materialize like a ghost on All Hallow’s Eve.”
Chuckling, Trevor shrugged. “The walls are thin in Madame Angelique’s shop. I could hear your voice clear through the boards. Couldn’t have been anyone else but you. Madame showed me her back door that leads directly into the alley and voila, here I am.” Trevor gave his own flourished bow. “Would you like me to inform Matthews he’s to play second again? He’s making such a career of it he may have to quit Bow Street and take this up as his full-time occupation.”
“He’d not agree to that, I think.” Jack fell into step with Trevor as they neared the street. “According to Kat he’s in line for promotion to magistrate. I hope all these duels don’t impede his progress. He’s a good man. I’m glad to have him in the family.”
“Isn’t he your heir until you sire one?” Trevor stopped as they emerged into the busy King Street.
“No, he’s a connection on our grandmother’s side. Even if he were, I doubt he’d try to throw things in Fitch’s favor. Matthews is as straight as they come.”
“Except for his penchant for dueling.” Trevor laughed.
“He’s only ever been a second as far as I know, although he was ready to fight Dalbury over Kat last March. Protective streak runs a mile wid
e in our family.” Jack shook his head. “Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Do you plan on killing Fitch?” Trevor’s amused mouth slid into a sober line.
“He deserves no less, Trevor. What he did to Alethea…” Jack glanced up at his friend. Trevor’d had to deal with a man who’d done the same sort of thing. “You had qualms about Harper?”
“Hell, no. No, I agree, Fitch deserves no less. The question is, do you feel lucky?”
“You doubt my ability with a pistol?” Annoying how no one took his shooting skills seriously.
“I hardly require a demonstration if you assure me you are fast and accurate. No, I mean if you kill him, will the law look the other way? You do not want to find yourself at the end of a rope, as Ferrers did, over the likes of Fitch.”
Jack shrugged. “Different circumstances entirely, though I take your point. And yes, I’ll take my chances. You never know how many others I will be avenging as well. I’ll wager my house Alethea was not the first innocent to fall to his seductions.”
“As you say.” Trevor nodded, heading for his carriage. “Tomorrow morning at six at the duck pond.”
“As usual.” He grinned and his spirits soared with anticipation. “James,” he called to the footman. “Tie my horse to the carriage and we will head for home.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Jack climbed in to find Alethea, huddled small and forlorn against the corner of the carriage, running her fingers idly over the diamond shaped tufts of the black upholstery. She raised her gaze to him and seemed to shrink back even further into the seat.
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
“Come here.”
Blood drained from her already pale face, making the red wisps of her hair that had fallen across her face stark by contrast. She gripped the seat cushion, digging her fingers into it, creating deep rivulets until he feared she would puncture the leather.
“Do you think I intend to beat you?” he asked, holding his amusement in check.
Slowly she nodded, then hung her head.
Where would she get such a notion? Did she not know him at all? He opened his arms wide and smiled at her. “Come here.”
Wide-eyed, Alethea released her death grip on the seat and inch by inch slid toward him.
As soon as she was in reach, he slipped his arms around her, lay her head on his chest, cradling it against him.
She quivered for a moment, then bit by bit her tension ebbed. The soft roundness of her breast pressed to him sent a series of shocks to his cock, already primed from both his afternoon’s instruction and the exhilarating confrontation with Fitch.
The urge to take his wife into his lap and ease his suffering here and now almost overpowered him. But he’d not be a fool as he was the last time. He’d waited this long, he would do this properly, in their bed, in very short order.
“Can you ever forgive me, Jack?” The muffled words brought a smile to his face.
“For what, my love?”
“For considering Sir Peter’s proposition.” She tore her head from his chest, blinking back tears. “I don’t want to be the cause of your death. I’d never forgive myself. I have caused you nothing but trouble and heartache and pain ever since you accepted me.”
“As I recall it, you accepted me.”
She shook her head. “You would never have proposed to me had I not thrown myself at you and revealed my pitiful plight.” Gazing at him she struggled to swallow, fighting the tears that glistened in her eyes. “You should have married Violet.”
“Huh. Then I’d probably have crossed swords with Trevor by now.” He chuckled. “I’d much rather take my chances with Fitch.”
“But he chose pistols.”
“Yes, he did. From what little I’ve heard of him he can barely hold a sword, much less wield one. I’m not surprised he chose guns.” He caught a tear as it spilled down her cheek.
“Are you not afraid he will kill you?” she whispered.
“We all must die someday.”
“But I don’t want you to die, Jack.” She burrowed her head into his shoulder. “Not for me.” The tears flew fast and furious, their heat soaking all the way through his garments to scald his flesh. His heart.
Raising her face to him, he thumbed the others away. “If I die defending the honor of my wife, it will be a glorious end to a life well spent.” Drawing her back to him, he cuddled her in his arms, breathing in the sweet scent of her. His heart hammered in his chest, so hard he could see her head move with the beats. She was his, to cherish and protect forever. “But I am not going to die at the hand of that ill-mannered popinjay.”
“But pistols, Jack—”
“Are not my weapon of choice, I grant you. However, I can use them.”
“Jack—”
“Shh. Trust me. It will be fine.” He buried his face in her bright hair, kissing it fiercely. From her head, his lips strayed to her ear. She shuddered, her breath coming faster. He nuzzled deeper, her sweetness and vulnerability like an aphrodisiac. Very slowly he traced the outer shell of her delicate ear.
“Mmm, Jack,” she moaned deep in her throat, moving her head to give him better access to her long creamy neck.
Smiling, he dropped little kisses in a trail to her collarbone, then twitched her fichu away, delighting in the prospect of exploring even more of her smooth body. Carefully, he skimmed the soft flesh billowing above her bodice, the sight of the tops of her full, luscious breasts filling his heart with desire to possess them more fully. Sliding his finger into her bodice gently, he teased her nipples out of the tight fabric, until they just peeked over the rim of the hard, jeweled stomacher.
Moaning loudly, she covered his hand with hers, pressing him tighter against the tips already furled into hard peaks. Her skin flushed from neck to hairline, pink suffusing her in continuous waves.
Gently he stroked her, letting his fingers play with her pebbling flesh, until she strained against him, seeking more. “Jack, oh, Jack.”
He bent swiftly, engulfing her dark nipple in his mouth.
Her groan of pleasure went straight to his cock, straining to escape his breeches. Concentrate on her. Laving the one nipple with strong strokes of his tongue, he worked the other into a like hardness. Pausing a moment, he licked his fingers, then smoothed them over her nipple again. He raised his head, and blew softly across both breasts.
“Oh, God, Jack.” She let her hands drop to her sides, one coming to rest on the fall of his breeches.
Her breasts contracted further at the cooling rush of air, straining upward toward him, as if begging for more.
And damn, he would be so happy to oblige. Her eyes revealed a hunger she, too, ached to have satisfied. He shared a smile he hoped told her of his growing desire, as if his stiff member beneath her hand hadn’t been enough of a clue.
The carriage slowed.
“We are home.” Good. They would both feast shortly.
He helped her right herself and she slid into the seat, still breathless as she pushed her breasts back in and adjusted her bodice.
“You never told me why you went to Covent Garden today.”
A smile lit her face. “Violet took me to a very clever modiste, Madame Angelique, who fashions the most scandalous creations. I believe I shall give her all my custom from now on.”
He glanced at the small brown paper package on the seat opposite. Much too small to be a gown. He cocked an eyebrow. “You bought something?”
Her grin held a secret promise that drove him wild with excitement. “I did. Something I think you will enjoy every bit as much as I do.”
All manner of astonishing pleasures leaped to his mind. “I can scarcely wait for you to unveil it, my love.” Whatever she had purchased could never please him more than the eager look of love on her face at this moment. “Shall I send dinner for two
up to your chamber?”
The hunger in her eyes flared as she nodded. “That sounds perfect.”
A slow smile spread over his face. “I don’t, however, guarantee we will have time to eat it.”
Chapter 24
Pulling out the last of her hairpins with fingers that shook, Alethea picked up the heavy silver brush and commenced brushing her hair. She hoped the nightly routine would calm her. Her nerves felt stretched and electric after the sparks Jack had set off in the carriage less than an hour ago. She wasn’t sure what had happened, but he seemed changed in some elemental way that both excited and unnerved her.
Clemons bustled around the bedchamber, the crackling fire throwing her flickering shape on the blue walls. She turned down the thick covers and smoothed the crisp white sheets. Their dinner had arrived and sat on a nearby table, the rich smells of beef au jus making Alethea’s nose twitch and her stomach coil. She’d be lucky to choke down two bites, even though she was ravenous.
A different appetite needed to be fed first.
A light knock on the door startled her, and she banged the brush down on the table. It flew out of her hands and under the bed. Clemons scurried after it.
“Just a minute,” she called to Jack. Good lord, don’t let this evening be another wretched mistake. “Clemons,” she hissed, “leave it. Just leave it and I’ll see you in the morning.”
The maid backed out from beneath the bed, put the brush on the table, and went to the door.
Standing beside the bed, Alethea tried to settle herself, put on a pleasant smile. Inside, she twisted like a leaf in a high wind, almost dizzy with wanting this evening to be perfect. All the hopes for happiness with her love on the brink of coming true. Sending up a little prayer, she nodded at Clemons.
The maid opened the door and dipped a curtsy. “Good evening, my lord, my lady.” She slid past Jack and hurried down the hall.
Jack stood there, eyebrows raised as he followed Clemons’s progress out of the room. With a chuckle, he stepped in, dressed in a dark blue silky banyan, and shut the door. “Well, I don’t think we need worry about being disturbed tonight.” He waved the bottle of champagne clutched in his hand. “Good evening, my love.”