Lauren had been his youngest daughter, and the joy he saw in the young couple's eyes mixed with his feelings of loss — tinted with irritation at the thinly veiled excitement behind John’s glances. Jack spent a moment deciding whether to punch the man on the nose or offer him his hand. He turned his attention, instead, to his daughter. “We’ll both miss you dearly,” Jack said. “The house will not be the same without you.” He meant it, truly. He feared the results of her absence. He feared his yearnings.
“Nonsense, father,” Lauren was the bright and shining image of a new bride. “You will have Elsie. And you are still young and handsome enough to be a catch for the pretty little widows. I believe old Miss Prickett has been flirting shamelessly with you at tea for years.”
Jack smiled and winced all at once. Elsie knew her godfather well enough to know that social promenading and the courting of ladies was not his cup of tea. Nor did he like being referred to as old. He was far from it. Elsie sensed the tension in his body. She knew Lauren leaving his home would bring him sorrow, but that there was more to his rigidity — that having Elsie would be both a balm to his loneliness and a heartache to his soul. She was his last burden.
“Elsie, my sister, you must come see us when we return.” Lauren absolutely beamed. Marriage suited her well. Her husband suited her well. She placed a hand on John’s bicep, already becoming comfortable with her husband’s body. “John and I will only be gone for two weeks. When we return, you will have to come stay with us for a few days.”
Tears brimmed in Elsie’s eyes. She was losing a dear friend – a woman who had been near a sister to her for over half her life. Elsie’s parents had died when she was but a small child, and she had been with Jack and his children ever since. He and Lauren had become far more of a family than the parents of her childhood. Jack hadn’t even been a familial relation, but her father had been an only child, and the two men had been close. Elsie could have been sent to a distant cousin in Oxford, but her father had trusted Jack implicitly. He had been her father’s business partner since the two were fresh out of university, and Jack had been there—making vigil in the parlor with her nervous father as Elsie was born—proudly holding her as a bawling infant over the christening basin. He had been named her godfather and, when her parents had died, he took her under his roof as he had promised. Elsie had been raised as one of the family, a true sister and a daughter.
“I would love to come visit,” Elsie responded. “But I don’t want to impose. You and John have so much to learn about one another.”
John was the dearest picture of an exuberant bridegroom. He was all but dancing in the narrow hall, rocking back and forth, heel to toe. He was a ball of energy waiting to explode. “Speaking of. My bride and I must be off if we are to make the train. They don’t hold the engine, not even for wedding parties.”
The happy groom took Lauren by the arm and guided her toward the door. Margie swept the front entrance open before them, and the bustle of a busy London street flooded into the hall. The clatter of horses and carriage wheels ricocheted off the pavers, and the catcalls of street vendors pierced through the din. Jack offered Elsie his arm, and she slipped tremoring fingers around his bicep. She leaned heavily on him and felt the sympathy his soul had with hers at the departing of a dear loved one. In exchange for the weight she leaned on him came the heaviness of sorrow. Her heart reached out to him, wanting to comfort her godfather, her childhood mentor who had aged into a handsome gentleman as she grew under his tutelage. But, as she forced herself so often, she restrained herself. Her father had entrusted Jack as her protector, and she too would be expected to leave him. The expectation crushed her heart under an iron grip. The undesired future of leaving this house and this man alone and empty settled a heavier sorrow on her soul.
The warm, sticky summer air wafted over them as Jack and she stepped onto the stoop. Bound up in layers of her formal dress, she wilted in the oppressive heat. She and Jack waved to the newlyweds as they entered their waiting carriage. Jack’s hand found the fingertips she rested on his arm and covered them, perhaps seeking the touch of comfort as much for himself as for her. Elsie tilted her chin up to her godfather, sweetness in her heart but tears in her eyes. His attentions transferred from the rattling carriage of his departing daughter. He was a lover she could never have. For those left behind, a wedding was a bittersweet affair. Jack smiled down on her, attempting in vain to make the smile reach his eyes. Moments like these were when she needed the masculine strength that he embodied. Jack’s sadness hung heavily in the air, but his back was proudly set straight, and the arm he offered was firm. Elsie leaned more than just the weight of her body on him. She looked to him for confidence and poise. He never failed her.
There was manly richness tinted by a deep feeling in his voice. “Well, Elsie. It is just you and I. What shall we do to fill our evenings now that Lauren is gone?”
Her lips twitched upward. She needed a bit of humor to lighten the mood between her and her guardian. “Get out of the stifling heat, for one.”
Jack chuckled. He pulled at his tight, starched collar. The thick wool suits and layered dresses of modern fashion were not tailored for humid summer days. Already, Elsie could see beads of moisture forming at his temples. Sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades, whether from heat or her discomfort, she could not to be entirely certain. It would not be a day for agreeable for a stroll in the park. Slowly, Jack turned to the door and with great care offered his arm again. She leaned on him as they reentered the house, and he guided her toward the shady back parlor.
Inside, the silence of the parlor was just as stifling as the heat outside. Elsie eased a pane open to let the breeze in. She let her eyes linger on the shaded back garden. She had spent many summer days there and ruined many fine dresses with obstinate grass stains. In that little patch of garden, Jack had helped her raise her first tomatoes. He’d climbed up the maple when she was too scared to jump down. He’d taught her to waltz on the patio as Lauren played the violin. No, this was not a house she desired to leave. Jack was not a man she wished to be parted with.
The floorboards creaked as Jack paced in the parlor. The close quarters smelt of the dried flowers of summers past. It was a small room just for the family. Small enough it could be cozily heated in the winter by the stove in the corner. She had spent many warm winter nights in this room as the snow fell on the dormant trees outside. Elsie sat quietly on the chaise lounge, her eyes alternating between the well-worn floorboards and the garden outside. Lauren had always played an important part in their evenings entertaining. The two girls would take turns reading or playing musical instruments or singing. They would engage in card games that could be enjoyed with three but not two players. She felt intuitively that Jack would not be in the mood for music or singing and certainly not for games.
Another sentiment arose from a deeply buried spot within her soul. Lauren had always had another function in their home — she had always acted as a buffer between her and her godfather. Elsie had felt the necessity of Lauren’s presence as she entered womanhood. It was when she had turned sixteen — the year that Jack had introduced her into society — that she first became aware of her guardian's changing attitude toward her. She could still sense his pride in the woman she had become, but there was a newfound sense of dark jealousy which accompanied. As the years progressed, Jack’s presence grew ever missed in the sitting room as young men came visiting. He’d given over the chaperoning responsibilities first to his son then to Lauren. He had always made his civil appearance to greet the company, but he fostered a short courtesy with the young men.
Her eyes still averted to the floorboards, Elsie could feel Jack stop in his pacing. She looked to him. The last beams of the evening were falling over his features and lit the commingling of joy and sorrow there. The forbidden surge in her breast reawakened, and she no longer had her Lauren to look to for a distraction. No song or card game. Just her and the man she spent long nights dreamin
g of. Years had passed since his behavior toward her had changed. Years since she had been alone with him. The moments of tension she had felt with him had been few and fleeting. Now, there was nothing to divert her anxiety, nothing to alleviate the restlessness spreading through her nerves.
Shadows lengthened and darkened the corners of the parlor with the coming dusk. The corners of the small room faded into obscurity. Jack turned his attention to her, but he was unfocussed. “Night is falling. I’ll lite the lamps for us.”
He moved to the parlor stove and struck one of the long handled matches kept in the tinder box. The low flame flickered over his features. The years had been kind to him. More than kind. He was a strong man—in so many ways—with broad shoulders and a kind heart. He cupped the pinpoint flame, protecting it in the palm of his hand and watched it attentively as he guided himself to the oil lamp nearest her. He froze in the middle of his stride. The apple in his throat hitched. Panic surged through Elsie’s core. Electricity charged the air. He appeared suddenly shocked at her presence. Perhaps he did not wish her there. Perhaps he desired to be alone with his thoughts. Elsie offered him a smile, testing the waters they had been thrown into. Jack came back to life, and he leaned close to guide the small flame to the oiled wick. He was close enough for the smell of starch and heated wool to fill her senses. The turn of a nob, a little more taper, and the flame enlarged, casting wavering light over the grey walls.
“Thank you.”
She spoke the simple, quiet words so closely to his ear that her own insides fluttered in response. Her desire welled within her as her guardian tilted his head just enough for her to see the heated passion within. The fluttering spread to her heart. He was so strong and yet so gentle. She yearned to lean a little closer, to experience his power and kindness as a lover would. Her lips moved. The fluttering spread to her thighs and between.
Turmoil flowed through Jack’s darkened features. His eyes darted over her features and her body. He cleared his throat and shot up—his back ramrod straight. He turned from her and strode away to the next lamp. Unshed tears scratched at the back of her throat. Such trust had been placed in him, and she repaid him by acting the temptress to his manly honor. She doubted whether she could continue on here without asking too much of him. Or, perhaps, without expecting too much of him.
Elsie shuttered under her own thoughts. The physical exertion failed to rid herself of the impure motivations running through her mind and setting her nerves on fire. Jack turned toward her again, his newly lit lamp in hand. He had put on his best gentleman’s smile before turning—the one he had used so frequently today—but when he set eyes on her, he darkened once again.
The smile melted from his lips. His brow creased. His words came out hurried. “I beg your forgiveness, my child, but the day has exhausted me. I must retire.” Jack turned and thundered from the room.
The tears Elsie had been holding back streamed slowly and soundlessly down her cheeks. The peace and joy of their lives together had been forever changed.
With as much gentlemanly grace as he could muster, Jack fled from the room. Flight was the only option. The only honorable option. Oil lamp to guide him, his rushed escape from his indecent desires turned to the gait of a defeated man. His pace slowed as he ascended the steps to his chambers, each tread increasing the heaviness of body and soul. His heart reached out to her, wanting to comfort his ward, the young child who had grown and blossomed into a woman under his very eyes. The urge to restrain himself had — over the years — become both more difficult and unsolicited. Her father had placed his trust in Jack as her guardian. She herself had come to see him as her protector. But, she too would leave him, as she should. She was barely a woman—fully in the blossom of youth.
Jack reached the top of the steep stairwell and looked back down the dark steps, hating himself for the passions he could not suppress. By the time his ward had turned sixteen, she had opened into a flower of remarkable beauty, and pride mixed with an irrepressible jealousy as he introduced her to society. He’d worked hard to save up for the finest dress for her first ball—and in it, she was resplendent. He had taught her to dance in the garden, and she tempted him with every sway—with every delicate, feminine touch over his arms, with every innocent smile she shone up to him. Those dancing lessons in the sunlit garden—her body so near and swaying in melody with his—that was when he first learned to guard her not only from others but from himself.
Seventeen had only added to her charm. Her schooling molding her wit to a sharp edge, and she could counter every argument he made—every opinion was now met with a confident strength that challenged his own. She sat with him in the mornings, tea and biscuits spread, and read they read the papers together. The local news, the foreign correspondence, the debates in Parliament. She understood it all. And she had opinions, ones she confidently voiced, no matter how hastily made. It was not a trait many men appreciated in a woman—especially not such a young one—but he loved her the dearer for it. Her charm had not beguiled him alone. Jack had found himself avoiding the parlor when young men were visiting. Her allure was no longer his secret to keep. Her beauty had not gone unnoticed, nor had her exuberant wit.
Eighteen had molded her into a woman. Her learning had deepened; her beliefs had matured from flighty sentiment to the solid convictions of a lady. The young men who visited were no longer school lads in knee breeches. They were manly prospects with honorable family names and promising futures. They were Henry Doleman’s. They would be good husbands. Their presence had become intolerable. They flirted and played cards and invited her to socials. He had come to loathe their calling cards on his table. They aimed to claim her as their own.
Nineteen had added sophistication and intelligence to her womanhood, deepening Jack’s affection as she proved a knowledgeable and clever companion. She was no longer the child who had been entrusted to him years ago. She moved with grace. She held her tongue when necessary, but her bite was sharp when required. He had begun to share business affairs with her, and her insights were enlightening. She had become modest and beautiful all at once.
The woman in the dimly lit parlor — behind the locked doors of his home — had looked to him with expectation written on her features. With that look, his heart had soared and plummeted within the span of a second. He had to remove himself. He had to go. She expected the gentle words and assurances of her godfather, not the passionate embrace of a lover. He forced himself away from her innocence. He would ruin her. His mind swirled and he slammed his eyes shut, begging the Lord above for the composure which was quickly draining from him. His urges told him his feet were taking him in the wrong direction—that his fate lay with the beauty he had fled. His heart battled between honor, desire, and virtue. He could not—he would not—take advantage of her trust. He would be the basest of animals. He would no longer be a man.
His heavy boots echoed down the empty hallway. He shut himself away in the solitude of his lonely room, turning the key in the lock behind him. A key. A lock. A door. The only things that separated him from his desires. High and passionate sentiments arose from a deeply buried hole within his soul. When his partner had entrusted his only child to him all those years ago, Jack’s wife was still alive. He had been a happily married man. His love had long since left him. He had not been alone in this house—he had his children, and he had Elsie. But his nights were spent in lonely solace. Ten years, and he still slept on only half his bed. Surely, his friend would never have expected for Jack to take a ward as a bachelor. A young woman under a grown man’s roof. A man who woke up to an empty pillow.
No, he would find Elsie an outstanding gentleman, one her own age. Master Doleman had been visiting frequently. Jack knew the look in Henry’s eye. A father always knew. All fathers, after all, had that look once themselves when visiting pretty young ladies. The same irritation he had felt with his daughter’s new husband returned. He had no desire for a man, husband or not, to appraise his daughter as John ha
d. An endless pit opened in his gut. He didn’t want any man to look at Elsie like that, either. More than once, he’d had to stifle the craving to lash out, to take a young man by the shirt collar and throw him body out the front door. But, he did not have the rights of a father. Perhaps—no, not perhaps. He was finished with the lies, finished with deceiving himself. It was precisely because he didn’t have the rights of a father that he didn’t want another man to pay such attentions to Elsie. He wanted her attentions for himself. He wanted those gentle eyes to fall on him alone. He wanted her near—always.
Jack sat the lone oil lamp on his side table; the small flame cast only a dim light over his chambers, but he knew the space well. It was a bachelor’s room. A wing-backed chair in the corner where he sat to take off his boots. Nothing but dark businessman’s suits in the wardrobe. Only one picture hung on the wall. He sat on the side of his bed, tugging at his necktie and staring blankly at the dark, far wall, the same one he’d hung when he first moved in. He collapsed into his chair and dug his toe into the heel of his polished boot and absently kicked it off. Energy had electrified every cell of his body moments ago. They had been alone, and she was so near. He could have reached to her and drawn her to him. But now, his elation was gone and replaced by despair. It was true; he would ruin her. He shrugged out of his onerous waistcoat. The starch and the fabric itched at his skin. His fingers preoccupied themselves with the buttons of his shirt. He had dedicated himself to protect her, to guard her. And yet, he felt helpless to protect her from himself. He was slowly losing control of his passions.
His fingertips faltered over the buttons on his abdomen as the soft patting of small feet passed his door. She passed. Alone, headed to her dark chambers. So innocent. The muscles in Jack’s stomach and thighs contracted. He winced. His manhood swelled. If only he could follow her steps. She would open the door to him, and he would take her in his arms and press her against his body. She would gasp as her breasts pushed against his firm chest, his strong hands holding her tight. She would look up to him with those trusting eyes.
Claiming His Ward: Sweet & Sexy Page 2