by Jane Godman
Rosie shivered at the sensation of his cock pressing into the curve of her spine. Behind her, Jack took a breath as if to steady himself. She leaned back, resting her head against his shoulder, and together they pushed her dress down over her breasts, past her waist and stomach, until Rosie was able to step out of it. Her shift followed, the garments making a pool at their feet.
Jack’s hand cupped her breast, holding her nipple gently while rubbing it with the pad of his thumb. Rosie tumbled headlong into a spiral of pleasure as his touch sent a shiver of delight shooting from her breast to a very specific point between her legs. The jolt of electricity that passed through her forced her to arch her back, pushing her hard against the front of his body.
Shifting their position, Jack held Rosie so that she could see herself in the full-length mirror that stood against one wall. She wore only her stockings, garters and shoes. Fascinated, she watched as he continued to caress her breast while his free hand slid downward. Rosie gasped as his hand smoothed along her hip and across her stomach. It then dipped between her thighs. He paused for a moment before lightly skimming the soft cluster of curls between her legs.
Pressing his knee between hers, he widened her stance. Using the tips of his fingers, he stroked the delicate skin of her inner thighs. Rosie felt her muscles tense as she watched his movements in the mirror. Slipping his hand between her thighs, his fingers parted the soft curls and slid between her swollen folds. Her entire frame jerked in response. Jack slowly drew his middle finger along her moist cleft, up and back down, probing her wetness as he rubbed her clitoris. When his movements quickened, Rosie whimpered. Her body, taut and aching for release, gave way to a sudden, unexpected wave that crashed through her entire being. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She tried to call out Jack’s name, but the word came out as a helpless croak. The wave crashed again and again, and all she could do was cling to him with both hands, holding the strong arm that was around her waist until the tremors that shook her ceased and she was able to turn in his arms and bury her head in his neck.
Kissing her hair, Jack slid a hand down her back, over the curve of her buttocks and up her spine, soothing her into a state of peace and calm.
“I want you to make love to me, Jack,” she whispered.
He took her face in his hands and studied her face intently. “Rosie, my love, we can’t.”
“You mean because there may be a child?”
“We can’t risk such a thing. Not when I am to go into battle on the morrow.”
“I may never see you again after this night.” She spread her hands across his chest. “Jack, I love you more than life itself. Tonight may be all we ever have, let us seal our love while we can.” She blushed deeply. “And I have heard there are ways…”
With a groan he drew her close again, pressing his lips to the base of her neck and sighing words of love against her skin. He carried her over to the bed and placed her down upon it. He devoured her with his eyes while he removed his clothing and she discarded her stockings and shoes. There was a sweet poignancy to their movements as he joined her. Lowering his lips, he trailed kisses in a line down her body, allowing them to linger on a breast, on the tip of a nipple, along her collarbone. Slowly he anointed her flesh with soft, fluttering caresses.
Jack pressed his hand against her, his middle finger sliding into the wetness between her warm folds. He stroked her still-sensitised clitoris, circling it with his thumb, and flicked over it with the edge of a finger before sliding the same finger inside her. Seeking the sensitive flesh with the tip of his finger, he watched her face as Rosie quivered at his touch. Sliding a second finger into her, Jack suckled one hardened nipple. Slowly, he removed his fingers and used their moistness to tease her to the edge of climax once more. Supporting his weight on his other arm, he positioned himself between her legs.
“I want all of you, Jack,” she whispered unsteadily, and needing no further encouragement, he entered her in one swift motion.
“You feel so tight around me. So perfect.” Jack’s voice was hoarse as he filled her, stopping as if he felt a barrier. Pausing, he pulled out of her slightly, watching her face intently.
“Please, Jack. I want this. I want you.”
Biting his lip, he plunged into her as far as he could. Halting when he heard her sudden inhalation of breath, Jack stilled his movements. Kissing her, he whispered, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“Don’t be sorry, and don’t stop.”
Rosie squeezed her eyes shut as he penetrated her completely. The sense of him filling her was overwhelming. The brief moment of pain was gone, and he began to move. She surged up to meet him, lifting her hips so that he was buried even deeper in her. Then he was pulling out and thrusting into her, over and over in a rhythm she matched with her pelvis slamming into his. There was a throbbing deep inside her, the same sensations building again, this time intensified further by Jack’s cock stretching her. It was so perfect that Rosie felt as if her heart would burst as her body quivered with pleasure. She wanted to weep at the beauty of his fullness deep inside her, igniting every nerve ending. Jack’s love for her added ferocity to his passion; he possessed her, demanded everything of her…and she gave all that he asked. Every undulating, urgent movement drove them rapidly towards the soul-shattering climax that was building within them. Rosie’s release rushed through her, a tidal wave of enormous pleasure that left her trembling on the brink of infinity. She cried out in unabashed abandon, the words unclear but the message unmistakable—she was his, in that instant and forever.
She felt Jack tense, and he withdrew from her as his orgasm ripped through him. His body jerked, and she felt his warm, wet release on her thighs. He buried his face in her hair, his voice a muffled groan.
“I will never be sorry,” Rosie murmured later as she lay in his arms, listening with dread to the sounds of the castle coming to life. “No matter what happens, I will always be glad we had this night.”
* * *
Perry’s lodgings were situated in a street that was set at right angles to the square where Lady Drummond lived. What could be more natural than that Jack, having visited his friend, should stroll past her ladyship’s house on his way back to St. Anton House, his own London residence? And if he should pause near the gardens in the centre of the square—the one where the nursemaids sometimes gathered with their charges—while he adjusted the set of his waistcoat, what possible harm could there be in that?
This is degenerating into obsession, he told himself grimly. What will you do when you espy a child who is the living spit of Sheridan? Return to your former desolation?
Yet Harry’s words had taken a fierce possession of his imagination. Alexander. Rosie’s son. What with Xander being born early…
It was on his third foray past the square that his strategy proved successful. A young woman, her clothing denoting her status as a nursemaid, was walking up the steps of Lady Drummond’s house at exactly the moment Jack strolled past. In her arms, she carried a young boy. His mop of black curls was a giveaway. This must be Rosie’s son. He was no longer a baby, but he was only just beyond that age. The right age. Jack’s heart gave an enormous thud.
He thought back to the night he and Rosie had spent together before Culloden. He had tried to be careful, but he had been overwhelmed by the wonder of their lovemaking. Looking back, he had never been quite sure he had made it on time. Could this child be the result of that magical night?
The boy appeared sleepy, since his head was nestled into the nurse’s shoulder. As Jack drew level with them, Xander turned to say something to his nurse. Was it his imagination, or did Jack catch a glimpse of blue eyes?
Stop torturing yourself. Go and ask her. Rosie would undoubtedly lie about the child’s parentage, but Jack didn’t doubt his own intuition where she was concerned. She might have learned the art of showing a bland, doll-like mask to the world,
but she would never be able to fool him.
There was no time like the present. Mounting the steps of the house in the wake of the nurse, Jack rapped loudly on the door knocker. It was opened promptly by a footman. Jack presented his card.
“Lady Drummond is not at home this morning, your lordship.” The young man bowed low.
All the better for the purpose of his mission. “It is Lady Sheridan I wish to see.”
“Her ladyship is in the parlour.” Clearly inexperienced, the footman indicated the room. “I will just ascertain…”
“You need not trouble to announce me.” Handing his hat and cloak to the startled servant, Jack marched purposefully into the room.
Rosie was seated on a sofa near the fire. Startled at Jack’s tempestuous entrance, she turned her head. “Benson, I expressly said I was not to be disturbed…” The words died on her lips when she saw who it was.
Jack’s mission was forgotten the instant he saw her face. The only other time he had seen that expression of anguish in her eyes had been after she fired the shot that had killed Captain Overton. He knew what torment she had been through back then, and how she had depended on him to help her through it. Now she had loneliness to contend with as well as pain. Dark shadows beneath her eyes told their own story of the sleepless night she had spent, and he thought there was a suspicion of tear stains on her cheeks. Words of warning flashed briefly through his mind. Keep your distance. Hearts might heal once. Twice is asking too much. To hell with that. His heart had not healed. It had not come close. And his own needs would always come second to Rosie’s.
Crossing the room in three swift strides, he dropped onto one knee beside her. Grasping her hands—despite Rosie’s efforts to tug them away— he scanned her face. “What is it?”
Rosie attempted a smile. It was a miserable failure that wobbled slightly. “Oh, I am merely blue-devilled today. Homesick for Derbyshire.” He could tell she was casting around wildly for something—anything—to say to appease him.
“For the love of God, Rosie! This is me—Jack—the man who once swore to be by your side forever. That might no longer be possible, but I can still support you in other ways. Can’t you tell me?”
Rosie took a breath, and he thought she might actually be about to open up to him. Instead, she bent her head, keeping her voice low. “Try to understand, Jack. Some secrets must remain just that. Once shared, they will cause a devastation so great it cannot be reversed.”
“You admit there is a secret, then?” He ducked his head in an attempt to see her face.
“Now you are trying to trick me.” In spite of the indignation in her voice, the dimple at the corner of her mouth quivered ever so slightly.
The temptation was too much for Jack. All the warnings in the world could not have stopped him from dragging her into his arms and crushing her hard against his chest. For one, tiny instant Rosie strained to resist, then she capitulated and they fell back onto the sofa together.
Jack took her face between his hands and leaned in. Rosie’s breath fanned his cheek and ignited a tingle across his flesh. His mouth moved against hers in a kiss that was infinitely tender and seemed to last forever. Rosie responded with a soft purr as she welcomed the caress of his tongue. Turning so that she was pinned under him, Jack pressed his knee between her legs. It was a statement of possession, and her body surged upward in an instant response. It had been so long since he had felt her beneath him, and desire surged through him as the memories of that single, perfect night came flooding back.
It was as he had feared. In two long years no other woman had been able to arouse him. A kiss from Rosie was all it had taken to have an iron-hard erection straining for release from his breeches. He should have listened to his inner promptings. One touch had brought his addiction back full force. Even though anyone—Lady Drummond, the servants, Sheridan himself—might interrupt at any minute, all he wanted to do was release all the passion that had been lying dormant within him. He wanted to take Rosie right here and now, fast and furious so that they were both panting and sweating with the fire and fury of it. One look at Rosie’s face was enough to leave him in no doubt that she wanted the same thing.
He needed to regain control. Moving into a less intimate position, so that he lay at her side, Jack gently and regretfully stroked the soft cushion of her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. With a sound close to a sob, he buried his head in the curve of her neck, and Rosie brought her hand up to touch his face in a gesture of understanding. As she did, Sheridan’s ring brushed his cheek, and with a shudder of self-disgust, he drew himself upright and resolutely moved her away from him.
“Jack, I wish—”
“Don’t say it. Don’t offer me wishes and pity. Not when we once had everything.” His voice was a harsh rasp.
Before Rosie could say anything more a door slammed loudly, the sound echoing around the house and a panicky voice called out from the direction of the hall.
“Lady Sheridan! Come quick, my lady. Please hurry.”
“It is Poulter, Clive’s groom.” Getting to her feet, Rosie straightened her gown and smoothed down her hair. Her hands trembled slightly and her cheeks were flushed. “I must go and see what has happened.”
He caught her wrist hoping to calm her. “We have unfinished business here, Rosie. But for now, if there is trouble, I am beside you.”
She threw him a grateful glance and stepped out into the hall. The scene that greeted them was one of chaos. A slight, angular man—who Jack assumed was the groom—was doing his best to support Sheridan. His task was made difficult since not only was Sir Clive of a much heavier and stockier build, he also appeared to be only semiconscious. As Rosie rushed forward to lend a hand, the groom lost his struggle and Sheridan slid to the floor, hitting his head on the stone tiles.
“Good heavens, Poulter! What has happened?”
“The master was set upon, my lady. Aye, in broad daylight, as well! Four of them there were. Came at us out of a side alley, just as he was leaving—” Poulter broke off, rolling his eyes heavenward frantically, as though seeking divine intervention.
“Oh, don’t bother to be coy. Was it a gaming hell?” Rosie knelt beside Sheridan’s inanimate form and loosened his cravat. “Or worse?”
The groom looked like a man who hoped the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He swallowed hard. “Worse, my lady.”
“A whorehouse, then?” Jack was stunned at the calm way in which she spoke the words. It was clear that she knew exactly what sort of man Sheridan was. Poulter nodded glumly. “Had he refused to pay? Hurt one of the girls? Engaged in something perverse or dangerous?” Each question was greeted with a shake of the head. “What then?”
“Nothing, my lady. I swear on God’s holy name.”
“Doesn’t your master carry a weapon?” Jack spoke for the first time.
“No, your honour. He leaves it to me to. I keep a pistol on my person when he goes into the rougher parts of town.”
“Why the hell didn’t you use it?”
Poulter looked sheepish. “I didn’t have a chance. One of the attackers pushed me to the ground and kept me there with my own gun to my head. Told me not to be a hero. It wasn’t me they wanted. It was all about teaching the master to pay his debts on time, that was what they said.”
“I think it would be best if we get Sir Clive up to his dressing room.” Rosie got to her feet. “I don’t think he is seriously hurt. From what I can tell, alcohol has played its part in his current stupor. Nevertheless, I don’t want Lady Drummond to see him in this state and sustain an unnecessary shock.”
“You get an arm around your shoulder on one side while I take the other,” Jack instructed the groom.
Rosie was right. There was a strong smell of brandy about Sheridan as they half-carried, half-dragged his limp form up the stairs. Rosie went ahead of them, and when they reached th
e door of his dressing room, Sheridan started to come round.
“Oh, it’s you, madam wife.” The words were slurred, but there was no mistaking the venom in his voice.
Jack stiffened, and Rosie cast an apologetic glance in his direction. “You have sustained a severe shock, Clive. Let us lay you down on the day-bed here so that I can attend to your injuries.”
Sheridan laughed, an unpleasant sound, as Poulter eased him into a reclining position. “Yes, you’d better take care good of me, hadn’t you? Play the loving wife. After all, if anything should happen to me, it would be worse for you and that snivelling brat brother of yours…”
An exclamation escaped Jack’s lips as he started forward, intent on adding a few more bruises to Sheridan’s already swollen features. Rosie placed a hand on his arm, forestalling him. “He is drunk, Jack.”
“Jack?” Sheridan struggled to sit up straighter. “What the devil? Poulter, throw that rebel bastard out of here!”
“Please go.” Rosie drew Jack to one side, speaking in an urgent undertone.
“And leave you here with him in this mood? Like hell I will.”
“He won’t hurt me. And he won’t remember any of this once he has slept it off.” She bit her lip. “I know I don’t have to ask you…”
“Not to speak of it? My God, can you doubt it?”
In spite of the worry on her face, she smiled. “I should have known I did not need to ask. After all, I have trusted you with my life before now, have I not?”
“You may do so again.”
“If it were only my own life at stake, Jack…” For a brief moment, her guard was lowered, and he caught a glimpse of the terrified girl behind the composed woman. Her lip quivered, there was a glimmer of fear in the silver depths of her eyes, and she raised her hand as if to grasp his arm.