The Jacobite's Return (The Georgian Rebel Series)

by Jane Godman

  Jack leaned against the doorframe with a smile. “I knew you would not fail me.”

  The Falcon sat up. “’Tis lucky for you I did not, and lucky too that I brought reinforcements.”

  Jack had no idea what his friend was talking about. “Explain yourself, if you please.”

  “Although your elegantly couched letter—so succinct, so beautifully phrased, and the writing formed with such tender care—merely ordered me to follow you here to Derbyshire without giving any reasons, I surmised it might have something to do with the delightful Sir Clive Sheridan. A man who, whatever his other limitations may be, would probably be capable of recognising me. It is quite damnable having a price on my head. So dreadfully dull to have to take care over my every movement. I knew that this”—he held up the mask he had habitually worn on their raids in the highlands—“would not suffice as a disguise. Luckily, I had the forethought to remain hidden and send some of my men ahead of me. While you were down at the stables indulging in water play, they were able to dissuade Sheridan from entering this house.”

  Jack’s fists clenched at his sides. “So they were the voices Rosie heard. And I was right. He was here.”

  “Indeed he was. I saw it all from my vantage point on a slight incline. Having clouted the groom and set the fire in the stables, he waited until you were distracted with fighting the flames before he stole away to this house. Lady Sheridan had entered it some minutes earlier, but she was alone with the child by that time, all of the servants having joined the firefighting activity. Had my men not been on the alert for him, she would have been entirely at his mercy. He was about to climb through one of the long windows at the rear of the property when they confronted him. He ran off and they gave chase.”

  Jack felt his blood run cold. “Tell me they captured him.”

  “Would that I could. Alas, no. Knowing the land better than they, he gave them the slip in the gardens. Who’d have thought such a lumbering fellow could prove so nimble?”

  Jack swore long and low. “He will kill her if he gets his hands on her again. I am convinced of it.”

  “Then you did right to send for me. Although you will understand if I do not make my bow to your charming lady. I intend to remain a hidden partner in this venture of yours. She too would recognise me easily, I fear.”

  “You can trust Rosie.” Jack’s voice took on a fiercely protective note.

  The Falcon held up a hand. “Steady, my fire-breathing friend. I was not impugning Lady Sheridan. I merely meant that, with a hefty price upon my head, I prefer it if as few people as possible know my identity.”

  “What can you expect when you have one of the most well-known faces in England, while also being the most wanted outlaw both sides of the border?”

  The Falcon sighed. “’Tis a curse, is it not, that this countenance of mine should be familiar to so many? Of course I did not know—how could I?—when I commenced my career as a fugitive that His Grace of Cumberland would take things so very personally. Really, Jack, you’d think the fellow might be prepared to forgive a slight or two. But that’s the Hanoverians for you. Devilish lowborn, and so easily irked.”

  “To be fair, I think you did rather more than irk him by snatching whole villages of highland men out from the gallows for which he intended them. You then compounded your crimes by sending them safe on their way to the Carolinas.”

  The smile that lit the Falcon’s handsome features was one of genuine pleasure this time, all trace of mockery banished. “They were rare days, were they not, my friend? We cheated death a hundred times.”

  Jack returned the smile, but his voice was sombre. “We did indeed, but as a result, Cumberland has sworn to have your head.”

  “Which is why I feel it would be best not to admit Lady Sheridan into our little secret.”

  “Very well. Although, that reminds me”—Jack laughed, glad of a moment’s relief—“what think you of the disclosure that the notorious Lady Louisa Kendall is hell-bent on getting to know you better?”

  For a moment there was a flash of interest in the Falcon’s fine eyes. Then he quirked a brow at Jack before his face relaxed into its habitual expression of mild amusement. “Tempting as that prospect is, I believe it might be best to be explore it another day. Tell me instead how you propose to make this house safe so that desperate ruffians such as I cannot enter it at will.”

  “You are not a desperate ruffian.”

  “Try telling that to His Majesty the King and His Grace of Cumberland. The fact remains that I entered this house undetected and was able to gain entry to your bedchamber. It could just as easily have been the room next door, which I surmise belongs to Lady Sheridan?”

  “Good God, you are right. There is not a moment to be lost.”

  The Falcon wrinkled his nose fastidiously. “Oh, I think you can spare enough time to bathe first.”

  * * *

  “Jack, you cannot remain here.” Rosie, attired in her nightgown, faced him with determination.

  “’Twould not be the first time we have shared a room,” Jack reminded her. “Or a bed.” His voice dropped temptingly lower. “Or more.”

  “This is different. What would people say? Think of Mrs. Glover and the servants. What if Lady Harpenden should hear of it?”

  “Rosie”—Jack regarded her with mock concern—“are you trying to be prim?”

  “I wish you will not make a joke of this. You must see how it would look. No matter what has happened of late, I am still Clive’s wife.”

  “More’s the pity. Put a bolster down the middle of the bed again if you are concerned. But I am staying put.” To illustrate his point, he threw himself, fully dressed, onto the bed.

  Rosie blushed. “Much good a bolster did us last time.”

  Jack raised himself on one elbow, a reminiscent smile in his eyes. “Are you complaining?” After a moment’s hesitation, she gave a tiny shake of her head. His smile deepened. “Then come to bed.”

  Come to bed. The very simplicity of the words struck her like a blow. This is the course I hoped our lives would take back when I was giddy with love for him. Before Culloden. All I wanted was this. Normality. Marriage to Jack and to share these tiny, everyday things with him. The things other couples take for granted. The things we can never have.

  Still in the grip of her forlorn thoughts, she walked slowly to the bed. Although she had discarded the sling, she cradled her left wrist against her chest, making her movements clumsy. Jack held the bedclothes back to assist her.

  “What troubles you? I’ll swear ’tis more than the thought of suffering me in your bed.” Jack’s voice was soft as she lay down, and he pulled the blankets over her.

  Rosie turned on her side so that their faces were inches apart. “I fell in love with you before I even knew your name. Before I spoke to you. While you were still unconscious and I didn’t know if you would live or die. As I got to know you, I grew to love you more. All I ever wanted was to be your wife. Jack Lindsey’s wife. I never cared about the title.”

  “I know that.” Jack reached out a hand and twisted one dark curl around his finger.

  “No, you don’t understand what I am saying. If you had asked me then to be your mistress instead of your wife, I’d have said yes.”

  “I loved you too, Rosie. I would not have asked that of you.”

  She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Because I wanted you. Then I lost you. Now, after all this time, I am married to someone else, but I have become your mistress.”

  “It’s not enough? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  She shook her head. “No, the opposite. I’m glad we have this, Jack. Because for so long we had nothing.”

  “Once we thought forever wouldn’t be enough for us.” His voice was husky. “Is it wrong to want more?”

  “I think we should make the best of what we have
.” Rosie smiled mischievously, her introspection banished. There had been too many years of brooding. “And it seems I have you this night.”

  “You do. I’ll not leave you alone. Not with Sheridan still on the loose.”

  “In that case, you, my lord, have a mistress to keep happy this night.”

  “I do, do I? And what exactly does my mistress want from me?” Catching swiftly on to the change in her mood, Jack leaned over, lightly nipping her neck with his teeth.

  Rosie squirmed with enjoyment. Pulling his head down so that she could whisper in his ear, she amazed herself with her own daring by telling him in very explicit terms exactly what she wanted. “I need you inside me now, filling me up with your big, hard cock. And when you take me, I want it to be fast and rough.”

  Jack gave a soft laugh. “You’ll have me blushing, my sweet wanton. But I think we may have to wait until your bones are healed before we attempt anything quite so fierce.” When she groaned in frustration, he smiled. “Fear not, I’m sure I can put my imagination—and other parts of my body—to good use.” Bending his head, he took one nipple in his mouth, tugging on the hardened flesh through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Rosie arched her back in pleasure, a delicious tingle starting low in her belly and sending a buzz of pure lust pulsing between her legs. Jack, clearly well aware of the impact of his actions, smiled wickedly into her eyes before surprising her by moving away. Getting to his feet and coming around to her side of the bed, he swung her into his arms and carried her to a chaise that was set near the window.

  Having seated her, Jack proceeded to lift her nightgown up around her waist, exposing her lower body to his gaze. Kneeling before her, he coaxed her knees apart. “Wider, sweetheart.” His voice was warm with emotion. “I want to look at you.” She obeyed unquestioningly, exposing the deepest secrets of her body to his appreciative gaze. Kneeling in front of her, Jack ran one finger down her centre, keeping his eyes on hers. Rosie returned his gaze openly, drawing in a sharp breath as he plunged his finger into her hot, wet sheath.

  Lowering his head to lightly trace the inside of her knee with his lips, he nipped and licked his way up her inner thigh until his breath was warm on her slick entrance. Removing his finger, he tasted her, flicking his tongue over her clitoris, swirling it around until the tiny bud thrummed. Rosie’s moans were almost sobs of pleasure at the rasping sensation of him licking her. She lifted one leg over his shoulder and he thrust his tongue deep inside her. His tongue commenced a relentless, magical rhythm. Licking, circling and caressing, then driving deep inside. It was too much to bear, and an orgasm ripped through her again and again, wave upon crashing wave. Jack continued to lap at her as she shuddered wildly, gasping out his name.

  Finally, Rosie pressed a long, lingering kiss on his lips. “You taste of me,” she whispered softly, sliding her right hand down his body to the front of his breeches. His erection was rock hard and straining at the barrier of the cloth. Fumbling slightly, she undid the buttons to free his cock and stroke his length. His breath was an indrawn hiss. “Now it’s my turn, Jack. Stand up. I want to taste of you.”

  “You are hurt…”

  “Not so badly that I cannot manage to do this.” Lightly, she drew her finger around his tip, and Jack shuddered.

  “Feels so good,” he said hoarsely.

  “I want to make you feel even better.” She squeezed the shaft, then took the head of his cock between her lips. Pausing, she looked up. “How about this?”

  His reply was a tortured groan as he tangled his fingers in her hair and guided her, pushing her mouth back towards his cock. Experimentally, Rosie ran her tongue along his shaft, flicking it over the sensitive underside. Jack’s body jerked in approval. He held her in place with a hand at the back of her neck while she moved her mouth up and down. Although she was hesitant at first, the sounds of Jack’s ragged breathing increased Rosie’s confidence and she grew bolder, taking him deeper. The suction of her mouth on his cock added to her arousal, and her moans vibrated against his shaft. The knowledge of her power over him acted more strongly on her. She decided she liked this new sensation of being in control.

  Jack thrust his hips forward as her sucking pushed him close. Confident now, Rosie moved her hand down to cup his tight sac, and the action tipped him over the edge. His hot release filled her mouth and his fingers tightened in her hair as he called out her name.

  Withdrawing from her, Jack sank to his knees beside the chaise so that he could draw Rosie to him. For several long minutes he rested his head in the curve of her neck as his breathing returned to normal.

  When he carried her back to the bed and cradled her gently in his arms, his breath was warm on her cheek. “It may not have been what we intended, but I think I’m going to like having you as my mistress.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rosie was having a difficult time impressing upon Mrs. Glover that she was not actually ill. The housekeeper, who had known her all her life, was very good at turning a deaf ear to those things she did not want to hear. “You need rest, Miss Rosie.” None of the members of her father’s household had ever changed their form of address and called her “my lady” after her marriage. It was a circumstance that Rosie found curiously comforting.

  Deciding that submission was easier than resistance, Rosie pretended to doze on a sofa in the parlour, with a rug over her knees, while Jack kept Xander entertained.

  “Beau ball.” Xander pointed imperiously at the window.

  “No.” Jack shook his head. “Beau is hurt, so he can’t play ball with you.”

  Xander eyed him speculatively. “Jack ball?”

  Laughing, Jack scooped Xander up and tossed him into the air. Her son’s squeals of laughter brought a smile to Rosie’s lips. This was what he had been missing. Harry and Tom had always been part of his life, so he had never lacked stable, masculine company. But a father’s love was something different. Already she could see the depth of feeling developing between Jack and his son, and in spite of the grim circumstances in which they found themselves, it warmed her heart. She was glad they had discovered each other. It might not have been an auspicious start, but I cannot wish this meeting between them had not happened.

  “Very well, my young rascal. You and I will go and play ball while your mama stays here and enjoys some peace.”

  The room was unbearably quiet after they had gone, but Rosie soon heard them in the garden and caught occasional glimpses of their game through the window.

  She found her unaccustomed inactivity tedious and was plotting ways to escape into the garden to join Jack and Xander when the sounds of a vehicle drawing to a halt on the drive made her sit up. Casting the rug aside, she went to the window that overlooked the front of the house and was in time to see Lady Drummond alight from her carriage. She was alone and looked about her in a manner that could only be described as furtive. Intrigued, Rosie went into the hall to greet her.

  “Oh, my dear child.” Her ladyship bustled into the house, casting her cloak, hat, gloves and muff into the outstretched arms of Mrs. Glover. “How well you do look. I told Alberta how it would be. ‘A few days’ rest will make all the difference’, I said. And, lo! How right I was. Indeed—” she scanned Rosie’s face, “—you look to be in high bloom for one who has suffered so recent an ordeal. I declare, your beauty is greater than ever. You must tell me your secret.”

  Jack, who had entered the hall in time to hear this remark, quirked a brow at Rosie. “Will you tell her?” he whispered, as Rosie gestured for Lady Drummond to precede her into the parlour.

  “Stop it, you abominable man.” The ready blush rose to her cheeks as she whispered back.

  “Abominable? I remember you using a few other words to describe me last night, but not that one.” He entered the parlour and made his bow to Lady Drummond. “I can reveal all, my lady. Lady Sheridan here has discovered an addictive and most satisfyi
ng form of exercise. One that occupies much of her leisure time. You must be sure to press her for details.” He flashed a brief, wicked smile at Rosie’s outraged face. “Harry is with the young scamp, but I am under strict orders to return to the garden to complete a game of catch. I will leave you to enjoy your visit in private.”

  As the door closed behind him, Rosie turned to face Lady Drummond’s enquiring gaze. “I fear Lord St. Anton delights in being cryptic. He means merely that I have been enjoying walking in the fresh air of the countryside. So much better for the complexion than that of London.”

  “Yes, quite so.” Lady Drummond’s attention wandered, and her restless hands repeatedly smoothed the skirts of her gown as Mrs. Glover served tea. Rosie studied her carefully. Her ladyship appeared to have aged ten years since her arrival in Derbyshire. Her face, once plump with traces of faded prettiness, now sagged into weary lines. Her eyes were puffy, denoting the shedding of recent tears, and her fluttering, fidgeting manner was exaggerated to the point of frenzy. Rosie felt pity tug hard at her heartstrings. She wished she could find some words of comfort for this sweet, self-absorbed little lady who had always treated her with such kindness.

  “How are things at Sheridan Hall?” she asked when Mrs. Glover had left the room.

  “Oh, pray do not ask me. ’Tis too dreadful.” Lady Drummond gave a theatrical shudder, and then proceeded to recount the details of her own and Lady Harpenden’s arrival at Sheridan Hall. “Imagine my surprise at finding my girlhood home completely shut up. Only Dawson, our faithful old butler, and his wife, the cook-cum-housekeeper, are in residence now.” Her brow wrinkled in distaste. “Can you believe such a thing, my dear? In a gentleman’s residence? My father would turn in his grave if he learned of such a state of affairs. And then the house itself has been left to decay. When I think of how grand it once was. Now there are broken window-panes, peeling paint and a pervading smell of damp. The tree roots are growing up through the drive so that one might break an ankle just setting out for a stroll. And inside, the paintings are all gone, with unfaded squares of wallpaper the only evidence of their existence. The finest pieces of furniture and antiques are also missing. Sold, Alberta believes, to pay Clive’s debts. We knew things were bad, but it is worse than we feared. Strong words will be needed with Clive when we find him. If we find him…” Her voice dissolved into tears.