Scoundrel's Daughter

by Margo Maguire

  She was out of her clothes and miserable. It was safe to leave her here for a few minutes—she wouldn’t be going anywhere. He crossed to the door, put his hand on the knob and waited.

  “W-would you come to bed with me?”

  Chapter Eight

  “Dorrie?” His voice was incredulous.

  “I’m f-freezing, Jack,” Dorothea said. She despised the shakiness in her voice, the weakness of her heart that made her so vulnerable to something as simple as a rainstorm. “P-perhaps if you lie b-beside me, your b-b-body will help to warm m-me.”

  He didn’t respond, and she didn’t hear him moving, either. He was probably appalled by her request but didn’t know how to refuse it. What decent woman would ask a man into her bed?

  Her teeth continued to chatter and her heart beat erratically, but a minute later, she heard him moving in the room. The next thing she knew, the mattress had dipped, the blankets shifted and his body was sliding toward hers.

  He pulled her back against him, his chest and lap nestling her back and buttocks. One hard arm encircled her waist. His warm breath tickled her ear. Dorothea knew she should be avoiding any physical contact with this man, not encouraging it.

  But the heat from his body was marvelous. It seeped through her skin and into her bones. Soon her trembling slowed and her jaw relaxed. She reveled in his heat. She enjoyed the caress of his hand on hers, a caress that sent shivers of warmth through her.

  Dorothea burrowed into him without thinking of any consequences, other than the spectacular warmth of his body. He was so solid, so hard behind her. The pure pleasure of that wall of heat was incomparable.

  His legs shifted, and she realized they were as bare as her own below her gown. The hand at her waist moved, too, and Dorothea became aware of another kind of warmth shimmering through her body. She forced herself to ignore it, unwilling to consider the ramifications of being in bed with a naked man.

  “Warmer now?” he breathed into her ear.

  “Mmm, hmm,” she replied, unsure what to say in these circumstances. Before she could think of anything coherent to say, he pulled her lower body into his own and moved against her.

  “You are so soft, Dorrie,” he said quietly. His hand slid down to her abdomen and pressed. “I could melt into you.”

  She made a low whimper. “Jack,” she whispered. “I—”

  A low, harsh breath escaped him. “Go to sleep, Dorrie,” he said. “I’ll keep you warm.”

  Jack sat with Dorothea at breakfast the following morning, watching her drink her tea while she studiously avoided his eyes. The less said about the night that passed, the better, but he had to get her talking if they were going to be able to continue working together.

  He glanced out the window and said, “It’s sunny today. We can go up to Rievaulx and spend the day poking around.”

  Dorothea turned to look out the window behind her and nodded.

  “The local vicar will probably have records, maybe stories about the cloth,” he said. “We can see if there are any rumors I haven’t heard—something we can connect with the translation.”

  “I don’t see what you hope to discover from rumors,” she said.

  He smiled. Her eyes were still a dark, sensuous green, even though she was buttoned up as tightly and properly as she could be. He would never have guessed that she was the same woman who had practically pleaded with him to join her in bed.

  Not that she’d intended anything improper. She’d been cold and intensely miserable when he’d curled his body against hers.

  But she had warmed up quickly.

  Jack cleared his throat. “If we finish at Rievaulx early enough, I’d like to ride from there to the place on the map marked by one of the faces.”

  “Which one?” she asked.

  He did not take the map out of his pocket to show her, preferring to keep it private. “The one southwest of Rievaulx.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “No,” he replied, although he believed it was in the vicinity of the barn where they’d sought refuge from last night’s storm. However, he did not want to mention last night. “But if we head over that way, something might come up.”

  “Like what?”

  “Ruins of an old chapter house or church,” he said. “Maybe a cemetery.”

  “How will you know when you find it?” she asked.

  Jack shrugged. “I’ll just track down whatever evidence I have and follow the legends and rumors. If I—” He nearly choked on his coffee when he saw Paco Fleming walk past the window.

  “What is it?” Dorothea said. “What did you see?”

  “Nothing,” he replied. He sure as hell wasn’t about to tell her that Fleming was in the area. She’d go after him immediately, in order to get to her father. “Just thought I saw someone I know.”

  She sipped her tea, seeming to lose interest in the momentary diversion. “I still don’t see what you think you can get from listening to rumors. These maps must be five or six hundred years old. Any stories about the Mandylion would be horribly inaccurate by now.”

  “You’re right about that,” Jack said, keeping an eye on the street outside, “but it’s all we have. We can filter out the obvious red herrings and follow the best leads.”

  When Dorothea shook her head and looked disgusted, Jack wondered if her father used some other technique. How did he go about finding all the valuable artifacts he peddled to his wealthy buyers? Jack knew firsthand that Bright didn’t always have a reliable map. He’d found a man who’d actually been in Mongasa country and knew about the Kohamba before he’d attempted to go after it.

  There was no question that Bright had a method that worked. Jack just hoped his own methods were as successful this time. And that he was able to keep Dorrie Bright from running to her father.

  “Are you finished?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “We might as well get started,” he said. “Are all your things packed?”

  “Why?” she asked. “I thought we were staying here for a few days.”

  “I changed my mind,” Jack replied. He wasn’t about to stay in York when Paco Fleming was closing in. Wherever Paco went, Alastair Bright could not be far behind. From previous visits, Jack knew there were small country inns all over Yorkshire, and he had every intention of finding one where it was unlikely they would be discovered.

  He hired a carriage this time, one with better protection against any weather they might incur, even though Dorrie’s bout with the chills had been anything but unpleasant—at least, for him. It took every bit of determination he possessed to keep from thinking about the night he’d spent with Dorrie wrapped in his arms.

  They’d awakened in a tangle of arms and legs, with Jack as aroused as he’d ever been. Her gown had ridden up to her hips, leaving her lovely silken legs bare. She had to have felt his arousal, though she’d ignored it, turning away from him as he’d gotten out of the bed.

  And he had once again reminded himself that she was Alastair Bright’s daughter. If he turned his back on her long enough, she would certainly betray him.

  They took the northern route out of town, toward the ruins of Rievaulx Abbey, easily avoiding the place where they’d shared the most amazing kiss of Jack’s life.

  He would have bet his best boots that Dorrie had never experienced anything like it, either.

  The sun continued to shine, and it was a fine trip to the abbey, other than the awkward silence that hovered between them. Ever since they’d left the hotel, Dorothea had spoken only when absolutely necessary. Jack knew that her sense of propriety had been offended by the night’s events, even though there had been no alternative way to keep her warm. Now that they were alone together, she was feeling awkward.

  “I wonder if your father has buyers for all of the pieces in his collection,” Jack said to taunt her out of her silence, “or if he likes to keep a few for…personal reasons.”

  His unexpected remark brought a blush to her c
heeks and an expression of astonishment to her face. It was exactly what he’d hoped for. He didn’t want to continue riding in uncomfortable silence.

  “I have no idea,” she said primly. “I never even knew all those…things…were there.”

  Jack could almost believe her. She seemed so earnest. So honest.

  But he knew better. She was too intelligent to have lived there and not known what was in that room.

  “My particular favorite was the sheela-na-gig,” he said, deciding to shock her into speaking to him. “Her face might have been ugly as sin, but all her parts were there. And quite spectacularly displayed, too.”

  “I’ve never seen such awful things,” Dorrie countered. “The very idea of a female showing herself off in such—Oh!”

  She covered her mouth with one gloved hand, dismayed to have been drawn into such a discussion. But Jack did not relent.

  “He had a fair number of decent lingas—or indecent, as the case may be,” he said with a grin. “I figure they’d be of greater interest to you…as a woman, I mean.”

  “I am certainly not interested in such things!”

  “You sure had a death grip on the marble one that you broke.”

  “This is a disgusting line of discussion, Mr. Temple,” Dorrie said indignantly, “and I would appreciate it if you would desist.”

  “How can it be disgusting, Dorrie?” he asked, feigning innocence. “It’s your father’s collection, not mine.”

  “Then it’s his business, not yours.”

  “All those images—drawings, pottery, figures,” he said, as if to himself, “makes a man—”

  “Mr. Temple!” Dorothea protested. “If you don’t mind, I would appreciate a change of subject!”

  “But Dorrie,” he countered, “I was only talking about what most interests your own father. That collection is his very livelihood.”

  “Whatever it is, not one item holds any interest for me, and I’d prefer that you not speak of it again,” she said.

  “He’s got some spectacular pieces,” Jack teased. “Real works of art.”

  She shot him an icy green glare, and he chuckled.

  They arrived at the village near the abbey in midafternoon. Jack drove the buggy onto the grounds and found them deserted. Ruins of the majestic buildings stood quietly and peacefully in the lush, green clearing. There was almost a hush over the site, a connection with the monks who once prayed and toiled here.

  Dorrie was silent, her eyes betraying the awe she felt at the sight of these magnificent buildings, their stone shells mere shadows of their former glory. Jack felt the same way—he always did when he came upon a site of old, where men and women had lived and worked in antiquity. It was a passion he’d developed years before, under the tutelage of Professor Charlie MacElroy.

  As a young student, Jack’s first expedition had been to Italy, where he’d worked on the excavation site of a Roman city. The search for evidence of bygone times had never lost its allure. He had sat through lecture after lecture in various classrooms for only one purpose: to earn the credentials he needed to go out in the field and search for the treasures of the past, just like MacElroy.

  “Was that the church?” Dorothea asked. She opened the door to the carriage.

  “Yes,” Jack said, jumping down. He moved quickly, circling around to Dorrie’s side. He assisted her out of the carriage and took her arm as they walked into the ruins of the church.

  For the daughter of a low-down swindler, she was surprisingly reverent standing here amid the broken-down bricks and mortar of the old building. She gazed up at the sky beyond the ruined roof and looked at the intricate stonework that remained. Jack felt her shudder. She ran her hands up her arms as if to ward off another chill.

  “I can almost hear the monks’ voices chanting,” she whispered in the silence.

  Jack guessed he could hear them, too.

  He watched as she walked through the grass that grew unchecked all the way down the nave of the church. A breeze ruffled the feather on her hat, and she raised one arm to steady it. But her steps never faltered. She was completely enthralled by the site.

  Jack forced himself to take his eyes off her. He had a purpose here, and it wasn’t to ogle Dorothea Bright’s trim figure.

  He stepped out of the church. The ruins of several other buildings stood here, and Jack wondered if any clues about the Mandylion’s location were among them. What should he look for? Some sign of a Templar face? The land upon which Rievaulx stood had once been a Templar holding, which gave a strong probability to finding something of use here.

  Jack turned and looked at the other ruins. He wanted to look them over quickly and move on, because there was no doubt in his mind that Alastair Bright wouldn’t be far behind. The old codger had seen the map so he had to have seen the marking for Rievaulx. That’s why Fleming was in York, with Bright somewhere nearby. They’d be heading here before long.

  “Dorrie!” he called. He wanted to keep her close in case they had to leave quickly.

  She came out of the church and into the clearing. “I do not know why you persist in calling me that. My name is Dorothea, and no one has ever shortened it so tastelessly.”

  “Then it was long overdue,” he said absently. He led her through all the buildings, stopping only long enough to look at the remains to see if there was any sign of a Templar presence. There were none.

  “Come on, Dorrie,” Jack urged when he found her standing under a vaulted arch. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Why not? There’s plenty of daylight left, and I doubt I’ll ever see anything as wonder—”

  “We’ve got other places to go, things to do.”

  “Such as?”

  “A room for the night.”

  “Two rooms,” she countered.

  “Not on your life,” he replied, taking her hand and leading her through the cloister. No Templar heads here, either. “If you think I’m going to let you out of my sight so that you can run to your father—”

  “Since I haven’t any money, I don’t know how you think I would manage the train fare back to London.” She pulled her hand from Jack’s and stumbled. He caught her with ease and walked on.

  “I’m not taking any chances.”

  “Yes, well, I’m not sharing a room with you again.”

  Dorothea stomped her foot and steamed inwardly. As Jack locked them inside their room at the Boar’s Head Inn and turned to face her, she wanted to slap him. He’d relied upon her sense of decorum to keep her quiet when he’d let the single room from the landlord. And he’d been correct. She’d been too stupefied to make a scene of any sort.

  But she would make one now. Especially when he had the audacity to show her that utterly devilish grin of his and that rakish crease in his cheek. How was she supposed to forget how his lips had tasted, or how she had felt, warm and secure in his arms all night?

  “How dare you!”

  “I told you before—”

  “You have the manners of a churl, sir,” she rasped indignantly, “to place me in this situation against my will.”

  “Dorrie, will you—”

  “I am not a strumpet, who will bed down with any man, a stranger—”

  She backed away as he walked toward her.

  “—a m-man who is an e-enemy of m-my—”

  “This is strictly a business arrangement,” he said impatiently. Shoving his suit jacket back, he put his hands on his hips and seemed ready to do verbal battle. “You and I will be sharing this room only because I can’t trust you to keep from running off somewhere with the hope of reaching your father.”

  “We are miles from anywhere, in case you hadn’t noticed,” she snapped.

  “Of course I noticed,” he said, coming closer. Dorothea could feel the heat radiating off his body, heat that had enveloped her when he’d kissed her in the buggy, then later, all through the night. Pointedly, she ignored it. “That was my plan. We’ll stay here tonight and in the morning, w
e’ll see if we can locate the other spots marked on the map.”

  “I’d rather return to the Ainwick Arms,” she retorted, even though, if they left immediately, it would be well after dark when they arrived in York.

  Jack shook his head. “It’s getting too late for travel. We’ll take a walk if you like, then get a meal and have a good night’s sleep before we follow the map tomorrow.”

  She felt her face heat at his words. If he thought he would spend another night in her bed, he was sadly mistaken. She did not care how cold the weather turned. She would see that he stayed in another room or, at the very least, spent the night on the floor.

  “Come on, Dorrie,” he said. His voice was deep and soft. Seductive. And she wondered if she would ever again be able to lie in a bed without remembering how it felt to be in his arms. “Be reasonable. You know it’s not practical to go back tonight.”

  She felt the wall at her back, and then Jack was right in front of her, one hand resting on the wall beside her head. If he put the other hand there, she would be trapped. He could tip his head slightly and touch his lips to hers, and then she would be lost, for she did not really want to resist him.

  Her eyelids lowered. She breathed deeply of his scent and inched away from the wall, hungry for the taste of his mouth on hers.

  Dorothea could no longer deny that she wanted him to touch her as he had last night in the carriage. She ached to lower her corset and feel his hands on her breasts. She wanted to learn more of the things her mother had neglected to tell her.

  “Let’s get some supper,” Jack said, dropping his hand and moving away. “I’m starved.”

  Chapter Nine

  Strangely enough, their short walk before supper seemed to tire Dorrie. When they walked up the gradual incline that overlooked the abbey ruins, she seemed out of breath.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she replied indignantly, regulating her breathing so that it would not be quite so obvious.

  It had to be that damn corset. If she wasn’t laced up so tight, she’d be able to breathe properly. Jack wondered if there was any way to talk her out of wearing it.