Dorrie’s sigh reached his ears, and he turned to face her. Her smile was soft but radiant, as if she took pleasure in the quiet, peaceful surroundings.
She attempted to push herself up, but it was an awkward move. “Help me up, will you, Jack?”
Jack hesitated only a heartbeat, and then he was at her side, giving her a hand and helping her to her feet.
But he did not let go.
They stood facing each other, only inches apart. Her scent enticed him, and her clear green eyes, with their thick, dark lashes, drew him even closer.
Tipping his head, he touched his lips to hers as one arm slipped around her waist. It became a slow, deep melding of lips that raised his temperature, tripped up his heartbeat. He felt one of her hands at the back of his head, pulling him in. He hadn’t thought it possible that every time he kissed her it would get better or more consuming, but when their tongues danced, he groaned, breaking the kiss.
Swiftly, he picked her up, carried her inside the great hall and lay her on the grassy ground before what was left of the hearth. Kneeling, Jack threw off his jacket and slid it under her.
Chapter Sixteen
There was no roof, so the sun shone in on them, illuminating every inch that was exposed as Jack unbuttoned Dorrie’s blouse. He touched his lips to her throat, then moved down, slowly tasting, feasting on her soft flesh. One hand worked the laces of her new corset, and when he freed her breasts from their confines, she sighed deeply.
Jack cupped one breast in his hand and licked its delicate pink tip. It hardened in reaction, as did its twin. He looked up into Dorrie’s eyes and saw astonishment, as well as the reflection of his own passion.
She placed both hands on the back of his head and held him to her breast, while her breath came in short gasps. Her eyes drifted closed, and she lay back, her head pillowed in a rich, lustrous mass of auburn curls. She was so beautiful that Jack couldn’t take his eyes off her face.
And he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything.
He slipped a hand down the fine, feminine expanse of skin to her waist and was impeded from further exploration by the securely fastened waist of her skirt. Caution was beyond him at the moment, and he slid his hand lower while he pulled at the fabric, drawing it up as his hand moved steadily down.
When he slipped under the edge of her skirt, he still did not meet with skin. He felt stockings, garters and thin cotton drawers. Dorrie made a whimper, then whispered his name when he finally found bare flesh.
“Open for me, honey,” he said, impossibly swollen with his own need.
She shifted slightly, and he found her moist heat. Shuddering, he closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to her most sensitive part. Dorrie rocked against his hand and he heard her breath catch when he slipped one finger inside.
She raised her head and looked at him, arousal and bewilderment in her eyes.
No one had ever touched her so intimately before, and Jack felt the impact of that knowledge to the core of his being. He moved again, raising himself up to capture her lips. He kissed her deeply, using his tongue and teeth while he pleasured her with his fingers.
Breaking their kiss, she cried out softly and pressed her legs together. A deep shuddering breath followed, even as she pulled Jack closer.
He took her hand and kissed it, then carried it downward, pressing her palm against his arousal. “Feel how I want you,” he said.
Her touch was exquisite torture. Jack tensed his jaw as Dorrie explored the length and breadth of him, her innocence evident in her tentative touch. Feverishly, his hand went to his belt, then to the buttons of his trousers. He could think of nothing besides burying himself in her, of possessing her completely.
“Jack?”
“I know, sweetheart,” he said, taking her mouth once again. He positioned himself over her and looked into her eyes.
They were wide and fearful. His heart thudded in his chest while his blood pooled uncomfortably. One thrust of his hips and he would be in heaven. One word of reassurance and he could convince her that this was right.
The most primitive of urges impelled him to continue, but he braced himself to retreat. “Dorrie, I…”
“Are you, I mean, are we…”
He tipped his head and pressed his forehead against hers. “Finished? Yes,” he said. “This was a mistake.”
He pushed himself to his feet. As he walked away, he ignored the disturbing thought that he had been searching for Dorrie Bright his whole life.
Dorothea pressed her hand to her heart and willed it to slow while she blinked back the tears she refused to shed.
She’d had no idea.
Her mother had never warned her of the intense pleasure that would accompany a man’s intimate touch. In fact, Honoria had told her that it was something to be avoided at all costs until the marriage bed, when her husband’s touch would have to be tolerated.
As if it were an awful thing.
Dorothea could not help but wonder in what other ways her mother had misled her. She did not know if Jack had been kind to her just now, or if she should be horribly offended by his abandonment.
She put her clothes to rights, then got up and straightened her skirts, brushing off bits of grass and dirt. Casting a sidelong glance in his direction, she saw that his back was to her, and he was standing stiffly, facing a row of dark clouds in the distance.
It was going to rain.
Dorothea did not know what to do. To her knowledge, the rules of etiquette did not cover such a situation, and Jack was quite obviously vexed.
She decided to ignore him. Their attempt at love-making had been a dismal failure, and though she’d never experienced anything as wonderful at his intimate touch, it was clear that Jack had no intention of repeating it. At least, not with her.
She reached down and picked up his jacket. She brushed it off and then went over to him, holding the coat at arm’s length. “We should, um, be on our way,” she said.
Too embarrassed to look at him, she was surprised when he dropped the jacket to the ground and reached for her.
“I apologize,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “I had no right to take advantage.”
Her heart jumped.
“But you—”
“Should never have touched you.”
Dorothea felt the solid muscle of his chest against her cheek, the strength of his arms around her. She closed her eyes and reveled in his raw masculinity, and wished she would never have to let him go.
He regretted their intimacy, and she did not know how to change his mind.
He set her away from him and looked into her eyes. His gaze traveled to her forehead and her cheeks, and her lips tingled with want.
But he did not kiss her again. He began to unbutton her blouse.
“You, uh…”
She glanced down and saw that she’d skipped a button, putting the entire blouse askew, and Jack was correcting her mistake. His big fingers were awkward, but Dorothea was touched by his gentle manner.
She felt a lump in her throat, but swallowed it before she spoke. “I’m not upset that you…that we…”
“Dorrie,” he said. He hesitated and she saw a muscle flex in his jaw. “This…attraction…that we feel. Nothing like this has ever happened to you before, has it?”
She shook her head.
“It’s not going to work,” he continued. “We…” He hesitated and Dorothea frowned.
“I don’t understand.”
Jack let go of her and stepped away. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to go.”
They did not reach the coast by dusk, as Jack had intended. There had been so many ruins to catalog, Jack had gotten bogged down writing the details of their structures and settings and the likelihood of whether or not the Mandylion was hidden at any of them.
He scrubbed one hand across his face and admitted that the cataloging had been secondary. He hadn’t been able to keep his mind on his work. It was so full of Dorrie, he could ha
rdly think.
She was bewildered, as she had every right to be. He had seduced her, then backed away, then offered a partial explanation that made no sense. Hell, it made no sense to him, either. He wanted her in a way he’d never wanted any woman. On the surface, she was as prim and starchy as could be, but underneath, Jack knew Dorrie was the most sensual, passionate woman he’d ever known.
But she was Alastair Bright’s daughter. The blood of a charlatan ran through her veins, and Dorrie was loyal to him. Jack knew she would use any method at her disposal to discover the Mandylion herself and present it to her father. He still didn’t know whether he could trust her translation of the key or if she’d withheld information crucial to figuring out the cloth’s location.
And he could not help but wonder if she would take any satisfaction from cheating him out of the Mandylion.
Jack supposed he might have been able to seduce Dorrie out of her staunch loyalty to her father, but that would have been unscrupulous. He was a better man than Alastair Bright. He was no fraud.
He would not make love to Dorothea Bright until they’d settled the Mandylion with the proper authorities in the British Museum. After that, Jack had plans for her.
He was going to take her to his hotel suite in London. After champagne and a light meal for two in his rooms, he would undress her slowly. Her hair would come down, pin by pin. When she was naked, he was going to taste every inch of her and make her writhe in ecstasy. And when she was ready, Jack was going to possess Dorrie Bright in the most intimate, intense way that a man can possess a woman.
He shifted uncomfortably and threw her a sidelong glance. Christ, he was thinking in terms of a future with her, after all this was settled. He must be out of his mind.
Dorrie studiously avoided looking at him while her hands twisted and tortured the edge of her jacket. There was no telling what she was thinking, though he knew she was confused about what had happened between them. He took great satisfaction in knowing he was the only man who had brought her such pleasure, and he looked forward to sharing it the next time.
“Is that a village?” she asked, pointing into the distance.
It was, and Jack headed for it, hoping there’d be a small hotel or inn where they could stay. In two rooms.
Jack felt a prickle at the back of his neck and glanced toward the trees at his left, the only place where a man could stand watch—or follow—without being seen. Then he turned toward Dorrie and wondered if she’d experienced the same odd sensation of being watched. He narrowed his eyes, but did not ask her.
He would just have to be more diligent as they traveled. His bruises were too fresh to risk being accosted again.
The village was small, but there was a public house with rooms to let on the second floor. They registered, and while Dorrie got herself settled in her room, Jack went back outside to scour the surrounding area with his eyes and satisfy himself that no one had followed them. If highwaymen had followed them, looking for easy prey, the scoundrels were out of luck.
If it was Bright, and he’d somehow caught their trail, he, too, was out of luck. Jack wasn’t planning on sleeping tonight.
Dorothea was certain they’d been followed. Even after she was standing safely in the tiny room Jack had gotten for her, she felt as if she was being watched. She pulled her curtain aside slightly and looked out at the street, but no one was about, besides Jack.
She wondered what he was doing.
She flopped back on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She wondered what he had done to her.
Nothing so astonishing had ever happened in her life. Jack’s touch had made her feel as if she were the most important, most beautiful woman in the world. Somehow, he’d made her crave even more kisses, more caresses than before, but he’d withdrawn from her just before…Dorothea did not know what would have happened if he had not left her so suddenly. Certainly there would have been something more if Jack had not changed his mind.
Images from her father’s collection came to her then, and Dorothea began to grasp the primitive need that drove her to him.
She heard voices outside her room and then footsteps. Finally, a knock at her door brought her to her feet.
“Got supper for ye, ma’am,” said a young woman in an apron. “Yer cousin said I should fetch ye.”
“I’ll be right down,” she said. She returned to her room and rearranged her hair. She straightened her clothes and wished she had something a bit more…elegant…to wear to dinner with Jack. She looked at her face in the glass. She was pale, and her eyes looked enormous. All out of proportion. She pinched her cheeks to get more color in them and bit her lips.
Perhaps if she were more attractive….
What foolishness, she thought as she turned away from her reflection and left her room. She and Jack were rivals. They both wanted the Mandylion for different reasons, and when Dorothea was the one who discovered it, she was going to have absolutely no regrets. She had told Jack from the start that she intended to beat him to it.
It was fortunate that he’d kept that promise in mind this afternoon.
They ate a quiet meal together. Jack concentrated on his food while Dorothea concentrated on Jack.
His jaw was shadowed by dark whiskers and his hair was overlong and uncombed, though it looked as if he’d raked his fingers through it to gain some order. He wore no coat, and no collar with his white shirt, which was rolled up to the elbows, revealing corded forearms liberally sprinkled with dark hair. His tan trousers were held up by dark brown suspenders, and he looked as dangerous as he had the day he’d barged into her father’s house in London.
Only she felt differently about him now.
Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she had to take a moment to catch her breath.
“Go down the wrong pipe?” Jack asked, noticing her distress.
He patted her back, glanced at the lack of progress she was making with her meal, then returned his attention to his own food.
“Where will we go tomorrow?” she asked, thinking of his naked chest and the broad, muscular back she’d rubbed the night he was injured.
“Toward Hornsea, I think,” he replied, opening the map lying on the table. “The third face is drawn right about here,” he indicated a point just west of the seaport, “so we might get lucky.”
Dorothea did not take notice of the location, her attention fully focused on the strong hand spread out over the map. She pressed her legs together to stifle the wave of heat spreading out from her center, but the sensation was only made worse. She swallowed and looked away, so unsure of herself, of him, that she had to leave.
“Are you feeling all right?” Jack asked.
“N-no,” she replied. “I think I’ll say good-night. I’m…just tired.” She stood, with Jack quickly following suit, pulling her chair away for her.
“You’ve hardly eaten anything.”
She nodded. Everything was suddenly too confusing. The Mandylion, the days of travel, Jack’s kiss, his touch.
She did not want to care about him, but she did. She did not want to crave his caress but it seemed that she was powerless to stop it. Worst of all, she did not want to take the Mandylion from him.
Turning quickly away, she headed for the stairs, only to discover that Jack was right behind her. But Dorothea’s mind was muddled with too much confusion to face him now. There was a dangerous chance that she would plead with him to join her in her room and continue what they’d started in the grass earlier in the day.
She pressed her hand to her chest and composed herself. “I’m fine, Jack,” she said, though she sounded too breathless, even to herself. “I just need to sleep.”
“Dorrie.”
“Really,” she said, putting on as genuine a smile as she could muster. “Go back and finish your supper.”
She must have been convincing, because he retreated as soon as she unlocked her door. Though her heart lurched at his departure, she knew it was for the best. She knew she would do s
omething foolish if he stayed.
Once inside her room, she lit a lamp, then started to undress. Something near the bed caught her eye, and she saw that it was a sheet of paper, folded. A note.
Dorothea picked it up. It said:
My dear daughter,
Your travels are of great interest to me. If you would be so good as to meet me tonight—I will be waiting for you after Temple retires. Come to the village church.
With greatest affection,
Alastair Bright
Chapter Seventeen
It was ridiculously easy to slip away into the night. Nothing impeded Dorothea but her own conscience. She and Jack had had a partnership of sorts.
Now that was about to change.
She walked silently, keeping to the shadows. She had no choice. Alastair was her father, and she owed her loyalty to him. She could not ignore his request for a meeting, any more than she could disregard the request he was sure to make.
Her heart thudded heavily, and Dorothea pressed her hand against her chest in a vain attempt to settle it down. She kept going until she reached her destination. Pausing in the lane across from the church, she took a deep breath and crossed over.
“This way,” came a deep voice out of the darkness.
Dorothea circled around to the side where a door was ajar. She hesitated and a man came out.
“Dorothea,” he said.
“Father?”
In the shadows, she was able to make out a man’s form. He tipped his head slightly, then took her hand. “Follow me.”
A few minutes later, she found herself standing at the bottom of a set of stone steps, where one candle illuminated a small landing. Two other men were present, the tall brown one and another fellow of a more normal size. “We’ll talk here,” Alastair said. “You didn’t tell Temple you were coming?”
“N-no. Of course not.”
He was much shorter than Dorothea remembered, his height only slightly greater than her own. And he was thin and wiry. His hair seemed to be the same color as hers, though there was silver at the temples and in the muttonchops he wore. His eyes sparkled with bright intelligence, and he had a vibrant energy about him.
Scoundrel's Daughter Page 17