by Connie Mason
Jack looked away. “I haven’t proposed yet. Been too busy grooming you for your introduction to society. I don’t anticipate any problems. Marrying money is as necessary to me as it is to you. I suppose I could ask my cousin for money, but I’m not the sort to go begging.”
“Your cousin?”
“Aye, the Duke of Ailesbury. Though we’re not close, he’s a likable sort and we respect one another. His father and my mother were siblings. Mother married beneath her, but it never bothered her. Young William is to marry soon, and I expect an heir will follow in short order. Will and I have no other living relatives.”
“Your cousin is a duke? I didn’t know you had relatives so highly placed.”
“Titles do not impress me, nor do macaroni dandies. Young William is welcome to the dukedom; I never aspired to the title and he knows it. The title is entailed; that’s why I urged him to marry and produce an heir. I’m perfectly content with being the black sheep of the family.”
Moira’s golden eyes twinkled mischievously. “Black suits you, Sir Jack. You wear it well.”
Jack threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter. “And you, Lady Moira, will set London on its ear with your wit and beauty. I wish…”
Moira’s attention sharpened. “What do you wish, Jack?”
He drew her to her feet and into his arms. “I wish I had been the man you were meeting that night. I wish I had been your lover.”
Chapter Five
“I wish I had been your lover,” Jack repeated when Moira appeared dazed by his admission. “You’re pure temptation, do you know that?”
Their eyes met, and in the taut, vibrating silence that followed, Moira realized she was completely out of her element. Her body felt heavy with yearning, her heated center liquid with anticipation and throbbing with a craving she didn’t fully understand. She tried to deny the feelings Jack’s volatile presence evoked in her, but all she could think of was the searing heat of his evocative gaze and the warmth of his hard body.
When Moira tried to summon an answer, Jack’s mouth came down on hers—hard, ruthlessly compelling. All semblance of control fled and her knees went weak. An audible sigh gurgled in her throat. His mouth opened wide over hers, his tongue thrusting past her lips and teeth, drinking, tasting, withdrawing and thrusting again in imitation of what his nether parts would like to do. She felt the hardness of his loins pressing against her soft belly, felt his hands kneading her breasts, and untrammeled rapture, pure and sharp, raced through her veins. His mouth on hers felt wonderful. She had never known anything to compare with the bone-deep pleasure of his touch and taste. It was gloriously decadent.
Instinct ruled her brain as she brought her arms around his neck and sighed against his mouth. Her pleasure intensified his wild hunger and he drew her closer, filling the heat of her mouth with his taste even as he consumed hers. When he started to drag her toward the bed, Moira’s senses quickened, warning of danger. With strength born of desperation, she pulled away from him, breathing hard, her eyes wary.
“You set me afire,” Jack confessed hoarsely. “The thought of making love to you intrigues me. When I’m with you I can think of nothing else. You’re a mystery, Moira O’Toole, a tantalizing mystery.” He fingered the locket suspended around her neck on a gold chain, wondering not for the first time why she seemed so fond of it. “Where did you get this locket? Did one of your lovers give it to you?”
“There is nothing mysterious about me, sir. And if you must know, the locket belonged to my grandmother and then to my mother. Now it is mine.”
“What are we going to do about this attraction that exists between us?” Jack asked softly, the locket forgotten as he bent to nibble at the pulse throbbing in her neck. Moira’s world spun dizzily. “Keeping our association on a strictly impersonal level is too bloody difficult for a rake like me.”
“’Tis for the best,” Moira said, backing away.
“Damn it, Moira, you’ve had lovers before. What difference will one more make?”
Moira’s cheeks pinkened. She supposed she deserved that for lying to Jack about her nonexistent lover. “What about Lady Victoria? I doubt she’s the forgiving kind. Nor one to share her men.”
Jack gave a hoot of laughter. “Surely you’re not so naive as to think I’ll remain faithful to Victoria after we’re married, are you? Why do you think they call me Black Jack? I’m no saint, Moira. I’m beyond even Lady Amelia’s help.”
Moira sent him a puzzled look. “Lady Amelia? Are you referring to the family ghost? The one whose portrait I saw in the hall?”
“Lady Amelia be damned! ’Tis you I wish to discuss. I want you, Moira, and I always get what I want.”
“Until now,” Moira said with asperity. She pitied the woman who married Black Jack Graystoke. He was too handsome and too arrogant and too damn sure of himself. She didn’t know him well enough to trust him.
“Are you going to deny me? Deny us? I can tell when a woman wants to be bedded, and your kisses tell me you’re as eager as I to consummate our mutual attraction.”
Moira’s golden eyes blazed with fury. “You’re an arrogant, conceited reprobate, Sir Jack! I could walk out of this charade you and Lord Fenwick hatched right now and look back with no regrets.”
Jack’s brow turned upward. “Could you? Where would you go? You have no money that I know of. You don’t even have a promise of employment. By your own admission, your lover wants nothing more to do with you. You need me, Moira O’Toole. I’d say we have a mutual need of one another.” His eyes smiled at her, one corner of his mouth turned up, and he looked so cocky Moira wanted to slap the smirk from his face.
“You can’t possibly know what I need,” Moira observed. “Save your ardor for your fiancée and mistresses. I don’t want it. You promised me a rich husband, and that’s all I want.”
If Moira sounded mercenary, it was because she was desperate. Her brother’s last letter had hinted at his dire straits, and the sooner she sent financial support, the better.
The light in Jack’s gray eyes dimmed, and he stepped away from her. “Have it your way, Moira. I’ve never forced a woman in my life, not even a whore…” He left his sentence dangling, but Moira knew he was referring to her. What else could he think when she had led him to believe she was a streetwalker instead of an innocent virgin?
“We’ll find you a rich husband and you can go on your merry way. Passing off a woman of your…er…calling as a lady of quality will be vastly amusing.” And lucrative to the tune of two thousand pounds, Jack thought but did not say. “There’s a ball on Saturday night. ’Tis a perfect time to introduce you to society. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m to call on Lady Victoria this afternoon. ’Tis a perfect time to propose. We will both have rich spouses by spring. Good day, Moira. I won’t be joining you for supper tonight. ’Tis likely Lady Victoria will have appropriate entertainment planned to celebrate our engagement.”
“Good day, Sir Jack,” Moira returned coolly, knowing full well the kind of entertainment Lady Victoria would provide for her virile fiancé. She had no idea why, but the thought of Jack and Victoria together intimately made her physically ill.
Jack slammed out the door in a fine rage. It wasn’t as if he was asking something of Moira she hadn’t already given to others. He knew the attraction between them was perilous to his future plans with Victoria, but he couldn’t help himself. He seemed to be racing toward some unknown destination, guided by an unseen hand. He’d be damned if he’d permit it to ruin his plans! His life was his own, to live as he bloody well pleased. Until he’d gotten foxed and run down an Irish serving wench who’d been ditched by her lover, he’d been perfectly content with his life. Keeping himself amused and bagging a wealthy wife had been his only goals in life. He couldn’t wait until he found an unsuspecting husband for the woman of questionable virtue he’d brought into his home. It couldn’t be too soon to suit him.
“Oh, milady, you look like a princess.” Jilly sighed wistf
ully. “Sir Jack is going to be so pleased. Why, I’ll bet you’ll outshine every woman at the ball tonight. You’ll nab a husband in no time at all.”
Moira stared, entranced, into the pier glass, unable to believe the reflected image was her own. The ball gown had been delivered just this afternoon. The silver tissue, shimmering with iridescent hues of violet, hugged her breasts and cinched her waist most becomingly, then belled out in regal splendor. The neckline dipped enticingly to reveal the upper curves of her breasts without appearing overly daring, while the long fitted sleeves gave the appearance of demure elegance.
Her hair had been lovingly groomed by Jilly, who piled her gleaming tresses atop her head in a spill of curls that provided an enchanting frame for her delicate features. If Moira wasn’t looking at herself in the glass, she would have sworn such a transformation was impossible. Yet the living proof was staring back at her.
“You flatter me, Jilly,” Moira demurred modestly. “Bring my wrap. It wouldn’t do to keep Sir Jack waiting.”
Jack was growing impatient, pacing the hall and pausing every few seconds at the foot of the stairs to glance upward. He was as nervous as a mother about to present her daughter to society. So much depended upon Moira’s acceptance by the gentry. He needed Spence’s two thousand pounds to finance his wedding to Victoria, and Moira required a rich husband to take her off his hands.
His marriage proposal had gone off without a hitch until Victoria had placed a stipulation upon their engagement. She refused to marry him until his ward was established in a household of her own. Damn! If he didn’t have funds soon to restore Graystoke Manor, it would fall down around him. Jack had been relieved to find that Victoria’s mother had arrived unexpectedly for a visit, thus enabling him to make a graceful exit without making up excuses to Victoria for not bedding her, as she would have expected had she been alone. His reluctance puzzled him. Not too long ago, bedding Victoria had been more pleasure than chore.
His empty pockets should have made Jack more than eager to placate Victoria in any way he could. Like finding Moira a husband. On the other hand, imagining Moira making love with another man made him physically uncomfortable. He supposed that feeling would pass once they were both safely wed.
Pausing at the foot of the stairs, Jack glanced upward again, stunned by the vision before him. Resplendent in shimmering silver, looking like an angel, Moira seemed to float down the stairs. Her feet must have sprouted wings, for it seemed to Jack that she barely touched the steps as she approached the bottom, where he stood waiting. Jack was scarcely aware that he had stopped breathing until a gasp of air exploded from his chest. When Moira reached the landing, he gallantly offered his arm and guided her into the foyer, where he stepped back to scan her critically.
His searing gaze dropped from her eyes to her shoulders, then slowly and seductively upward to her breasts, his stare bold and assessing. Moira’s whole being seemed to be filled with waiting; the prolonged anticipation was almost unbearable.
“Do you approve, sir?”
Approve? Jack more than approved—he was overwhelmed. Never in his wildest imagination did he think the pitiful creature he had brought home over a month ago could be transformed into this glorious woman standing before him. The pit of his stomach churned and he had to force himself into calmness, repeating to himself that he couldn’t afford to become involved with a penniless waif who was most likely a whore. And Moira couldn’t afford to marry anyone without blunt if she wished to help her relatives. They were a fine pair, he thought dimly. He was a disreputable scoundrel willing to swap affection for money, and she was a woman with deplorable taste in lovers.
He considered her a moment, then shrugged. “My approval isn’t the one we’re seeking. ’Tis your prospective suitors you need to impress. But ’tis my opinion you’ll do very well. Just remember your lessons and be mindful of your dance steps, and I predict you’ll have swains aplenty. One would hardly think from looking at you that you’re…” he halted in mid-sentence, then said after a dramatic pause, “from the serving class.”
Moira didn’t need second sight to know what Jack had started to say; his awkward pause said it all. Since she had nothing to add to alter his opinion of her, she said, “Shall we go?”
Jilly appeared with Moira’s new fur-lined cape, and Jack draped it over her shoulders. His hands lingered a moment too long, and the heat from his touch warmed her all the way to the Griswald mansion in Mayfair. Why did Black Jack Graystoke disturb her so much? Moira wondered dismally. How could she concentrate on another man when Jack’s virile appeal assaulted every sense she possessed?
“We’re here,” Jack said as the carriage rolled to a stop before a huge stone edifice whose tall windows spilled light into the street. People were leaving their carriages and strolling toward the entrance in droves. The driver lowered the step and Jack exited first. He offered a helping hand to Moira.
Moira’s hand shook as she placed it in his. Jack covered her fingers with his and patted them reassuringly. “Just be yourself and remember the story we concocted to explain your appearance in London. I’ll keep an eye on you.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise. Won’t Lady Victoria be upset if you watch me too closely?”
“Perhaps, but you’re my ward, and I’m expected to keep tabs on you. Besides,” he added dryly, “the sooner we find you a husband, the happier Victoria will be.”
The staircase leading to the second-floor ballroom was teeming with people going in either direction. Jack greeted several by name while merely nodding to others. Most seemed startled to see him with a woman other than Victoria, since rumor had it that Jack and Victoria were all but engaged. When they were announced, all heads turned in their direction as the majordomo called out, “Sir Jackson Graystoke and his ward, Lady Moira Greeley.”
What followed was a general stampede to be introduced to Moira. Jack led her to the host and hostess first, explaining Moira’s identity with a few succinct words. Since no one refuted his claim or questioned Moira’s right to attend the rout, she allowed herself a shaky breath of heartfelt relief. Jack squeezed her arm and whispered, “You’re launched. The rest is up to you.”
Spence came up to join them, eyeing Moira with open admiration. “You look like an angel, Moira. I can almost guarantee your success.” He sent Jack a meaningful look. “I reckon I can buy my own grays.” He walked away, chuckling to himself. “Watching this unfold is worth the loss.”
Moira looked at Jack askance. “What is he talking about?”
“Pay him no heed. Spence often talks in riddles.”
Further explanation was forgotten as she and Jack were immediately surrounded by young gentlemen demanding to be introduced to Moira. There were so many, Moira could hardly keep them straight, let alone settle on anyone who caught her fancy. So she danced with them all, batting her eyes coyly, which was totally out of character. Flirtation was new to Moira; so was the kind of deception she was involved in.
When midnight arrived, both Lord Harrington and Lord Renfrew asked to partner her for supper. When she looked to Jack for guidance, she saw that he was paying rapt attention to Lady Victoria and was unaware of her dilemma. Using her own judgment, she smiled beguilingly at both men and accepted an arm from each, allowing the eager swains to lead her in to supper together.
“Your little ward appears to have made some rather important conquests,” Victoria said with a smirk. “Both Harrington and Renfrew seem quite taken with her.”
Jack’s head snapped around sharply. “Renfrew? The man’s an arrogant bastard. A rake of the worst sort and definitely not the marrying kind. Excuse me while I rescue Moira.”
Clinging to Jack’s arm, Victoria refused to release him. “Leave her alone, darling. Perhaps the chit will reform him. His parents have been after him for ages to marry and produce an heir. They’ve threatened to disinherit him if he doesn’t change his wicked ways. They fear he’s involved with the Hellfire Club.”
“Moira
has led a sheltered life,” Jack said blandly. “She isn’t equipped to handle a man of Renfrew’s ilk. Both Renfrew and Harrington are macaroni dandies. I heard Harrington got a girl pregnant, and she killed herself when he wouldn’t marry her.”
“Idle gossip,” Victoria alleged. “Both men are imminently suitable for a country girl with no fortune to commend her. They are both wealthy enough to marry whomever they want without benefit of a dowry. Renfrew’s parents will be so happy to marry him off, her lack of fortune won’t matter as long as her bloodlines are good. You did say her father is a baron, did you not?”
“Aye, a baron,” Jack replied, distracted when he saw Renfrew bend to whisper intimately into Moira’s ear. “The horny bastard is staring down her cleavage!” he spat between clenched teeth. “Can’t he see Moira’s an innocent?”
His words gave him pause for thought. An innocent? What in God’s name made him say that? Moira was anything but innocent, despite her virginal appearance. She was undoubtedly more than capable of handling reprobates like Renfrew and Harrington. Nevertheless, he decided to have a private word with both suitors sometime during the evening—and with any other man he deemed unsuitable husband material.
“Take me in to supper, darling,” Victoria said. “You’ve been neglecting me of late, and I don’t like it.”
“’Tis all but impossible to find you alone since your mother came to visit.” Truth to tell, her mother’s visit gave him a perfect excuse not to bed Victoria. He would have been forced to do so had she demanded it of him, but it wouldn’t have been proper with her mother in the house, and she knew it. Strange as it may seem, since Moira’s arrival in his life, making love to his intended bride held little appeal.
“I’m as disappointed as you,” Victoria purred throatily. “Perhaps a short period of celibacy will make you an eager bridegroom. Just remember, darling, keep your trousers buttoned in the meantime. Everything you have is mine.”