by Connie Mason
Jack stiffened with resentment. His lack of money was demeaning and embarrassing, and he didn’t enjoy being dictated to by Victoria, but losing Graystoke Manor was a thought he didn’t relish. Should that happen, all of his ancestors would surely haunt him. He already had Lady Amelia to contend with. Somewhere down the line, if his situation didn’t improve soon, debtor’s prison loomed before him. The picture was not a pretty one. But he’d be damned if he’d put up with Victoria’s possessiveness.
“Go in to supper alone. I’ll join you directly. I wish to speak with my ward first.” Victoria’s protest sputtered and died as Jack wheeled on his heel and left.
Moira smiled beguilingly at the two men dancing attendance on her, feeling more at ease as the evening progressed. When she heard Jack call out her name, she stopped and waited for him to approach. His brows were furrowed, and she wondered what she had done to displease him. Victoria had claimed his entire evening, allowing him not even a single dance with her.
“I’d like a private word with my ward,” Jack said, dismissing Renfrew and Harrington with a curt nod. “She’ll join you directly.” Both men moved off to wait a short distance away.
Moira looked at Jack askance. “Have I done something wrong?”
“Not yet,” Jack said tersely. “I wanted to warn you about Renfrew and Harrington. I know them, and they aren’t what you’re looking for in a husband. Both are notorious rakes and definitely not husband material.”
“Just what am I looking for?” Moira wanted to know.
“Bloody hell, Moira, you’re not dumb. You know what they’re after. I’d advise you to take no lovers until after you have a husband.”
Moira’s eyes flared angrily. “I know you have a low opinion of me, but this is appalling. Isn’t that Lady Victoria marching toward us, looking as if she could strike me dead? You’d best be on your good behavior or risk losing her wealth.”
Jack’s gray eyes turned cold as stone, his voice low and strident. “There are other heiresses where she came from.”
“I suppose there are always women vying for Black Jack Graystoke’s attention. Have women always come easily for you?”
He gave her an irresistibly devastating grin. “Always, but that’s besides the point. I merely wished to warn you about Renfrew and Harrington.”
“Darling, we’ll be late for supper,” Victoria said, sailing up to them. “Can’t you see you’re keeping Moira from her admirers? Aren’t you happy she’s such an overwhelming success?”
“Very happy,” Jack said, turning the full force of his potent smile on Victoria, obtaining the result he sought when she nearly melted on the spot.
Good grief, Moira thought as she turned away in disgust. Did the man have no pride? He’d do anything, say anything, to get what he wanted. But who was she to judge when she was no better than he? She was willing to take a husband without benefit of love as long as he possessed wealth. The need to clear her name and help her brother were more crucial than her happiness.
Renfrew and Harrington appeared at her side again, and they proceeded into supper. Throughout the interminable meal, Moira felt the heat of Jack’s gaze resting on her as she conversed in an animated manner with her two supper companions. Jack sat across from her, making his displeasure known by clearing his throat noisily whenever one of the men bent too close or she flirted too gaily. When supper ended, they filed from the dining room back into the ballroom to resume the dancing. Lord Merriweather came to claim her for the next dance, arriving at the same time as Jack, who took her arm and dragged her away from the young man.
“I’m sorry, Merriweather, this dance is mine.” The band struck up a wicked, scandalous waltz, and without another word, Jack spun Moira into his arms and onto the dance floor. Their bodies molded in perfect union as he held her indecently close.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Moira charged.
“Watch out for Merriweather. He was looking down the front of your dress without a morsel of shame. ’Tis easy to see what he’s after.”
“It’s only a dance, Jack. You’re acting as if I really were your ward.”
Startled, Jack realized the truth of Moira’s words. What in hell was he about anyway? He was acting like a jealous fool when he had absolutely nothing to be jealous about. Things were working exactly as he and Spence intended, but somehow he wasn’t amused. The only thing that kept him from spiriting Moira away from the crush of people was the two thousand pounds he’d win when Moira landed a husband. The strange thing was that Jack craved neither wealth nor title. Money came and went with the success of the game. It wasn’t until his losing streak threatened the loss of Graystoke Manor that he realized he had to marry money.
“You’re absolutely right, Moira. I have no right to be…” He hesitated, “—judgmental. I don’t even have the right to dictate your life, for we aren’t even lovers.” He sent her a hungry look. “Though ’tis not from lack of desire.” Jack had almost said jealous instead of judgmental, but at the last minute sanity returned. “I should congratulate you. You’ve done exceptionally well tonight. No one has the remotest idea you’re not what you pretend to be.”
“What am I, Jack?” Moira asked, searching his face.
Jack gave her a mocking grin. “A lady, of course.” Moira flushed and looked away. She wished she had never asked.
“Spence is spreading the rumor that your father is an Irish baron, distantly related to me on my father’s side,” Jack continued blithely. “He’s telling everyone that your father placed you in my care with instructions to launch you into society.”
The dance ended and Jack escorted her off the floor. When Moira was besieged by a deluge of admirers, Jack melted away to find Victoria, who was still fuming at Jack’s desertion. Two hours later, Moira was ready to drop from exhaustion but was spared that indignation when Jack approached with her wrap.
“’Tis time to leave, Moira. Bid your admirers good night.”
A clamor of protests rose up around her, but Moira deftly fended them off, leaving a gaggle of disappointed swains behind.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” Moira said once they were seated in the carriage. “I’m exhausted. It must be close to dawn. My duties as maid were easier than being on display all evening.”
“If things work out, you’ll never have to work for anyone again. Or depend on a fickle lover like the one who abandoned you.”
Moira flushed guiltily. She was aware that her lie had branded her a fallen woman and was sorry she’d had to resort to such desperate measures. She fell silent, too tired to interpret the unsettling look leveled at her from beneath the heavy lids of Jack’s storm-gray eyes. Once in the safety of her own room, though, his heated look came back to haunt her, rousing feelings she neither wanted nor understood.
Undressing quickly, Moira slid into bed and closed her eyes. Exhausted, she fell asleep. Her dreams took her across time and space to the weeks preceding the night Jack Graystoke found her lying in the gutter.
Chapter Six
Prelude to Disaster: Lord Mayhew’s home, six months earlier
Moira entered Lord Roger Mayhew’s rooms with trepidation. Since the day she’d taken employment with the Mayhews, she’d had to fend off the earl’s son and heir, whose uninvited attention filled her with loathing. His pursuit of her had become so intense that she made a point of staying out of his way when he was home, which thankfully wasn’t often. Debauched and morally dissolute, his dark vices made him utterly destestable. If Roger knew she had inadvertently learned he was a disciple of the wicked Hellfire Club, her life would be in danger, she was sure of it.
Quickly stripping the soiled linen from Lord Roger’s bed, Moira was unaware that her nemesis had entered his room and quietly closed the door behind him. The barely audible click of the door latch sent her spinning around to face the man she had come to fear.
“Ah, Moira, how convenient to find you in my bedchamber.”
“Lord Roger. I thought you’d
left. I’ll come back at a more convenient time to finish cleaning your room.”
Tall and lean to the point of gauntness, his long aristocratic face and colorless eyes gave hint to his cruel nature. Not unhandsome, Roger Mayhew had been spoiled and indulged most his life. He did not tolerate rejection well. For a man of wealth and breeding, gratification of his every whim was a duty—nay, a pleasurable goal. And Roger Mayhew indulged himself to the fullest.
“No need to leave, Moira. I propose we put the bed to good use while you’re here. I’ve been waiting to get you alone for a very long time. Finding you in my chamber is a stroke of luck I hadn’t anticipated.”
Moira stepped back in fear. “I’m a good girl, milord.” She tried to walk past him, but he deliberately placed himself in her path.
“You always did put on airs above your station, Moira. You should be more appreciative of my attentions. Most women in your situation would be eager to accommodate me. You won’t find me ungrateful.”
“I’m not most women.”
When she tried to sidle around him, he laughed cruelly and grasped her upper arms, dragging her against him forcibly. “You aren’t going anywhere. You’re nothing but a sluttish Irish tease. You know what I want, and I aim to have it. Don’t pretend innocence with me.”
“Let me go!” Moira struggled furiously, but despite his leanness, Roger was surprisingly strong. Grasping her head between his hands, he slammed his mouth down on hers, biting her bottom lip viciously. Moira tasted blood and struggled violently to escape.
Her strength was meager compared to Roger’s. In a shockingly short time, he had her pinned beneath him on the bed, his sloppy kisses and wet, thrusting tongue making her gag. She felt his hand sliding beneath her skirts, shoving them upward, baring her legs and thighs. Her scream was aborted when Roger placed a hand over her mouth.
“What are you trying to do, raise the household?”
Moira nodded her head vigorously. That was exactly what she wished to do.
“You want this, Moira. You’re just being stubborn. At heart you’re a whore. All women are whores.”
Suddenly Moira went limp beneath him, leading him to believe she was submitting willingly.
“That’s better,” he said with a leering grin. “I knew you’d see reason.”
He removed his hand from her mouth so he could kiss her, and summoning every bit of breath available, Moira screamed at the top of her lungs. Enraged, Roger slapped her with the flat of his hand, then covered her mouth with his. Pain exploded inside her head. Roger took advantage of her dazed condition to flip her dress up to her waist and thrust her legs apart. Desperate now, Moira bit down hard on Roger’s lip. Roger yelped in pain and slapped her again.
Suddenly the door was flung open and Lord and Lady Mayhew spilled into the room. Lady Mayhew put her hand to her mouth and would have swooned if Lord Mayhew hadn’t steadied her.
“What is going on here?” the old man thundered. Though long past his prime, Lord Mayhew was still an impressive man. Moral, stern and honest, he was the complete opposite of his sadistic son and heir.
Roger leaped to his feet. He couldn’t afford to anger his father, who had been threatening for years to disinherit him in favor of his younger brother. Malcolm was trustworthy and dependable, everything Roger wasn’t. Thus Roger was obliged to hide his cruel nature in order to placate his parents. If they ever found out about his involvement with the Hellfire Club, or looked into his gambling debts, there would be hell to pay.
“The Irish whore has been toying with me since she arrived,” Roger lied. “I’m just giving her what she wants.”
Moira flipped down her skirts to cover her legs and pushed herself up on her elbows. “That’s not true, milord. I was minding my own business when Lord Roger accosted me. I’m a good girl, I don’t want…” she gestured toward the bed and grimaced, “…this.”
“Oh, Roger, how could you?” Lady Mayhew lamented. “Why can’t you be more like your father? Or your brother Malcolm?”
“I can’t believe you’d take a whore’s side. I’m your son, for God’s sake!”
Though Lord Justin wasn’t cognizant of every aspect of Roger’s debauchery, he’d heard rumors of his son’s vices. And he’d seen nothing in Moira’s behavior to suggest she was a wanton out to entrap his son.
“I don’t believe Moira’s to blame,” Lord Justin concluded. “I’m giving you fair warning, Roger. This is never to happen again, do you understand? In the future, leave the servants alone. I know you have a mistress tucked away somewhere, so go to her when you feel the need. If you persist in mistreating the servants, I might find it necessary to strike you from my will in favor of your brother.”
Roger stiffened. He was counting on inheriting his father’s title and estate, and no one was going to cheat him out of it.
“I understand, Father. It won’t happen again.” Contriteness galled him and he vowed to make Moira pay for embarrassing him before his parents.
Lord Justin nodded, satisfied with Roger’s response. Obviously he didn’t know his son very well. “You may leave, Moira. I’m sure you have duties to perform.”
Moira rose shakily from the bed and shook out her skirts. When she moved past Roger, he lowered his voice and said for her ears alone, “I’m not through with you, bitch. I’ll have you yet—on your knees begging for my attention.”
Swallowing convulsively, Moira fled the room.
A few days later, Moira learned how truly evil Roger was when Lady Mayhew called all the servants to the hall long after they had retired. They filed in in various stages of undress and looked in bewilderment at one another when informed that a valuable diamond-and-emerald necklace was missing from Lady Mayhew’s jewelry case. Since no one admitted to the theft, Roger suggested that all the servants’ rooms be searched. They were sent to their rooms shortly afterward to wait for Lord Roger and his father to conduct the search.
Moira waited on pins and needles. She wasn’t really worried, knowing that she wasn’t guilty, but this whole matter made her distinctly uneasy. She recalled Lord Roger’s threat and feared his reprisal.
Lord Roger and his father arrived in due time. They searched through her meager belongings first and found nothing. Then Roger sent her a smug look and turned back her thin straw mattress. Beneath it he found the necklace still encased in its velvet bag. Moira let out a cry of dismay.
“It can’t be! I swear I didn’t steal the necklace.”
Saddened, Lord Justin looked at Moira and shook his head. “I’m disappointed in you, Moira. Perhaps I’ve been wrong about you all along and owe my son an apology.”
Roger said nothing. He didn’t need to. His gloating expression spoke volumes.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do about this,” Lord Justin said. “I can’t condone this kind of behavior in my household. ’Tis best I call the watch and let the authorities deal with you, Moira. You’re confined to your room until they arrive.”
“I’ll guard the door to make sure Moira doesn’t escape, Father,” Roger offered.
“I doubt she’ll go anywhere on a blustery night like this,” Lord Justin said, “but perhaps you’re right. It will take considerable time to summon the watch in this kind of weather, if they can be roused at all.”
After his father left, Roger shut the door and turned the key in the lock. “I told you I’d have you.” He sneered viciously.
“You planted your mother’s necklace in my room!” Moira accused, stunned at the lengths to which Roger was willing to go to get what he wanted.
“Of course. Did you doubt it?” Roger admitted remorselessly. He shoved her backward onto the bed. “On your back, wench. I’ll wager you’ve not spread your legs for an heir to an earldom. Accommodating me will be a treat from the usual riffraff you’ve bedded.”
Moira made a disgusted sound deep in her throat. “Don’t touch me! I’ll scream the house down if you do.”
“Don’t be foolish.” Roger snarled. �
�If you please me, I’ll persuade Father to drop the charges against you.”
“I’d rather go to prison,” Moira declared, scrambling off the bed to the other side.
Roger, disagreeable even in the best of times, turned downright ugly. “Do you think you’re too good for me? You’ve always put on airs above your station.” He grabbed for her. “Women are good for only one thing.”
She twisted out of his grasp. “If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll tell your father about your involvement with the Hellfire Club!”
Roger went still, his eyes as cold as death. “What do you know about the Hellfire Club?” His voice held a hint of menace, but Moira had gone too far to stop now.
“I know you’re a disciple of debauchery. I overheard you and a fellow member bragging about throwing some poor girl in the Thames after you’d kidnapped her off the street and used her in your evil rituals.”
Roger’s face twisted into a vengeful grimace. “You were eavesdropping!”
Moira’s chin rose fractionally. “I was cleaning outside the room. You didn’t know I was there. I overheard every word. And I’ll tell anyone who will listen about your depravities. Your reputation, such as it is, will be torn to shreds. Your entire family will be cut by society once your evil deeds are brought to light.”
“Too bad you’ll not get the chance to tell anyone,” Roger said, lunging for her. His move came so unexpectedly that Moira had scant time to elude him. He covered her mouth with one hand while pinning her arms to her sides with the other.
“Do you think I’ll let you go free now, when you know so much about my activities? Father would disinherit me for sure. You sealed your own fate, slut.” He pulled her toward the door. “I’ll tell Father I felt sorry for you and let you go. He’ll be angry and will probably file charges anyway, but no one will find you.”
Fear turned Moira’s eyes to luminous gold. Why had she goaded Roger with her knowledge of his secret activities? she lamented. Because he had driven her to it, she thought, answering her own question. She’d known the information was dangerous when she’d heard it and had not breathed a word of it to anyone. What a muddle she’d gotten herself into. If only she had held her tongue. She should have realized that threatening Roger was a foolish and dangerous thing to do.