by Connie Mason
“What’s the matter with you?” Moira hissed, her displeasure obvious.
“We need to talk.”
Moira sighed in resignation as she followed him from the ballroom into a small unoccupied anteroom nearby. “What is it now, Jack? Are you going to tell me that Prince Vasilov is a lecher?”
“You’re enamored with him,” Jack accused. “Set your sights elsewhere, Moira. The prince must marry royalty; you can reach no higher than his mistress.”
“Why won’t you let him call on me?”
“Bloody hell! It’s bad enough having those four rakes drooling over you. I refuse to endure a love-struck prince who can offer you nothing honorable.”
Moira stifled a smile. Instinct told her that Jack was jealous, and her heart soared in unrestrained joy. The moment men had started courting her, he began acting strangely. Daring to hope that he cared for her was almost too much to ask.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous, Jack.”
There was an explosive silence. Jealous? Jack’s thoughts scattered. Is that what was wrong with him? That revelation was definitely annoying…and probably true. “Damn right I’m jealous!” he all but shouted. His admission shocked them both. “I made you what you are. No one has more right than I to become your lover. I don’t understand your rejection. Or perhaps I do,” he amended bitterly. “There is no way I can compete with wealth or title.”
“This charade was your doing,” Moira reminded him. “I wanted to leave Graystoke Manor after I recovered from my injuries.”
“Injuries I was responsible for,” Jack returned, suddenly realizing how unreasonable he had been acting. “Forgive me for interfering. Go back to your swains.” He turned away with visible regret.
Moira wanted to call him back but knew she had no right. Jack belonged to Lady Victoria. He needed to marry money even more than she did. She watched him leave, biting her tongue lest she cry out his name as she sank down into the nearest chair.
“Here you are, my dear. I saw Sir Jack leaving a moment ago and hoped I’d find you alone. I have something important to ask you.”
Moira watched warily as Lord Percy Renfrew seated himself on a stool at her feet.
“How long have we known one another? Three, four weeks?” Renfrew asked, taking her small hand in his. “No matter, ’tis long enough to know you’re the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, Lady Moira?”
Renfrew hoped he’d used the right note of sincerity. His parents were breathing down his neck to marry, and Moira seemed to have no inkling of his affiliation with the Hellfire Club. Most of the disciples went to great lengths to conceal their identities, and he was no different.
Moira stared at Renfrew, thinking this proposal was exactly what Jack had been grooming her for. “I’m honored, Lord Renfrew, but…”
“But what? If you’re worried about Sir Jack, I assure you he’ll be delighted. My lineage is impeccable.”
“I have no fortune and no dowry,” Moira said evasively. “My family is an old one, but we have no wealth to speak of.” At least part of her statement was true. If there was nobility in her family, she had yet to discover it.
“I’m rich enough to marry whomever I please. I can’t recall when I’ve been so taken with a woman.” True enough. “My parents will be delighted that I am finally taking a wife and will offer no objections when they learn your family is suitable.”
In his exuberance, Renfrew dropped to his knees before Moira and raised her hand to his lips. “Say yes, my dear, and we’ll announce our engagement tonight.”
“I need Sir Jack’s consent,” Moira temporized. “Give me time to consider.”
Percy frowned, thinking Moira was holding out for higher stakes. “If you think Prince Vasilov will offer for you, you’re mistaken. He needs to marry royalty. I know he seems taken with you, and he’s handsome as sin, but he can only set you up as his mistress. I offer my name and respectability.”
“I know. And I assure you Prince Vasilov has made no such offer.”
“Very well. A week, no longer. Meanwhile, don’t let the others talk you into anything. They all have designs on you, not all of them honorable.”
“You’ll have my answer at the end of the week, milord,” Moira said demurely.
Renfrew gave her a dazzling smile, rose to his feet and pulled Moira with him. “Since we are all but engaged, I think a kiss is in order.”
He pulled her close, molding her body to his. She felt the leashed passion coiled inside him and shuddered delicately. The thought of giving her body to Lord Renfrew made her physically ill. Had Jack been holding her instead of Lord Renfrew, she was certain she’d feel no such revulsion. Then Renfrew kissed her, his mouth wet and hot, his tongue a revolting spear of flesh that sought more intimacy than she was willing to give. When his hands brushed the undersides of her breasts, Moira knew real panic. How could she ever marry a man she didn’t love—didn’t even like—and submit to all the intimacies marriage demanded?
“Sorry, I didn’t know this room was occupied.” Jack stood in the doorway with Lady Victoria. His gaze was riveted on Moira, his eyes a turbulent gray that reminded her of a violent storm-tossed sea.
Renfrew stepped away from Moira with reluctance, but not before Jack saw where his hands had been. Jack’s eyes narrowed when he noted what appeared to be Moira’s aroused state. Her breath escaped her parted lips in rapid puffs of air, and her eyes were glazed with what he mistakenly thought was passion.
“Damn, Graystoke, you could have knocked,” Renfrew said mulishly.
“Let’s find another room, darling,” Victoria urged. “Can’t you see these lovers want to be alone?”
That’s exactly what worried Jack.
Moira closed her eyes, her expression stark with relief. “No need to leave on our account,” she said in a rush. “I was just leaving. I promised another dance to Prince Gregor, and I’d hate to disappoint him.”
When she rushed from the room, Renfrew threw up his hands in disgust and rushed after her.
“It looks as if we burst in on a private moment.” Victoria giggled. “I don’t think your ward is as innocent as she pretends. After that little seduction scene, perhaps you can convince Renfrew to offer for her. The situation looked compromising to me.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Jack said, not at all amused. “I had no idea Renfrew would attempt seduction this soon, though he’s a notorious rake and I should have expected it. And here I was worried about Prince Vasilov. Nevertheless, I think we should return to the ballroom where I can keep an eye on my ward. She has a way of inviting trouble.”
“What about the privacy we sought for ourselves?” Victoria asked, pouting. She didn’t like having her own plans for Jack thwarted. She and Jack hadn’t had a private moment in weeks, and she was aching for him.
“Another time,” Jack promised, chafing to return to the ballroom where he could keep an eye on Moira. He all but pulled Victoria from the room.
He spotted Moira immediately, in the arms of the tall, resplendent Russian prince. They complemented each other perfectly, Jack thought jealously as he watched them whirl about the floor. Suddenly the prince waltzed Moira out onto the balcony, and Jack felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck. Did the little fool have no sense at all? Was it up to him to save her from her own passionate nature? How did she expect to land a husband if she insisted upon behaving shamelessly?
Jack noted that Victoria was speaking with another woman and took advantage of her momentary distraction to hurry after Moira and the prince.
“Are you cold, mademoiselle?” Prince Gregor asked as he gallantly removed his jacket and placed it over Moira’s shoulders. “In Russia, this is mild weather. You would love Russia, and I would love to show it to you.”
“I doubt I will ever see your country, Prince Gregor,” Moira said wistfully. “Though I am certain I would like it.”
“Then we
will see that you are given the opportunity to visit,” Gregor said with feeling. “As my…special guest, of course.”
Moira had an inkling of what he intended to say and sought to turn his mind in another direction. “Have you ever been to Ireland, Prince Gregor?”
“Never, but perhaps we could go together one day.”
Moira groaned in dismay. How did one gracefully refuse what she knew the prince was going to offer? “That is unlikely.”
Not one to be denied, Gregor turned Moira to face him. Then, placing a finger beneath her chin, he lowered his mouth and kissed her with an expertise that left her breathless. It was nothing like Lord Renfrew’s sloppy kisses, or the mesmerizing, soul-destroying ones Jack gave her, but Gregor’s kiss was rather pleasant in an unexciting sort of way.
“I fear my ward is unfamiliar with the rules of propriety, having been born and raised in the country. Please forgive her for acting improperly.”
Moira groaned in dismay. For the second time tonight, Jack had caught her in a compromising position. And neither time had the man’s attentions been invited.
Prince Gregor did not look at all embarrassed, which sent Jack’s temper soaring. “Your ward is delightful. Again I ask your permission to call on her tomorrow.”
Jack sent Moira a piercing look. “Permission denied. We both know nothing can come of it. Come, Moira, ’tis time we left.”
Prince Gregor took Moira’s hand and brought it to his lips. “I deeply regret your guardian’s decision.”
Jack’s tightly clenched fists were the only signs of his anger. That and the hard glint in his eyes. Aware of Jack’s annoyance, a small rebellious thought took flight in Moira’s mind. Jack was becoming entirely too protective. Not one of her suitors pleased him. He wanted her to marry, yet he found fault with every man who expressed interest in her. What did he want from her?
Tearing her gaze from Jack, Moira smiled at Prince Gregor and said, “Thank you for the dance, Prince. It was most enjoyable.”
The prince sent Jack a fulminating glance as he kissed Moira’s hand again, then reluctantly released it. “The pleasure was all mine.” He nodded to Jack and said, “I congratulate you on the charm and beauty of your ward.”
“Don’t forget your jacket, Prince Gregor,” Jack said as he whisked the garment from Moira’s shoulders and thrust it at the prince.
A tense silence ensued after the prince’s departure. The silence between them lengthened, until suddenly Jack let out an explosive breath, grasped Moira’s shoulders and gave her an angry shake.
“What in the hell is the matter with you? Are you deliberately trying to destroy your reputation? Two men in one night is too much. Have a little regard for propriety. I know you’ve been indiscreet in the past, taking lovers indiscriminately, but that was before you made your debut as a lady. The least you can do is act with decorum until you land a husband.”
Moira’s Irish temper exploded. “The hell with you, Jack Graystoke! I don’t need a keeper. The only reason I went along with this harebrained scheme was because…because…” Her words skidded to an abrupt halt. She didn’t trust Jack enough to tell him that she was a candidate for Newgate prison.
“Because what, Moira? I always suspected you were hiding something from me. What is it?”
Her lips clamped together stubbornly. “Nothing. I went along with your scheme merely to prove to you that I am capable of acting like a lady. And…and marrying a rich man appealed to me.”
“As well it should,” Jack said sourly. “More the reason for you to act with proper decorum until you land the right man.” He grasped her arm, escorting her back to the ballroom. “Come along. I think it’s time we left. I’ve had enough of these macaroni dandies for one night.”
As luck would have it, Victoria was dancing with Spence and did not see him leave. Jack left a message with the footman for her and hustled Moira out to his carriage.
Huddled inside, Moira fumed in impotent rage. She had no idea what was wrong with Jack, or why he seemed so upset with her. She was doing what he wanted, wasn’t she? What more did he want from her?
“Stop pouting, Moira,” Jack said, still irritated over the kisses Moira had shared with Renfrew and the prince. He should have known an immoral creature like Moira would enjoy enticing men until they were wild for her. Who knew better than he? He could still taste her kisses. The memory of them was as vivid as heaven’s brightest star.
“I’m not pouting,” Moira declared. “I’m angry. You have no right to treat me like chattel. I’m through with this charade. I’m tired of you telling me what to do, how to act, whom to offer friendship. You’re not responsible for me, Jack. I can take care of myself.”
Jack spit out a string of oaths that stung her ears. “Oh, you can, can you? If I hadn’t walked in on you and Renfrew, you’d have found yourself on your back with your skirts over your head and your legs spread.” His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps that’s what you wanted.”
His brutal accusation stunned her. “For your information, Lord Percy offered for me tonight.”
Jack went still. “He offered you marriage?”
“Isn’t that what you and Lord Spencer were hoping for? Are you suitably amused? Passing me off as a lady and watching your dandified friends vie for my attention must have given you hours of entertainment at my expense.”
“Did you accept?” Jack asked tightly, unable to think of anything but that bounder Renfrew taking from Moira what he’d dreamed of taking for himself.
After a long, drawn-out pause, Moira said, “Not yet. I’m to give him my answer next week. But I see no reason to refuse. His offer is an honorable one. He’s in line for a dukedom, and I’ll be a countess one day. I’ll have the means to help Kevin and his family.”
“Which is more than I can give you,” Jack returned shortly. “What about the prince? Do you intend playing one man against the other?”
A slow heat crept up Moira’s neck. He was accusing her unjustly. “Prince Gregor is a charming man, but I know better than to expect an honorable proposal from him. ’Tis best I marry Lord Renfrew.”
“Like hell!” Jack thundered. “Percy Renfrew isn’t the right man for you. He pretends to be a gentleman, and few people are aware of his true nature. You’re marrying no one without my consent.”
“I don’t understand you, Jack. I thought you’d be happy to be rid of me so you can wed Lady Victoria.”
“The hell with Victoria!” Jack ground out harshly.
Jack lapsed into a moody silence. Damn Lady Amelia for her interference, damn Spence for suggesting this charade, and damn him for going along with it! What had at first promised to be an amusing venture had turned into a debacle. If he’d had the slightest inkling he would find the Irish wench so bloody irresistible, he would have left her lying in the gutter.
Wanting Moira had turned his life upside down. He ached with the need to make love to her. She filled his senses; the sound, the touch and the scent of her fed his hunger. Since meeting Moira, he’d lost all interest in gambling and drinking, and Lord knows he had no desire to bed Victoria, his intended bride. Moira’s entrance into his life made him question his own sanity.
He’d been foolish not to partake of her charms, he reflected. He should have taken what he wanted when the need was upon him instead of denying himself. Had he done so, she would be out of his system by now and he could get on with his life. It wasn’t as if Moira was an innocent. She’d freely confessed to having at least one lover, and only the good Lord knew how many others there had been. What would one more hurt?
When the carriage rattled to a halt before Graystoke Manor a few minutes later, Jack was still in a fine fury. He climbed down and reached for Moira. But instead of helping her alight, he whisked her up into his arms and carried her to the house. Pettibone opened the door before they reached it.
“I told you not to wait up, Pettibone,” Jack said as he swept past the flabbergasted servant. “Go to bed. I’ve no further need of
you tonight.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Pettibone asked with quiet dignity. “Perhaps I should see Lady Moira to her room.”
“Stop meddling, Pettibone,” Jack said from between clenched teeth. “I’m quite aware of what I’m doing.”
“Well, I’m not!” Moira countered. “Put me down. I’m perfectly capable of walking.”
Jack’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Our argument is far from finished.”
“It is as far as I’m concerned,” Moira said with rising panic. What did Jack intend? He appeared too angry to listen to reason.
He took the stairs two at a time, unaware that Pettibone was following close behind until the man said, “You’re angry, Sir Jack, and you know how your temper can get you into trouble. Let me call Jilly to see to Lady Moira.”
“Go to bed, Pettibone,” Jack repeated. “Moira doesn’t need Jilly tonight. If you’re worried about Moira, don’t be. I won’t hurt her.”
“Very good, sir,” Pettibone said, flapping his hands helplessly as he cast one last glance at Moira. He was gone by the time Jack reached Moira’s room.
The door to Moira’s chamber was open, and a branch of candles lit all but the darkest corners of the room. A cheery blaze in the grate chased away the chill. Jilly’s doing, Moira supposed as Jack slammed the door behind him and set her on her feet.
If Moira expected Jack to turn and leave she was mistaken. “What are you going to do?” She was trembling, and not from cold. Could it be from anticipation?
Jack gave her a wicked grin, nearly stopping her heart. “First I’m going to help you undress, then I’m going to make love to you.” In spite of his earlier anger, his voice held a note of sensuality that sent shivers down her spine.
Flustered, Moira retreated several steps. Jack stalked her relentlessly. “It isn’t as if you haven’t done this before. For weeks I’ve watched you flirting with different men, tempting them with your siren’s smile. I’m a man, Moira. I can take only so much. I’ve wanted you from the moment I first set eyes on you, all bruised and battered and covered in gutter filth. I promise I’ll be a patient lover. Your pleasure is as important to me as mine. You’ll have no complaint about my handling of you.”