by Connie Mason
Jack frowned, realizing he had spoken out of turn. He hadn’t meant to divulge his intimate relationship with Moira. “No such thing, Spence. Moira is merely a responsibility I’m anxious to be rid of.” He took another deep drag from his glass. “Percy Renfrew offered for her. Looks like I won the bet.”
“I never doubted it for a minute, though I did so covet your grays.” Spence grinned. “I suspected Renfrew might be the first since his parents gave him an ultimatum to marry or else, and he’s had the devil’s own time finding a woman who wasn’t aware of his sordid reputation. Rumors are rife about his participation in the Hellfire Club. Personally I don’t think he has the balls for it.”
Jack’s eyes darkened and his frown turned into a ferocious scowl. “It’s probably all too true.”
“Do you think Moira will marry him?”
“Probably.”
“I’ll bring your two thousand around tomorrow.”
Moira’s gasp echoed loudly in the room, bringing the men’s attention to the door, where she stood poised in the doorway. Her face was ashen; she felt cold and hot at the same time.
“Moira. How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to know that passing me off as a lady and finding me a husband is more than just a game to you.”
“Don’t be angry, Moira,” Spence pleaded. “Placing a monetary value on the outcome of our charade made it more interesting. Amusement is well and good, but a small wager added zest to the game.”
“Spence is right, Moira,” Jack said, dredging up a smile. “I made a tidy bundle off Renfrew’s proposal. It’s what we were all aiming for, wasn’t it?”
“I learned the hard way what you were aiming for, Jack,” Moira said bitterly. “Your honor is sadly lacking.”
Jack’s expression hardened. “What happened last night…” He flushed and looked at Spence, who was listening raptly to every word that passed between him and Moira. His mouth tightened. Revealing his personal life to his nosy friend simply would not do. “Your welfare is important to me, Moira. Think what you want—you will anyway—but don’t forget I’m making it possible for you to help your brother. You needn’t marry Renfrew; ’tis best if you don’t. Someone more suitable will come along, and then you’ll thank me for bringing it all about. Right now you need me, Moira. I don’t know what or who you’re hiding from, but you need my protection.”
“I can do without your brand of protection,” Moira charged, unwilling to divulge how close she had come to loving Jack Graystoke. Being loved by Jack had been the most incredible experience of her life, and he had turned it into something tawdry. To Jack, bedding her had been but a passing incident to be savored and forgotten.
“You’re being too hard on Jack,” Spence protested. “You’ve provided us with an escape from boredom while earning Jack some needed blunt. Had I won, Jack’s grays would now be mine.”
Jack saw the anger in Moira’s eyes fade to hurt and disillusionment, and his heart contracted painfully. How could a simple bet end with such disastrous results? He’d never meant to hurt Moira. He had no idea the injured woman he’d dragged from the gutter would change the course of his life. He’d resisted her for as long as he could. Who would have thought jealousy would be the cause of his downfall? He couldn’t ever recall being jealous of a woman in his life.
Despite Moira’s blatant lies, Jack still wanted her. Just looking at her now sent hot blood racing through his veins and brought certain parts of his body to attention. Bloody hell! She’d been a virgin! That alone should have kept him away from her, but no, last night he’d gloried in her innocence and lost himself in her sweet flesh not once, but twice. And he’d do it again unless he learned to control his unbridled lust for the wench.
“Jack can go to hell for all I care,” Moira told Spence. “I’ve decided to marry Lord Renfrew so Jack will be free to wed Lady Victoria.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m ready to go to Vauxhall, Lord Spencer.”
“At your service, milady,” Spence said, executing a gentlemanly bow. He followed Moira out the door, sending an abashed look at Jack over his shoulder. The situation was becoming more complicated by the minute. He’d never seen Jack so taken with a woman. And obviously Moira returned his regard.
Sometime over the past weeks, Jack and Moira had become lovers—any fool could see that. Unfortunately, Jack needed to marry money, and Moira was a simple farm girl from Ireland with beauty and little else to commend her. An interesting situation, one that would bear watching.
Moira did not lack for dancing partners that night, though Jack was not among them. Victoria kept him on a tight leash, barely letting him out of her sight. But Moira could still feel the heat of his gaze on her when he thought she wasn’t looking. Each time she turned to meet his gaze, her heart began thumping wildly, unable to deny the feelings he roused in her. It hurt to think she was merely a pawn to Jack. Obviously she was nothing to him except a means to fill his purse. He’d taken her virginity with callous disregard, then gave his permission to marry Lord Renfrew, or someone like him. Her emotions were so raw she was eaten up inside with despair.
“Ah, there you are, Lady Moira. An admirer would like to meet you.”
Pasting a smile on her face, Moira turned to acknowledge Lord Peabody. But when she saw who was with Peabody, her smile wobbled dangerously and she nearly collapsed. Strict control was all that kept her knees from buckling when Lord Roger Mayhew took her hand and raised it to his lips.
“Dear lady, I just had to make your acquaintance. I am Lord Roger Mayhew. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.” The malevolent glitter in his colorless eyes told Moira that he remembered her, and not fondly. “I understand you’re Black Jack Graystoke’s ward.” The corners of his mouth curled upward into a parody of a smile. “How extraordinary.”
“Sir Jack is a distant relative,” Moira endeavored to explain. She knew he didn’t believe her, but for appearance’s sake she had to play the game out to the bitter end—which was approaching sooner than she’d like.
“So I understand. Would you honor me with a dance?”
“No, I’m tired and…”
Roger wasn’t about to take no for an answer. He grasped her elbow and led her out onto the dance floor. Moira stumbled over the steps, wanting desperately to flee in panic. Had she known Lord Roger would return from the Continent so soon, she would have fled London weeks ago. She had hoped to be married and out of his reach long before he returned.
“I need to talk to you alone,” Roger whispered into her ear. “I could unmask your little masquerade right now if I’ve a mind to, but I’m curious to learn what Graystoke’s stake is in this game. I thought you were dead, you know.” He squeezed her waist so hard she winced in pain. “Meet me in the summer house in fifteen minutes.”
Moira blanched. “I can’t. Jack would notice my absence and come looking for me.”
“Very well, I’ll play along with your game until I learn more about it. Plead a headache and go home. My carriage will be in the alley behind Graystoke Manor. Sneak out at midnight. I’ll be waiting.”
“No!”
“Do it or I’ll announce to one and all that you are a fraud and your lover has made fools of his peers. Do you want to see Graystoke ruined?”
Moira blanched. She didn’t want that at all. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m not stupid. You and Black Jack are lovers.”
The dance ended. Roger escorted Moira off the floor, bowed gallantly and left after imparting one last word. “Tonight.” She was shaking uncontrollably as she watched him walk out the door.
“What’s wrong, Moira? Did that bastard insult you? Roger Mayhew doesn’t ordinarily attend tame functions like this. I’d heard he was abroad. A pity he returned. England doesn’t need his kind.”
Moira was so glad to see Jack she could have kissed him. As it was, she clutched his arm with a desperation that both pleased and astonished him.
Jack’s brows furrowed. “Someth
ing is wrong. What in the hell did Mayhew say to you?”
“N—nothing. I have a terrible headache. I wish to go home.”
Jack expressed immediate concern. “I’ll take you.”
“No! I don’t want to cause a fuss. I’ll hire a hackney and…”
“Damn it, Moira, I said I’ll take you home and I meant it.”
“But Lady Victoria…”
“The hell with Victoria. She can entertain herself until I return. I’ll let her know I’m leaving for a bit and retrieve your wrap. Meet me in the foyer.”
Moira didn’t wait around to watch Victoria’s reaction to Jack’s announcement that he was leaving. She left the room immediately and headed directly for the foyer. Five minutes later, Jack arrived with her wrap. She could tell by the look on his face that it hadn’t gone well with Victoria.
“This really isn’t necessary, Jack. I can get home on my own. Lady Victoria is important to you; you shouldn’t upset her.”
Jack searched her face. “I fear she’s been upset since the day I brought you home. She’ll get over it. Besides, I’ll be back in time to escort her to the midnight buffet and take her home.” What he didn’t say was that Victoria’s mother had finally left and Victoria expected him to spend the night in her bed.
Both Jack and Moira were somewhat subdued during the ride home. Had Moira been privy to Jack’s thoughts, she would have been surprised. Jack was thinking how tiresome Victoria was becoming with her demands. Because she knew he needed her money, she expected him to dance to her tune. During the past weeks, Jack had decided that her demands had become excessive. True, he needed blunt, but he was too proud to be dictated to by a woman. It occurred to him that he had no desire to make love to Victoria. The only woman he wanted to make love to was sitting beside him. What in the hell was wrong with him? he wondered distractedly. Gambling no longer appealed to him, drinking himself into a stupor seemed a waste of time, and other women paled in comparison to Moira. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be mending his wicked ways and destroying a legend.
Lord, wouldn’t Lady Amelia be pleased!
Intuition warned Jack that everything that had happened was the result of Lady Amelia’s meddling. He wished he knew what she had planned for him. He could see no way out of marrying Victoria or someone like her, unless he wished to end his days in debtor’s prison.
All too soon the carriage rolled to a stop before Graystoke Manor. When Jack prepared to step down, Moira placed a restraining hand on his sleeve. “Don’t bother, I can see myself in the house. Lady Victoria is expecting you.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
Moira’s gaze met his and skittered away. Did Jack suspect anything? No matter how much she dreaded meeting Lord Roger, it had to be done. She’d do anything to keep from hurting Jack and ruining his plans to marry wealth. “No, it’s nothing like that. Why would I wish to get rid of you?”
“I don’t know. Ever since you danced with Mayhew, you’ve been acting strangely. The man is debauched and unfit for polite society. But for his family name he would be black-balled. His family is a very old and powerful one. I know things about Mayhew that would shock you.”
He helped her down from the carriage and walked her to the door. But instead of leaving her as she hoped, he followed her inside. “Moira, what did Mayhew say to upset you?”
“Please, Jack, I have a splitting headache. I don’t want to talk about Lord Mayhew. Go back to Lady Victoria; she’s waiting for you.” She turned abruptly and walked briskly toward the stairs. Jack sprinted after her, grasping her arm and turning her to face him.
“Damn it, Moira, Victoria can wait forever as far as I’m concerned. I’m tired of being dictated to. She doesn’t own me, and I don’t like the feeling of being led around by the nose. As for her money, I’d rather ask Ailesbury for a loan. William is a good sort; he wouldn’t turn me down.”
“You don’t need to explain a thing to me,” Moira said, still upset over the wager Jack and Spence had engaged in at her expense. “After I marry Lord Renfrew, perhaps I can convince him to discharge your debts.”
Her words sent Jack into a fine rage. Moira belonged to him. He’d been the first with her, and the thought of her in another man’s bed sent his temper into orbit. He couldn’t ever recall feeling so strongly about a woman. The turmoil in his heart played havoc with his emotions. His feelings were in direct opposition to the way he’d lived his life up until Moira O’Toole entered it. Black Jack the rogue, the hard-drinking womanizer, the gambler—where had that man disappeared to? And why?
“Let me go. I told you I had a headache.” Moira didn’t want him to touch her. One touch was all it would take for her to recall in vivid detail everything that had happened between them last night, each arousing caress, every provocative word and intimate look from his smoldering gray eyes.
But Jack did more than merely look at her—much, much more. Pulling her into his arms, he lowered his head and kissed her. His kiss had no boundaries. It was hungry, open-mouthed and intimate. It was bruising and possessive. He tasted all of her, plumbing her mouth until she had no control over her body’s response. It thrilled and terrified her. Never had she felt so out of her depth. Never had she wanted a man like she wanted Jack Graystoke. She let his kiss carry her away, let his hands roam freely over her body, let him pick her up and carry her up the stairs to her room, let him lay her down on the bed.
Mesmerized, Moira watched as Jack tore off his clothes, his piercing gray gaze never leaving hers. When every glorious inch of him was finally revealed, her mouth went dry and she licked moisture onto her lips. She tried but couldn’t resist looking at him, fascinated beyond her ability to control her reaction. Last night she’d been too embarrassed to really look at him, but tonight she wanted to see him, all of him. She knew this was wrong, knew allowing Jack to make love to her again would complicate her life, but God forgive her, she wanted to feel him inside her, wanted him even knowing that she was merely a pawn in his wicked game. With Roger Mayhew threatening her, this might be the last time she’d be with Jack like this.
His shoulders were broad; his chest and arms rippled with supple muscles. The strong columns of his legs rose to meet lean hips, and at their juncture rose a rigid column of flesh that pulsed with a life of its own. She stared, impressed and a little frightened by his maleness.
“God, Moira, don’t stare at me like that. ’Tis hard enough to maintain control without you devouring me with those golden cat’s eyes.” He lowered himself to the bed and kissed her, carefully working the fastenings on her dress loose so he could push it down past her shoulders.
“This shouldn’t be happening.” Moira gasped, annoyed by her failure to discipline her emotions. So much for her resolve not to let Jack take advantage of her again. “I told you I wouldn’t be your mistress. I swore I wouldn’t allow you to take advantage of me, but it’s happening again. What am I going to do?”
“Let me love you,” Jack said, “that’s what you’re going to do. I’ve never felt like this before, never wanted a woman like I want you. This is pure madness, and you’re pure temptation.”
Suddenly Moira recalled Roger’s words about meeting him at midnight, and she went still beneath’s Jack’s roving hands. “What time is it?”
“Does it matter?”
Moira swallowed her rising panic. “It matters a lot. Please, what time is it?”
Jack sighed, reached across the bed to his discarded jacket and pulled his pocket watch out. “Ten-thirty. Can we continue now?”
“We shouldn’t. I’m still angry over that ill-advised wager you made with Spence. I’m not a possession you can manipulate at will. I’m a flesh-and-blood woman.”
Jack nailed her with a piercing look. “God, don’t you think I know that? You shouldn’t have lied to me about something as important as your virginity.”
“It’s too late for recriminations. What about Victoria?”
&nb
sp; “What about her?”
“She’s expecting you.”
“Not until later. Besides, I’m having second thoughts about marrying her. She won’t be too disappointed; she already suspects I’m losing interest.”
“But you need her,” Moira persisted. “What about Graystoke Manor?”
“I’ll survive, and so will Graystoke Manor.” He continued to undress her, making short work of her dress, petticoats and underclothes.
“Wait!” She rolled away, emerging from the opposite side of the bed. “I’m not a whore, Jack. I can’t do this. We settled that last night. Go back to Vauxhall. Make amends with Lady Victoria. If you care about me…” She choked back the rest of her sentence. It was ridiculous to think that Jack had feelings for her. Even if he did, those sentiments would do neither of them any good. She still had Roger Mayhew and her past to contend with, and Jack needed Lady Victoria’s wealth. The last thing she wanted was for Lord Roger to hurt Jack’s chances for a prosperous marriage.
Jack looked stunned as Moira tore the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around her. “I thought you wanted me. You let me kiss you, you kissed me back.”
“You don’t understand, do you?” Moira said softly. “Kissing and making love mean nothing to you except pleasure.”
Jack sent her a mocking grin. “Are you telling me you didn’t enjoy it?”
“I enjoyed it so much I lost sight of my principles. You have a way of distracting me, of making me forget the morals I learned at my mother’s knee. I can’t do this; it isn’t right. I’m going to try to forget last night ever happened.”
“You little tease!” He reached for his trousers, pulling them on in angry jerks. “I’ve never taken an unwilling woman, and I never will.” Frustration and disappointment churned inside him. He regretted the wager he’d made with Spence, regretted trying to find Moira a husband, regretted everything but making love to her. He could make love to her every night for the rest of his life and not regret it. But he was smart enough to know he was no good for Moira. She needed someone who could provide for her and her family, and he wasn’t that man.