Pure Temptation

by Connie Mason

Lady Amelia tilted her head, as if assessing every word Jack said.

  “Don’t you understand?” Jack continued earnestly. “Moira needs money as much as I do. We do not suit. I know I should let her go, but damned if I can bring myself to part with her.” Lady Amelia nodded her head. “I know I have nothing to offer Moira, or she me. But I’ll be damned if I’ll let another man corrupt her.”

  Lady Amelia placed a hand over her heart, as if trying to convey a wordless message, but Jack was too incensed to figure it out. And he wasn’t inclined to let a meddling ghost stop him from confronting Moira. He knew he should wait until his temper cooled, but the thought of Moira with another man had robbed him of whatever good sense he possessed. He took a step forward, as if to push past the ghost, but Lady Amelia’s inner brilliance burst into a blazing halo of light, creating an intense heat that forced Jack to retreat.

  “Bloody hell! What am I to do?” Lady Amelia merely stared at Jack, but her words were somehow projected into his brain.

  Don’t hurt her.

  “Do you really think I could hurt Moira? Even if I confronted her at the peak of my temper, I doubt I could bring myself to harm her.”

  Obviously placated, Lady Amelia nodded and stepped aside, permitting Jack to leave. Jack didn’t have time to figure it out as he flung open the door and strode purposely toward Moira’s room.

  Moira was still shaking when she’d entered her room. Had she killed Lord Roger? She doubted it. She had hit him solidly, but the blow had been blunted by the awkward angle, due to her prone position on the bed.

  Moira undressed by the light of a single candle and climbed into bed in her shift, too tired to don her prim nightgown. Dawn was but a whisper away as she closed her eyes, searching for sleep. Her mind was consumed with Roger’s vile plans for her. She had escaped this time, but would she again? Would he leave her alone now or consider her knowledge of his activities too dangerous for him to ignore? Leaving London seemed prudent at this time, but finding money to buy passage to Ireland created a problem. She was still contemplating her alternatives when Jack burst into the room.

  “Where in the hell have you been?” His voice was harsh, his face as hard and unyielding as stone, his arms crossed over his chest. Moira darted a quick glance at his implacable expression and realized by the dark, seething look on his face that he knew she had left the house. Thank God he didn’t know why or with whom she was meeting.

  She could hardly bear to look at him. Imagining him participating in satanic rites with men like Lord Roger Mayhew made her visibly ill. “What are you doing home? I thought you and Lady Victoria…”

  Jack stalked into the room and loomed over her. “You thought wrong. If you were itching to be bedded, why didn’t you come to me? Why another man, for God’s sake? Bloody hell, Moira, I don’t know what to make of you. You continue to confound and confuse me. Until we made love, you were an innocent. Did I create a wanton?”

  Though Moira seethed inwardly, she remained stubbornly mute, which sent Jack’s temper soaring. “I thought I knew you, but I was wrong. You may have been a virgin when I took you, but you’re a whore at heart.”

  “And I thought I knew you!” Moira shot back.

  “Perhaps you wouldn’t be looking for another man to bed had I followed my instinct earlier tonight and made love to you. But if it’s a man you want, I’ll gladly oblige. As you well know, I’m not lacking in that department.”

  Jack knew he was letting his anger rule his head, but he couldn’t help himself. It hurt too damn much to think of Moira with another man. He wanted to punish her, make her pay for denying him. He removed his jacket and tossed it aside, his shirt following.

  “What are you doing?”

  Jack sent her a look so dark and devouring that her skin suddenly felt too tight for her body. “I’m going to make love to you. If you can accommodate others, you can accommodate me.”

  “Don’t touch me!” The breath froze in her throat when Jack peeled his trousers down his legs and removed them along with his shoes and stockings. His stern, implacable expression was anything but comforting. But it wasn’t his face she was looking at. Her eyes slid downward. He was fully erect, his body hard and unyielding, every muscle tense with seething desire.

  He gave her a mocking smile that did not quite reach his eyes. She shivered and tried to look away, but couldn’t. “Is your lover better endowed than I?” His arrogance unleashed Moira’s Irish temper.

  “You contemptible bastard! Think what you will, but I have no lover. You’re the only one. Had I known the kind of man you were and the vile things you were capable of, I would have left this house before you defiled me.”

  “I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about.” He had no idea she was referring to the Hellfire Club as he lowered himself to the bed and pulled her roughly against his pulsing body, too aroused to figure out the meaning behind Moira’s words. “Furthermore, I wouldn’t believe anything you said.”

  Moira stiffened and tried to escape, but she was no match for his formidable strength as he pinned her to the bed. “Do you wish to explain?” His voice was deceptively calm, which should have warned her.

  “No.”

  Grasping the edges of her chemise, he rent it in half, baring the supple curves of her body. “Who was the man you were with tonight?” He fondled her breast, and shards of unwelcome heat shot downward from where his hand rested.

  Her mouth clamped shut. She felt as if she didn’t know Jack anymore; had she known him at all?

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Moira. Any man would want you.”

  If Moira hadn’t been aware of Jack’s involvement with the Hellfire Club, his words would have thrilled her. It rankled to think that she had worried about ruining Jack’s chances for a prosperous marriage when she should have been worrying about herself and his plans for her. Were both Jack and Lord Renfrew conspiring to place her at the mercy of the disciples of evil?

  “I was with no one you know.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” With startling insight, Jack realized that he wanted to be the only man in Moira’s life. For the first time in his life he bemoaned the fact that he wasn’t born into wealth. He cared nothing for a title, but wealth would make it possible to marry a woman of his choice instead of someone like Victoria. Victoria had expressed little desire to give him an heir and would doubtlessly cuckold him the moment the newness wore off their marriage. Nor could he promise faithfulness to a woman he didn’t love.

  Love. Bloody hell! That exalted state had meant nothing to him in the past; why should he be contemplating it now? He gazed down at Moira, his body tense with longing. He wanted this stubborn little witch more than he’d ever wanted another woman. But he still couldn’t get past the fact that Moira had met someone in the dead of night. She had denied bedding another man, and he was inclined to believe her, but that still explained nothing. He sensed something deeper, something frightening in her denial. And what in the hell was she accusing him of?

  “You’ve consistently lied to me, from the very beginning,” Jack charged. “Why can’t you tell the truth for once in your life?”

  Moira shook with revulsion. “Why can’t you?”

  “I’ve not lied to you. Why don’t you trust me?”

  “I trust no man. Not after what I learned tonight. How could you?”

  Jack saw the glimmer of tears in Moira’s golden eyes, and all the anger left his body, replaced by the urgent need to soothe her, to make love to her until she forgot everything but their mutual pleasure. But her last remark puzzled him too much to let slide. “How could I what? You’re still talking in riddles.”

  “I know!” Moira all but shouted. “I know you’re a member of the Hellfire Club.”

  “What? Who told you such an outrageous lie?”

  “Are you denying it?”

  “Hell, yes, I’m denying it.”

  She wanted to believe him. Sweet Virgin, she wanted to believe him, but she couldn�
��t. “I’m not the only liar in this room,” Moira bit out.

  Shifting positions, he lifted her above him effortlessly. The muscles in his arms rippled with strength, the planes of his face sharpened with hunger. When her breasts were dangling above his face, he brought her down atop him so he could caress her nipples with his mouth and tongue. Panic seized her. She didn’t want this to happen. She fought against it. Then every nerve in her body caught fire and burst into flame.

  After giving each breast tender attention, he caught her mouth in a soul-destroying kiss, his tongue teasing, probing, exploring the sweet depths. He kissed her until she grew dizzy, until she gasped for breath. Then, rolling, he pressed her to her back, seeking greater access. Grasping the torn remnants of her chemise, he pulled it away and tossed it aside, wanting no barriers between them.

  “Who was the man you were with tonight?” he asked with quiet determination.

  “Why do you care?”

  Seizing her hand by the wrist, he pressed it against the rigid length of his shaft. “Feel how hard I am, Moira. Feel what you do to me. Believe me when I say I care.”

  Moira’s fingers curled around him. He was stiff and hard beneath her hand. Velvet-covered steel. Alive, swelling and pulsing with heat. Moira glanced up at him. In the flickering candlelight, his eyes were two silver pools, reflecting his ravening hunger. He looked feverish, as if his skin had been pulled too tightly over the sharp planes of his face. His nostrils flared with each breath he took, reminding her of a sexually aroused beast.

  Jack groaned, closing his teeth around her nipple. Moira whimpered, the feeling so exquisite it lingered somewhere between ecstasy and pain. Her hand tightened around him in response.

  “Sweet, sweet Jesus!” His voice was a harsh plea as tremors racked his body. He flung her hand away so violently she feared she had hurt him. “Damn it, I lose all control when I’m with you. You have no idea how close I am to spending. You were meant for pleasure, Moira, and I want to be the one to give it to you. I’m a jealous lover.”

  He trailed damp warm kisses along her flat belly, his tongue ringing her navel and his hands sliding into the tangled curls that guarded her sex. Spreading the petals with his fingers, he eased two of them gently inside her. “Soft, so soft,” he murmured as he spread her legs wide and knelt between them. “So wet.” He kissed the insides of her thighs, his fingers still pressing inside her, continuing to tease and stroke her.

  She arched upward, biting her lip to keep from crying out his name. All he could manage was an answering groan as he continued to spread more soft kisses upward along her thigh, until he found the tiny pink bud of her desire and settled his mouth over the inflamed fold of sensitive flesh.

  “Jack! No! What are you doing? That’s wicked.”

  “It’s not wicked,” Jack murmured against her flesh. “There are many ways to love a woman.” Then his tongue touched her there and the ability to speak left him. Her musky scent inflamed him, sending pure fire into his loins, making him pulse and swell with unspent passion. He felt her small body bow upward, saw her face transfix with pleasure, and replaced his fingers with the wet thrust of his tongue.

  Moira screamed, clutching his shoulders in desperation. She was ablaze with need, aching and pulsing with every tortured breath. He heard her moan in her passion, felt her legs fall farther apart as he laved and tasted of her sweetness. He plundered her ruthlessly, his hands sliding beneath her, grasping her buttocks and forcing her to accept each bold stroke of his tongue. Her breathing came swift and ragged. She stiffened until he feared she would shatter. And then she did. He heard her small gasp, felt the tremors convulsing her body, and knew she had found pleasure.

  Before she had fully recuperated from the incredible upward spiral, Jack eased upward between her legs. His hardness probed, found her entrance, then plunged deeply inside her.

  Moira’s eyes flew open and she cried out at the incredible heat and hardness of him, at the velvet thickness of his shaft and the bunching of his muscles as he strained above her. Waves of raw rapture washed over her, scorching heat suffused her and she felt herself reaching for that high plateau of erotic sensation with every relentless thrust of his body. She was on fire with pleasure so potent it threatened to consume her.

  Wrapping her arms and legs around him, she clung to him fiercely.

  “Jack…” His name was a breathless sigh as she reached her peak, her body shaking with spiraling splendor. “Oh, Jack…” The feel of him driving inside her intensified her pleasure as she felt him jerk violently, felt the hot rush of his seed leave his body and fill her.

  The last spasms had barely passed through her when the painful knowledge of Jack’s involvement with the Hellfire Club brought her abruptly to her senses. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes and spilled in salty beads down her pale cheeks. He was cut from the same cloth as Roger Mayhew and Lord Fenwick. He had used her and she had let him. She tried to push Jack away, but he rolled to his side, pulling her against him. He felt moisture dampen his chest and reared back to look at her.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “I hate you.” Moira sobbed.

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “You steal my will and rob me of my senses.”

  “Then we have something in common.” He’d bedded countless women, some whose names he couldn’t even recall, but never had making love been such a moving experience. With a flash of insight, he knew he could not let another man have Moira. Not now, not ever.

  “Were you with Lord Renfrew tonight? You may as well tell me, for I’ll find out one way or another. What did he say to make you so angry with me?”

  Moira sent him an oblique look. “I haven’t seen Lord Renfrew since he proposed. Are you aware that he is a member of the Hellfire Club?”

  Jack recoiled in alarm. “Who in the hell told you that? The men wear robes and hoods in order to keep their identities secret from one another. Did someone try to talk you into attending their rites tonight?”

  “I’d never agree to anything like that! Not even Lord Roger…” Suddenly realizing what she’d said, Moira clamped a hand over her mouth.

  Fear and revulsion shuddered through Jack. “You were with Roger Mayhew tonight? Are you insane? Didn’t you heed my warning?”

  “I agreed to meeting him for your sake, but when he told me about your involvement in the Hellfire Club, I realized what a bloody fool I’d been.”

  He grasped her shoulders, giving her a violent shake. “For my sake! What in the hell are you talking about? I know for a fact that Mayhew is a member of the club, but I certainly am not.” His eyes blazed with implacable fury. “I think I’m beginning to understand. You knew Roger Mayhew before we met, didn’t you? He was your employer’s son, wasn’t he? The one who fancied you. What did he say to talk you into meeting him tonight?”

  Moira stared at him, realizing that he was too close to the truth for comfort. Yet she couldn’t tell him about the theft. If he was a member of the Hellfire Club, he had no scruples. As desperately as he needed money, he’d probably turn her in for the reward.

  “I owe you no explanation. I loathe him as much as I loathe you. I told you I didn’t bed him, and that’s all I’ll say.”

  “We’re at an impasse. Neither of us trusts the other. All we have is this.” He grasped her hips and positioned her beneath him, his voice as grainy and rough-edged as his passion. Jack knew this insatiable wanting was madness but couldn’t help himself. Savage tension coiled inside him as he plunged inside her and began to move, the thunder of his heartbeat escalating to match the tempo of his thrusting body.

  The gripping passion of feeling her tightness surround him took over, making him oblivious to everything but the joining of their bodies, the primitive need to press himself inside her as deeply as possible. Anger leeched from him like an ebbing tide as he thrust faster, his hips grinding against hers until her body went taut and she climaxed. He gave a gritty cry, buried himself to the hilt an
d gave up his seed.

  When she opened her eyes, Jack was staring at her strangely. The molten silver of his eyes pierced through to her innermost soul. His fiercely possessive expression sent shards of panic racing through her. She knew he’d not rest until he had the truth from her about her association with Lord Roger and resigned herself to telling it.

  “Damn it, Moira, enough of your lies! I won’t be played for a fool. I’m not leaving this room until you tell me what’s going on.”

  Moira fixed her gaze on the pinkening sky outside the window. Dawn was but a dim memory as streaks of daylight lightened the eastern sky. How could her life turn into such a disaster? she wondered bleakly. All she could do now was tell the truth and pray Jack believed her. If he had a shred of decency, he’d realize she wasn’t capable of deceit. She’d opened her mouth to unburden her soul when fate intervened in the form of Pettibone.

  “Sir Jack! Are you in there? Wake up, sir. A messenger has arrived all the way from Cornwall. He’s ridden without respite to bring you news. ’Tis most urgent, sir.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “This better be good, Pettibone,” Jack said, throwing back the covers and reaching for his trousers. “Show the man into the study. I’ll be with him directly.”

  “Sweet Virgin, he knows you’re in here with me,” Moira wailed unhappily. “What must he think of me?”

  “There isn’t much going on in this house that Pettibone isn’t aware of,” Jack said dryly. “Don’t worry, he’s the soul of discretion and completely faithful. I’m sorry our talk was interrupted, but this doesn’t let you off the hook. When I return, we will begin where we left off.”

  Looking as presentable as he’d ever looked at such an ungodly early hour, Jack let himself out the door and into the hallway, where Pettibone stood waiting. “You say the messenger is from Cornwall?” Jack asked as Pettibone trailed after him down the stairs.

  “Aye, that’s what he said. But I could get little else out of the man.”

  “My cousin Ailesbury is in Cornwall. Perhaps he wishes me to attend his wedding, though ’tis rather late to summon me. I hope naught is amiss with Will.”