by Connie Mason
Moira’s anger simmered dangerously. “I think I should leave.”
“Are you mad? Where will you go?”
“I can’t live as your mistress. I want to go home, to Ireland.”
“I never asked you to be my mistress.” His voice was cold, his eyes dark and riveting. “You’re being foolish. Bloody hell, Moira, don’t make me regret asking you to marry me.”
“It was a mistake,” Moira argued. “You should never have proposed to me. I…don’t love you,” she lied. “I’m not prepared to handle the scandal that will result if I marry you. Sooner or later, my involvement with the Hellfire Club will become public knowledge.” She hoped that wouldn’t happen, but she’d already told him that marrying him would cause a scandal, and it hadn’t bothered him in the least. It was up to her to save him from himself.
His expression was grim, his voice flat and emotionless. “The hell with love. You’re not leaving and that’s final. You’ve given me your virginity, you belong to me. If I can’t have you, no one else will.” His anger seared her. “You’ll be my mistress. I’ll set you up somewhere and visit you at my leisure.” He could be just as cold and unfeeling as she was.
His dispassionate words chilled Moira to the bone. What had she done? Had she killed the love he bore her? Would he really make her his mistress? The closed, dark look on his face told her he was capable of anything. He looked and sounded more like the Black Jack of old, the debauched rake he’d been when they’d first met.
“I’ll let you know when everything is set up. We’ll be discreet about our little…arrangement. You’ll find I’m a generous lover.”
Moira’s face turned several shades of red. Sweet Virgin, how could he treat her like that? She was no prostitute. So much for love, she thought wryly. She should have known Black Jack Graystoke was too steeped in debauchery to change.
“Go to hell!” Moira shouted. “I don’t want anything from you.”
Jack’s rage erupted in a string of curses that would have singed the ears of a statue. He couldn’t ever recall being so bloody angry. It appeared that Moira only wanted him for the pleasure he could give her. If that’s all she wanted, he’d give her all the pleasure she could handle. He’d offered her respectability, his name, all he possessed, and she had turned him down. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
Jack uncoiled his long form from the bed and pulled on his breeches with angry jerks. Tears lurked behind Moira’s eyes as she watched him. She tried to tell herself that her turning down his proposal was making him hateful, that he really didn’t mean it. Didn’t he realize how much he was hurting her? She was doing him a favor; even his best friend had urged him not to marry her.
“You have no reason to be so hateful to me. Why are you doing this?”
Something dark and dangerous passed over his handsome features. “That’s a stupid question, Moira, and it doesn’t deserve an answer. Think about what went on between us last night. I can only conclude from your refusal to marry me that you don’t feel anything for me. You enjoy the pleasure I give you, yet you make feeble excuses to keep from making a commitment. Do you want the truth, Moira? I’d rather have a mistress than a wife. I only asked because I thought it was what you wanted.” Turning abruptly, he stalked from the room.
Moira’s eyes followed him. The arousing sight of the taut mounds of his buttocks and strong thighs encased in tight buckskin made her tingle and burn. Sweat popped out on her forehead when she recalled clasping his buttocks as he drove into her and feeling the long muscles of his thighs clench around her. Above his belt, his broad back rippled with ropy tendons, and when he reached out to open the door, she recalled the way his biceps bulged when he strained above her. She bit her tongue to keep from calling him back.
He might hate her now, but one day he’d thank her for her sacrifice. She had always suspected that he’d never wanted a wife, and he’d just confirmed her belief. He ought to know she’d never consent to be a kept woman, hiding her shame in a neat little house where he would come to her in the dead of night and leave before dawn’s early light. No, Moira decided, she’d be gone long before “arrangements” were made.
Jilly did not mention that she found Moira and Jack in bed together, and Moira suspected Jack had spoken with her. No matter, by now the entire household knew she was Jack’s mistress. Both Matilda and Pettibone were clearly upset at the gossip circulating in the household about Moira and Jack and tried to squelch it. Pettibone was convinced that Jack would do the right thing by Moira, especially after he’d gone through the trouble of procuring a special license to marry.
Pettibone had been the first to note the change in his dissolute master after Moira came into his life and was stunned this morning when Jack told Pettibone he didn’t intend to use the license, that he was going to find a house for Moira. Pettibone knew what that meant and liked it not at all. He feared his master had reverted back into his debauched ways.
“’Tis all such a muddle,” Pettibone told Matilda. “Any fool can see the two of them are in love. I’d like to shake some sense into His Lordship. How can he treat Moira like that? ’Tis obvious she was an innocent until she fell into his hands.”
“Perhaps we don’t know the whole story,” Matilda suggested. “I have this feeling that things will work out. Mark my words, Mr. Pettibone, those two will fill this house with children one day.”
Pettibone’s eyes twinkled merrily. “You’re a wise woman, Matilda. I thank God for bringing you into my life. I’m not young anymore, but you make me feel my oats, I swear it.”
“And I’m neither young nor pretty. I’m a spinster, Mr. Pettibone. All I know of men is how vile and undisciplined they can be. I’m grateful for men like you and His Lordship.”
“Sylvester.”
“What?”
“My name is Sylvester. I’d be honored if you’d call me Sylvester when we’re alone.”
“Sylvester,” Matilda repeated shyly. “It’s…a handsome name. I’d be honored to call you Sylvester.” Pettibone thought her smile charming and wished he could keep it there forever.
“What are you two gossiping about?” When Jack had failed to find Pettibone upstairs, he had headed for the kitchen. He wasn’t surprised to find his man with Matilda.
Matilda’s hands fluttered helplessly. “Oh, milord, we weren’t gossiping, I swear it. Sylvester and I were merely discussing household affairs.” Her flushed face told Jack that those “affairs” concerned him and Moira. He decided to let it pass without comment and concentrate on something more pleasant.
His mouth twitched with the beginning of a smile, his first since leaving Moira’s bed earlier. Somehow he brought it under control. “Sylvester? Who, pray tell, is Sylvester?”
Pettibone cleared his throat and looked Jack in the eye. “I am Sylvester, milord.”
“Sylvester?” Jack repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “How have you managed to keep that hidden all these years? To my knowledge, no one has ever known your first name, or even that you had one.”
“’Tis a fine name, isn’t it, milord?” Matilda said, eyeing Pettibone with uncommon fondness.
“Indeed,” Jack agreed, keeping his mirth well under control. From the way Pettibone was glaring at him, he assumed the old reprobate was warning him not to repeat what he had just learned.
“Did you want me for anything in particular, milord?” Pettibone asked, mustering his dignity.
“I wanted to inform you that I’ll be out most of the day, looking at houses.”
Pettibone stiffened. “Very good, milord. I hope Lady Amelia understands,” he mumbled as Jack left the kitchen.
When Moira learned that Jack would be gone all day, she used his absence to good advantage. As much as she hated doing it, she took enough funds from the strongbox in Jack’s desk to buy passage to Ireland. Somehow she’d pay him back, she vowed as she calculated how much she’d need to see her safely home. Later, when the household was least likely to no
te her absence, she sneaked out of the house, hired a hackney to take her to the docks and found a ship leaving for Ireland the following day. She returned before Jack came home late that afternoon.
Fool!
Jack jerked upright, pulling the sheet around him as he searched the dark room for his nocturnal visitor. Lady Amelia was standing by the window, her back to him.
Fool. Why did you not heed my warning?
“Bloody hell, milady, you’re not making sense. I offered for Moira and she turned me down flat. ’Tis obvious she doesn’t want me for a husband. Therefore, I’ll be her lover and protector. She has a crazy notion that marrying me will ruin my life. Damn! If I had remained Sir Jack instead of becoming Lord Jack, Moira wouldn’t be so dead set against marrying me. On the other hand,” he mused thoughtfully, “had I remained Sir Jack I might have married Lady Victoria, and what a tragedy that would have been.”
Lady Amelia would not be placated. She whirled in a froth of iridescent light and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
“Damn it, just like a woman,” Jack muttered, punching his pillow and settling back down.
He needed a drink but feared that if he fell back into his old dissolute ways, Lady Amelia would return and haunt him for the remainder of his days. He had enough problems without a disgruntled spirit complicating his life. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. When that failed, he tried recalling in vivid detail every erotic aspect of Moira’s luscious body and delightful curves. He was still angry at her, still enraged that she had spurned him. He wanted to charge into her chamber and shake her until she came to her senses.
But after careful consideration, he decided a mistress was far less trouble than a wife. He could well imagine Moira’s reaction when he told her he had leased a house for her. She had angered him so thoroughly that he’d gone off in a fit. But he’d lucked upon a perfect place. Fortunately, he now had the funds to keep a mistress in style. Of one thing he was certain: She wasn’t going to leave him. He wanted her and he was damn well going to have her. He wanted her for a wife, but would settle for a mistress.
Moira squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears from falling. The thought that this was the last time she’d be sleeping in this bed was an unhappy one. If only she could feel Jack’s arms around her one final time, she thought with increasing sadness. Experience the wondrous joy of his lovemaking. Feel the vibrant power of his body entering hers, consuming her in flaming splendor. Unfortunately, Jack’s hurtful words had erected a wall between them that seemed impossible to breach. Her own anger had been no less daunting. Whether he meant them or not, his insults had hurt her deeply.
Suddenly Moira felt an eerie presence. Her senses came alive; her nerves tingled. Her heart beat furiously, and beads of sweat popped out of her forehead. What she felt was surreal, something beyond reason or explanation. She searched the chamber, her gaze flitting from corner to corner, shadow to shadow, her heart beating like a trip-hammer. When she spied a figure clad in shimmering light, she gave a frightened yelp.
Lady Amelia sent Moira a searching glance, then seemed to evaporate through the closed door, leaving a trail of mist in her wake.
“Wait! Don’t go. Who are you?”
Leaping from bed, Moira flung open the door, glanced down the hall and saw the ghost pause before Jack’s chamber. She watched in trepidation as the ghost disappeared into Jack’s room through the closed door. Without considering the consequences, Moira burst headlong into the chamber.
“Where is she?”
Jack sat up, blinking in disbelief. Was he dreaming?
“Is that you, Moira? What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
Moira’s bare feet whispered against the worn carpet as she approached the bed. “I’m fine. She came in here. I saw her.”
Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Jack wrapped a sheet around his middle, rose from bed and lit a candle. “Saw whom?”
Moira began trembling, afraid she was losing her mind. A glowing nimbus of candlelight revealed an empty room save for her and Jack. “She came in here; I know she did.” Her voice held a hint of panic.
Moira’s trembling became so pronounced that Jack placed an arm around her shoulders and led her to the bed. “You’re cold. Hop in bed and tell me what you saw.”
When Moira seemed reluctant, Jack swept her from her feet and carried her to his bed. Then he pulled a blanket over her and slid in beside her. “Now, tell me what frightened you so.”
The welcome heat of Jack’s body surrounded her, soothed her, made her feel warm and safe. She didn’t need to touch him to sense the leashed strength in him.
Moira swallowed and licked her lips. “At first I thought it was merely a patch of moonlight shining through the window, but then I realized I was seeing some kind of eerie phenomenon. It was a ghost; I’m sure of it. I couldn’t swear to it, but I vow the ghost was a woman.”
“A woman?” Jack asked in dismay. Lady Amelia had never, to his knowledge of Graystoke history, appeared to anyone but family. “What did she look like? How was she dressed? Did she frighten you?”
“I saw a light,” Moira mused, vaguely aware that she had felt no fear, only curiosity. “It was not threatening in any way. The figure of a woman appeared within the light, though how I knew that isn’t clear.”
“Did she say anything?”
“Not a word. She left through the closed door before I got a good look at her. I rushed into the hall to follow and saw her entering your chamber, again through a closed door.” She flushed and looked away. “I’m sorry, I must have been dreaming. I didn’t mean to disturb you. It was wrong of me to burst in on you without knocking.”
“I can’t believe you saw Lady Amelia. It isn’t like her to appear to anyone who isn’t family.”
“Lady Amelia,” Moira repeated, vastly relieved. “I thought I was losing my mind. Mr. Pettibone told me her story. It’s quite sad.”
Jack searched her face, gilded with candlelight and achingly beautiful. Her honey-warm eyes stared back at him, and her red lips looked sweet enough to taste. He felt a melting heat start in his loins and flow thick and hot through his veins. He wanted her. She was his mistress, and there was no reason he shouldn’t avail himself of her charms, was there? She was here, in his bed, even though it was a meddling ghost who had brought her to his chamber, and he damn well was going to seize the opportunity to make love to her.
“Are you still frightened?” Jack asked.
Moira shook her head. “Not anymore.” How could she be frightened with Jack’s strong arms surrounding her? She could feel the hairs on his legs prickling her skin and…She went still, realizing that Jack was nude beneath the covers. She exhaled raggedly, all thought skidding to a halt.
“Are you all right, Moira?” Jack said, mistaking her stillness for fright. “Personally, I don’t believe in ghosts.” He glanced about the chamber for his mischievous ancestor and prayed she’d forgive him. “But Lady Amelia is a well-meaning soul, if a bit meddlesome.”
“I’m not frightened. I’m…” Her voice faltered. “Oh, God, I can’t think. I shouldn’t have barged in on you.”
“You’re my mistress, you have every right to be here in my bed.” His careless words cut her to the quick.
“Regardless of all your grand plans, I’m not your mistress, nor will I ever be,” Moira retorted tartly.
“You’re one bloody exasperating female, Moira O’Toole,” Jack said with asperity. “You refused to marry me once, and I’ll not ask again. Black Jack Graystoke was never lacking in pride. Unfortunately, I can’t resist you. You’re pure temptation, lady.”
His mouth moved over hers with slow seduction, his tongue a weapon of the Devil as it delved within and explored the sweet depths. Before she sank into an abyss of sinful pleasure, Moira convinced herself that Jack was more Devil than man. As his drugging kisses melted her bones, she wished she had the courage to remain with him and ruin his life.
“Your arms and kisses lead to perdition, Lord Graystoke,
” Moira said, pulling away from him though it cost her dearly. “I’m not your whore, and you can’t treat me like one.”
Anger lent her strength as she leaped out of bed and fled Jack’s chamber.
“You’re wrong, Moira,” Jack called after her. “You’re mine, any way I want you. You can run now, but you won’t go far. I was Black Jack longer than I’ve been Duke of Ailesbury, and Black Jack has ways of getting what he wants.”
Sweet Christ, he swore beneath his breath, how could a woman bring him so low?
Chapter Seventeen
Moira awoke to a dull gray day shrouded in misty fog that looked as dismal as she felt. Her ship sailed at noon, and come hell or high water, she was going to be on it. She couldn’t marry Jack and she wouldn’t be his mistress. After the way he had treated her last night, she felt as if she no longer knew him. She realized that spurning his marriage proposal had wounded his pride, but she hadn’t expected him to act so hatefully. Were all men so thin-skinned, she wondered miserably, or was Jack showing his true colors? She’d never really seen the dark side of him, only the good, and she prayed his abrupt reversal would not be permanent. Loving him as she did, it was difficult to believe he had behaved so callously.
Deciding not to tempt fate by taking breakfast with Jack, Moira used the time to stuff a few belongings into a small canvas bag she had found in the closet. She feared that seeing Jack again would rob her of the courage to leave. Her relief was profound when, through the window, she saw Jack enter a coach bearing the Ailesbury crest. The coach rattled off and disappeared into the fog. The clip-clop of horses’ hooves on cobblestones resounded with a hollow, eerie finality.
By the time Jilly arrived with a tray of tea and toast, Moira had hidden the bag beneath the bed and composed herself. The little maid, still flustered over finding Jack and Moira in bed, barely looked at Moira as she set the tray down and inquired if there was anything else her mistress needed.