Scandalous Virtue

by Brenda Hiatt

  The mattress was even softer than it had looked. A moment later, both of them were nestled under the covers, their whole lengths pressed against each other. Nessa felt wonderfully comfortable, and even with Jack’s lips upon hers, she felt a great lassitude sweeping over her.

  “Mmmm,” she murmured, as he trailed his lips down her throat to the hollow between her breasts. His hands massaged the back of her neck, her shoulders, loosening muscles she hadn’t even realized were still knotted by the day’s journey. Exquisitely relaxed, she burrowed deeper into the mattress, inhaling the masculine scent that was Jack, her own hands moving more and more slowly over his body.

  Nessa blinked. Sunlight streamed through the chintz curtains, falling on her face, dazzling her.

  “What … ?” In complete confusion, she struggled to sit up and look around at the cozy little bedroom, where just a moment ago, it seemed, she and Jack had been settling in for a night of lovemaking and sleep. The morning was well advanced, and Jack was nowhere to be seen.

  “I fell asleep,” she groaned aloud. Right in the midst of their lovemaking, she must have dropped off. She sat back against the pillows with a sigh. Poor Jack! He’d been so eager, and she’d … Goodness! What must he think of her? Of himself? She hoped she hadn’t insulted him beyond forgiveness.

  A light tap sounded upon the door. “Come in,” she called out, her spirits rising. She’d apologize at once, explain how tired she’d been—

  Simmons walked into the room. “Will you be wanting to dress and have a bite to eat, my lady?”

  “Oh. Certainly. Ah, where is Lord Foxhaven?”

  “He and that Parker have gone into the village for more provisions. He’ll be back within the hour, I should think.”

  Nessa thought for a moment. “Very well. I believe I’ll wear my new rose morning gown—the one I bought in Paris.” Jack had expressed admiration for the dress when she’d purchased it. Perhaps it would put him in a better frame of mind to hear her apology when he returned.

  She smiled to herself. She intended to follow that apology with more tangible restitution, if she could get him back into the bedroom. After nearly twelve hours of sleep, she felt beautifully rested and ready to advance her romantic plans.

  Or almost. Upon standing, a twinge of the queasiness which had plagued her for the last week returned. Swallowing, she managed to fight it down, then turned to see Simmons watching her with a most knowing expression on her thin face.

  “A bite of toast and a sip of tea will help you to feel more the thing, my lady.”

  Nessa frowned. “Yes, it usually does. But why? Do you know what is wrong with me, Simmons?”

  To her surprise, her rigid abigail gave her an almost motherly smile. “I believe I can guess, my lady. If you’ll forgive my asking, how long has it been since you last had your monthly courses?”

  A sudden light broke upon Nessa. “Why—several weeks, now that I think on it. Oh, Simmons, do you truly think I may be with child?”

  The abigail nodded, the crinkles at the corners of her eyes making her look more approachable—more human—than Nessa had ever seen her. “I do indeed, my lady. This morning queasiness is a classic symptom. Not to worry, however. It should pass in a few weeks.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Despite the lingering upset, though, Nessa’s heart was suddenly light as a feather. She carried Jack’s child! She would be a mother! And Jack—

  She turned abruptly back to Simmons. “Pray say nothing to Lord Foxhaven—nor to his valet, either—for the present. I’d like to be absolutely certain before raising his hopes.”

  Actually, she felt quite certain Simmons’ guess was correct. But if she told Jack now, might he not voice emotions he did not truly feel out of simple gratitude that she was providing him an heir? Contrary as it might be, she didn’t want that. She wanted to know first that he loved her for herself, all other considerations aside. If he did.

  “Certainly not, my lady.” Simmons sounded faintly shocked. “ ’Twould not be my place to mention such a thing. Though … I rather think Parker may suspect already, even if His Lordship does not. You’ll not be able to keep it a secret for long.”

  “No, of course not,” Nessa agreed. But if all went well, she wouldn’t have to.

  Shifting the awkward parcels in his arms yet again, Jack decided he’d been foolish to leave the carriage behind. He’d hoped a walk to the village and back would help to clear his mind, but if anything he had more questions than when he’d left.

  “Almost there, Parker,” he called back encouragingly. His valet carried even more packages than he did, though he hadn’t uttered a word of complaint about his master’s questionable judgment.

  Was Nessa seriously ill? Jack wondered. She’d never before fallen asleep right in the middle of his lovemaking—indeed, no woman ever had! If not, he feared it boded ill for their relationship—not to mention the blow to his pride. Of course, he’d far rather absorb such a blow than discover she had some life-threatening illness, he told himself quickly. What a self-centered cad he was!

  Snorting in self-derision, he set down his parcels so that he could open the kitchen door. “Just leave everything on the table,” he told Parker. “No doubt when Mme. Guignard gets here she’ll organize everything her own way.”

  Belatedly realizing how absurd it was to expect a valet, a lady’s maid or, worse, Nessa herself, to do the cooking and housekeeping, he’d arranged for a woman from the village to spend a few hours there each day for the duration of their stay.

  “No doubt, my lord,” agreed Parker. “You’ll wish to check on Her Ladyship now, I presume.”

  Nessa rose as Jack entered the parlor and came forward to greet him, a vision in soft rose—a color he thought suited her particularly well. Her hair was simply but charmingly styled, caught back with a pink ribbon to cascade down her back. Best of all, she was smiling.

  “Good morning!” she exclaimed. “For a little while longer, at least. I apologize for being such a slugabed.”

  He clasped the hands she held out to him. “Are you well, Nessa? I’ve been concerned about you.” Just now, however, she looked the picture of blooming health, making his query seem rather foolish. Still, she seemed touched by it.

  “Thank you, Jack.” She met his eyes directly, and he saw nothing but warmth there—and perhaps a hint of a question. “I’m perfectly fine, now that I’ve caught up on my sleep. My … timing last night was unforgivable, however.”

  He brushed that aside. “Think nothing of it,” he said, just as though he hadn’t spent most of the morning agonizing about it. “You were tired.”

  “I was,” she conceded. “But now I am not, and should like the chance to make it up to you.” There was no mistaking her words, or the seductive glance she slanted up at him.

  Instantly he responded, both physically and emotionally—a powerful, almost frightening combination far beyond anything any other woman had ever produced in him. “I’d like that,” he managed, huskily.

  She squeezed his fingertips, then gently drew him in the direction of their bedroom. He followed most willingly. The moment the door was closed, she turned to face him again.

  “The pleasure you bring me, Jack, is the greatest I’ve ever known. Never doubt that.” She pulled him down for a kiss.

  Jack obliged, but couldn’t help wondering what it was she was trying to tell him. Was this a convoluted good-bye? Sudden fear shot through him, distracting him for a moment from his desire. Perhaps she really was desperately ill, and knew it! Perhaps—

  He held her away from him, examining her face, trying to read her thoughts. “Nessa? Are you certain you are all right?”

  To his amazement, she giggled. “I’ll admit, my phrasing was rather melodramatic, but I simply wanted to convince you that my falling asleep so inconveniently last night was no reflection on you. I … wouldn’t cause you pain for anything, Jack.”

  “Nor I, you,” he declared, making it a vow. “Never again. I … ” Ye
s, it was time. He owed her this much. “I love you, Nessa.” He underscored the words with his eyes, putting every ounce of sincerity he possessed into his expression.

  Her eyes widened. “Do you, Jack?” she breathed incredulously. “Do you truly? I’d hoped … sometimes imagined … Oh, Jack, I’ve loved you for months—since before we were wed. I—”

  But he silenced her with another kiss, this one deeper, fuller, infused with more meaning than any they’d shared before. She fairly melted into him, her rapture, her love, clearly communicated. Jack thought for a moment that he might collapse with delight and relief, but instead he carried her to the bed, as he had last night.

  This time she showed not the slightest inclination to sleep. As eager as he, she helped him to strip off her gown and his shirt and breeches, their efforts punctuated by frequent kisses. No words seemed necessary as they hurried to consummate their newly declared love.

  As she had in the duke’s conservatory, Nessa climbed astride him, fastening her mouth to his yet again as she eased herself onto his waiting shaft. No sooner had she begun to rock in that oldest rhythm, however, than Jack pulled her even closer, then rolled them both over so that he was now above her.

  “Not so quickly, my love,” he murmured into her ear. “I want to make this last.”

  Slowly, agonizingly, he took his time, kissing and fondling her, bringing her closer and closer to the brink, until finally neither of them could wait any longer. In a mutual explosion of passion—of love—they shattered in a climax beyond any they’d yet shared, holding nothing back from each other.

  Gradually, the little bedroom came back into focus, obscuring the heavenly realm they’d visited. Jack smiled gently at the precious woman he held with his arms and his heart. “I never knew such happiness existed on earth,” he whispered.

  “Nor I. But Jack, I have something to tell you that may make you happier yet.”

  “Not possible,” he stated, but the eager excitement in her eyes aroused his curiosity. “All right, tell me.”

  She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip, her eyes searching his face, suddenly serious. “I believe—in fact, I am all but certain—that I am with child. Our child.”

  “You … We … Nessa!” He pulled her close, to say with his kiss what he couldn’t seem to manage in words.

  The next two weeks were the most idyllic Nessa had ever known—even taking her almost daily queasiness into account. And Jack felt the same. At least, he told her so regularly. When the weather permitted, they wandered the surrounding countryside, exploring every little lane and byway. They exclaimed over each crocus or jonquil they found in bloom, watched clouds or birds in flight, delighting in the world around them and in each other.

  Simmons, Parker, and even the capable Mme. Guignard left them completely alone, appearing only when their services were needed before fading discreetly into the background again. During their walks, or in front of the parlor fire on inclement days, Jack and Nessa talked, discovering more and more about each other—likes, dislikes, pasts, and future hopes. Now that all danger to Wellington was past, Jack told her the whole story of his meetings with Miranda Dempsey, to her great relief. He also confessed how their marriage had benefited him financially. As she had similarly benefited, Nessa could not hold it against him.

  When they tired of talking, they walked or sat in companionable silence, or retired to the bedroom for yet another rapturous round of lovemaking.

  Though Nessa knew this perfect, private time could not last forever, she sighed when the day came that Jack suggested they consider a return to England.

  “I cannot neglect the estate forever,” he pointed out, seeming as reluctant as she to end this special retreat from the world. “Too, I’ll rest easier knowing that should you have any health problems, Mr. Mooring, our family physician at Foxhaven, is within easy reach.”

  Unable to argue against his touching concern, Nessa agreed. “But perhaps someday we can come back here,” she suggested. “This house will always have a special place in my heart.”

  “And mine.” Jack kissed her tenderly.

  The next morning they headed back to Paris, where they intended to remain only one night before continuing on to the coast, and thence to England. It was now mid-March, and spring was beginning in earnest. But though the weather was milder, the roads were more rutted and muddy than before, making their journey even more tedious. Night had already fallen when they reached the outskirts of Paris.

  “It seems … different,” Nessa said, peering forward through the window of the coach. She wasn’t sure at first, however, just what had changed—other than herself.

  Jack was able to put his finger on it, however. “It does indeed. The crowds are still here, but their composition has changed. More of the common folk, fewer of the nobility, I’d hazard a guess.”

  “I wonder why?”

  But Jack only shrugged.

  As they neared the center of the city, Nessa’s unease increased. The people outside seemed agitated, either very happy or fearful, she was not sure which. Glancing over at Jack, she saw that he was frowning as well.

  “I haven’t seen a single English officer,” he commented at length. “I wonder …”

  The coach halted. They had not reached their hotel, but were as close as the traffic in the streets would allow at present.

  “Wait here a moment,” Jack said. Before Nessa could respond, he opened the door and leapt down, melting almost instantly into the shifting throng on the walkway.

  Nessa waited, her heart pounding in anticipation of she knew not what. As the minutes passed, she felt more and more certain that something was wrong, terribly wrong. But what?

  After ten minutes of agonized waiting, Jack suddenly reappeared. Climbing into the coach, he secured the door behind him and turned to face her, his expression grim.

  “Napoleon has escaped from Elba,” he said flatly. “He is in France at this moment, marching toward Paris, and is expected within days. The royalist troops are deserting in droves, joining his forces.”

  Across from her, Simmons gasped, and Nessa felt the blood leave her own face. “The king?”

  “Still here in Paris, it would seem, but whether the city will support him or Napoleon it is impossible to say. His troops in Grenoble and Lyons have already allied themselves with Bonaparte.”

  That explained the mixed emotions she had sensed from the streets, and also the absence of English officers. “What … what should we do?”

  Jack took a deep breath. “As far as I’ve been able to determine, we may well be the only English left in Paris. We must follow the others and make our way to the coast as quickly and secretly as we can. Our freedom, perhaps our very lives, are at stake.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Though he spoke matter-of-factly, Jack was fighting to master an all-engulfing fear—not for his own safety, but for Nessa’s. In her delicate condition, what would be the consequence of capture? He didn’t dare think about it. He would simply make certain they were not captured. He must.

  “Were you recognized?” Nessa asked.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so, though I fear the fact that I’m English will have been obvious.” He looked down at the blue superfine coat he wore. “I should never have gone out there dressed like this.”

  “You had no way of knowing beforehand,” Nessa pointed out. “But what are we to do now?”

  “First, we must find a less conspicuous place to make our plans.” Jack opened the trapdoor on the roof of the coach to direct the coachman, only to find the man gone. “Damn. It seems our driver has heard the news as well. I hope he’ll not feel it his patriotic duty to betray us.”

  “I’ll drive, my lord,” volunteered Parker.

  Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man! See if you can find a relatively unoccupied alley nearby.”

  The valet climbed atop the coach, and a moment later they were in motion again, though slowly. They turned, went more quickly
for a minute or two, turned again, then stopped.

  Parker opened the trap door. “Mayhap this will do, my lord.”

  Peering outside, Jack saw that they were in a narrow lane between tall buildings. It stank to high heaven, but appeared to be deserted. “Excellent, Parker! Now, unfasten that smaller trunk and I’ll help you to bring it down.”

  A few minutes later, he had the trunk open and was rifling its contents. Ah! Here were just the things he wanted. “Nessa, you’ll need to change into this.” He held up one of her abigail’s plainer gowns. “’Twill be a bit tight, I fear, but that can’t be helped. Parker, I’ll wear this black coat of yours—it’s the Frenchiest thing in here, I believe.”

  He turned to examine the servants. “Mrs. Simmons, you’ll do well enough, but I’d advise you, Parker, to divest yourself of the ruffles at your wrists and throat. You’re rather too obviously a gentleman’s gentleman as you are now.” He and Parker then left the women in the carriage so that Simmons could help Nessa to change, and completed their own transformations outside in the alley.

  “If anything goes wrong,” he murmured to Parker as they adjusted their clothing, “get my wife to the coast and on a ship to England. Nothing else matters.” Parker nodded silently.

  A few muffled exclamations from within the coach attested to the difficulty of carrying out his instructions in such close quarters, but eventually the door opened. Nessa emerged, clad in the black stuff gown and a voluminous shawl.

  “Some of the hooks in the back would not quite hook,” she explained, “but the shawl should disguise the fact.”

  Jack nodded his approval. “It covers your hair as well. Excellent. Now to discover whether we can leave Paris as easily as we entered it.”

  This time Jack took the reins, while the others rode inside. With some difficulty, he managed to back the horses and carriage out of the alleyway. Turning them, he then headed northward, taking back streets wherever possible. Most of the activity seemed to be centered near the Tuileries and Palais-Royal, so that once they’d gone a mile or so, the traffic lessened considerably.