Pure Temptation (2 page)

“Right away, sir.” Pettibone shuffled off, the hem of his robe trailing the ground.

Once in his chamber, Jack carefully placed the woman in the center of his bed, then stood back to take his first good look at her. He was more than a little disturbed to see that she was young and not the slattern he expected. Her patrician features and dainty body belied her profession. Had she newly taken up whoring? he wondered as his gaze roved over her petite form. Jack was no stranger to women of all kinds, and he thought he knew everything about them there was to know, but this woman—no, not woman, for she was no more than a girl—defied definition.

A mop of glorious dark red hair covered her shapely head and fell in a tangled mass about her narrow shoulders. Her features were finely wrought, and he was surprised to find himself contemplating the color of her eyes. Beneath her wet clothing, her body appeared slim and shapely. Though her face was bruised and swollen, which was his fault, he suspected, she was lovelier than he would have guessed at first glance.

“I suppose I’d best rid you of these soaking clothes,” Jack said to the unconscious figure as he lifted her slightly and removed her wet cloak.

The dress beneath was no more dry, and Jack was startled to see she was modestly robed in a demure woolen dress of inferior quality, sporting no ornament whatever. He’d never known a whore to dress in such drab clothing. One would expect to see women of her sort garbed in flaming scarlet with most of her bosom exposed. Turning her slightly, he unfastened the row of buttons marching down her back and
pulled the dress away from her body. The pervading dampness had rendered her chemise all but transparent, revealing lush breasts topped with ripe, cherry-red nipples. When he heard Pettibone open the bedroom door, he quickly slid back the quilt and pulled it over her.

“The water, sir,” Pettibone said, presenting a steaming pitcher and a stack of towels. “Will you be needing anything else, sir?”

“You’re completely unflappable, aren’t you, Pettibone?” Jack said with a hint of amusement. “I knew I acted wisely when I kept you on. Though I can little afford servants, I don’t regret retaining your services.”

Pettibone looked enormously pleased. “Living with you has taught me to expect anything, so nothing you do surprises me, sir. Will the lady be all right?”

“We won’t know until the doctor examines her. Send him up the moment he arrives. Tell Fenwick to await me in the library. We would appreciate something to eat later.”

Pettibone left the room, and Jack turned back to the woman occupying his bed. She was shivering, and he placed another blanket over her, wondering how long she had been out in the brutal weather. Did she have no sense at all? Didn’t she know she’d find little business on a night like this?

The disgruntled doctor, perturbed at being routed out of bed at such an ungodly hour, arrived a few moments later and shooed Jack out of the room. Jack joined Spence in the library.

“Well, how is she?” Spence asked, smothering a yawn behind a lace-edged handkerchief.

“Still unconscious,” Jack said, frowning. “I fear I may have done the woman irreparable harm. She’s my responsibility now, though Lord only knows what I’m going to do with the wench once she’s recovered. It would be a travesty to send her back out on the streets. She’s younger than we thought,
Spence, and probably new at her trade. I may be a black-hearted rogue, but I’m not a devil.”

“Hire her on as a maid,” Spence said, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. “Or keep her to warm your bed.”

Jack sent him a black look. “As you well know, I can’t afford a maid. As for warming my bed, I have no problems on that score. My tastes are rather discerning. I prefer women who don’t ply their trade on the streets.”

“Lud, Jack, I think you’re stuck with the woman until she recuperates and you can send her on her way.”

“The woman upstairs in that bed isn’t going anywhere for a while, gentlemen.”

The doctor entered the library and plopped into an overstuffed chair that had seen better days.

“What’s wrong with her, Doctor…I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Dudley. For starters, her left arm is broken. She has numerous bruises and most likely will develop pneumonia, which can be quite serious. Pretty little thing. Who is she, and how did she get hurt?”

Jack hesitated, suddenly at a loss for words. For some obscure reason, he didn’t want to reveal the fact that the woman was quite likely a whore.

“She’s a distant relative of Jack’s, from the Irish side of the family. Her father is a baron. He sent his daughter to London to be introduced to society,” Spence said, warming to the subject. “She’s Jack’s ward. She was injured when her coach overturned on the outskirts of London. She lay out in the rain several hours before help arrived and she was brought here.”

Jack groaned in dismay. Spence’s fertile imagination would be the death of him one day.

Enormously pleased with his quick thinking, Spence sent Jack a smug grin. Jack’s virulent scowl was anything but amused.

“That would explain the injuries,” Dr. Dudley said. “I’ll leave medicine and return tomorrow to put a cast on her arm. By then the swelling should recede. She’s likely to be in considerable pain, but laudanum should ease her. Barring unforeseen setbacks, Lady Moira should be right as rain in four to six weeks.”

“You know her name?” Jack asked, sending Spence a fulminating look. “I don’t recall mentioning it.” He could cheerfully strangle his friend for getting him into this muddle. Relative, indeed.

“She awoke briefly while I was treating her. When I asked her name, she told me it was Moira. Her Irish brogue is delightful. Since she is in no condition to answer questions, I decided to get them from you instead.”

Spence had had no idea Moira was really Irish when he’d woven his tale, and he was now enormously pleased that his story at least held a thread of truth. On the other hand, Jack appeared ready to explode. Not only was Jack saddled with an injured whore, but he had claimed her as a relative, thanks to Spencer Fenwick and his wicked sense of humor. Jack hoped Dr. Dudley would be discreet but feared the old man was inclined to gossip.

“Will you stay for breakfast, Doctor?” Jack invited courteously. He hoped the doctor would refuse, for he couldn’t wait to get Spence alone and berate him soundly.

“No time,” Dudley said, levering his bulk from the chair. “Office hours start early. I’ll be back tomorrow evening to look in on the patient.”

Pettibone appeared with a breakfast tray, which he set down on a table with a flourish. Sensing the doctor was ready to leave, he bowed and escorted him to the door, leaving Spence and Jack alone.

“You wretched oaf, you really threw the fat into the fire,” Jack thundered. “Relative, indeed. Whatever possessed you to tell that old gossip that the whore upstairs is related to me?”

His mouth full of food, Spence grinned. “’Tis a grand joke, eh, Jack? I outdid myself this time. What a hoot. How many whores can you claim in your family?”

“None that I know of,” Jack replied soberly. “And I’m not about to claim any now. Especially not for your amusement. One day your pranks are going to backfire.”

Jack ate in silence. When he finished, he threw his napkin down and rose abruptly.

“Where are you going?” Spence asked, setting down his fork.

“Upstairs to see the patient.”

“Wait, I’m coming with you.”

Moira looked to be sleeping as innocently as a babe when the two men tiptoed into the bedchamber. But evidently she wasn’t sleeping as soundly as they thought, for she opened her eyes and gazed up at them.

Rich, warm honey, Jack decided as he stared into her eyes. Not brown, not hazel, but pure amber with gold flecks.

“Who are you? What happened?” Her lilting voice was as enchanting as the doctor had indicated. “Where am I?”

Mesmerized, Jack had to clear his throat twice before he could answer. “You are in my home. Do you recall what happened, Moira?”

Moira’s gaze turned inward, then grew murky. She recalled very well what had happened, but it was nothing she wanted to tell these two strange men. “How do you know my name?” She tried to sit up, grasped her splinted arm and groaned. “Blessed Mother, I hurt.”

“Don’t move. Your arm is broken,” Jack said. “Can you remember anything?” Moira shook her head. “My carriage ran you down last night. ’Twas a most unfortunate accident. I learned your name from Dr. Dudley. I’m Sir Jackson Graystoke, and this is Lord Spencer Fenwick.”

“Black Jack?” Moira asked, her eyes widening.

Jack’s gray eyes sparkled with amusement. “I see you’ve heard of me.”

Moira swallowed convulsively. “Aye. Though I believe none of the gossip, sir.”

Jack tilted his head back and laughed. “You should. You had no identification on you,” he continued, “so I brought you to my home and summoned a doctor to treat your injuries. I’m sorry about the accident. If you have relatives in town, I’ll gladly contact them for you.”

“There’s no one in England. My brother and his family live in Ireland. He has three small children and a wife to support. I left home some weeks ago to find work in London and ease his burden.”

“Is there anyone who should know about your accident?” Jack asked, skirting the issue of her obvious occupation. “An employer, perhaps?”

“I’m an unemployed domestic servant, sir,” Moira replied.

“Unemployed?” Spence asked. “How have you been supporting yourself?”

“Just recently unemployed,” Moira amended. “I haven’t had time yet to look for work. I have no money, sir. I fear I can’t pay for the doctor.”

For some reason her remark made Jack angry. “Have I asked you for money? Until you’re well, you’re my responsibility.” Deliberately, he picked up a small bottle from the night table and poured a measure into a glass. “Dr. Dudley left laudanum for your pain. Drink,” he ordered gruffly, holding the glass to her lips.

Moira sipped gingerly, made a face at the bitter taste and refused to take more. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

“The soul of kindness is Black Jack,” Spence said, smothering a laugh. “You’re in good hands, my dear.”

When Moira’s lids dropped over her incredible amber eyes, Jack pushed Spence out the door and followed him into the hall, closing the door firmly behind them.

“Do you believe her?” Spence asked, openly skeptical.
“What would a decent woman be doing out late at night? Why do you think her employer fired her? She’ll be a proper beauty once all that swelling goes down. Do you suppose she was diddling the master or his sons?”

“I’m not about to speculate, Spence. What concerns me more is what I’m going to do with her once she recovers. Perhaps I should send her back to Ireland.”

“Lud, she’d probably starve to death if conditions are as bad there as we’ve been led to believe. Famine, disease and crop failure have decimated the population.”

“Confound it, Spence, must you be so damn practical? What do you suggest?”

A mischievous gleam came into Spence’s blue eyes. He didn’t envy his friend’s predicament, but what a grand opportunity for a little devilment! Life had been bloody boring lately. Like most of his rich and idle friends, Spence loved harmless mischief. That’s why he and Black Jack were such fast friends. Both men possessed a perverse sense of humor.

“Very well, I do have an idea, though I guarantee you won’t like it.”

Jack’s handsome features grew wary. “Spit it out, Spence.”

“Little Moira may be a prostitute, but she isn’t your ordinary one. She is daintily fashioned, well-spoken and not in the least coarse. Her features, even swollen as they are, are refined and almost genteel. I’ve already planted the seed that she is a distant relative of yours.” He paused for effect.

“Continue,” Jack said, almost certain he wasn’t going to like what Spence had to say.

“Why not pass Moira off as a lady?” Spence eagerly suggested. “Introduce her to society and find her a husband. What jolly good fun we’d have. You never did have any use for those macaroni dandies who mince about London wearing high heels and makeup. Why not introduce ‘Lady’ Moira to society and marry her off to one of those fancy puppies?”

At first Jack looked astounded. Then he began to laugh uproariously. “Your wicked sense of humor leaves me speechless, Spence. But your idea does have merit.” He grew thoughtful, toying with the notion. “She will need substantial polishing.”

“Remember, ’tis already established that she’s a country girl. No one will expect her to be too accomplished.”

“Granted she is surprisingly well-spoken for a commoner, but making her into a lady will require time and energy. I’m not certain I wish to devote so much effort to the task.”

Admittedly the notion of making a silk purse from a sow’s ear piqued Black Jack’s sense of the outrageous, and Spence knew it. Not only was Jack intrigued with the endless possibilities such a challenge presented, but the gambler in Jack saw a way to enrich his coffers.

“How about sweetening the stakes?” Jack proposed.

“I thought you’d come around.” Spence chortled, slapping Jack’s back jovially. “What an adventure, eh? One of us will be the richer for it; you’ll get rid of the Irish baggage, and we’ll both be able to sit back and spin tales about this for years to come. I’ll put up two thousand pounds against your matched pair of grays that you can’t pass the girl off as gentry and get her engaged within…oh…say three months.”

“Three months,” Jack repeated, rubbing his stubbly chin thoughtfully. Two thousand pounds was a lot of money. Then again, his grays were the only thing of value he possessed. “I don’t know. It will be at least four weeks before she is capable of moving about in public.”

“You can use the time to groom her,” Spence suggested eagerly. “You’re a sporting man, Jack. What do you say? Are you up to the challenge?”

Spence’s good-natured goading made it impossible for Jack to refuse. “With one exception. The girl has to agree to our proposal. Otherwise the bet is off.”

“Agreed,” Spence said gleefully. “I have every confidence you can charm the girl into falling in with our harmless little charade. Returning to the streets cannot possibly compare to what can ultimately be hers if she marries well.”