The Jacobite's Return (The Georgian Rebel Series) (6 page)

“Your pardon, my lady, I am not in the mood for conversation and am unlikely to be good company this evening.” It was probably not the sort of seduction technique she was used to, but it was the best he could manage. And she was lovely enough to soon find herself another partner.

“Oh, I think you should allow me to be the judge of that.” Even through his hurt, he had to acknowledge that Louisa’s smile was bewitching. She laid a hand on his forearm and leaned in close. It was a practised movement that afforded him an excellent view of her bosom, which swelled enticingly against the confines of her bodice with every breath. The warm, musky scent she wore filled his nostrils. The unspoken invitation was clear. “I believe that silence can be conducive to pleasure, do not you, my lord? In fact, conversation can sometimes be a hindrance to two people’s enjoyment of each other’s company. You do not appear to be enjoying that champagne. I have several bottles of the finest, sweetest cognac you have ever tasted at my house.”

Jack studied her.
Why not?
She was undoubtedly beautiful, experienced and willing. Perhaps in her arms he could forget for an hour or two. “What are we waiting for?” He handed his glass to a passing footman.

Louisa’s lips twitched appreciatively. “What indeed?” Ignoring the clucking from a gaggle of disapproving dowagers, she took his hand.

“Damn it, Lady Lou!” one of her admirers protested as she ordered her carriage. “What does St. Anton have that I do not?”

Louisa patted his cheek with one of her naughtiest chuckles. “Me.” Still holding Jack’s hand, she ran lightly out of the room and down the staircase to the hall below.

Once they were in the carriage, she reached out her other hand to test the hard sinews of Jack’s thigh. “I looking forward to feeling this between my own very soon.”

“You are shameless, my lady.”

“Louisa,” she prompted.

“You are shameless, Louisa,” Jack corrected himself.

“It is a reputation I work hard to maintain,” she whispered, pulling his head down so that she could tease his lips with her tongue.

When they arrived at her house, Louisa led him straight to her boudoir. It was furnished in the most decadent style imaginable, with opulent red-and-gold silk hangings and a bed so large it filled most of the room. Pushing him down onto a chaise longue, Louisa leaned in close to kiss him again. She slid an exploratory hand up the length of his thigh and trailed lingering fingers experimentally across his crotch. Moving away again, she poured him a generous measure of brandy, all of which Jack knocked back immediately.

Louisa obligingly went to fetch another. “I do hope, my lord, that your prowess is enhanced rather than inhibited by alcohol?”

She went to her dressing table and began to remove her jewellery, watching him thoughtfully in the mirror as she did so. Jack was glad of a little distance between them. If truth be told, he was finding her attentions claustrophobic, and his libido was remaining stubbornly indifferent to her blatant attentions.
This has been the story of the last two years. Why did you imagine tonight would be different?

When Louisa eventually came to sit next to him, he decided a determined effort on his part was required. Sliding a hand around her waist, he bent his head towards her, but she forestalled him, placing her palm on his chest. Jack quirked a questioning eyebrow at her, and she smiled. This was a genuine expression, quite unlike the curving, courtesan’s pout she showed the world.

“Do you know how many lovers I have had, Jack?”

He was taken aback at the question. “Your ladyship’s beauty is such that many men must have been smitten by your charms.” He removed her hand from his chest and dropped a kiss onto it. He wondered idly if she intended to inflame him with accounts of her many conquests. He hoped not. The way he was feeling tonight, he wasn’t sure his own performance would compare favourably.

“My charms, yes, but more often than not ’tis my availability which proves to be my greatest attraction,” she told him with brutal honestly. “I have had so many men that I have lost count myself. Often they have been married, betrothed or somehow involved with another woman. But very few of them have ever been
truly
in love with someone else. If they were, they would not have looked my way.” She had his full attention now. “It may surprise you to know that I am a proud woman”—he opened his mouth to protest, and she pressed a silencing finger against his lips—“and I won’t settle for second best. When a man is with me, I want
all
of his attention on me. I’m not prepared to be a mild diversion when I know his thoughts are elsewhere.”

“I can assure you…”

“I saw how you looked at her, Jack.”

It was pointless arguing. “I’m sorry. I thought if anyone could make me forget her, Louisa, it would be you.”

“And I shall take that as the greatest of compliments.” She patted his cheek. “You are quite sure you cannot resolve this? Marriage is not always an insurmountable obstacle. I should know. And marriage to one such as Sheridan…” She gave a theatrical shudder as if to punctuate her words.

Jack shook his head. “She thought I had been killed at Culloden.” It was a relief to talk about it. “And, so thinking, she accepted Sheridan’s offer of marriage. Mere weeks later.”

“That is certainly very final. Yet she loves you too. I saw that in her eyes when she returned your look. She thrums with yearning for you.”

Jack felt his eyes begin to close with a combination of tiredness and brandy. “It matters not. Her choice is made and she will not turn back from it.”

Louisa’s outrage was genuine. “The man is repulsive, and there is a touch of wildness about him which I like not. She
cannot
prefer him over you!”

“Bless you for that.” He leaned his head wearily back against the silken cushions and, within seconds, was sound asleep. When the nightmares inevitably woke him in the night, his shoes had been removed and a blanket thrown over him. He turned his head and, by the light of the glowing fire, saw Louisa asleep in the opulent bed next to him. With a smile, he settled back down and succumbed to slumber once more.

The following morning, Jack finished a hearty breakfast. Rising to take his leave of his hostess, he paused to plant a grateful kiss on her cheek. He had woken feeling much refreshed. It seemed he had found an unexpected friend in the notorious Lady Lou. “That was the best night’s sleep I have had since I came to London. You are an angel, Louisa.”

“Palaverer! Are you quite sure I can’t tempt you back to my boudoir? We have plenty of time.”

Jack was still laughing at her brazenness as he descended the steps of the house, aware that he presented an incongruous sight in his formal attire of the previous day. Unfortunately, a group of young gentlemen with whom he was very well acquainted chose that moment to pass by Louisa’s elegant, narrow townhouse.

“What-ho, St. Anton!” Sir Dudley Ramsbotham hailed Jack with ribald delight. The whole cavalcade promptly reined in their horses and regarded him with interest.

“You are about mighty early for a morning call, old chap,” Mr. Willoughby-Watson, a perceptive young gentleman, pointed out slyly. “One would expect Lady Lou to still be abed at this hour.”

Perry, his expression indicative of his pleasure at seeing his friend finding solace of the carnal nature he had been recommending, raised his voice above the laughter. “’Tis a rare sight, Jack, to see a man who can walk out on his own two feet after a night spent in Lady Lou’s”—he coughed diplomatically—“boudoir.” There was a general ripple of lewd laughter. “Usually it takes two strong men to carry the unfortunate soul away, and an enforced period of rest and recuperation must be prescribed.”

Jack sighed. Their ribbing was good natured, and a denial on his part that anything had happened between him and Louisa would lead to disbelief and more witticisms. Despite his improved night’s sleep, he was tired, and his head ached from a surfeit of alcohol. He wanted to get home and out of his velvet and lace.

“Gentlemen, you flatter me with your assumptions, I assure you. I pray you will excuse me.”

A few ribald comments about the reason for his exhausted appearance and Louisa’s legendary expertise followed him before the horsemen rode on to the prizefight they were attending. By noon it was all over town that a party of reliable witnesses had encountered a weary but laughing Lord St. Anton leaving Lady Kendall’s house, still attired in the clothes he had been wearing the previous day.

* * *

The story came to Rosie’s ears the following morning. Mrs. Henderson called to pay Lady Drummond a visit, bringing Sarah with her.

“They say he was bold as brass,” Mrs. Henderson reported in a voice that managed to convey both shock and delight. “Leaving her house in broad daylight, in his formal dress, and openly joking with his friends about his exploits.”

Lady Drummond tutted. “Really, Louisa Kendall is quite without shame! Why, ’tis well known that she has had the Vicomte St. Etienne in her toils in Paris these last three months, and already it appears she has moved on. One cannot blame a gentleman for succumbing to his baser instincts when there are trollops such as her to pander to them.”

Mrs. Henderson smoothed her skirts primly. “Well, you must admit, my dear, that Lord St. Anton is a sight more attractive than St. Etienne. I, for one, cannot find it in me to blame Lady Kendall for switching her affections to him.” She tittered girlishly.

Rosie, who had been listening with half an ear as she engaged in desultory small talk with Sarah, stiffened alarmingly at the mention of Jack’s name, causing her companion to cast a scared glance in her direction.

Lady Drummond permitted herself a smile. “His lordship
is
quite devastatingly attractive,” she agreed. “But ’tis not so very long ago he was in disgrace for following his wild, Jacobite tendencies. To set the town talking by openly cavorting with Louisa Kendall is
not
the best way to go about restoring his damaged reputation.”

“Your face has gone very pale, Lady Sheridan.” Sarah regarded Rosie with some alarm. “Are you sure you are quite well?”

Rosie found she was pressing her hands together so tightly that her fingers ached. Drawing in a long, slow breath, she turned to her companion with what she hoped was a bright smile.

“I am fine,” she reassured her. “What will you wear to Lady Hadley’s soirée tonight?”

Sarah smiled and went on to describe the glory of her outfit in some detail, her shyness momentarily forgotten in the pleasure of a new gown. Then, lowering her voice to a whisper so that her mama did not hear, she changed the subject.

“How shocking it is to hear that Lady Kendall has become Lord St. Anton’s mistress. But, who can blame her? Is he not truly the most handsome man you have ever seen? Indeed, that smile, the way he looks at one with that twinkle in his eye, he is simply the most charming—” She broke off in consternation and eyed Rosie’s face with concern dawning in her eyes. “Oh, Lady Sheridan, so poorly you do look. I am persuaded that you do,
indeed
, have the headache.”

Her exclamation drew Lady Drummond’s attention. “What is this? Are you unwell, child?”

“It is nothing, my lady. Only a touch, as Sarah says, of the headache. I will be better presently. I think I should go to my room and lie down so that I am rested in time for the soirée.”

Once in her room, Rosie threw herself down on the bed.
Did you expect him to remain faithful?
She dealt her pillows a resounding blow with her fist. Despite her attempts to direct them elsewhere, her thoughts went insistently back to that night two years ago.
That magical night when he was
my
lover
.

Chapter S
ix

15th April, 1746. The night before Culloden.

Glancing quickly around her, Rosie knocked on the door of Jack’s bedchamber. The door clicked open, and without a word, Jack gathered her into his arms.

“You should not be here. You know you should not.” There was despair in his voice as he drew Rosie inside.

A shudder of pleasure ran through her as he kissed her hungrily. “Would you rather be alone tonight?”

“I swore I would wait until our marriage, Rosie.” His voice was husky with desire.

Rising on the tips of her toes, Rosie fitted her body to his, exulting in the feeling of his erection throbbing against her stomach. “Patience is for men who are not going into battle on the morrow.”

With a groan of surrender, Jack slid an arm around her, moving his lips down her neck to the hollow of her throat. With one fingertip, he traced her cheek, then her neck, pausing to follow the line of her bodice where the fabric covered the swell of her breasts. Gently, he turned her in his embrace. Before Rosie could question the movement, his lips were on the back of her neck as his fingers busied themselves undoing the laces of her gown. Spreading the fabric apart, he slid it down over one shoulder, drawing her close so that he could caress her exposed flesh with his lips.

Rosie shivered at the sensation of his cock pressing into the curve of her spine. Behind her, Jack took a breath as if to steady himself. She leaned back, resting her head against his shoulder, and together they pushed her dress down over her breasts, past her waist and stomach, until Rosie was able to step out of it. Her shift followed, the garments making a pool at their feet.

Jack’s hand cupped her breast, holding her nipple gently while rubbing it with the pad of his thumb. Rosie tumbled headlong into a spiral of pleasure as his touch sent a shiver of delight shooting from her breast to a very specific point between her legs. The jolt of electricity that passed through her forced her to arch her back, pushing her hard against the front of his body.

Shifting their position, Jack held Rosie so that she could see herself in the full-length mirror that stood against one wall. She wore only her stockings, garters and shoes. Fascinated, she watched as he continued to caress her breast while his free hand slid downward. Rosie gasped as his hand smoothed along her hip and across her stomach. It then dipped between her thighs. He paused for a moment before lightly skimming the soft cluster of curls between her legs.

Pressing his knee between hers, he widened her stance. Using the tips of his fingers, he stroked the delicate skin of her inner thighs. Rosie felt her muscles tense as she watched his movements in the mirror. Slipping his hand between her thighs, his fingers parted the soft curls and slid between her swollen folds. Her entire frame jerked in response. Jack slowly drew his middle finger along her moist cleft, up and back down, probing her wetness as he rubbed her clitoris. When his movements quickened, Rosie whimpered. Her body, taut and aching for release, gave way to a sudden, unexpected wave that crashed through her entire being. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She tried to call out Jack’s name, but the word came out as a helpless croak. The wave crashed again and again, and all she could do was cling to him with both hands, holding the strong arm that was around her waist until the tremors that shook her ceased and she was able to turn in his arms and bury her head in his neck.

Kissing her hair, Jack slid a hand down her back, over the curve of her buttocks and up her spine, soothing her into a state of peace and calm.

“I want you to make love to me, Jack,” she whispered.

He took her face in his hands and studied her face intently. “Rosie, my love, we can’t.”

“You mean because there may be a child?”

“We can’t risk such a thing. Not when I am to go into battle on the morrow.”

“I may never see you again after this night.” She spread her hands across his chest. “Jack, I love you more than life itself. Tonight may be all we ever have, let us seal our love while we can.” She blushed deeply. “And I have heard there are ways…”

With a groan he drew her close again, pressing his lips to the base of her neck and sighing words of love against her skin. He carried her over to the bed and placed her down upon it. He devoured her with his eyes while he removed his clothing and she discarded her stockings and shoes. There was a sweet poignancy to their movements as he joined her. Lowering his lips, he trailed kisses in a line down her body, allowing them to linger on a breast, on the tip of a nipple, along her collarbone. Slowly he anointed her flesh with soft, fluttering caresses.

Jack pressed his hand against her, his middle finger sliding into the wetness between her warm folds. He stroked her still-sensitised clitoris, circling it with his thumb, and flicked over it with the edge of a finger before sliding the same finger inside her. Seeking the sensitive flesh with the tip of his finger, he watched her face as Rosie quivered at his touch. Sliding a second finger into her, Jack suckled one hardened nipple. Slowly, he removed his fingers and used their moistness to tease her to the edge of climax once more. Supporting his weight on his other arm, he positioned himself between her legs.

“I want all of you, Jack,” she whispered unsteadily, and needing no further encouragement, he entered her in one swift motion.

“You feel so tight around me. So perfect.” Jack’s voice was hoarse as he filled her, stopping as if he felt a barrier. Pausing, he pulled out of her slightly, watching her face intently.

“Please, Jack. I want this. I want you.”

Biting his lip, he plunged into her as far as he could. Halting when he heard her sudden inhalation of breath, Jack stilled his movements. Kissing her, he whispered, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Don’t be sorry, and don’t stop.”

Rosie squeezed her eyes shut as he penetrated her completely. The sense of him filling her was overwhelming. The brief moment of pain was gone, and he began to move. She surged up to meet him, lifting her hips so that he was buried even deeper in her. Then he was pulling out and thrusting into her, over and over in a rhythm she matched with her pelvis slamming into his. There was a throbbing deep inside her, the same sensations building again, this time intensified further by Jack’s cock stretching her. It was so perfect that Rosie felt as if her heart would burst as her body quivered with pleasure. She wanted to weep at the beauty of his fullness deep inside her, igniting every nerve ending. Jack’s love for her added ferocity to his passion; he possessed her, demanded everything of her…and she gave all that he asked. Every undulating, urgent movement drove them rapidly towards the soul-shattering climax that was building within them. Rosie’s release rushed through her, a tidal wave of enormous pleasure that left her trembling on the brink of infinity. She cried out in unabashed abandon, the words unclear but the message unmistakable—she was his, in that instant and forever.

She felt Jack tense, and he withdrew from her as his orgasm ripped through him. His body jerked, and she felt his warm, wet release on her thighs. He buried his face in her hair, his voice a muffled groan.

“I will never be sorry,” Rosie murmured later as she lay in his arms, listening with dread to the sounds of the castle coming to life. “No matter what happens, I will always be glad we had this night.”

* * *

Perry’s lodgings were situated in a street that was set at right angles to the square where Lady Drummond lived. What could be more natural than that Jack, having visited his friend, should stroll past her ladyship’s house on his way back to St. Anton House, his own London residence? And if he should pause near the gardens in the centre of the square—the one where the nursemaids sometimes gathered with their charges—while he adjusted the set of his waistcoat, what possible harm could there be in that?

This is degenerating into obsession
, he told himself grimly.
What will you do when you espy a child who is the living spit of Sheridan? Return to your former desolation?

Yet Harry’s words had taken a fierce possession of his imagination.
Alexander. Rosie’s son. What with Xander being born early…

It was on his third foray past the square that his strategy proved successful. A young woman, her clothing denoting her status as a nursemaid, was walking up the steps of Lady Drummond’s house at exactly the moment Jack strolled past. In her arms, she carried a young boy. His mop of black curls was a giveaway. This must be Rosie’s son. He was no longer a baby, but he was only just beyond that age.
The right age.
Jack’s heart gave an enormous thud.

He thought back to the night he and Rosie had spent together before Culloden. He had tried to be careful, but he had been overwhelmed by the wonder of their lovemaking. Looking back, he had never been quite sure he had made it on time. Could this child be the result of that magical night?

The boy appeared sleepy, since his head was nestled into the nurse’s shoulder. As Jack drew level with them, Xander turned to say something to his nurse. Was it his imagination, or did Jack catch a glimpse of blue eyes?

Stop torturing yourself. Go and ask her.
Rosie would undoubtedly lie about the child’s parentage, but Jack didn’t doubt his own intuition where she was concerned. She might have learned the art of showing a bland, doll-like mask to the world, but she would never be able to fool him.

There was no time like the present. Mounting the steps of the house in the wake of the nurse, Jack rapped loudly on the door knocker. It was opened promptly by a footman. Jack presented his card.

“Lady Drummond is not at home this morning, your lordship.” The young man bowed low.

All the better for the purpose of his mission. “It is Lady Sheridan I wish to see.”

“Her ladyship is in the parlour.” Clearly inexperienced, the footman indicated the room. “I will just ascertain…”

“You need not trouble to announce me.” Handing his hat and cloak to the startled servant, Jack marched purposefully into the room.

Rosie was seated on a sofa near the fire. Startled at Jack’s tempestuous entrance, she turned her head. “Benson, I expressly said I was not to be disturbed…” The words died on her lips when she saw who it was.

Jack’s mission was forgotten the instant he saw her face. The only other time he had seen that expression of anguish in her eyes had been after she fired the shot that had killed Captain Overton. He knew what torment she had been through back then, and how she had depended on him to help her through it. Now she had loneliness to contend with as well as pain. Dark shadows beneath her eyes told their own story of the sleepless night she had spent, and he thought there was a suspicion of tear stains on her cheeks. Words of warning flashed briefly through his mind.
Keep your distance. Hearts might heal once. Twice is asking too much.
To hell with that. His heart had not healed. It had not come close. And his own needs would always come second to Rosie’s.

Crossing the room in three swift strides, he dropped onto one knee beside her. Grasping her hands—despite Rosie’s efforts to tug them away— he scanned her face. “What is it?”

Rosie attempted a smile. It was a miserable failure that wobbled slightly. “Oh, I am merely blue-devilled today. Homesick for Derbyshire.” He could tell she was casting around wildly for something—anything—to say to appease him.

“For the love of God, Rosie! This is me—Jack—the man who once swore to be by your side forever. That might no longer be possible, but I can still support you in other ways. Can’t you tell me?”

Rosie took a breath, and he thought she might actually be about to open up to him. Instead, she bent her head, keeping her voice low. “Try to understand, Jack. Some secrets must remain just that. Once shared, they will cause a devastation so great it cannot be reversed.”

“You admit there is a secret, then?” He ducked his head in an attempt to see her face.

“Now you are trying to trick me.” In spite of the indignation in her voice, the dimple at the corner of her mouth quivered ever so slightly.

The temptation was too much for Jack. All the warnings in the world could not have stopped him from dragging her into his arms and crushing her hard against his chest. For one, tiny instant Rosie strained to resist, then she capitulated and they fell back onto the sofa together.

Jack took her face between his hands and leaned in. Rosie’s breath fanned his cheek and ignited a tingle across his flesh. His mouth moved against hers in a kiss that was infinitely tender and seemed to last forever. Rosie responded with a soft purr as she welcomed the caress of his tongue. Turning so that she was pinned under him, Jack pressed his knee between her legs. It was a statement of possession, and her body surged upward in an instant response. It had been so long since he had felt her beneath him, and desire surged through him as the memories of that single, perfect night came flooding back.

It was as he had feared. In two long years no other woman had been able to arouse him. A kiss from Rosie was all it had taken to have an iron-hard erection straining for release from his breeches. He should have listened to his inner promptings. One touch had brought his addiction back full force. Even though anyone—Lady Drummond, the servants, Sheridan himself—might interrupt at any minute, all he wanted to do was release all the passion that had been lying dormant within him. He wanted to take Rosie right here and now, fast and furious so that they were both panting and sweating with the fire and fury of it. One look at Rosie’s face was enough to leave him in no doubt that she wanted the same thing.

He needed to regain control. Moving into a less intimate position, so that he lay at her side, Jack gently and regretfully stroked the soft cushion of her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. With a sound close to a sob, he buried his head in the curve of her neck, and Rosie brought her hand up to touch his face in a gesture of understanding. As she did, Sheridan’s ring brushed his cheek, and with a shudder of self-disgust, he drew himself upright and resolutely moved her away from him.