To Surrender to a Rogue (9 page)

However, when she looked up, there was no accusation in her lovely eyes. Just raw vulnerability. At that moment, Alessandra della Giamatti wasn't the worldly, self-assured scholar. Her mask had slipped, showing a glimpse of her inner feelings. Regrets, shaded by recrimination.

Jack felt a sudden stab of sympathy. Hell, her life must not be easy—a widow, far away from friends, trying to raise a child on her own. He wondered why she had chosen to leave all that was familiar for a foreign land...

"Then we shall go straight home, and Cook will make you a cup of hot chocolate " said Alessandra, smoothing the curls from her daughter's brow. "The ground is damp and you look a little chilled." She hurriedly packed up Isabella's painting supplies. "Good day, Lord James."

The message was clear as a ship's bell—she meant to weather the storm alone.

Any sailor worth his salt would have the sense to steer clear of this lady and child. Why try to navigate such dangerous waters?

Jack heaved a silent sigh and rose from his seat on the oilskin cloth.

"Allow me to carry that for you, Lady Giamatti."

Before Alessandra could object, Jack took up Isabella's paint box.

"Really, sir, you are already burdened with enough—"

His free hand was already on her arm, helping her to her feet.

Despite the layers of wool and muslin, she was acutely aware of the warm, steady strength radiating from his touch.
Lud, the man lifted her as if she was light as a feather.
But then, she had ample enough reason to know what sculpted muscles lay beneath his clothing. As her shoulder grazed his, she drew in a bream to protest again.

Only to be overwhelmed by his distinctive scent of sandalwood, tobacco, and starched linen.

The words died in her throat The essence was intensely male, especially mixed with the earthy musk of his skin.

She jerked back, nearly tripping on her skirts.

"It's no bother," replied Jack softly. "We are headed in the same direction."

"I—I..." Realizing she was stuttering like a silly schoolgirl, Alessandra busied herself with fixing the collar of Isabella's coat

"We are staying in Trim Street," announced her daughter. "Where are you residing, sir?"

"In Queen Street" Jack rolled up the ground cloth and added it to the rest of his load. "So it appears that we are neighbors."

Isabella mulled over the statement for a moment or two. "Well then, perhaps you would like to stop by our townhouse sometime and see my sketches of Perry and Lord Hadley. I—"

"Isabella," interrupted Alessandra, trying not to sound too shrill. "You must not pester Lord James. I am sure he is very busy in town. A gentleman has many demands on his time."

"I am never too busy to view art," said Jack. "I would be very happy to accept your invitation, assuming your mother has no objection." In a lower voice he added, "I give you my word that I will not tie your daughter to a tree, or any other immovable object"

"You may want to think twice before making any such rash promises, sir," she warned. "Clearly you have little experience with children, otherwise you would know that it's never wise to surrender any option."

Jack chuckled—a low, lush rumble that sent a strange shiver down her spine. "Are you saying that you've resorted to rope, Lady Giamatti?
^,,

"There have been times when I've been tempted to do the unthinkable."

Like right now.

Against all reason, she found herself tempted to lean in a little closer to study the sculpted curves of his mouth. There was something sinfully sensual about the fullness of his lower lip, and the memory of its imprint upon her mouth—

Sinful.
Alessandra quickly lowered her gaze. Yes, the man was a handsome devil. But hadn't she sinned enough?

He chuckled again. "It sounds like military tactics and child-rearing have more in common than one might think."

"Will you show me how to shoot a pistol?" demanded Isabella. "And wield a saber?" She skipped across the grass, waving an imaginary sword.

Thank God for her daughter's interruption.
The lilting laughter was a pointed reminder that Isabella's future depended on her. She couldn't afford to make another mistake.

"If I am to be a pirate, I need to know how to capture a treasure ship," continued the little girl.

"Not a chance. Your mother would make me walk the plank," replied Jack. "However, I would be happy to show you how to mix up a better shade of blue for painting the sky."

Isabella considered the offer. "Oh, very well. Pirates probably have lots of free time to paint while they are sailing the seas."

'I'm afraid Lady Sheffield's son was sharing his book on buccaneers with my daughter." Alessandra gave a wry grimace.
"I
hadn't realized until now what bloodthirsty-little creatures boys are."

"As one of five boys, I assure you that you've used the mildest of adjectives, Lady Giamatti," said Jack. "My mother would probably agree with your earlier choice of
diavolo,
though not
new.
The others are all fair-haired."

"You have four brothers?"

"Four
older
brothers." His black brows quirked, softening the chiseled lines of his race. "Whose heroes were dragon-slaying knights rather than swashbuckling pirates. And seeing as I was the runt of the litter, you can imagine who was poked and slashed with makeshift swords. It's a wonder that I survived my childhood."

She repressed a smile, trying to picture a pack of howling blond savages chasing after their smaller sibling. Somehow it was hard to imagine the tall, broad-shouldered Lord James as a small boy.

It was even harder to imagine him terrified of anything.

"Dragons!" Isabella twirled in circles. "I think I shall draw a dragon next With great, big teeth, just like the lion I saw in London."

Alessandra saw a flicker of surprise in Jack's eyes. "A lion," he repeated. "Miss Isabella mentioned that she studied with a drawing master in London. Would his name perchance be Gerhard Lutz?"

"Why, yes. H-how did you guess?"

"I happened to see your daughter's sketches in his portfolio during my last lesson."

Alessandra frowned in confusion. In her experience with London Society, rakish blades of the
beau monde
did not spend their time taking art lessons. "You, a student of Heir Lutz? I think you are teasing me again, sir. I am well aware that your peers do not consider the study of art a very... manly pursuit"

"Manly." He curled a half smile. "Perhaps I don't feel the need to prove myself to anyone, Lady Giamatti. Including you."

"Why should you?" she replied, covering her uncertainty with a quick retort

His lips twitched. "Not that anyone has ever questioned my manhood."

The teasing whisper stirred sudden thoughts of Jack's body unclothed.
Wicked thoughts.
Contrary to all rational laws of physics, her insides began to slide and twist into a terrible tangle.

Tearing her gaze away from his mesmerizing mouth, Alessandra quickly regained control of her wayward emotions. "I, too, couldn't care less about what others think of me."

"Then we actually agree on something," he said lightly.

She drew in a breath, and men let it out unsure how to respond.

"Then again, it seems we are also in accord on the talents of Gerhard Lutz. Who knows what else we might have in common?"

The suggestion was like a lick of ice against her spine. Or was it fire?

If Jack noticed her agitation, he had the grace not to remark on it "Lutz is a superb artist and excellent teacher," he went on. "And very much in demand. Both Miss Isabella and I are fortunate that he consented to take us on as pupils."

Alessandra finally managed to master her emotions. "How did you come to be studying with him?'

"Lutz and I met in Italy and spent a few days together, hiking and sketching the Alpine scenery. When I discovered that he was living in London, I asked to be taken on as a student"

"You attend his Academy classes?"

"No. I've engaged him for private tutorials."

No doubt Lord James Jacquehart Pierson, scion of pomp and privilege, did not wish to rub shoulders with those of less than noble birth. Which begged the question of why he was here at the excavation.

She didn't pretend to understand his motivations—and she didn't dare to delve too deeply into his inner thoughts. Her friend Ciara had hinted that Jack had hidden facets to his character, but as far as she was concerned, they were best left undiscovered.

Why go digging for new trouble?

"Ah," she replied. "I suppose you prefer not to mix with the other classes."

Though the brim of his hat shaded his face, Alessandra thought she detected a darkening of his gaze.
Anger?
She wasn't quite sure. He hid his emotions well.

"I prefer to concentrate on improving my weaknesses, which is best done under individual guidance," answered Jack slowly. "I have much to learn about rendering the nuances of perspective..."

As Jack went on to explain the technical aspects, Alessandra couldn't help recalling the brief glimpse of his sketchbook. From what little she had seen, he appeared to be a very skilled artist. She didn't want him to be, but he was.

Why couldn't he fit into the simple outlines she had drawn for him?

Stopping abruptly, Alessandra held out her hand for Isabella's paint box and ground cloth. "I just recalled a stop that I must make on Milsom Street Thank you for carrying our things this far, sir, but we really must part company."

He eyed her for a moment with that dark look that always seemed so disapproving. "The items are rather weighty for a lady to be lugging through the streets."

Of course they were. What she was suggesting was absurd—which only made her respond more sharply. "I am an archaeologist, sir. I am used to hauling heavy objects, like stones and baskets of dirt"

"As a scientist wouldn't you agree that a far more practical solution would be for me to drop these at your townhouse while you go about your business?" he replied

She could hardly argue without appearing a total ninny.

"If you are sure it is no trouble..."

"None whatsoever."

"Thank you. How very kind."

The flicker in his gaze told her that he wasn't fooled at all by her feeble attempt at civility.

"Good day, Lady Giamatti." Jack gave a solemn nod. "And you, Miss Isabella. Enjoy your shopping."

* * *

As he watched them walk away, Jack found himself smiling. It was hard to explain why he had gone out of his way to be friendly with the two most fiery females of his acquaintance. But strangely enough, this latest encounter had not left him feeling singed. In fact, he had rather enjoyed conversing with Isabella. He had forgotten how delightfully whimsical a child's imagination could be, flitting from here to there, unfettered by the constraints of adult logic or convention.

Free-spirited.

Perhaps there was nothing wrong with defying the rules from time to time. In some ways, Isabella's exuberant skipping and spinning brought to mind some of the watercolor sketches he had seen in Mr. Turner's studio— bold, blurred dabs of color, rendered with childlike spontaneity.

It was
the feeling
that mattered, not the object itself.

Jack stared thoughtfully at the rippling leaves across the lawns, suddenly recalling Lutz's words on developing an individual artistic style.

Experiment. Don't be afraid to be different.

His gaze shifted in time to catch the flutter of dark skirts swishing through the gates. No question that the marchesa dared to defy convention. Gifted with a remarkable intellect, she had decided to develop her talents, no matter that Society did not approve of a female who was smart

That took courage, and conviction.

Shifting the load in his arms, Jack started walking. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to pursue such thoughts.

It was far simpler to think of Alessandra della Giamatti as a Harpy or a harridan than as... a friend. After all, she had made it clear as crystal that she did not welcome his advances.

He did not consider himself a conceited coxcomb, but what man liked to have his gallantry shoved back in his face?

Take, for example, Lady Mary Stiles, who his father was hinting would make a perfectly proper match for a ducal son. She followed the rules of polite behavior to the letter, smiling prettily and agreeing with every utterance that came out of his mouth. There was something to be said for such biddable behavior.

Yes, and the word was boring,
whispered a voice in the back of his brain.

Jack shook his head, seeking to silence the imp.

On the contrary, he told himself. Propriety was pleasant. A female—especially a wife—should be like a background wash in a painting. The color was simply there, a necessary element to anchor the more interesting elements of the composition. It didn't draw notice to itself.