[Cornick Nicola] The Last Rake in London(Bookos.org) (12 page)

Sally gasped and he took advantage to cover her lips with his own in a savage kiss.

‘I’ll be waiting in the car,’ he said, as he let her go. ‘Don’t take too long.’

After he had gone out Sally stalked across the room and slammed the door of Connie’s wardrobe for no more reason than it gave vent to her feelings. She had never been a violent person before she met Jack Kestrel, she thought bitterly. In two short nights he had turned her life upside down. And now, if she cared what happened to Connie, she had little choice other than to go with him. She could imagine what would happen to Connie once Jack caught up with her and Bertie Basset. He would drag Bertie back to London and leave Connie to fend for herself.

You have just taken two hundred pounds from me. I think that gives me the right to demand what I like from you.

For a brief moment, Sally put her head in her hands. Damn him, how she wanted to give the money straight back to him. But she could not, not if she did not want Nell to suffer. The deed was done now and what did it matter? Jack had believed the worst of her before, had thought she and Connie had deliberately set out to fleece Chavenage and Pettifer. His scorn had seared her to the soul so what did it matter now if he thought she was a greedy adventuress who sought to make profit out of their nights of passion? At least she had the money for Nell’s children and that made her fiercely glad.

She went into her own bedroom, drew aside the curtain, and looked down on to the street. The Lanchester was standing outside the main entrance to the club, its silver bodywork gleaming in the sunshine. Sally sighed. She had barely noticed the motor car the previous night, being conscious only of Jack and the need to get back to the club as quickly as possible. Now, as she saw the small crowd that was gathering to admire it, she thought bitterly how typical it was of Jack Kestrel to have the longest, lowest, sleekest, most ostentatious and expensive car in London—and to flaunt it outside her front door.

She pulled a small portmanteau out of the cupboard and started to pack a few necessities, trying to work out how long they might be away for. She knew she had an excellent manager in Dan, who could look after the business of the club on a day-to-day basis. And if they were to take the railway to Scotland, she supposed she would not need to be away for more than a few days. She would be back in plenty of time to put the final touches in place for the grand opening of the Crimson Salon.

‘I want you with me, in my bed, until I tell you otherwise,’
Jack had said. Sally shivered with a mixture of nervousness and sensual awareness. She could not deny that she found Jack devastatingly attractive, but she had never imagined, never dreamed, that it would be like this. That very morning she had acknowledged that she had tumbled helplessly in love with him. His poor opinion of her and callous disregard for her feelings had bruised her, but it had not destroyed the blazing awareness there was between them. She trembled to think of being once again in his bed, but she knew that she would not, could not, succumb to him again.

Resolutely putting the thought from her mind, she took an envelope from the desk, stuffed Jack’s money into it and scribbled Nell’s direction on it. Then she went to join Jack in the car.

J
ack glanced sideways at Sally Bowes as she sat beside him on the deep-red leather seat of the Lanchester. She looked cool, composed and very, very desirable. It took all his self-possession not to lift the saucy black veil she was wearing and kiss her luscious red mouth. She was pin neat in a black-and-white travelling outfit and picture hat that framed her face and Jack admitted to himself that he wanted to rip it all off her and make love to her on the bonnet of the Lanchester. But Alfred, the Blue Parrot doorman, probably would not care for that. He was currently polishing one of the car’s gleaming panels with the sleeve of his uniform and looking as excited as a child with a new toy.

Jack waited whilst Sally handed Alfred an envelope, with a low-voiced instruction that he could not hear. The doorman nodded, stood back and raised a hand in farewell.

‘I do not think we need to go as far as the border,’ Jack said, as the car moved off into the Strand. ‘Bertie has always been a great friend of my sister Charlotte. I suspect they will have gone to Oxfordshire to enlist her support for their marriage.’

‘So are we driving to Oxfordshire rather than travelling by rail?’ Sally asked. ‘That will be a novelty.’ She looked around the car with what Jack could only consider to be disfavour. ‘It is fortunate that we are
not
aiming for Gretna or Mr Basset and my sister would surely be celebrating their first wedding anniversary before we had even arrived.’

‘The Lanchester does a top speed of forty miles an hour,’ Jack said. He smiled drily. ‘At least you did not weigh her down with baggage.’

Sally turned her head away so that all he could see was her profile. ‘I can imagine that the sort of women you know would be encumbered with vast piles of luggage, Mr Kestrel, but I do not require a great deal.’

‘No,’ Jack said. ‘Only whatever two hundred pounds can buy.’ He waited a moment, but Sally did not rise to the bait, although he saw a hint of colour steal into her face. ‘Where did you send the money?’ he asked.

She jumped. Her hands fluttered nervously before she stilled them in her lap. ‘What do you mean?’

Jack sighed. He knew she was playing for time. ‘I saw you, Sally,’ he said. ‘My guess is that you took the two hundred pounds I gave you, put it in an envelope and gave it directly to your doorman to deliver. Who was it for?’

‘You’re mistaken.’ Sally’s voice was nervous now. ‘That is, I did give Alfred a letter to deliver, but it was not…’ Her voice trailed away. ‘I did not think,’ she added, with bitterness, ‘that the terms of our
agreement
required me to account to you everything that I do.’

Jack shrugged. He was not even sure why he was asking about the money. On the night after they had met she had indicated that she had pressing debts associated with the club. Perhaps she had sent the cash to pay off the most urgent ones. And it did not matter much anyway, since he would shortly purchase a controlling stake in the Blue Parrot and take her business away from her. He felt a savage satisfaction at the thought.

He looked at her, so pristine and orderly in her smart black-and-white travelling clothes. Her face was as serene and innocent as it had been when he had met her three nights ago. What an immense asset it must be to her to be able to hide so conniving a mind behind so artless an appearance. No wonder he had been taken in by her apparent honesty. Even though he had already been disillusioned with her as a result of the information Churchward had imparted to him, he had still been shocked by her brazen demand for the money.

He felt a wash of anger through his body that his judgement had been so flawed. He would not trust her; would not make the same mistakes again.

And yet he had what he wanted. He should be pleased, because her amorality meant that he could negotiate and gain the one thing he wanted—Sally Bowes as his mistress for as long as he wanted her, until his passion for her was slaked. He was certain that he would be able to persuade her if the price was right. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he tried not to think about taking her to his bed. He was behaving like an ardent youth rather than a man of experience. Later, when the matter of his troublesome cousin and Sally’s scheming sister was settled, he would take Sally to the nearest inn and make love to her until they were both exhausted. Until then he was going to have to contain his desire. It was going to be a long day.

It was late in the afternoon when Jack nosed the Lanchester through the imposing stone gateway of his sister’s home at Dauntsey Park, near Abingdon, and drew to a halt on the gravel sweep in front of the house. Sally looked about her with interest. The place was huge and somewhat Gothic in style, with towers that would not have looked out of place on a Bavarian castle built on a crag, rather than a stately home reclining in the green fields of Oxfordshire. Seeing her incredulity, Jack broke the silence that had existed between them for most of the journey.

‘It is a monstrosity,’ he agreed. ‘Stephen Harrington’s grandfather built it in the middle of last century to incorporate all his favourite architectural styles.’ He sighed. ‘He had rather a lot of different favourites, as you’ll see inside.’

Sally managed a cold smile. She was tired and out of temper. She and Jack had barely spoken for four hours, including an extremely tense stop for lunch at an inn on the river at Windsor. During the latter part of the journey Sally had tried to sleep, but she was too conscious of Jack’s presence in the enclosed space of the car. Besides, the brim of her outrageous hat made no concessions to comfort and she could not rest her head comfortably. She’d had to make do with keeping her face turned away from Jack and now she had a crick in her neck.

She cast a quick look at him from beneath the hat’s brim. His face was set, stern and dark, and, seeing his expression, she felt her pulse trip a beat. His hands moved on the wheel, tanned and strong, and Sally felt a shiver go through her. Despite all that had happened, she could not be indifferent to him. The passion between them had been explosive. Now she did not know what she felt for him, but it was strong and emotional and it filled her throat. She could feel the tension in the car filling the space between them.

As they had drawn closer to Abingdon so Sally’s nerves had started to tighten. Supposing Connie and Bertie were not to be found at Dauntsey Park after all? Then she and Jack would be obliged to head off to Gretna Green, and who knew whether or not that too would be a wild goose chase? She could end up travelling with Jack the length and breadth on the entire country, and all to no avail. And if they did find the eloping pair, Jack would no doubt haul Bertie back to London and leave her with Connie to make shift for themselves as best they could. In her hurried preparations before their departure, Sally had at least remembered to bring sufficient money to ensure she could afford to pay their fare back to town, but she had visions of walking with an inconsolably sobbing Connie along the muddy lanes of Oxfordshire, trying to find the nearest railway station.

Jack opened the driver’s door, then came around to open her door too and Sally wrenched her thoughts away from impending disaster and gave him her hand so he could help her out onto the gravel. His touch was impersonal and as cold as the look he gave her. Sally’s heart shrivelled a little more to think of herself here in a strange place, with a man whose only real feeling for her was a contemptuous desire.

A butler had already thrown open the front door of the house and now a little auburn-haired girl of about four tumbled down the steps and clutched Jack’s trouser leg with a shriek of glee.

‘Uncle Jack! Uncle Jack!’

A young woman of about twenty-five or six ran down the broad steps behind her, threw herself into Jack’s arms and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek.

‘Jack! It
is
you! How absolutely marvellous!’

Sally watched as Jack’s face broke into a broad smile. He bent and picked up the child and spun her around whilst she screamed with excitement and pleasure. There was a strange hollow feeling in Sally’s heart as she looked at the tableau. Seeing Jack looking like that was like looking at an entirely different man. His affection for his sister and niece was so open and uncomplicated. He looked relaxed and happy.

A nursemaid appeared and tried to take the excited child from Jack. She clung on tenaciously, her little fat arms clasped tightly about his neck until Jack tickled her and ruffled her hair, saying that they would play later when she had had nursery tea. Only then would his niece—Sally had by now gathered that her name was Lucy—condescend to let him go and only then with many a backwards glance.

As the child was reluctantly carted off to tea, Sally turned her attention to the young woman who was hanging on Jack’s arm and laughing. So this was Jack’s sister. They both had the same intensely dark eyes and high cheekbones, but the good looks that were so hard and masculine in Jack were softened in Charlotte by the roundness of her face and an open, friendly expression. If this was indeed the cousin in whom Bertie Basset confided, Sally could see why he might choose her. She exuded a warmth that soothed Sally’s battered soul.

‘Hello, Charley!’ Jack said. ‘How are you?’

‘All the better for seeing you,’ Charlotte Harrington said, beaming. ‘Oh, this is too, too splendid, Jack darling! I was so sure that you would have forgotten!’

There was a moment of absolute silence, during which Sally registered the surprise and uncertainty on Jack’s face and the fact that he was too slow to hide it, and then Charlotte said accusingly,

‘You
did
forget, didn’t you?’

‘Charley—’ Jack began, but his sister was already smiling again.

‘Never mind!’ she said. ‘You are here anyway. We are having a Saturday-to-Monday party in honour of Great-Aunt Ottoline’s birthday—’

‘
Great-Aunt Ottoline!
She is here too?’ Now there was something approaching fear in Jack’s voice and Sally bit her lip to stop the smile that was coming. It seemed that in his haste to track Bertie down, Jack had walked straight into a family party he had been invited to join, but had forgotten about entirely. To see his discomfiture was interesting when he had appeared to be a man who could take most things in his stride. His Great-Aunt Ottoline must be fearsome indeed, Sally thought.

‘Aunt Otto has not arrived yet. We expect her in time for dinner.’ Charley was frowning at her brother’s slowness. ‘I told you—it is
her
party! Papa and Cousin Buffy may also be attending—I am not sure yet.’

‘Papa! Buffy?’ Jack’s tone was failing. Sally’s enjoyment of his discomposure was growing in commensurate leaps and bounds. She had never seen Jack so at a disadvantage in their short acquaintance and it was rather gratifying.

‘Hello!’ Charley said suddenly, sticking out her hand and shaking Sally’s own with great enthusiasm. ‘I do apologise—I have been very remiss in greeting you. I was so excited to see Jack, you see, as was Lucy. I am sorry!’ She paused expectantly and after a moment Jack said, with cold courtesy, ‘Charley, this is Miss Sally Bowes. Miss Bowes, my sister Mrs Harrington.’

‘Splendid to meet you!’ Jack’s sister said, beaming. ‘Only fancy Jack bringing you to a family party, Miss Bowes! I assure you, that has
never
happened before.’

‘How do you do, Mrs Harrington?’ Sally said, lips twitching. ‘I think,’ she added, ‘that Mr Kestrel would not have considered bringing me here for a moment had he remembered that he was engaged for a family gathering.’ She glanced at Jack’s stony face. ‘I am little more than an acquaintance.’

‘Exactly so,’ Jack said drily. His sideways glance at her reminded her of the precise nature of their acquaintance and made her skin prickle with awareness.

Charlotte looked from one to the other, a frown puckering her brow. ‘Then if you forgot all about my invitation and did not bring Miss Bowes here to meet us, why
are
you here, Jack?’ She demanded.

‘We are here to look for Miss Bowes’s sister,’ Jack said. His gaze was enigmatic as it rested on Sally. ‘We have reason to believe that Miss Connie Bowes has eloped with Bertie Basset and we were wondering whether they had come here, Charley. I know Bertie always turns to you first in moments of crisis.’

‘Oh!’ Charlotte looked taken aback. ‘Well, no, I—’ She looked at Sally and her expression softened into genuine concern. ‘My dear Miss Bowes, I am so sorry! What a worry for you. But I am afraid I haven’t seen Bertie for over a month. It is true that he does rather treat me as an elder sister and confide in me.’ She smiled. ‘Lady Basset is not the type one can speak to—far too interested in her own affairs, you understand—and poor Bertie is an only child—’

‘Charley, you are a terrible rattle,’ Jack interrupted. ‘The only point of importance is that Bertie is not here.’

There was a rather awkward silence.

‘Never mind,’ Sally said. ‘I am sorry to have troubled you, Mrs Harrington.’ She tried to keep her disappointment from her voice. Jack had been so sure that Charlotte would be the first person that Bertie would turn to and it was only now, when their search had drawn a blank, that Sally realised how much hope she had been placing on finding Connie at Dauntsey Park. Now, let down and weary, she felt absolutely flat.

‘We shall have to look elsewhere,’ she said, and turned back to the car.

‘Wait!’ Charlotte caught her arm. ‘You cannot travel on today! Where would you go? Stay with us and rest, and then we may all put our heads together and decide what is to be done.’

She turned to her brother with an engaging smile. ‘Jack? Miss Bowes is exhausted. Surely you can stay here tonight?’

Jack was slapping his driving gloves thoughtfully in the palm of his hand. It was clear to Sally that Charlotte’s suggestion found very little favour with him and she suspected that it was because the last thing he wanted was to have to introduce her to the rest of his family, or explain to them the story of Bertie and Connie’s elopement. He could not have made more clear to her the contempt in which he held her.