Redeeming Jack (10 page)

She gathered her thick shawl to her breasts and sighed. “All right, then. But you’d better behave yourself.”

Jack traced a cross over his heart and strolled across to the fireplace. “I’ll be a veritable saint. You won’t even know I’m here.” He settled himself in a large oak chair and stretched out his legs until his booted feet rested on the warm brass fender.

After another suspicious glance, Carys retrieved her book and curled up on the bed. Jack pretended to sleep. The heat of the fire and the sound of turning pages lulled him into an unaccustomed sense of intimacy. He breathed in the tantalizing feminine scent of Carys’s perfume and yearned to bury his face in her hair.

After a while, she sighed. Jack’s lips twitched. She always hated it when he ignored her.

“Jack, are you awake?”

“No.”

Carys put her book down on the coverlet with such a determined air that Jack grew instantly wary. “Why were you punished by your superior officer when you were in Portugal?”

Jack opened his eyes fully and regarded her. “Who told you that? Was it your interfering brother?” He sat forward and shrugged out of his coat, needing a few moments to mask his surprise. “I suppose it doesn’t matter if I tell you. In truth, it’s one of the very few things I’m not ashamed of.”

He got up to pour himself a cup of ale from the pewter jug on the table.

“Would you like some ale, my lady?”

She shook her head but patted the side of the bed. Jack found himself sitting far too close to her. In a determined effort to ignore the effect she had on him, he studied the dented cup in his hands.

“Well?” Carys demanded.

“Major Dennison, my commanding officer, was a coward and a drunkard.” The intimacy of the setting clung to him, making him more willing to talk. “We were passing through an abandoned Spanish village, and the Major ordered us to kill anyone we discovered in the ruins.”

“Anyone?”

“I told you he was a bastard. In the half-demolished church, I discovered twenty-five children cowering in the sacristy with one priest and two nuns.”

“You didn’t kill them, did you?” She leaned forward her hands clasped to her breast.

“Of course not. But I was in trouble because I stopped Major Dennison from doing so.” Jack knew his smile was not pleasant. “Rather than trying to persuade each individual soldier not to fire on the children, I dealt directly with the source of the problem.”

“What did you do?”

“I knocked Major Dennison out before he could give the order to fire.” Jack curled his right hand into a fist. “I was always considered to have a handy bunch of fives.”

Carys kissed his cheek. Her scent flowed around him, as alluring as nectar to a bee. “How like you, Jack, to think of others before yourself.”

Jack drew back from the seductiveness of her touch. “I didn’t feel quite so heroic when Major Dennison sentenced me to fifty lashes.”

Carys gasped and her hand flew to her cheek. “He had you beaten for saving innocent children? That’s barbaric!”

“He originally wanted to have me shot, but the other officers refused to admit they’d seen any misconduct on my part, so he decided to get his revenge another way.” Her anger on his behalf soothed a deep wound Jack had hardly been aware of carrying. “My regiment was called the Steelbacks for our legendary ability to take the lash.”

His fingers whitened as he gripped the cup. He’d never forget the day of his punishment. Each memory was etched into his skull with the startling clarity of cut glass. The glaring white blindness of the sun and the 48th drawn up in full battle dress to witness his humiliation. Evans, the tough Welsh sergeant who’d tied him to the posts, continued to whisper encouragement long after Jack sank into a sea of agony.

Major Dennison made sure to pause the punishment every so often and throw water over Jack until he revived sufficiently to suffer anew. When they’d finally cut Jack down, Evans caught him before he hit the floor and forced him to walk away. The faint sounds of his own battalion cheering had echoed in Jack’s ears as he finally allowed himself to sink into darkness.

“What you did was wonderful, and so like you,” Carys said softly. “You saved all those children.”

He grimaced at her praise. “I couldn’t save my own, though, could I?”

She looked away, but not before he’d seen the stricken look on her face. “Jack, I…”

Jack swallowed the rest of his ale and wondered desperately how he could escape the conversation. The thought of pouring a bottle of cheap brandy down his throat and embracing the oblivion he craved consumed him. With a stifled excuse, he pulled away from Carys, striding toward the door. “Why don’t you get ready for bed whilst I go down and check that all is well with Gareth?”

He made the mistake of looking over his shoulder. She was studying him so intently he wanted to beg her pardon simply for existing. “I’ll do that, if you promise not to get drunk. It’s never a good way to solve a problem.”

He glared at her. “You sound like a damned Methodist preacher. I promised I’d take care of you. Do you doubt my word?”

She raised her chin, the compassion in her gaze rapidly replaced by ire. “I don’t care what you do. I’ve learned to my cost that doing so is a pointless waste of my time!”

Ah, he’d made her angry again, which gave him an excuse to leave. Jack stumbled from the room, the vision of a full brandy bottle luring him on. Of course she doubted him. Didn’t everyone?

He pushed his way through the crowded bar and ordered a bottle of brandy. It came, with a smeared, chipped glass. Jack grabbed the bottle and wrestled with the cork. A dark memory of waking up besides Carys’s bed after she’d suffered her third miscarriage assailed him. He’d left her to the cold comfort of his mother and the physicians, and gone out with his friends. On his return, he’d been too drunk to climb into bed and remained on the floor, cradling an empty whiskey bottle to his chest like an old friend.

His desire for the brandy faded with the blistering memory. Of course Carys knew he liked to drink and was unreliable. She’d experienced his behavior firsthand. A cold wave of disgust wrapped itself around Jack and he pushed the unopened brandy away. He was no longer a spoiled, protected aristocrat’s son who ran away from the harsh realities of life. Carys deserved more.
He
deserved more.

After checking that Gareth had, indeed, departed, Jack strolled outside to smoke one of the duke’s Spanish cigarillos. Most of the men seemed to have left for the cock fight, so the village streets were half empty. He checked carefully for any sign of Captain Fury’s messenger but could find no trace of him. Feeling calmer, he stopped by the kitchen, procured some apples and milk from the harassed cook and went back up the stairs. He’d try again. He would apologize and behave impeccably for the rest of the evening.

The door to Carys’s bedchamber stood open. Instantly alert, Jack placed the apples and milk on the floor and took his pistol out of his pocket. As he inched toward the door, Carys screeched. Jack forgot the need for caution and launched himself into the room.

As Jack charged in, an unknown young man staggered backwards, almost knocking Jack over. Carys stood on the bed, brandishing her book like a weapon, her cheeks an indignant red. The man held a hand to his face and howled as Jack took his arm in a punishing grip.

“She hit me in the eye, the witch!”

“You deserved it!” Carys retorted before Jack could speak. “How
dare
you burst in on a lady uninvited?”

Jack stayed between them, forcing the young man to look only at him. “Who the devil are you?”

“I am Sir Osbert Kendall of Kendall Hall. If you will kindly take your hands off me, sir, I will give you my card.”

Jack let Sir Osbert go. “I don’t wish to see your card. I wish to hear an explanation.” He used his most intimidating voice, the one that had kept many a fresh-faced private alive during the war.

Sir Osbert produced his card anyway and handed it to Jack with a stiff bow. “I was told by one of her friends at the cock fight that this woman welcomed company.”

Carys opened her mouth.

Jack quelled her with a look. “I fear you are mistaken. This lady is my
wife
. Even she would not entertain her lovers in the presence of her husband, would you, my dear?”

Carys dropped him a wobbly curtsey from her precarious perch on the bed. “No, my love,” she cooed. “I have promised to wait until you are far, far away.”

Sir Osbert gulped and turned an unbecoming shade of puce. Jack continued to stare at him until the hapless man cleared his throat.

“I would like to apologize, ma’am, for my grievous mistake, Mr…?” Sir Osbert looked sullenly at Jack.

“It’s my lord and lady, actually,” Jack drawled in his best imitation of his father. “Lord Jack Llewelyn.” He paused to allow that snippet of information to sink in. “Have you anything else you wish to say?”

Sir Osbert mutely shook his head, his gaze fastened on the door as if he wanted to bolt. Jack placed his arm around Sir Osbert’s shoulders and led him away from Carys. He carefully closed the door behind them. In one brutal move he flattened Sir Osbert against the wall, his pistol pressed to the other man’s skull.

“I didn’t want to say this in front of a lady, but if I ever see you near my wife again, I’ll cut off your balls.”

Sir Osbert looked as if he was about to cry. Jack lowered his weapon. Despite his fears, it seemed as if Sir Osbert was just another young idiot, not the assassin Jack had imagined. With a courtly bow, Jack stepped back, allowing the impudent fool to creep past him.

After making sure that Sir Osbert had left the inn, Jack checked his gun and slipped it back into his pocket. He remembered to pick up the apples and milk and brought them into Carys’s bedchamber.

His cheery words of reassurance disappeared as he noticed Carys still stood on the bed, her book clutched to her chest, her glorious red hair loose around her shoulders. With more confidence than he felt, Jack dumped his burdens on the table and strolled across to her. He held out his hand to help her down.

“It’s all right, love. He’s gone.”

To his astonishment, she threw herself against him, arms wrapping around his neck as if she feared to let him go. He luxuriated in the sensation of being needed as she clumsily kissed his neck and ear.

“Oh, Jack,
thank you
. I thought he would never leave.”

Awkwardly, Jack patted her back, trying not to imagine the feel of the curve of her hip under his hand. Her unbound hair swung against his face, enmeshing him in a silken net. She leaned closer, her hips melding into his. He couldn’t prevent his hand from cupping her buttocks and pressing her closer to his more than willing erection.

She caught his face between her hands and stared down at him. “I’m so glad you came back.”

He closed his eyes as she kissed him, her lips tentative at first and then bolder as he opened his mouth and responded. He’d forgotten how long a kiss could last, how it could feel like a thousand years passed and yet it still wasn’t long enough.

When she raised her head, her breathing was as erratic. He moved away, ignoring the signs of arousal in her body as he ignored those in his own. Didn’t she understand that if he bedded her now, he’d never be able to leave her again? It took all his resolve to walk back to the safety of the chair by the fire.

He stared into the glowing embers and waited for Carys to settle into the bed, praying she wouldn’t call out to him again. It had always been too easy for them to make love instead of talking. He took off his coat and waistcoat as his tongue traced his lips where her scent still lingered.

“Jack, are you angry with me?”

He gritted his teeth. “Of course not. The fault was mine for leaving you unattended. Go to sleep, Carys.”

He tensed as she got out of bed and came toward him. Sometimes he wished she had less courage. She took his hand and he allowed her to pull him to his feet.

She brought her fingers up to caress his cheek. “The bed is large enough for us to share. You cannot be comfortable on this chair.”

Jack considered telling her that his years in the army had conditioned him to sleep standing to attention if necessary but decided against it. The desire to lie down with her was too strong and he was far from the hero she sometimes imagined him to be.

She climbed into bed and moved across to the far side, patting the blankets. Jack followed her like a sheep. “If you sleep on the top of the covers and I sleep underneath them, we can both be rested in the morning,” she said.

Jack didn’t bother to argue. He kicked off his boots and untied his cravat before extinguishing all the candles. He lay down on his back and stared up at the cracked ceiling, willing his aroused body to release him from the torments of lust. He leaned across, rested his hand on Carys’s hip and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

Carys awoke to the sound of Jack’s snoring. The revelers in the tavern had gone elsewhere and the night was quiet. She lay on her side; her nightgown rucked up around her waist. Jack’s right arm curved under her body, his hand buried between her naked thighs. His left hand cradled her breasts. Carys let out a slow breath, enjoying the heavy warmth of his callused palm even through her nightgown. In the first years of their marriage, he’d always slept like this, spooned against her back as if afraid to let her go.

From his snores, she guessed he was fast asleep. Greatly daring, she squeezed her thighs together and rocked her hips, enjoying the rush of forbidden heat and pleasure his hand inadvertently gave her. He murmured and flexed his fingers, sending quivers of need through her now-swollen bud. Her nipples tightened against the band of his muscled arm as she pressed closer and closer to fulfillment.

The snoring stopped. In an agony of embarrassment, she shut her eyes, her body rigid with mortification.

“Carys, you are crushing my hand.”

Jack’s soft whisper made her want to wail. She forced herself to relax her thighs and waited for him to move away, praying he wouldn’t say anything else. To her surprise, he made a sound deep in his throat and rubbed his palm against her moist heat.