The Rebel's Promise (13 page)

Sir Clive’s eyes were on the card room and he stayed with his aunt and his hostess barely a minute before heading in that direction. The play of emotions on Jack’s face was a study in despair and, after a brief battle with himself, he swung out of the ballroom. He headed back down the main staircase and out into the cool night air.

Rosie had elected not to attend Lady Marchmont’s ball, telling Lady Aurelia – not entirely untruthfully – that she had a headache. Her ladyship had fluttered about her in concern, exclaiming over her pale complexion and heavy eyes. Her anxiety for her young guest’s welfare did not – thankfully – lead to Lady Aurelia curtailing her own plans to attend the ball.

“You must not worry about me, child,” she told Rosie in a reassuring tone, “Clive shall be my escort.”

In truth, Rosie simply could not bear to see Jack again or watch him flirt so outrageously with the numerous society ladies who threw themselves in his way. Sir Clive was putting increasing pressure on her to allow him access to Harry’s fortune, and she knew his debts were mounting daily. His gambling was spiralling out of control, and her determination to protect her brother’s inheritance made him increasingly unpleasant towards her. Once he had left for the party, she spent a pleasant hour playing chequers with Harry before sending him off to bed. He was becoming more and more bored in London. Rosie was torn between keeping him with her because his company afforded her some comfort, and sending him back to Derbyshire so that he could resume his studies.

She was dispiritedly endeavouring to concentrate on the fashion pages of a periodical when a heavy hand on the door-knocker sent an echo through the house. Seconds later, Jack burst tempestuously into the room. Because he had been so much in her thoughts she actually wondered for a moment if she was imagining his presence. Rising hurriedly to her feet, she took a step towards him and he stopped abruptly just inches from her, his eyes hungrily raking her face.

“I tried so hard not to come here tonight, but I have to know …’” his voice was hoarse with emotion, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “You may have chosen him but did you ever love me … or was it indeed just pretence? You owe me that explanation at least.” His voice faltered on the words. “You asked me once if I was practising my seduction technique on you. Is that what
you
did with me, Rosie? Whiled away a few otherwise dull hours, honing your skills …”

Rosie shook her head. Dear Lord, how could he think such things of her?

“Jack, I ached for you when you had gone … I missed you so much …” she faltered at the disdain in his eyes.

His lip curled. “But not for long, eh, sweetheart? You waited a few short months before you found yourself another lover!” She flinched at the words and, so great was his jealousy, that he felt a fierce joy at her pain. “And it didn’t take you long to snare him into proposing marriage. But then, once a man has bedded you, Rosie, he will be hungry for more. I know that to my cost.”

“Stop it, Jack,” Her voice was barely a whisper, and Rosie lifted a hand that was not quite steady to cover her eyes. She felt as if she had been plunged into a nightmare. This cold, hard stranger with the flinty eyes could not be Jack. And yet, she sensed that the real Jack – her beloved Jack – was still within him somewhere. If only she could find the right words to explain how she felt and convince him how wrong he was, perhaps she could reach him. But those words just would not come.

Her quiet dignity touched Jack more than tears or tantrums could ever have done and, with a frustrated groan, he closed the gap between them, dragging her roughly into his arms and crushing her hard against his chest. His dear, familiar face swam into focus briefly before his lips claimed hers in a fierce, bruising kiss. Rosie’s legs buckled and she clung to him to stay upright, her lips parting eagerly as she exulted in the familiar, longed for taste of him. With one accord, they sank down onto the sofa, and Rosie lay enclosed in the circle of Jack’s arms – the only place in the world she wanted to be.

Jack took her face between his hands and leaned in, his breath fanning Rosie’s cheek and igniting a tingle across her flesh. This time, his mouth against hers was infinitely tender in a kiss that seemed to last forever. Rosie responded with a soft purr as her lips parted to welcome his tongue. Turning so that she was pinned beneath him, Jack pressed his knee between her legs. It was a statement of possession and he delighted in the responsive way her body arched upwards against him.

Torn apart by the strength of his emotions, Jack lifted his head and studied her face, delighting in every plane and angle of her precious features. Gently he stroked the soft cushion of her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, a familiar gesture which brought tears to her eyes in a way his harsh words had not. 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 wonderingly. As she did so, Clive’s heavy ring brushed his cheek and, with a shudder of something close to revulsion, he drew himself up and resolutely put her from him.

“Your lips are every bit as beautiful as I remember them,” his mouth twisted briefly into a bitter, self- mocking smile. “And so very sweet are your kisses ... almost as practised as your lies.”

Bewildered by this abrupt change, her emotions in turmoil, Rosie could only watch as he rose and strode towards the door. Pausing, he turned back,

“What was it you said to me, Rosie? ‘If it takes forever, Jack, I will wait for you’?” he mimicked her voice cruelly and she flinched to hear him mock the loving promises they had exchanged. “Yet, the bed we shared had not had time to grow cold before
he
was between your thighs.”

His deliberate, uncharacteristic coarseness made her flinch. When she did not answer, he gave a short, harsh laugh,

“My apologies for troubling you, Miss Delacourt, let me assure you that it will not happen again.”

And, with a brief bow, he left. Instinctively, Rosie started after him then, realising the futility of her actions, she stopped and listened to his footsteps ringing across the tiled floor of the hall. Once she was sure he had gone, Rosie allowed her shaking legs to give way and sank to her knees before the fire, covering her face with her hands.

Jack stormed back into the ballroom like a man pursued by daemons and promptly threw back several glasses of Lady Marchmont’s finest champagne in quick succession. Bella, unceremoniously abandoning her eager court of admirers, made a bee-line to his side. He regarded her morosely for a moment and then informed her curtly.

“Your pardon, my lady, I am not in the mood for conversation and am unlikely to be good company this evening.”

“Oh, I think you should allow me to be the judge of that.”

Bella informed him with her fascinating, witchy smile. She laid a hand on his forearm and leaned in close. It was a practised movement and afforded him an excellent view of her ample bosom, which swelled enticingly with every breath. The 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,” she continued with the boldness for which she was known, “Conversation can sometimes be a hindrance to two people’s enjoyment of each other’s … ah, company. I have several bottles of the finest, sweetest cognac you have ever tasted … in my boudoir, at my house.”

Bella pressed herself closer against him and Jack studied her face thoughtfully, dashing off the last of his champagne. Why not? She was undoubtedly beautiful and more than willing. Perhaps in her experienced arms he could finally erase the pain of Rosie’s duplicity.

“What are we waiting for?” he asked and Bella’s lips twitched appreciatively.

“What indeed?” she asked, taking his hand and, oblivious to the clucking of a gaggle of disapproving dowagers, leading him out of the ballroom.

“Dash it all, Bella!” One of her admirers demanded as she waited for her carriage. “What does St Anton have that I do not?”

Bella chuckled naughtily and patted his cheek, “Me,” she replied and ran lightly down the steps.

In the carriage, she sat next to Jack, reaching out a hand to test the hard, sinews of his thigh. An expert in the art of seduction, she gave an anticipatory shudder.

“I cannot wait to feel this,” she squeezed his leg, “Between my own ... later.”

“You are shameless, my lady,” Jack told her.

“Bella,” she prompted.

“You are shameless, Bella,” he corrected himself and she nodded her agreement, pulling his head down so that she could tease his lips with her tongue.

“I work hard to maintain that reputation,” she whispered.

When they arrived at her house, Bella took his hand and led him straight to her boudoir. A room 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, Bella leaned in close to kiss him. 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. Bella obligingly went to fetch him another, saying playfully,

“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 a little claustrophobic and - even more alarming - his libido was remaining stubbornly indifferent to her blatant invitation! When Bella eventually came to sit next to him, he decided a determined effort was required on his part. Sliding a hand about her waist he bent his head towards her but she forestalled him, placing her own hand on his chest. Jack quirked a questioning eyebrow at her and she smiled – a genuine smile, quite unlike the usual 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 said, removing her hand from his chest and dropping 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 really 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 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, Jack, have ever been
truly
in love with someone else.” 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. “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 … perhaps in Grosvenor Square? To be precise … in that simpering ninny Aurelia Drummond’s house.”

“I’m sorry,” and she knew that Jack meant it. “I thought if anyone could make me forget her, Bella, 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 with your little country maid?”

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

“And now?” Bella prompted.

“And now, having chosen him, she is sticking with that decision,” his face hardened, “I have said some dreadful things to her, things which can never be unsaid.”

“You were hurt. If she loves you, she will understand.”

He smiled and she was struck again by his appeal.

“Aye, that’s the only word which matters …
‘if’
,”

His eyes were beginning to cross with a combination of tiredness and brandy.

Bella’s outrage was genuine. “The man is repulsive and there is a touch of wildness about him which I like not. Also there has been talk about his preferences in the bedchamber which, if true, make him the most perverse monster imaginable. She
cannot
prefer him over you!”

“Bless you for that, Bella,”

He leaned his head wearily back against the silken cushions and, within seconds, was sound asleep. Bella regarded him thoughtfully before kneeling to remove his shoes and then fetching a throw to cover him. He did not stir during these ministrations and she pressed light, regretful lips to his forehead. Such a handsome, virile man! What a waste!

“You are an angel, Bella,” Jack, finished a hearty breakfast and, rising to take his leave of her, paused to plant a grateful kiss on her cheek. He had slept like a baby and woke feeling much refreshed. It seemed he had found an unexpected friend in the notorious Lady Bella.

“Palaverer!” she said fondly, “You are quite sure I can’t tempt you …?”

Jack was still laughing at her brazenness as he descended the steps of her house, aware that he presented an incongruous sight in his formal evening attire. Unfortunately, a group of young gentlemen with whom he was very well acquainted were on their way to a prize fight on horseback. They chose that very moment to pass by the elegant, narrow townhouse.

“What-ho, St Anton!” Sir Dudley Ramsbotham hailed Jack with ribald delight and the whole cavalcade promptly reined in 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 Bella to still be abed at this hour.”

Sir Peregrine, pleased to see his friend finding solace of a carnal nature at long last, chipped in, “’Tis a rare sight, Jack … a man who can walk out on his own two feet after a night spent in Bella Cavendish’s …” he coughed diplomatically, “ … boudoir”. There was a general ripple of lewd laughter. “More often than not, it takes two strong men to carry the unfortunate soul away and an enforced period of rest and recuperation is prescribed.”