A Thoroughly Compromised Lady (5 page)

It would do no good to worry Dulci. He'd be unable to tell her anything useful if she asked and that would only serve to anger her. Jack shrugged and dispatched a quick half-truth. ‘There's been some concern about activity at the docks lately, that is all. It's been rougher than usual.'

‘I went to Southwark and all was fine. Although I will admit that it was a section that was more run down than the usual areas I frequent. The artefacts are splendid. Their arrival is quite timely with the Venezuelan delegation in town. I am looking forward to showing them to Señor Ortiz. He may know something more about them than what I can find in the libraries. I want to write an article for the Royal Geographic Society about them.'

No! All of Jack's instincts rebelled at the notion of Dulci showing Ortiz. But he could not overtly steer her away from the man without raising suspicions or looking like a jealous suitor. Neither was an appealing prospect. Well, he'd just have to get there first.

‘I'd like to see your collection. I can serve in Ortiz's place. Perhaps I'll recognise some of the items and be able to shed some further light on them. I have an inspiration—let's take a night off from all this social whirl. I'll call tomorrow evening after dinner. We can fence and I'll tell you if your instructor is any good. Afterwards, we can go over the collection.'

It was an audacious request. A gentleman never called on a lady at such a time and Jack was inviting himself. If it had been anyone else, his intentions would be clear. But Dulci was also a family friend. He was trading on that connection quite liberally with the request.

‘Do you think you can best me, Jack?' Dulci's eyes twinkled with challenge at the mention of fencing. ‘You might be in for another surprise.'

T
he enormous chandelier lit up the Stockport House ballroom. Dulci cut the air with an experimental slice of her rapier, up set ting the lazy waltz of the dust motes in the streams of light. Satisfied with the balance of her weapon, she slid a button over the point and tossed another button to Jack. ‘Too bad we can't put a button on the sharp edge of your wit. Everyone was talking last night about how you fairly skewered Señor Ortiz the night before with your linguistic prowess.'

Jack slid the button over the rapier point. ‘Are you defending him, Dulci?'

‘Only because you were acting like a dog in the manger.' Dulci took another practice slash.

‘I disagree.' Jack executed a lunge against an unseen opponent. ‘I was clever and he'd been ogling your bosom far too long to be appropriate.'

Dulci made an arcing slash. ‘Is there an appropriate amount of time for that? Perhaps some kind of hidden gentleman's rule?'

‘About bosom ogling?' Jack lunged, stretching his leg muscles, thinking for a moment before responding. ‘Yes, no more than two seconds and then one's eyes must revert back to the lady's face and not stray again. That way, she'll wonder if you ever looked in the first place. Of course, if one's partner is especially well endowed in that region and one is very skilled, one can sneak a few more glances by adopting a contemplative look during conversation and drop one's eyes without a move of the head. But I wouldn't recommend it for everyone, it takes a lot of practice to perfect.'

‘That's perfectly appalling,' Dulci scoffed. ‘You don't have a rule, you have a whole treatise!'

‘Makes one wonder what other hidden rules govern the lives of gentlemen, doesn't it?' A wicked gleam lit Jack's eyes. He raised his rapier in a fencer's salute. ‘
En garde
, my dear.'

En garde
indeed! How was she supposed to concentrate after that? They fell into first position. Jack thrust forwards and Dulci parried with expert ease out of reflex, struggling to drag her thoughts back from the conversation.

Jack made a daring lunge and caught her rapier arm out of position. Dulci tried to recover, but was not fast enough to deflect the strike.

‘Touché
. Round one to me.' He winked. ‘You weren't concentrating. Perhaps it was my exquisite physique that distracted you.'

Dulci flashed Jack a withering look and determinedly took up her position. ‘I'm just not used to seeing you in such light colours.' In truth Dulci did find it something of a novelty to see Jack in a plain white shirt and tan breeches. Such clothing didn't hide anything and
her imagination was embellishing heavily, firing her already active imagination to indecent levels. She'd end up skewered by her own blade if she wasn't careful.

He looked almost normal, standing in her ballroom wearing regular clothing. Except for the fact that there was nothing ordinary about Jack regardless of what he wore. It didn't matter if he was the diamond-buttoned fop or the sombre gentleman, Jack drew people to him by the sheer force of his personality, a unique blend of the light and sharp witted, underneath which lurked a dangerous intelligence that men respected and women yearned to possess.

She was no different in that regard. Dulci wished she could unlock the secrets of his mind. But Jack was a guarded man, a puzzle she had yet to solve, which probably explained why he was standing in her ballroom fencing with her, when she was supposed to be mad at him.

‘Are you going to engage any time soon?' Jack drawled, scolding her for wool gathering.

‘I was wondering why is it that you're here when I'm supposed to be upset with you.' Dulci took the offensive and pressed him hard with a series of attacks.

‘Do you have an answer?' Jack asked with a sharp riposte that bought him back some ground.

‘None that I like.' Dulci flicked her wrist and delivered a complicated stroke that nearly disarmed him. She grimaced in disappointment. That move always worked on other opponents. Jack must have wrists of steel to successfully deflect it.

Jack groaned. ‘That's hardly a resounding endorsement.'

A smile twitched at her mouth. Dulci felt a laugh
coming on that would surely disable her. ‘Don't make me laugh, Jack. You're not fighting fair.'

Jack grinned deviously and Dulci knew she had to hurry if she meant to win before she burst into laughter and dropped her guard. Dulci feinted, parried two more quick strokes, then suddenly changed hands. Her left wasn't her strongest arm, but she was counting on the surprise giving her a few seconds' advantage.

This time her tactic worked. Dulci claimed the round four strokes later.

‘Nicely done,' Jack commented, graciously ceding the round. ‘I underestimated you. I didn't know you'd developed your left arm.'

Dulci ran a towel along the length of blade, wiping it clean out of habit rather than need. ‘Turnabout's fair play. I underestimated you in the first round. No one has successfully deflected the move I used towards the end.' Dulci paused, the easy conversation catching her off balance. It was a moment between equals. Eyes met and held. Jack was on the move, crossing the small distance between them.

‘You could do better with it. Let me show you a stronger way to deliver that blow.' Without waiting for permission, Jack slid behind her, his hand covering hers on the hilt of her rapier, his other arm about her waist, drawing her against him as he directed her into position.

The nearness of their bodies swamped Dulci with an acute sense of intimacy. She was so close to Jack she could actually smell him right down to identifying the brand of gentleman's soap he'd used for his
toilette
: an almond scent sold at an exclusive store on Bond Street.

She could identify other things, too: the fact he was five inches taller than she; that she could use the hollow of his shoulder to rest her head and in turn he could use the top of her head to rest his chin; the surprising strength of his arm. Beneath his clothing, Jack possessed a remarkably fit body, built to a fencer's perfection: lean and trim, deceptively muscular, with narrow hips and long legs. An ideal build for stealth and speed, two useful tools an épéeist relied on regularly.

Dulci's face heated at the direction of her thoughts. She was thankful Jack was behind her. She didn't want Jack thinking she could be had too easily like his strawberry actress. Besides, this was all meant to be a purely academic exercise between fellow fencers. But with Jack one could never tell. Jack had the ability to turn the most mundane gestures into a seductive prelude to all sorts of pleasurable sins. After all, they'd only gone out to the garden for a harmless walk.

Jack's hips shifted against her back, his voice soft at her ear in a most non-academic tone. On purpose? Dulci wondered. ‘Let's take a step forwards and try it now with the steady wrist, no flicking this time.'

They moved together, stepping and striking. ‘There, do you feel how much stronger the blade's position is without the flick at the end? Good. Whoever taught you that was more interested in showmanship than real prowess.

‘Now, try it against me.' Jack left her and picked up his own foil. She felt strangely abandoned without the warmth of Jack, the feel of Jack, behind her. Dulci was half-tempted to ask him to show her the move again. The only thing stopping her was her pride. Such a trick
was a ploy other women would use. She would not stoop, hard as it was.

Dulci gamely readied herself and engaged. This time the move worked and Jack found himself disarmed in short order.

‘Very good,' Jack applauded, his admiration obvious, as was his approval. Overt approval was not something she was used to. Men might admire her, and she knew very well that many did. But admiration was not the same as approval. It had taken her a long time to understand the nuances that separated the two.

Men who considered them selves modern and above the traditions of their station might enjoy privately fencing with her, might take pleasure in discussing her collection of histories and artefacts, might even applaud her personal studies from a distance. All of that was well and good in their minds until it came to marriage. A man could admire such traits from afar, but no man wanted to be shackled permanently to a woman who possessed those traits. It had taken six marriage proposals for her to fully under stand.

But Jack was different. She supposed it was because he'd openly declared himself not the marrying kind and she could trust him to stand by that declaration unlike Gladstone, her sixth miserable proposal. Gladstone had declared no more than friendship and respect for her and then surprised her with a marriage offer accompanied by a list of demands regarding the things she'd need to give up as his viscountess.

In those terms at least there was no risk of such a misunderstanding with Jack. She under stood Jack perfectly. Rumour could be trusted in this regard: he offered a moment of physical pleasure, no promises attached.
A relationship would last only as long as Jack's work didn't encroach. In many ways, a relationship with Jack was over before it started. A woman who gave herself to Jack would have to be happy with whatever she could salvage. In the long term, Dulci doubted she could do such a thing. But it hardly mattered. She wanted only the experience he offered and then they could go their separate ways.

The thought haunted her through out their work out. Dulci was glad for the excuse of exercise. She could pretend the flush on her cheeks was from their exertions.

They worked a while longer on footwork and various techniques until both were well exercised from their efforts. Dulci stopped and wiped her face with a towel. ‘I'm finished, Jack. How about you? I'll have a tea tray sent to my collections room. We can eat a little supper and I'll show you the new batch of artefacts. I've just begun cataloging them. You can see for yourself that I've not been hood winked into buying fakes.'

 

The collection room far exceeded any of Jack's preconceived expectations. Two adjoining drawing rooms had been devoted to Dulci's work, the dividing doors between them pulled back to maximise the space; tall windows overlooking the back garden let in copious amounts of light during the day. Where the light was best, a long work table sat against a wall, strewn with stones, statues and wood carvings. Bookcases were laden with atlases and treatises from the Royal Geographic Society. Free-standing curio cabinets with glass shelves stood about the room, compelling the visitor to wander, stopping to look at each treasure.

And they were indeed treasures, Jack noted, studying each case in turn. It was impossible to tell how honestly anyone had come by the items, but they were authentic. He could rest easy on that account. Dulci had not been misled into purchasing frauds. He stopped to eye a splendid lapis-lazuli-and-gold Egyptian collar. ‘These are very fine items, Dulci.'

He studied a cabinet containing a set of bronze elephants with jewelled eyes. ‘From India?'

Dulci moved to stand beside him. ‘From a ma ha rajah. An old friend brought them back for me a few years ago.'

‘Is that wistfulness I hear?' Jack asked, tossing her a sideways glance. ‘Would you like to go to India some day?'

‘I'd like to go anywhere.' Dulci ran an idle hand over a mask, tracing the contours. ‘India, Egypt, the Americas. There's a big world out there—' Dulci waved a hand ‘—and I've seen so very little of it.'

A footman entered with the trays and Dulci crossed the room to direct the setting out of the tea and supper on a vacant table. Jack studied her as she gave instructions, her dark hair hanging in a thick braid down her back, the shapely curve of her hips in the tight fencing trousers she wore.

A stab of jealousy went through him. He was an only child and had never acquired an appreciation for sharing. Had Gladstone seen her dressed thusly? Probably not, Jack reasoned. No man could see Dulci turned out in tight trousers and white shirt and blithely let her go. He could feel himself rising appreciatively at the provocative sight of her backside. On the other hand, maybe Gladstone, traditional bastard that he was, had
seen Dulci like this and promptly run the other way. Gladstone wouldn't know what to do with a woman like Dulci.

Jack knew. Whether or not that was a credit to him, however, was in dubious question. Dulci was a woman full of passion, a woman ready to burst with it. He recognised it in her smiles, in her blue eyes so full of life. It was there in her dares, those stupid dares that would bring her down sooner or later. She would not be careful for ever. One risk would be to go too far with the wrong sort of gentleman who would covet her
joie de vivre
. He would spare her that humiliation, that fall from grace if he could. But Dulci would not tolerate being reined in.

She'd done an admirable job of fooling London society so far. He could hardly reconcile the perfectly coiffed Incomparable who took to the dance floor every night of the London Season with the energetic virago who'd bested him at fencing and took a serious interest in anthropology. He supposed it was something of a revelation to learn he wasn't the only one who wore a mask. In that, he and Dulci were quite alike.

The one thing that had become abundantly clear to him in the past few months since Christmas and intensely so in the past few days, was that he wanted her. Kissing her in the garden had only served to reignite his previous desire. He wanted all that energy, all that beauty, all that wit, in his bed. He knew too that it would have to be her choice, her understanding of what such an arrangement would mean and what it would not, both for her as well as for him.

There were so many reasons not to pursue this mad passion any further; she was un touched and he had
nothing to offer—nothing he
would
or
could
offer. This decision would cost her far more than it would cost him. It would not impede his chances to marry—not that he had any plans in that direction—but it would impede hers should she ever change her mind and accept some erstwhile suitor in the future. But the body defied logic. Such reasons did nothing to staunch his desire.