A Thoroughly Compromised Lady (6 page)

The supper things were settled at last to Dulci's satisfaction and Jack took a seat on the sofa across from her, picking up the thread of their interrupted conversation. ‘If you want to travel, why don't you?' Jack reached for a plate of cold meats and bread.

Dulci laughed. ‘I haven't the same freedoms as a man, Jack. I can't pack my maid off to Egypt with me as if it were a trip to Bath.' Dulci bit into her meal with a ferocity that echoed her disapproval of such strictures.

‘Of course not. Surely something can be arranged. There are guidebooks and tours these days. You'd hardly be alone.'

Dulci shook her head and made a face. ‘I don't want to travel with a tour. It would be in credibly boring, visiting all the same places everyone else visits. I want to explore. You've seen land no Englishman has ever seen. It's simply not fair. You got to because you're a man.' Dulci sighed and sank back against her chair. ‘You don't know how lucky you are, Jack. Your life is portable, your body is portable. I wager you could walk out this door and be on a ship to anywhere by the tide, or a mail coach within minutes of leaving my house.'

Dulci's eyes burned with a need so intense Jack felt it sear him deep inside. Shame on society for having no idea or tolerance for such a fire. Inside the walls of her brother's house, she could wear trousers and fence,
write her articles, collect her artefacts. But not beyond. Outside Brandon's home, she was trapped by society's rules and by her sex.

‘Is that why you haven't married?' Jack took an educated guess. Dulci could no more bear half a life for herself than she could half-measures from anyone else.

‘Whatever does that have to do with anything?' Dulci's answer was sharp and defensive. He didn't blame her. His comment sounded entirely
non sequitur
, only it wasn't. He could see the connection. Marriage would take her out of Brandon's house, out of the only place she had any freedom. Jack loved women, but he was heartily glad he'd not been born one. He wanted to say something that would comfort her, but he could not give her empty words. She would know they were just that.

‘For your information, I haven't married because I haven't met the right man.' Dulci took a defiant bite. Jack fought a smile. It wasn't anyone who could convey all manner of message by simply eating.

Jack wasn't ready to let the conversation go. It was proving to be far too interesting. ‘The right man would be…' Jack let his words fall off.

‘Out there somewhere.' Dulci fluttered a hand. Not the answer he was looking for. He'd been hoping for a list of itemised qualities. ‘I am in no hurry. I have no reason to marry.' She fixed him with a pointed stare. ‘Unlike yourself. What are you now, Jack? Mid-thirties? You need an heir for that new title of yours.'

‘Same reasons as yours, I suspect.' The conversation was suddenly not as interesting as it had been. Thoughts of an heir and how they were begot had aroused him. He set down his plate and rose. ‘Come and show me the
Venezuelan items. It is why you brought me up here, isn't it?' he charmed shamelessly. ‘Or is this a new rendition of showing off the etchings?'

Dulci led him to the long work table beneath the windows. The items were laid out by groupings, some already tagged with notes lying beside them. ‘These are cooking implements from what I can tell—a
metate
, a pestle.' Dulci reached for a book nearby on the table and turned to a marked page. ‘The items match the drawings here and the brief description.' She showed Jack the page. ‘I'd like to know more, though. These items suggest a certain diet and they rule out the presence of other foods. One can grind grains and seeds with these, but I have yet to find any tools that would be good for meat dishes. It tells me these people don't eat meat at all or at least very little.' She stopped herself. ‘I didn't mean to go on. Am I boring you?'

‘Hardly.' He could listen to Dulci talk all day, although given the choice there were other things he'd rather do with her. He'd wanted to see the artefacts but this evening appointment was proving ill founded. Fencing had been quite a stimulating exercise, her body pressed to his as he showed her the appropriate move and she'd not been immune.

Jack was impressed with her reasoning and said so. Dulci shrugged. ‘I've picked up many tips from the lectures at the Royal Geographic Society. When they say something like that it seems so obvious, yet I wouldn't have thought of it on my own. It's quite a reminder about how locked into our worlds we get, the blinders we wear without knowing it.'

‘Still, your applications of the knowledge are very insightful,' Jack complimented.

‘I am hoping Señor Ortiz can fill in some blanks for me, however. The British library was severely deficient in any relevant texts, another reason why I want to do an article,' Dulci said with more enthusiasm than Jack liked. It was the second time she'd mentioned wanting to use the Spaniard as a resource.

Jack had to prevent such a discussion from happening. It didn't matter if this was the same cargo Ortiz was looking for, suspicion on Ortiz's part would be enough. Jack did not want to think what lengths Ortiz might go to in order to retrieve the cargo. But now wasn't the time to dissuade Dulci. He had to choose his moment. Jack picked up a heavy mortar to examine. He ran his hands over the smooth rock surface, an idea taking root. If this was the missing cargo, what would Ortiz be looking for? An artefact with a hidden cavity? If he could find the map first, he could use it to lead Ortiz away from Dulci.

‘The tribes Schomburgk and I ran into on the Anegada mission were infamous for their booby-traps. There were all kinds of secret levers and counter weights to spring trap doors and such. Do you think the Arawak have secret hiding places? Have you read of any similar traditions?' Jack kept a certain amount of levity in his tone. He didn't want to appear too eager.

Dulci knitted her brow, making an honest effort at recalling. ‘You mean like a false bottom? I haven't heard of anything like that. It would be exciting though, wouldn't it, to find a hidden treasure.' She scanned the assortment of items on the table. ‘I am afraid most of these items are too small, and I'd doubt stone is very easy to carve out a hidey-hole in.'

‘I suppose so.' Jack assented. Many of the items
did
look too crudely carved from hard stone to hide a secret compartment with much skill. But his eyes silently lit on a wooden statue at the far end of the table and a collection of boxes with carved lids. He'd like to study those further without drawing Dulci's attentions. Maps could be folded. They didn't have to be rolled. Folded, they would take up far less room. A paper map could be folded down quite small.

‘A single item contains an entire belief system if one knows how to look at it. This one tells me about their religious preferences. Nature is their god,' Dulci was saying. ‘I think this item is almost beautiful.' It was the soft, reverent quality of Dulci's voice that drew his eyes to her and the item she held in the palm of her hand, a fertility fetish. ‘It's been carved out of turquoise and someone spent hours polishing it. Perhaps it belonged to a tribal queen.'

The fetish
was
beautiful and highly corporeal with its full breasts and round belly or maybe the moment owed its sensual over tones to Dulci's voice. Jack felt his member stir in response. It had been stirring for the past three days since the first night in the ballroom, if the truth be told. Did Dulci have any idea how she was affecting him? The evening, the delightful company, the temptation of Dulci's fire were over powering. Perhaps they could play a little without too much harm, Jack's inner devil suggested.

He took the fetish from her. ‘Maybe it was a gift from her lover.'

This time there could be no mistaking his statement as an academic assessment. Jack's words were charged with explicit seduction. Something potent and hungry sprang to life between them. Jack let her see his rising
need in the slow gaze that caressed her face, in his fingers' deliberate stroking of the little fetish—a move calculated to look absently done. He dropped his gaze down her body. It had the desired result. Dulci bit her lip, stifling a little gasp at his boldness.

‘Stop it, Jack,' she scolded, a nervous, excited tremor in her voice. ‘That was more than two seconds.'

‘I am making my intentions known.' Jack took her hand. ‘Don't pretend you didn't see this coming.'

‘No, I won't pretend it.' Dulci trembled as he ran his knuckles gently the length of her arm. ‘I've wanted it. It's time to finish what we started in the orangery.' Her voice was nothing more than a breathy whisper, her desire getting the better of her.

‘And the garden, don't forget.' Jack reached for her, pulling her hard against him for a slow kiss. She was an innocent wanton. ‘Do you know what we started?' he whispered, testing her.

‘I have no idea, not really.' She parted her lips, wet and wanting. ‘But I want to know, Jack. I want to know everything and I want you to show me.' Those blue eyes of hers smouldered with want; every man's fantasy, his fantasy—Dulci in his arms, giving him permission to unleash her passion, to show her what her body was made for. It was a potent, frustrating elixir that worked all kinds of magic, undoing his tenuous grip on the realities beyond this room, this night.

‘Do you know what you're doing, Dulci?' he asked one last time. He wanted to be patient, but it was difficult to be patient when one was rock-hard and had been for some time.

‘I know, Jack. This is what I want.'

Jack nodded and stepped away from her.

‘What are you doing? Where are you going?'

‘I'm locking the door. No more interruptions, not for this.'

 

Dulci waited for him at the sofa, watching him as he locked the door. He was playing for time for her sake, giving her a last moment to make her decision. The die was nearly cast.

It wasn't a question of wanting him.

She did.

It was a question of wanting him enough to live with the after math. Not the after math of lost virginity—virginity was highly over rated in her opinion, its importance a myth perpetuated by men who didn't want women to have the same freedoms they enjoyed. It would be a relief to surrender hers and have done with it. That was not the after math that concerned her. She had grappled with the social implications of virginity since the night in the carriage.

What worried her most in the few moments she had left was whether or not she could let Jack leave as he most assuredly would; whether or not she could stand knowing that something which would mean so much to her would mean so little to him, certainly not enough to stay. It was the way she wanted it, but she was not naïve enough to believe the event would carry no emotional weight for her.

Jack turned from the door and faced her. This was her last chance. She could call a halt or continue with an encounter that would satisfy her curiosity once and for all and hope that it would be enough.

S
he drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders in determination, her decision made. Jack could see the resolution in her eyes. He crossed the room towards her, watching as she reached a hand to loosen her hair, shaking it into a long ebony cascade, and Jack's need ratcheted up another impossible notch. Dulci might be un touched, but she was bold, an undeniably heady combination.

Something flickered in the blue flames of her eyes. Faith, perhaps? Faith that she'd made the right decision, faith in him that he wouldn't fail her? She wrapped her arms about his neck and he pressed her against him, covering her mouth with his in a full-bodied kiss.

The dance had begun. He would start slowly, letting their bodies know one another and then…well, then he would take them both to pleasure. He sensed her impatience, her curiosity. ‘Patience, Dulci. I'll get us there, but not too soon. The journey's half the fun. You'll see.'

 

His hands teased her breasts through the fabric of her shirt, a hand slipped down to cup her through the trousers at the juncture of her thighs, making the presence of clothing seem as erotic as being without. Jack made short work of her shirt fastenings and she changed her mind. His hands worked magic on her bare skin.

‘I thought massages were for backs,' Dulci observed languidly, her body boneless beneath the soft caress of his thumbs high on her rib cage, tantalisingly close to her breasts.

‘Only for those of a limited imagination, my dear.' Jack lowered his head and kissed her belly. A hot shiver shot through her and Jack gave her an iniquitous smile. ‘That would be like saying kisses were only for the mouth, don't you think, Dulci?'

‘You're a wicked tormentor, Jack.'

Jack merely chuckled and did away with her trousers, his hands sliding up the bare skin of her legs. ‘I love your legs, Dulci,' he murmured, stopping to kiss the inside of her knees and stopping again to kiss the inside of her thighs. ‘They're so lithe and so very long, supple enough to wrap around me, you can hold me tight when I am deep inside you.'

His hot eyes shot up to her face, full of want and anticipation, reminders that the pleasure the two of them invoked now was a prelude to the mysterious pleasure yet to come.

Then it was his turn. He moved apart from her and un dressed swiftly, letting her look upon him. ‘Would you like to touch me, Dulci?'

She nodded, letting him take her hand, guiding it between his legs, to where he wanted her hand the most:
on him, at the core of his manhood. He held her there, showing her how to stroke him fully, how to tease the tender tip of him. Dulci was in awe. These were glorious secrets.

He stopped her hand. ‘You'd be the death of me if I let you, Dulci. But there's more to come. Let me show you.' He gently pushed her back against the sofa cushions.

He drew a deep breath and lay over her, covering her with his length. She could feel his strength in his reserve; the effort he took not to burden her with his full weight, the power of his erection where it lay between them prodding at her entrance. Jack was kissing her again, taking away any ability to think, reminding her now was not the time for reflection but for action.

She shifted her hips in intuitive welcome and Jack took her in a quick, thorough thrust, tearing away the thin proof of her virginity. She gasped. Jack stilled inside her. She stretched around him and then they plunged together, meeting each other in the ancient mating waltz, finding the exquisite rhythm that pushed them towards brilliant fulfilment. Her legs locked about Jack, holding him deep, her body feeling each intimate tremor as he neared his completion, shattering inside her while she shrieked her own satisfaction, oblivious to the fact that though locked doors can keep people out, they can't always keep sounds in.

 

It was a while before she wanted to talk again. In the after math of their love-making, all she wanted to do was lay on the sofa with Jack, somnolent and satisfied. Somewhere in the depths of the house a clock struck the late hour. The evening had fled. It was now technically morning. It seemed surreal that balls were still going
on all over town. That world seemed irrelevant and far away compared to the world she and Jack had created here.

But this could not last and she knew it. Still she could not willingly rouse herself. Not even reality could compete with being tucked against Jack's naked warmth, his sex stirring already against her buttocks, his voice teasing in her ear. ‘What shall we do for an encore, my dear?'

‘I have an idea,' Dulci whispered, moving to sit astride his thighs, fully ready to give herself over to a night of decadence.

 

In the early hours of the morning, another idea occurred to her, surfacing from the warm depths of replete desire. Maybe this was why she hadn't found the right man. Who could possibly give her the pleasure she'd found with Jack? Sexual pleasure, certainly, but there was another level of pleasure, too; their sharp repartee in the ballrooms, the other exchanges, too, like when they'd been fencing, when their mutual guard was down. All of that would disappear when she married. No man let his wife keep any male friends she might have acquired previous to him.

Probably for this very reason, Dulci thought, snuggling a bit closer to a dozing Jack; fear that his new bride had a lover prior to him, which in turn created an awkward, competitive triangle. No man wanted to worry about living up to past comparisons, especially if that comparison involved Jack.

Unless that husband was Jack, came the unbidden, for bid den thought. The thought was shocking, a violation of what she'd promised herself with regard to
Jack: expect nothing beyond the moment,
want
nothing beyond the moment. He would not stay and this had been about curiosity only.

She must have tensed. Jack murmured in his sleep, his hand warm where it lay splayed across the flat of her stomach.

Jack was self-pro claimed non-husband material and Dulci couldn't disagree. Jack as a husband only
seemed
like a good idea in the after math of their passion. It was probably natural to entertain such thoughts. But it wouldn't always be like this. She knew empirically that outside the passion, outside the body he shared to its fullest in bed, there were times when he'd be gone and things he could not share when he returned. She would only ever have part of him. The trail of women he left behind him was testimony enough in that regard.

Needing to distract her mind from such errant and dangerous thoughts as marrying Jack, Dulci rose from their make shift bed on the floor, the sofa having been outgrown by their antics hours ago. She draped a burgundy throw about her shoulders and went to the work table. Jack groaned his disappointment behind her.

‘I'm looking for something I want to show you.' The throw slipped down one bare shoulder as she shuffled through the objects on the table.

‘I like the view from here,' Jack murmured appreciatively.

‘You're in satiable,' Dulci scolded, but she didn't mind. His comment warmed her on the inside. There was a certain pleasure in knowing she was an equal match for her lover's enthusiasm.

Lover.

It was the most apt term for describing Jack. He was
her lover. Nothing more and certainly nothing less, if she were entirely sanguine about it. After last night, they now existed in an erotic limbo between merely slaking physical needs with the other and something more philosophical, more committed. What would it be like to meet in society after this?

Above the work table, the long windows captured the moonlight. Evening had become night.

‘Aha! I found it,' Dulci crowed triumphantly, making her way back to him.

Jack levered himself up on one arm. ‘What treasure is this, Dulci?'

She sat down beside him on the floor and slid in close. ‘It's a journal. Vasquez brought it in the last shipment.' Dulci flipped open the worn leather book. ‘The drawings are very detailed. I thought you might recognise some of the things from your trip.'

‘Is this a gift?' Jack teased.

‘Sort of. I haven't read it yet,' Dulci began. ‘It has occurred to me that it might be a good source of information regarding my artefacts. Perhaps I could pass it on to you when I'm finished?'

Jack reached for a strand of her hair and twisted it about his finger. ‘It's a lovely gift, Dulci. You may use it as long as you wish. It's like giving someone a book from the lending library as a present, though, if you think about it,' he joked but she could tell he wasn't offended.

Dulci snuggled down against him. She could feel his eyes moving over her shoulder, taking in the pages illuminated by the fading light. Dulci reached for a nearby oil lamp and dragged it to a low table closer to them. She turned up the wick. ‘Now you can see better. There's
all manner of information in here, birds, plants, even maps, Jack.'

Dulci flipped through the book. Jack offered a comment here and there, but it was becoming exceedingly obvious he was more interested in the warm woman curved against him and the flame-lighted intimacy of their situation. Then something on the pages caught his eye and the hand absently stroking her hip stalled in its lazy motions. ‘Wait, Dulci. Go back a page.'

‘What is it? Did you recognise a place?'

‘The page is creased awkwardly by the book spine.'

Dulci ran her hands along the place where the spine met the page. ‘You're right, Jack. The page unfolds into a larger page.' Dulci unfolded the sheet and another care fully folded sheet fluttered out.

Excitement seized Dulci. She scrambled to her feet, eager to lay the new paper out on the table, Jack following close behind.

Dulci lit another lamp at her work table, illuminating the place names and the land contours. Dulci traced the lines of rivers, pronouncing their names, ‘Orinoco, Cassiquiare, the Amakura, the Essequibo.' She paused. ‘This is a map of British Guiana. These are the rivers that form the boundaries with Venezuela. The Arawak live along here.'

Excitement thrummed through her. This would help her re search immensely. She turned to look at Jack. ‘Do you know what this means?'