Pure Temptation (21 page)

“I have no desire to destroy a man as fine as you, Montclaire, or bring ruin upon your family. I will leave the matter in your hands.”

“I know where Lord Roger keeps rooms,” Moira informed the men. “He is lodged above the Hen and Rooster.”

Jack sent her a startled look, but Montclaire merely nodded and thanked her. Then he thanked Jack profusely and rose to leave. He paused at the door.

“I will do everything within my power to squelch gossip concerning you and Moira. It’s the least I can do. Forgive me, Moira, for ever doubting your honesty.”

“Within a very short time the gossip won’t matter,” Jack said. “I’m going to make Moira my wife.”

Montclaire’s dismay gave Moira insight into how members of the nobility would react should she actually marry Jack. The scandal would ruin him. To his credit, Montclaire recouped nicely. “I wish you good fortune.”

That night, as she lay in bed, Moira’s thoughts ran the gamut of her emotions. Leaving Jack was a painful decision, one she hadn’t made easily. Marriage to a duke was out of the question. It just wasn’t done. Spence’s reaction to Jack’s announcement that he was going to marry Moira had indicated the folly of Jack’s decision. He had been stunned, to say the least. Spence may be her friend, but friendship extended only so far. His silent disapproval of Jack’s intention to marry her spoke louder than words.

Earlier that day, Spence had paid a visit. When she’d left the room to see to refreshments, she lingered outside the door long enough to hear Spence say, “You’re treading on dangerous ground, old boy. Granted Moira is a beauty, but you have a duty to society now. You haven’t been wholly exonerated yet for the prank we played on them. Set Moira up as your mistress, but don’t flout society by marrying beneath you. Black Jack could get away with thumbing his nose at the gentry, but the Duke of Ailesbury must conform to certain rules.”

She hadn’t heard Jack’s reply, for she’d fled in tears. What Spence said was true. The longer she remained, the harder it would be to leave. She loved Jack too much to bring him down. She hadn’t let on that she’d overheard Spence’s remarks as she quietly made plans.

Moira was still wide awake at the stroke of midnight. Her body refused to accept what her mind knew to be the truth: She couldn’t have Jack Graystoke. Unfortunately, her body
remembered every magical nuance of Jack’s lovemaking, every touch, each caress. She burned. So hot, so very hot. Throwing off the covers, she tried to free her mind of the intimate, wonderfully wicked things Jack had done to her, and failed dismally. Though she couldn’t have him, she would never stop wanting or needing him. She would never stop loving him.

Jack paced his chamber restively. His face was fiercely feral, his body as tautly drawn as a bowstring. For some reason, Moira had avoided him since he’d proposed marriage. Thank God she hadn’t heard Spence voice his disapproval of their marriage, he thought gratefully. But he was determined. He wanted Moira, and he was damn well going to have her! He wasn’t sure he liked this duke business. No one gave a bloody damn what he did before a dukedom was thrust upon him. Why should it matter now? Being respectable wasn’t all it was made out to be, he decided.

Had he really changed so much? Jack wondered. Drinking no longer interested him, and gambling held no appeal. Womanizing still held a certain allure, but the only woman he wished to bed was Moira. What in the hell had happened to him? Not too long ago, he had been satisfied with his existence, and then a mischievous ghost had intruded into his life. He sincerely hoped Lady Amelia was satisfied and had returned to the dark past where she belonged.

You still have need of me.

The silent words battered against the walls of his brain. He whirled on his heel, and there she was.

“I beg your pardon. I credit you with leading me to Moira, but I have no further need of you, milady. I sent Pettibone to procure a special license so Moira and I can wed. It rests in my bureau right now.”

She will not have you.

“What did you say? Of course Moira will have me.”

Lady Amelia’s inner light flared in anger, then waned.

“Damn it, milady, if you didn’t intend for me to have Moira, why did you place her in my path?”

You needed her.

The ghost tilted her head and stared at Jack. A strange sensation raised goose bumps on his flesh. “I’m not disputing that. I also love her,” he admitted unashamedly.

Lady Amelia nodded in perfect understanding, then shook her head in vigorous denial.

“What in bloody hell does that mean? You’re confusing me.”

Tread carefully. Dark forces surround you.

Jack gave her a startled look. “Danger no longer exists. Nothing or no one will take Moira from me. Your haunting of me has its rewards. Lucifer is no longer my master, and I’ll probably remain disgustingly sober for the remainder of my days. Gambling and womanizing hold little appeal—I fear perdition will no longer accept me. You may go back to wherever ghosts go when they aren’t interfering in people’s lives.”

Don’t let her go.

Jack stared at the ghost in bewilderment. He had no idea how she managed to communicate with him, but he understood every word though she made no sound. If she could transfer her thoughts to him, why couldn’t she explain what she meant? When he opened his mouth to voice his complaint, Lady Amelia was slowly blending into the shadows, leaving behind a misty haze that bore no resemblance to the bright spirit of his interfering ancestor.

Jack resumed his pacing, mulling over Lady Amelia’s words. What was she trying to tell him? Where was the danger? Suddenly the need to see Moira overwhelmed him. He pictured her naked—so clearly, so beautifully naked and soft, spread beneath his hard body, his dark hand resting on her white thigh. He saw her breasts and felt a jolt of heat sear
him. He imagined the triangle between her thighs, crowned with red-gold curls, so tempting he would have sold his soul back to the Devil to be inside her now, to explore the secret path that gave him such unparalleled pleasure.

He was uncomfortably aware that Moira had avoided him today, and it upset him. The almost incandescent urge to see her, to reassure himself that she was still here, in his house, in his life, struck him forcefully. Clad only in skintight breeches, Jack picked up a candlestick and quietly let himself out of his chamber.

Tossing and turning sleeplessly in the rumpled bed, Moira heard the creak of door hinges and jerked upright. She gasped in dismay when she saw Jack’s powerful form framed in a golden nimbus of light. She exhaled sharply as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Jack held the candlestick high, easily finding Moira sitting in a puddle of moonlight on the bed, her hair falling about her shoulders like a shimmering copper cloak. He approached the bed in a trance, instantly hard, so damn needy he ached with it. He recalled vividly how it felt to be buried deep inside her, surrounded by the wet promise of her flesh. Moira stared at him, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

Words were unnecessary as Jack carefully set the candle down and reached for her. Sliding down beside her on the bed, he took her in his arms and kissed her ravenously. Moira closed her eyes and leaned into his kiss, enjoying the pure rapture of it as languid heat coursed through her. The kiss was wondrous, filled with a kind of magic and poignancy she wanted to remember when she was gone.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Moira whispered when he lifted his mouth. “What if someone saw you? The servants are already gossiping about us.”

“Gossip be damned! Besides, no one is about this time of
night. And even if we were discovered, it would make little difference. I’m fully recovered, and we’ll be married in a day or two. I took the liberty of procuring a special license. I sent Pettibone to my man of business, and he took care of all the details. You can’t escape me, love.”

Moira shook her head sadly. “I’d hoped by now that you’d gained your senses. I don’t wish to create a bigger scandal or ruin your life.”

“You talk too much. I hate sneaking into your bed. I want to make it legal. I want everyone to know that you’re mine. I’m positive none of the disciples except for Mayhew, Dashwood and Wilkes knew you were at the Dashwood estate that night. None of them will talk for fear of incriminating themselves. There will be no scandal.”

“The scandal will occur when you marry a penniless Irish immigrant.”

“I don’t wish to hear another word,” Jack said with more bite to his voice than he intended. “You may open your mouth, but only to kiss me.”

She opened her mouth to fling out a retort and Jack took advantage of her parted lips, capturing them with his and thrusting his tongue inside. His kiss was savage, possessive, his face fierce in his ardor. Feeling his ravaging mouth on hers, his tongue delving deep and bold, Moira’s resistance melted like hot butter. She kissed him back, with all the love she held in her heart.

Stripping off his breeches, Jack tumbled her back on the bed. Never had he hungered so to possess a woman. He was on fire, bursting, starving. He spread her legs, knelt between them and pulled off her nightgown, running his hands and gaze over her flushed body. She was exquisite. Her face was as lovely as an angel’s; her aroused breasts were full and swollen, and her supple thighs quivered with desire. His burning gaze lingered long, tense moments between her thighs as he caressed
the mound of copper hair, then dipped his finger into her honeyed sweetness.

Her heard her soft gasp of arousal, at least he hoped it was arousal and not protest, and glanced downward to see her staring at him, her eyes dilated and her lips parted.

“I have no will where you’re concerned,” Moira complained with a gasping moan.

“That’s exactly how I want it. You belong to me, Moira.”

He lowered himself atop her, resting on his elbows to keep from crushing her as he kissed her lips, her throat, then took her breast into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the taut nipple.

Moira moaned deliriously. He felt so wonderful straining against her, with the warm flesh of his massive chest pressing against her stomach and his mouth suckling her breast. When he raised slightly and slid his hand between her legs and inside her, the stimulation of both his hands and mouth was so acute Moira cried out and writhed wildly.

Suddenly Jack shifted positions, bringing them both to their sides and curling spoonlike behind her. “Lift your leg, sweetheart.” She did so eagerly and felt him slide thick and hard inside her.

The hot, wet tightness of her sheath sent his senses spinning out of control. She was irresistible; so sweetly fashioned and all his. He devoured her like a starving man, thrusting, withdrawing, his hands teasing her breasts and nipples and his mouth showering nipping kisses upon her shoulders, neck and back.

Moira clung to the bedclothes in a frenzy of unbearable pleasure. Her heart was pounding furiously, her breathing sharp and wildly erratic. She was bursting with the heat and hardness of him. She arched fiercely backward, meeting his strokes with savage enthusiasm. Jack plunged into her repeatedly, her soft sobs of pleasure increasing his own pleasure
tenfold. With quick deft strokes, he took them both to the edge, then hurled them over and beyond. Moira screamed, then went limp.

Withdrawing from her gently, Jack pulled her into his arms, smoothing tendrils of hair away from her damp forehead as he waited for her pounding heart to return to normal.

“Go to sleep, love. After we’re wed, you’ll sleep in my arms every night.”

Moira slept. Jack stared at her flushed body, bathed in sweat and golden candlelight. I love you, he thought, and the words were as painful as they were sweet. Who would have thought a rake like him would fall in love? Well, perhaps Lady Amelia, he thought ruefully. It angered him to think that Moira’s faulty judgment wouldn’t permit her to marry a man so far above her in rank. He didn’t like to think ill of the dead, but if his cousin hadn’t died tragically, he wouldn’t be saddled with a dukedom he neither wanted nor deserved. Since he had it, he could do nothing less than wear the title with dignity.

A low rumble of laughter gurgled in his chest. If anyone would have told him six months ago that Black Jack Graystoke would turn respectable, he’d have laughed in his face. His speaking acquaintance with the Devil had almost assured him of a place in perdition, and he had looked forward with relish to meeting Lucifer in person. Debauchery had become a way of life; he’d known no other. He lived for pleasure. Though he hadn’t sunk as low as the disciples of the Hellfire Club, the only thing that had kept him from joining their ranks was his high regard for womanhood. In his opinion, no woman deserved defilement. Jack liked women far too much to debase them as the members of the Hellfire Club did their victims.

Jack had intended to seek his own bed after making love to Moira, but during his mental musings his body betrayed him. Or perhaps unconsciously he couldn’t bear to leave
Moira. Sleep claimed him suddenly and deeply. With Moira resting securely in his arms, he slid effortlessly into slumber.

Neither the metallic click of the door latch nor the patter of footsteps awakened the sleeping lovers. It wasn’t until Jilly opened the curtains, saw the sleeping lovers and screamed that Jack and Moira jolted awake.

“Oh, miss, milord, I’m s-s-so sorry,” Jilly stuttered, throwing her apron over her head and wailing.

Jack gained his wits first, pulling the sheet up to cover their nakedness. “No harm done, Jilly. Stop your caterwauling. You may leave and come back to attend your mistress in thirty minutes.”

“Aye, milord,” Jilly said, scooting out of the room like a frightened doe.

The moment the door closed, Moira rounded on Jack, her golden eyes blazing with fury. “What are you still doing here? Do you realize what you’ve done? My God, you did this on purpose, didn’t you? I won’t be forced into marriage no matter what you do.”

“Damn it, Moira, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I fully intended to be gone before the household stirred.” He gave her a wry smile. “Although I can’t deny I enjoyed sleeping all night with you in my arms. Now you’ll have to marry me. Refusal is no longer an option.”

Moira was so angry she was shaking. “You came into my room uninvited, seduced me, then deliberately allowed the servants to find us together. I don’t deserve that kind of treatment from you.”

Jack’s temper flared. “What in bloody hell are you talking about? This wasn’t deliberate.”

Moira’s anger simmered dangerously. “I think I should leave.”

“Are you mad? Where will you go?”

“I can’t live as your mistress. I want to go home, to Ireland.”

“I never asked you to be my mistress.” His voice was cold, his eyes dark and riveting. “You’re being foolish. Bloody hell, Moira, don’t make me regret asking you to marry me.”

“It was a mistake,” Moira argued. “You should never have proposed to me. I…don’t love you,” she lied. “I’m not prepared to handle the scandal that will result if I marry you. Sooner or later, my involvement with the Hellfire Club will become public knowledge.” She hoped that wouldn’t happen, but she’d already told him that marrying him would cause a scandal, and it hadn’t bothered him in the least. It was up to her to save him from himself.