To Surrender to a Rogue (15 page)

It could have been only a flickering of the light, but to Alessandra's eye, Jack looked a little uncomfortable. "I am not sure why she would favor me over her best friends," he replied.

The two ladies looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

"In any case," went on Jack. "My decision to depart London was a last-minute one."

"We'll be sure to tell her of your change of plans" said Lady Margaret "I know Mary will want to write to you quite often. The Lake District is
such
a romantic place and she has
such
a sensitive nature. Naturally, she will be anxious to share her thoughts with her good friends."

Black Jack Pierson was courting?
It should not come as any great surprise, realized Alessandra. He was from an august family, and would be considered a prime catch on the Marriage Mart Younger sons were, after all, expected to marry—and marry well—so as not to be a drain on the family coffers.

Still, the knowledge only exacerbated her troubled mood.

However, her outrage lasted only an instant
Dances within dances.
Polite Society permitted all manner of dalliances, as long as they were choreographed correctly. Jack was breaking no rule by coming to her bed. And neither was she, Alessandra reminded herself. She was free to slide her hands over his hard, naked muscles. To open herself to his aroused flesh...

"If you ladies will excuse us." Jack suddenly took her hand as the musicians struck up the first notes of a gavotte. "The marchesa and I should join our colleagues on the dance floor."

A fancy bit of footwork,
thought Alessandra as he threaded through the twirling couples and joined a line of dancers at the far end of the room. She wondered if he would say anything about the encounter. However, when he spoke, it was not about his female friends.

"I've just received an order of art supplies from London, and took the liberty of having the shop include several brushes that would be suitable for your daughter. If you like, I could drop them by your townhouse." He stepped smoothly through a turn. "At your convenience, of course."

Her insides gave a little lurch.
Jack wanted another intimate encounter?
The music had quickened and it took her a moment to catch her breath. So did she, no matter the risk. He appeared the only steady, solid element in her life right now. Everything else seemed to be spinning out of control.

"I will be leaving here soon," she whispered. "And plan to be working late in my study. If you come through the back gardens around midnight, you will find the terrace door unlocked."

Jack's face betrayed nothing. "I, too, shall be taking an early leave of these festivities," he murmured. They danced on in silence until the final flourish floated through the air. "Until later, then," he murmured as he escorted her to the perimeter of the dance floor.

The trill of the violins forestalled any further conversation. Inclining a small bow, Jack turned and disappeared into the swirl of silks.

"The next set is starting!" Dwight-Davis hurried over and offered his arm. "Shall we?"

Alessandra reached out a hand, only to be halted by a voice from behind her.

"Prego, signor."
Frederico glided through the crowd and favored the group with a gleaming smile. "Excuse me for stealing a march on you, but I would be very grateful if you would allow Lady Alessandra to show me the steps of this English dance."

"Of course, of course, sir." Dwight-Davis ceded his place with a courtly flourish. "I'm sure the lady would far prefer a more agile partner."

She felt her skin crawl at Frederico's touch.
If only she could announce to the world what a slithering snake he was.

His grin stretched a touch wider. "Come,
cara.
I am sure that with your help, I will have no trouble picking up the right moves,
si."

Biting the inside of her lip, Alessandra followed his lead.

"Smile, Alessa," murmured Frederico. "You must try not to look as though you are on your way to a funeral."

"Is there a reason you have dragged me out on the dance floor?" she demanded.

"Other than to enjoy the pleasure of your body moving in tune with mine?" His gilded brows rose in a mocking arch. Drawing her closer, he tightened his hold on her hand. "But yes, as a matter of fact, there is."

A shiver skated up her spine as the musicians struck up the first chords of a country reel.

The first few figures of die dance drew them apart But all too soon, Alessandra found herself back in Frederico's grasp, and for an instant they were separated from the couples. Leaning close, he whispered, "The time has come for us to begin the real work, Alessa."

Only his vise-like grip kept her knees from buckling.

"Steady, sweetheart" His breath tickled against her cheek. "Let us have no missteps, eh? Remember, I'm not working alone—and against us, you don't stand a chance."

"What is it you want?" she rasped.

"I shall explain it all tomorrow," replied Frederico.

He was taking cruel delight in making her dance to his tune. Oh, yes, he had mastered the art of manipulation. But even a master could be made to stumble.

Clinging to that hope was what kept her feet moving.

"In the meantime,
cara,
let us enjoy the festivities." Laughing, Frederico moved back with a graceful spin and hooked arms with another lady. "La," he said loudly. "There is no place on earth that I would rather be at this moment than here in Bath."

The night mist swirled like liquid silver, washing over his boots as he moved lightly across the damp grass. The back of Alessandra's townhouse was dark, save for a glimmer of light from a glass-paned door at the far comer of the terrace.

Jack paused for a moment, shifting the small package from hand to hand as he watched the scudding moonbeams play off the pale stonework.
Light and shadows.
Like the lady herself, the subtle interplay of elements was intriguing, teasing the eye with its constantly shifting shapes.

Approaching the door, tie found it slightly ajar. Slipping inside, Jack found himself in a spacious study dominated by a massive oak desk piled high with books and papers. A single branch of candles was lit on the side table by the sofa. In its glow, the wood paneling appeared dark as aged sherry.

Alessandra turned slowly from the banked fire in the hearth. Her hair was down, held back by a single ribbon, and she was dressed in a silk wrapper, sashed loosely at her waist On seeing the hint of lace peeking out from its front, Jack felt his throat constrict She must be naked beneath the light fabric, save for her nightshift.

Jack was no stranger to midnight trysts, but oddly enough, he found himself feeling a bit nervous.

She, too, seemed on edge. Gesturing to the sideboard, she asked, "Would you care for some brandy?"

"Thank you." Crossing the carpet, Jack poured himself a glass, and then filled one for her. As he passed it over, their hands touched and he felt her flinch.

"Perhaps a sip of spirits will help you relax," he murmured.

Her lashes lowered, the dark fringe accentuating the paleness of her face. "Like you, I am entering a new field of study." Raising the glass to her lips, Alessandra added, "I have little experience in illicit affairs, so forgive me if I appear a little awkward."

To Jack's eyes, she looked sweetly shy. And achingly vulnerable.

"If you are regretting the invitation," he began.

"No," she said quickly. "Please—don't go."

Strange, but she sounded a little desperate.

Following her gesture, he took a seat on the sofa. Alessandra joined him, though her body remained rigid.

Jack took a swallow of brandy and looked around the study, wondering how to put her at ease. Spotting a small stone statue on her desk, he raised his glass in salute. "Ah, I see our friend Minerva has followed us from London, though this time she is wearing a different guise."

The candlelight caught a glimmer of a smile. "Seeing as she is the patron goddess of the Bath, it's no surprise that we find her here." Alexandra's shoulders softened. "This one was discovered in the small temple we are unearthing by the river. I brought it home to do a few tests with my acids, to determine whether the stone came from here or Italy."

"Interesting" he replied. "Have you come to any conclusion?"

Giving an answer seemed to break the ice. Her face grew more animated, and her color returned as she explained the technical tests. Clearly antiquities was a strong passion.

As she continued, he couldn't help but be distracted by the play of the flickering flames over her features.

"Lady Giamatti—that is, Alessandra," he murmured, interrupting her words. "Your face is so lovely—I would love to paint you sometime."

She blushed and seemed surprised.

"Surely I'm not the only man who has told you how beautiful you are?"

"No," she replied softly. "But...well, coming from you, with your artist's eye, it is quite a compliment"

"It's not false flattery, Alessandra." Reaching out, Jack curled a strand of her hah around his finger and held it close to the candles. "Look, at first glance, your hair may seem black as a raven's wing, but in the firelight, see how the sparks light a range of subtle tones. If you look closely..." He shifted on the sofa, so that his legs were now touching hers. "You can see hints of indigo and cinnabar."

"You see things most other people miss," she whispered.

"War teaches one to be very observant," he said lightly, then immediately regretted the remark. It seemed to make her tense again.
Damn.
Recalling the package in his pocket, he set down his glass and quickly took it out "Speaking of art, I brought some supplies to add to Miss Isabella's collection." Unwrapping the paper, he displayed several sable-hair paintbrushes of varying widths. "A painter can never have too many tools of the trade at hand."

"How very kind of you," said Alessandra.

On impulse, Jack took up one and feathered the soft bristles against her cheek. "If I were painting your face, I'd begin with a wash of pale peach."

Her eyes widened, but she didn't draw away.

"Then I'd start sketching in the details, starting with your lovely, luminous emerald eyes." Choosing the smaller brush, he feathered it against her lids.

"It seems you are a poet as well as a painter, Lord James."

"Jack," he corrected, touching the bristles to her lip.

Her lashes fluttered. "Do you always use art to seduce your women?"

"No," he replied, tracing the line of her jaw. "I've never tried this technique before." Untying the fastenings of her wrapper, he let the silk fall open, revealing the thin scrim of her nightshift He flicked the soft sable over her collarbone. "Is it working?"

"The preliminary sketch is promising." Her voice was a little ragged, a little breathless. "It all depends on how you fill in the details."

The sound—a smoky, sexy whisper—stirred a lick of heat in his belly. "Why, Alessandra—are you flirting with me?"

"Am I?" Alessandra took up one of the other paintbrushes and twirled it to a fine point "I—I suppose I am."

She dappled it across his jawline to the top of his shirt-points. "Against the white of your linen, your skin has the burnished bronze glow of an ancient statue," she murmured. "Mars, I think. Or perhaps Apollo." A tentative tug untied the knot of his cravat

Jack shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat. Slowly unwinding the length of starched linen, he let it tall to the carpet He undid the top button of his collar and then hesitated. "May I remove my shirt?" he asked softly.

She nodded. "But we must be quiet and... and I cannot linger here overlong." Her gaze dropped and her eyes were lost in shadow. "I must also warn you, Isabella sometimes has nightmares, so if I have to leave abruptly—"

"I understand," he interrupted. "It is for you to make the rules. I shall respect them."

When she voiced no further objection, Jack eased the garment over his head. The air felt cool against his bare chest—or maybe his skin was overheated. The sight of her shapely body and breasts through the gauzy cotton had him burning with desire. But he made himself go slowly.
Discipline, discipline.
No matter that holding his lust in check was proving exquisitely difficult

Alessandra looked up, and for a moment the firegold reflection of the candle flames seemed to hang on her lashes. Ever so slowly, she lifted her brush and ran it along the ridge of his collarbone. "I don't imagine most London bucks of the
ton
have muscles like these." The gossamer touch glided over his nipples and down over the contours of his ribs.

He felt himself growing aroused.

"I don't live an indolent life, Alessandra. I fence, I box, I ride."

A hint of a smile played on her lips. "All admirable pursuits, it would appear."

"I will exert myself to win your approval, both professional and personal, throughout this excavation," he said.

"So far, you have passed every test with flying colors." Alessandra traced the line of dark hair down to where it dipped into his trousers. "As I said before, we are lucky to have an artist of your ability working with us.''

The silk wrapper had come loose, and as she moved, it slid down off her shoulders and pooled around her waist. A line of tiny pearl buttons ran down the front of her nightshirt, framed by a delicate frothing of lace. "Speaking of art," he rasped, "I've an idea for a picture I would like to paint."

"You've no paper," she whispered. "Or pigments."

"Ah, well then," replied Jack. "I'll just have to use my imagination."

As his fingers grazed her shift and slowly set to unfastening the buttons, Alessandra closed her eyes, trying not to think of all the wicked, wanton things she wished for him to do to her body. Frederico's touch had frozen her insides with terror. However wrong it might be, she desperately needed Jack's intimate warmth to melt her fears, if only for a fleeting interlude.

"Raise your arms, sweeting," murmured Jack.

She arched, allowing him to ease the garment up over her head. Now scandalously naked, she nestled back down into the damask pillows, the silken folds of her wrapper smooth beneath her bare bum.

A soft thud sounded, followed by a second as Jack peeled off his boots and let them fall to the carpet The rustle of wool stilted a naughty image of Jack unclothed...

Her lashes fluttered open.

Oh, Lud, he was a magnificent man.

Candlelight gilded the chiseled contours of his chest, and the hard, flat plane of his belly. But it was his jutting erection that held her gaze in thrall. A ruddy, red-gold shaft of aroused maleness, rising from a dark tangle of coarse curls.

A sound must have slipped from her lips, for Jack stilled. "Do I frighten you?" Shielding his cock, he added, "I know that you find me a big black devil."

"No, I'm not afraid of you." Alessandra reached out and nudged his hand away. "I see the Prince of Darkness, not the devil."

"I'm not a prince, merely a humble painter," murmured Jack. "Who wishes to see if he can do justice to your ethereal beauty."

She watched in fascination as he dipped his brush into brandy. What was he...

Oh, diavolo.

A drop of the amber spirits splashed onto her nipple. Jack flicked his brush in a slow, sensuous circle, spreading its warmth over her rosy areola.

"Hmm, Fm not sure that's quite right—perhaps I had better blot it off and start again." His mouth, wet and warm, covered the tip of her breast, suckling the tingling liquid from her skin.

"Dio Madre,
you
are
a devil after all," she whispered as he turned his tantalizing attentions to her other breast

A husky chuckle rumbled deep in Jack's throat "Oh, I've not yet begun to be devilish."

His tongue licked over her hardening nipple, coaxing, caressing it until Alessandra thought that she might burst into flame. Surely, he could not do anything more wicked man this.

But suddenly he was easing her legs apart, and drawing the brush through the folds of her most intimate flesh.

"Jack!" She gasped and tried to sit up.

His palm pressed down on her belly, holding her in place. "Please—let me pleasure you."

The temptation was too great. And she was too weak to resist it

Surrendering herself to the moment, she lay back and let the delicious sensations wash over her.

Gently probing, Jack found her hidden pearl and his brushstrokes started to quicken.

Alessandra gave a low cry as the fire seared right to her core. Squeezing her eyes shut, she let it burn away her fears. Frederico's repulsive touch had made her skin crawl, leaving her feeling soiled. While Jack...Jack made her spirits sing. Her passions had betrayed her before, but somehow she felt safe in his hands.

"Alessandra," he said, his brandy-sweet lips capturing hers in a long, lush kiss. The soft bristles kept up their teasing tempo and she felt herself growing slick with need.

"Jack," she moaned against his mouth. Her hand found his cock and closed around its velvety steel.

He groaned, a dark, masculine sound that reverberated right through her. She released him, just long enough to dip her fingers into the brandy glass, and then ran a caress along the length of his shaft His whole body stiffened in response. Emboldened, Alessandra traced the flared head of his arousal, reveling in his shape.
Hard and soft. Coarse and smooth.
The textures of his body were so very beautiful.

"Bellissimo,"
growled Jack in Italian, echoing her own thought

"Si."
She reached up and threaded her hands through the silky tangle of his hair. Suddenly aware of how fleeting, how fragile the moment was, she drew him closer, reveling in the musky spice of his scent the faint stubbling of whiskers shading his jaw, the heady heat of his desire.

"Make love to me, Jack," she said in a ragged whisper.
Keep the darkness at bay for just a little longer.

The paintbrush fell atop their discarded clothing as he shifted and lowered himself between her legs.

He, too, seemed gripped by a sense of urgency. No more teasing play, no more gossamer kisses. As Alessandra wrapped her arms around his broad back, she felt the tension rippling through his muscles. They sank deeper into the sofa pillows, entwined as one. She drew up her knees, clenching tight to his lean, lithe hips.
If only she could hold on to his strength forever.

And then, he was inside her, filling her honeyed passage with his gliding thrusts. There was nothing languorous about their coupling. It was fast, furious. The rise and fall of their bodies set the candle flames to dancing wildly in the midnight shadows.