When Marrying a Scoundrel (14 page)

“Oh!” How could she be quiet at such a moment? It was impossible.

His free hand slid behind to grasp her bottom, helping her keep her seat on the sofa, and also holding her exactly where he wanted as his finger stroked her deep inside, crooking upward, awakening all kinds of the most wonderful aches and sensations.

“Still responsive,” he murmured, a smug but gentle smile tilting his mouth.

Sadie’s head fell back as the pleasure between her thighs blossomed to something much richer. “Still talented,” she gasped. “Oh,
Jack
…”

She came then. In a great, shuddering quake. Mouth open, eyes shut, holding on to him with all her strength as she lost all control of her body. It was glorious.

When she regained her senses, she lifted her head and opened her eyes to find him watching her still, that self-satisfied expression still on his face. Only he had unfastened his trousers while she recovered, and was stroking the hard, thick length of his cock as though he had all the time in the world.

Sadie licked her lips. “Is that for me?” It felt so good not to hide her eagerness. They had lost their virginity to one another, had learned and taught and shared. They had discovered all the beauty of each other’s bodies without embarrassment or shame and they had delighted in it. To do any less now would be a lie.

And there had already been enough lies between them.

Chuckling, Jack removed his hand so that she could reach down and caress the silky heat of him. He groaned as she squeezed. “All yours,” he replied, eyes sparkling.

Sadie grinned, tugging gently. He moved closer, until she felt the blunt head nudge against her still eager flesh. He shivered, broad shoulders twitching. And then he pushed, cleaving her wetness with one easy thrust, burying himself inside her as deep as she could take him.

For a second, time stopped as Sadie adjusted to being so filled. Her muscles flexed and danced around him, as though her entire body recognized him and welcomed him home. One of his hands pressed against her back as the other slid beneath her right thigh, lifting and holding her leg around him.

Sadie wrapped one arm around his shoulders, pushing his jacket aside so she could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt. Her other hand went to his cheek, where golden stubble on his strong jaw pricked her palm. Her thumb rested familiarly in the shallow cleft of his chin. Her gaze locked once more with his as slowly, teasingly, he began to move inside her.

“My fine and lovely Jack,” she whispered.

He grimaced and she chuckled. He always winced when she called him “lovely” or “beautiful” even though secretly she thought he liked it.

“Sweet Sadie,” he replied, withdrawing. “You still don’t know when to stop talking.”

She smiled, sighing as he filled her and withdrew once
more. “You always liked it when I talked, especially when I said things like,
harder
,
Jack. Faster
.”

He cut off her teasing with a blistering kiss that curled her toes so hard her slippers threatened to fall off. He pulled her chest against his, shoved his cock deep, to the hilt inside her, and began thrusting with a rhythm that had her panting against his mouth.

Sadie hooked her other leg around his and tangled her fingers in his short, thick hair. The taste of him filled her mouth, the smell of him filled her nostrils, and the length of him drove her to the very edge of reason as their bodies writhed. Beneath her the sofa moved on the rug, helpless against the force of their union. She churned her hips, adding to her own arousal as Jack’s pounding thrusts brought her closer and closer to climax once more.

This time she came with mind-numbing intensity. As release tore through her, she cried out into Jack’s mouth, clenching at him with her hands and body, squeezing him with the slick vise between her thighs.

He stiffened before the tremors of her own body began to subside. One last, hard thrust had him groaning, and she swallowed the wordless cry as he came inside her, holding her so tight she knew she’d have bruises in the morning, not that it mattered.

They stayed wrapped around each other for some time afterward. To be honest, Sadie was afraid he’d pull away and she’d lose him once more, even though she knew she would have to let him go eventually. They couldn’t stay locked together forever. And yet, as she breathed
the spicy scent of him deep into her lungs, she wished they could.

She couldn’t even bring herself to regret this. How could she when it had felt so blissfully right? God, she hadn’t known peace like this in years. It didn’t matter that it only complicated things between them. Nothing else mattered, because she was with Jack.

He kissed her ear, stubble abrading her cheek. Warm hands lazily rubbed her back. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She could have cried right then, but she didn’t. “I’m good.”

Slowly, he eased away, pulling out of her. She felt his loss as acutely as she would her own limb. But he didn’t go far, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and using it to wipe between her thighs. He’d always been attentive like this, even insisting that he sleep on the damp patch. It was sweet, really.

“You don’t have to do that,” she told him.

He glanced at her. “Yes, I do.” Then he was done, stuffing the soiled linen into his pocket. He helped her down off the sofa, straightening her skirts.

Now it was awkward. Neither of them certain how to act. Like the first time, she realized. This was very similar, which made a sad kind of sense. They were different people now, despite their history. This was in a way, their first time together.

Was it also their last?

Unexpected tears burned her eyes and she made a great display of fixing her gown and hair. Jack, sensitive
to her mood in a way that always touched and sometimes shamed her, fastened his trousers and moved to where the tea service sat.

“So, how do we do this?” He asked. “Do I pour or do you?”

He wasn’t seriously going to go through with a reading was he?
Now?
“Jack, you don’t have—”

“I know.” He cut her off with a sharp glance. “I want to.”

Oh God, now she truly was going to cry. All these years and he’d never wanted her to read for him before. Never cared to have any part of what she could do.

“All right.” How embarrassing that she actually shook a little as she moved around the sofa to join him at the chairs. “I’ll pour.”

She wiped her palms on her knees as she sat down. She was aware of him taking the chair next to her as she lifted the still warm pot. She swished it around to stir up the leaves before tipping it over the flowered china cup and filling it with strong tea. Then, she plopped in two lumps of sugar and a little cream—just the way he liked it.

“You remembered,” he remarked with a faint smile as he took the cup and saucer from her.

“I reckon there’s not much that either of us has forgotten.” She fixed a cup for herself and they sat there in relative silence, drinking.

It was odd to sit like this with him, but nice at the same time. There was awareness and a little awkwardness, but no tension. For the first time since his return
they were able to be together and not fight. Who would have thought that all they needed to do to make things easier between them was have sex?

How could she face Mason after this? Should she tell him? No, there was no need just yet. Better to see how things progressed. She had no idea of Mason’s intentions. He liked her, that was certain, but if he had more than an affair in mind he hadn’t given her any indication. She didn’t think she would even share this encounter with Vienne or Indara. Never mind decorum, she wanted to keep Jack to herself.

A faint smile curved her lips as she thought of Lady Gosling and what the woman’s reaction would be to discover that
she
was the reason Jack hadn’t succumbed to the baroness’s charms.

“You look very satisfied.”

She gazed at Jack over the rim of her cup. “So do you.”

He only grinned in response and then drained his cup in one long swallow. He made a face as he replaced the cup on the saucer and wiped several leaves off his bottom lip with his thumb. “That’s awful.”

“You’re supposed to strain them through your teeth,” she explained. “Not swallow them.”

“That would have been useful information five minutes ago.” There was very little sting in his words, though. “Now what?”

She walked him through the process of turning the cup, making a wish and all that. When she finally took the cup from him and peered inside, she had a very odd
lump in her stomach. What if she didn’t see anything and he thought her a fake? What if she saw too much?

Tentatively, she studied the leaves. Some of the tension left her shoulders and the sick feeling in her belly lessened. Nothing had jumped up at her—and that was good.

“Your wish is very near the top of the cup, which means you’ll get it soon.”

“Good to know.”

She glanced at him to find him watching her with a kind of heated amusement that both pleased and unsettled her. Was she part of his wish, or was he just humoring her? And how could he mock her and look like he wanted to eat her at the same time?

Cheeks warming, Sadie jerked her head down, turning her attention back to the cup. She saw the image and spoke without thinking, quickly processing the feelings that it evoked. “I see betrayal. Someone from your past will reenter your life.”

“That’s already happened.”

A chill swirled at the base of Sadie’s spine. It wasn’t her, but she knew who it was. “Jack, there’s something I need—”

But she was cut off—conveniently and damnably so—by a knock on the door. “Sadie?”

It was Vienne. She must have noticed that Jack was absent from the gathering as well.

Jack shot her a darkly amused glance, his thoughts obviously following hers. “Your protector has arrived to defend your virtue, I see. And it only took her twenty minutes.” He rose to his feet and went to the door, un
locking. It opened to reveal the elegant French woman, key in her hand.

Jack smirked at her as he gestured toward Sadie. “
Bon soir
,
madam
. As you can see, she is still in one piece.”

And thank the lord she was sitting demurely, teacup in hand. “Is something amiss, Vienne? Mr. Friday and I were just having tea.” She should have been an actress. Somehow she managed to look her friend in the eye and not blush as she spoke. She almost convinced herself that nothing beyond a reading had transpired in that room.

Except that the taste of Jack lingered so sweetly on her tongue.

Where the devil was Jack Friday?

Certainly, it was the question on more than one set of lips. When Jack Friday made his amazing bid on the services of Madame Sadie Moon the crowd had turned positively beside itself to discuss, reflect on the gentleman’s generosity, and turn what might have been an innocent occurrence into something ribald and risqué. That was, of course, until he bid on Mason Blayne’s painting and several other items.

If he meant to call attention to himself it had worked. Everyone in that room respected the almighty pound, and the fact that Mr. Friday had one thousand—and more!—to simply toss aside made him slightly more virtuous. The fact that he considered Madame Moon’s company worth that much made her a woman worthy of envy and jealousy.

While Theone, Lady Gosling, recognized jealousy as
a great motivator, she was not jealous of Jack Friday’s generous purchase of Sadie Moon. Mason Blayne, on the other hand, was blatantly irked—never a good look for a man. Oh, he tried to conceal it, but there was a tightness around his mouth that belied his true feelings as he conversed with the Duke of Ryeton and his insipid little cow of a duchess.

Masculine pride was a fragile, delicate thing. And once bruised, a fellow tended to carry on as though a limb had been severed, though they thought they concealed it with great valor. Honestly, she could write an entire treatise on the subject. But Mason Blayne’s feelings were the least of her concern at the moment.

She wondered once more where Jack was. And more importantly, where Sadie Moon was. Had no one else noticed that the two of them were absent? Apparently not.

If pressed, Theone would admit to a certain curiosity concerning the bizarre auction. It had been obvious to her from the beginning that lovely Mr. Friday had been in something of a state, even before he started bidding. It had also been obvious that he had been determined to win no matter what the cost—and that charity had been the last thing on his mind.

Sipping a glass of cool champagne, Theone allowed the tart bubbles to make love to her mouth as her mind mulled the suspicion forming there. Obviously there was something going on between Jack and Sadie Moon. Obviously the two of them were acquainted with one another—and not recently so. No two people could look at each other with so much tension after just a few days association.
No, there was a history there, yet Jack acted as though he had never met the woman before in his life.

Watching the two of them walk away had triggered something in her memory. What exactly, she couldn’t quite put her finger on, though she knew the truth was there, just waiting to reveal itself. She had seen them together before—a long time ago, when all three of them were much younger, and in much different circumstances.

There was a secret between them, one that might prove very useful, if she could ferret out exactly what it was. She would have to be careful, however. If she remembered them, there was a very good chance one if not both of them might remember her. In fact, that might have already happened and they would have her at a decided disadvantage if she revealed herself too soon.

One thing was for certain. Jack Friday and Sadie Moon wanted to keep their secret. Once she uncovered that secret, all Theone had to do was ascertain how much her silence was worth.

S
o he’d shagged Sadie. Now what?

This was the question Jack was still asking himself almost a full two hours later whilst standing on the back terrace of Saint’s Row pretending to smoke a cigar.

Actually, he had every intention of smoking the damn thing, but he kept forgetting about it so it spent more time burning away between his fingers than between his lips.

After La Rieux’s too-late rescue of Sadie, Jack had returned to the salon alone. Hardly anyone had noticed his absence and to those who did, he lied and said he’d had business to attend to.

He moved through the lingering crowd of people, nursing a glass of warm champagne and longing for something stronger that might overpower rather than complement the scent of Sadie lingering on him, the taste of her. He thought about the earnestness with which she gazed into his cup. She believed in the leaves. And now he knew his great folly. It didn’t matter if there was truth in the bottom of a cup or not, Sadie believed there was and he
had wounded her deeply with his mockery of it.

What had she said? He wondered as he stepped through the doors leading to the back terrace. A betrayal. Someone from his past. He knew better than to put any real belief in it, but Sadie’s words stuck with him—almost as much as the haunted look in her big eyes. What was it that she had tried to tell him before her savior arrived?

And why did life seem so much brighter now? Was it just the sex? It had been incredible, despite his lack of finesse in the execution. He should have taken more time, but Sadie hadn’t seemed to have any more patience than he. She had wanted him as much as he wanted her. At least he had that.

He stared out into the lantern-lit night. It had only been a few nights since he had looked over his shoulder at Sadie in almost this very spot and told her that he hated her too. And damned if he hadn’t meant it at the time. Right now hate was the last thing he felt for her—and he felt a great jumble of things.

But the question still rang in his brain. Now what?

The French doors behind him opened, allowing the noise of the gathering to escape into the darkness. Two gentlemen, laughing, stepped outside.

“There he is!” a voice he recognized as Archer Kane’s exclaimed. “Friday, old man. Everyone’s been wondering where you dashed off to.”

Jack grimaced as he turned. “Everyone?”

Archer’s companion was none other than the Duke of Ryeton. The elder Kane brother flashed a sympathetic grin, made slightly sinister by the jagged scar on his left
cheek. “Sorry, Friday. Having been the subject of many a conversation, you have my sympathy.”

Archer laughed. “Only the stories ’bout you were
true
.”

His brother scowled at him. “Not all, no.”

Lean shoulders shrugged as Archer turned his attention back to Jack. “So, old boy, where did you get off to? You didn’t happen to chase that pretty little fortune-teller to ground did you?”

Jack was generally an even-tempered man, but that question…that question made him want to belt Archer right between his ever-loving eyes. Some of that must have showed in his gaze because the grin melted off the other man’s face.

“Forget I asked,” he said, fishing a slim silver case from inside his jacket. “Cigar?”

The one in his hand had burned down to nothing, so Jack accepted the pleasantly scented tobacco and the offer of a light that followed. Soon, the three of them were smoking in relatively comfortable silence. So much for him not being much of a smoker.

“So,” the duke began, a slow grin easing across his face. “
Did
you run that pretty little fortune-teller to ground?”

Archer burst out laughing, and Jack, seeing that Greyden was joking, soon joined in. It felt good to laugh, but it also hurt like hell, because neither of them knew that it was actually true. There was nothing clandestine about it. She was his wife, damn it.

And she always would be as far as he was concerned.
He knew that now. No amount of new names and years apart could change that. The reason tonight had felt so right was because it had been the two of them, together again.

La Rieux had whisked her away before he could ascertain if Sadie felt the same way. There was a very good chance that she did not. A very good chance that he could lose her again just as he was realizing he’d never stopped wanting her.

“Uh-oh,” Archer intoned, nudging his brother with his elbow. “He’s gone quiet. What do you suppose happened here this evening, Grey?”

The duke exhaled a stream of fragrant smoke. “I reckon it’s none of our business, Arch.” Then he cast a sideways glance at Jack. “Though I feel compelled to warn you, my friend, sometimes what happens at Saint’s Row doesn’t always stay here.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Archer insisted. “He’s just saying that because he thought he had an anonymous rendezvous here one night and he ended up married to her.”

Jack’s eyebrows rose as Grey shot his younger brother a murderous look. “Shut your mouth.”

Archer merely made a face. “It’s not like he’s going to tell anyone. Besides, what difference does it make now that you’re married?”

But Jack understood what Archer seemed oblivious to. It mattered because one never knew if scandal was going to elevate one’s social status or destroy it. It was always about the woman’s reputation, rarely the man’s. And no man, especially someone trying to atone for his past as
Ryeton was, would want society gossiping about his wife giving up her virtue before the wedding night.

Then again, Jack had heard that was why they got married in the first place—they’d been caught in bed together. When his grandfather had discovered his affair with Sadie, he’d threatened to send him off to the continent and offered Sadie a great deal of money to go away. No special license for them.

They eloped two nights later. And Jack had been cut off without a penny, except what he managed to steal. The old man had thought he’d leave Sadie and come crawling back. Instead, he chose the girl he loved and tried to make a good life for them both. Then there had been that scrape with the law and Jack had jumped at the chance for a new life.

“Where are you from, Friday?” Ryeton asked, intruding upon his thoughts.

Jack’s head jerked up. “County Kerry, in Ireland. Near Castlecove.”

The duke nodded, but his pale eyes never left Jack’s face. “Our father was acquainted with an earl up that way. Garrick or Garner…”

“Garret,” Jack supplied, mouth incredibly dry.

The other man snapped his fingers. “That’s right. Met the man once. Bit of a humorless bastard. Did you know him?”

He didn’t want to lie, but what choice did he have? He was saved, however, by Archer’s interjection, “You expect him to know some old fart of an earl just because they’re from the same county?”

Ryeton rolled his eyes. “He might.”

Archer scowled. “And he might not. What effing difference does it make?” He turned to Jack. “I’m off to the club. Want to join? Grey left his bollocks with the duchess and she wants him to go home with her.”

Instead of being angry, the duke grinned. “You’re just jealous because your bed will be cold and empty while mine is warm and cozy.”

Archer, leaning back and turning his head to meet his brother’s gaze, managed to look both amused and irked. “I reckon I’ll have to find another bed, then.” He directed that crystalline stare at Jack. “What do you say, Friday? Shall we sally forth?”

Surprisingly, Jack’s first inclination was to decline his new friend’s generous offer. But at that moment, he happened to glance at the lit interior of Saint’s Row, visible through the French doors. Sadie was there, on the arm of Mason Blayne, and though she couldn’t see him, he had a terribly good view of her as she smiled at the artist.

It was like a kick to the gut.

“Yes,” he said to Archer, jaw tight. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Sadie didn’t witness Jack’s departure from the club, but she heard about it shortly after it happened. Vienne seemed to think it was news she would enjoy hearing.

“He won’t be harassing you anymore this evening,” the Frenchwoman announced with a kind of grim satisfaction that made Sadie wince.

“He didn’t harass me.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead where a dull ache was beginning to form just above her brow bone. “And even if he had, he paid for the privilege. A rather substantial amount.”

Vienne sniffed. Obviously she had tried to forget Jack’s donation. “That doesn’t give him the right—”

“I gave him the right!” Sadie snapped. “I gave him the right when I allowed him to join me in the salon.”

“As if you could have stopped him.”

Sadie sighed. There was no swaying Vienne when she had her heels dug in. She was bound and determined to think ill of Jack and nothing Sadie could say would change that. How could she even attempt to change Vienne’s mind when her own was in such a state of turmoil? She hardly knew her own feelings toward the man, they varied so much. One minute she despised him for walking out on her—and all that happened after—and the next she wanted to forget the past and beg him to give their marriage another try.

He’d left without saying good-bye. Rationally she knew that it was for the best, given the way bored aristocratic tongues liked to wag. Still, an acknowledgment of some kind would have been nice, seeing as how they’d shagged each other silly just a few hours ago.

“Forgive me,” she said to Vienne after a brief silence. “I feel a headache coming on. I think I’ll ask Mason to take me home.”

Vienne smiled coyly. “A headache, but of course. Do go find Monsieur Blayne and have him attend to you.”

Never in her life had Sadie ever felt the least bit slat
ternly, not even when in the presence of Jack’s grandfather, but at that moment she felt tawdry and a little dirty. The idea of having any kind of intimate contact with Mason after being with Jack was wrong in so many ways. God, she couldn’t imagine it.

“Will I see you for tea tomorrow?” Vienne asked, seemingly oblivious to Sadie’s dismay.

“Of course. Same time as usual.” Once a month they set aside a day for an afternoon of tea, cake with thick frosting, and gossip. It was time both of them took to forget about business and everything else in their lives and just be frivolous. Sadie cherished those days.

“Actually,” her friend began, “would you mind if we met an hour later? I have a meeting earlier in the day with an investor.”

“Of course not. An investor for your grand endeavor?” That was what Sadie called Vienne’s plans to open a universal provider catering to the needs of the moneyed ladies of London.

Vienne nodded, her eyes bright. “I’m so very close to having all the money I need,
mon amie
. Trystan Kane’s contribution put me within reach, and this meeting tomorrow could finally make my dream a reality.”

Sadie was so very happy for her friend. She reached out and took both of Vienne’s hands in her own. “Then we shall have to celebrate.”

Her friend giggled—a decidedly girlish sound, odd coming out of that sophisticated face. “Fortune has smiled upon both of us as of late.”

Sadie couldn’t resist adding, “Yes, since Jack Friday came to town.”

Vienne rolled her eyes, but she took the remark with the good humor it was intended. “Go home, you foolish woman. I grow weary of looking at you.”

Chuckling, Sadie gave her a quick hug and went off in search of Mason. She hadn’t seen him for quite some time. Earlier he’d come upon her before she could escape to the garden for some fresh air, and kept her by his side for a fair bit until someone whisked him away for a reason she couldn’t remember. Usually he was in a hurry to escape such gatherings, claiming being around so many people overloaded his senses. Sadie suspected that had to do more with his artistic temperament than society, but who was she to judge? Half the time she couldn’t wait to leave either. The social elite tended to grate on her nerves.

She found him in the salon talking to a small group of ladies and gentlemen, regaling them with a story about Rossetti. It was a tale she’d heard several times before, so she stood just outside the circle and waited. It didn’t take long for him to finish, and when he was done, his rapt audience responded with a chorus of laughter. Even Sadie, as familiar with the story as she was, had to smile. Mason smiled too, though his faltered a little when he looked up and saw her there.

Guilt pinched Sadie deep inside. No understanding or arrangement existed between them, yet she felt as though she had betrayed him as keenly as if they had
been lovers. He was a good man and he deserved better than she.

“You look tired,” he commented as his audience dispersed, and she was able to close the distance between them.

“Headache,” she supplied. “I thought we might take our leave, but if you would like to stay, I’m sure Vienne will lend me a carriage.”

He made a small frown. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m more than ready to leave.” He didn’t offer his arm, but then he rarely did. Instead he walked with his hands clasped behind his back as was his habit, but he made sure to keep in step with Sadie, so he couldn’t be too disappointed in her.

They called for Mason’s carriage and collected their outerwear. The night was clear but a tad cool, and Sadie was glad to have her shawl about her shoulders as they stepped outside. They waited in mostly comfortable silence for the coach to appear, and when it did, a footman opened the door for them and assisted Sadie inside.

She took the forward-facing seat and moved to the far side, expecting Mason to sit beside her as he usually did. He surprised her, however, by sitting across from her instead. He looked at her as though she had disappointed him somehow.

He had no idea what happened between her and Jack. None. All he had were his own suspicions. The fact that he was so quick to believe the worst of her did much to alleviate her guilt—even though she deserved it.

He rapped on the roof and didn’t say anything as the
carriage jerked into motion. Pimlico wasn’t a short trip by any means. Did he plan to spend the whole of it in silence? Or was he waiting for her to confess her sins?