Much Ado About Rogues (11 page)

“Thank you, Will. Just when I’m convinced I don’t like you, you show a twisted bit of opinion that somehow comforts me.” Jack turned to look at Dickie. “Do I have your permission to continue?”

“Oh, yes, sorry. It’s as Will says, sometimes my tongue is hinged at both ends, and silliness comes out. You’re going to send him some sort of note, yes? The marquis I mean.” He rolled his eyes at Will. “And I only said
that
so you wouldn’t ask me if I meant Henry.”

“Of course he’s going to send a note. And that’s when you and I come in, Dickie, old friend, when we follow whoever retrieves the communications left at Cleveland Row, since Jack, even in disguise, might be somehow seen and recognized by our sly old fox,” Will said, glaring at Jack. “How condescending of you to include us, even in such a menial way.”

“Each man to the level of his talents,” Jack said coolly.

“
Touché—
and done
.
We’ve managed enough verbal fencing for the evening, haven’t we?”

Dickie held up his hand, as if hoping to be called upon. “So you will send a letter—we’ll call it a letter—and so will several others? Maybe dozens of others? What happens to them? The prospective purchasers, that is? They’re bound to be disappointed when they aren’t invited to view the art objects.”

Of all the people to ask the one question Jack didn’t want to hear asked, how could Dickie have possibly been the one to come up with it?

“Our friend here has a point, Jack, even if he doesn’t see it. Why not an advertisement that summons you, only you? Or is my level of talent too low to understand this complexity?”

As the only explanation that made any sense would be to suggest that Sinjon had hoped to attract more than one party via his advertisements—in point of fact, the Gypsy—Jack chose not to answer directly.

He got to his feet, the chair scraping back loudly against the wooden floor. “I think we’re done here. He’s, as you say, one old man. It’s bad enough I have to deal with him, but I’ll be damned if I’ll go about it while saddled with two constantly questioning old women. We’ll meet again once I’ve completed my mission.” He looked down at the two of them, first one, then the other. Black Jack at his most quietly fierce. “Agreed?”

Dickie was confused, which was how Jack wanted him. Will was angry, which was how Jack needed him. Best of all, he’d avoided having to answer the question. For the rest, all he could do was pray Sinjon hadn’t gone senile in the past four years, and hadn’t carefully planned out how the person he sent to retrieve the communications at noon on the fifteenth would elude pursuit.

“All right, Jack, you’ve made your point. He was your mentor, you know him best,” Will said, sighing. “Now for God’s sakes, climb down off your high horse and tell us your plan.”

“Dickie?” Jack asked the other man.

“I like it best when we get along,” he said quietly. “But I do miss Henry. Can’t help that. He used to tease that we were a dashing band of rogues. Now we’re only a trio of rogues, and not half so dashing. Ever since the war’s over, we’re not much more than Runners, as I see it, China Street pigs but without the scarlet waistcoats, and with the dirtiest of jobs. Chasing after old men who should have been taken care of a long time ago. Not so much the rogues now, are we? Rather sad, I think.”

“Have some more wine,” Will said, all but pushing the full glass into Dickie’s face. “We’re ready, Jack. What comes next?”

“As always, we take the next step,” Jack said, retrieving the chair. He sat down once more, this time straddling the chair and leaning in confidentially, drawing them in to the circle of his plan, the circle of his lies. He pulled another square of paper from his waistcoat, a map he’d drawn of Cleveland Row, unfolded it and smoothed it against the tabletop. “And you definitely guessed correctly, Will, when you said I’d want you and Dickie positioned outside Number 9. Here, Will…and you here, Dickie…”

If he had a conscience, he’d be ashamed of himself. But he had Tess and Jacques to consider, and he wouldn’t only betray his country, he’d sell his very soul to protect them.

* * *

S
HORTLY
AFTER
TUGGING
on the bellpull, Tess heard voices in the hallway, followed by the sound of Jacques’s childish giggles, which was followed on hard by the sight of the so large and fierce-looking Wadsworth prancing into the drawing room like one of the Prince Regent’s finest carriage horses put to a trot, Jacques sitting on his shoulders, holding on to the man’s hair and urging him to
“Gullup! Gullup!”

“I’m sorry, miss,” the butler said, “but everyone else is busy what with one thing and another, and I was closest. Mrs. Emilie is tired from the journey yesterday, and napping. Is there something you’d be wanting?”

Tess did her best to keep from smiling, but it was a wasted effort, especially when Jacques moved his hands down to cover Wadsworth’s eyes. “Actually, you just provided me with the information I wanted—the whereabouts of my son. Jacques, move your hands, if you please. Poor Wadsworth can’t see. I’m sorry, is he being so much a bother? Mr. Blackthorn won’t allow him outside, and he’s used to roaming at will.”

Wadsworth spoke with his arms raised above his head, securely anchoring Jacques to his shoulder. “It’s some time since any of us has had a young’un about, miss. We’re all that delighted belowstairs. Cook wishes to know if you’d honor her by inspecting the menu for this evening. To see if there’s anything special you might want for Master Jock here.” The man pronounced Jacques’s name in the English way, which made Tess smile again, knowing Emilie would soon correct him. Although how she’d manage to get the man to slip the sound of a
z
before the
j
might prove interesting.

“Really? Well, isn’t that nice of her. Please relay my thanks, and tell her I’m sure we’ll both be pleased with anything she decides.” She didn’t wish to become too involved with the workings of the mansion. For one, she wasn’t in charge. For two, she was a barely tolerated guest. And for three, Jack would have something amusingly cutting to say about it if he came into the room while Tess was choosing between beans and green peas.

“As you wish, miss.” Wadsworth made to bow, seemed to remember Jacques was riding him and held back, then turned to leave the room. Just as Jack was entering it.

“Papa! Papa!” Jacques crowed in delight, reaching out his arms for his father, the man who had taken him up on his massive black stallion the preceding day.

Tess spared a moment to panic, to worry that Jack wouldn’t wish this acknowledgment of their son’s parentage. But she shouldn’t have worried. Jack was Jack, a law unto himself. And as far as she knew, didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of him…perhaps liked it even better when people thought poorly of him. That way, they left him alone.

But her panic returned, and this time remained, as she watched Jack’s reaction to seeing his son. The way he looked at Jacques was…possessive. Yes, that was the word.
Mine.
Far from attempting to deny the boy, he was claiming him. She could almost feel the ache of love in his heart for this small scrap who’d just called him Papa.

Demanding that the two of them marry had nothing to do with how Jack felt about her, but everything to do with taking possession of his son. And either she agreed to the marriage or she lost Jacques.
Oh, Papa, what have you done…is this really what you wanted?

Jack kissed his son’s outstretched hands and told him to go with Wadsworth, who seemed caught between embarrassment and delight. Then he turned his attention to Tess.

She could feel heat climbing into her cheeks as he looked at her, remembering the dark hours of the previous evening when they’d used each other so shamelessly. When he’d made love to her so intimately. When she’d returned the favor, slowly sliding down his body, kissing him, kissing him everywhere. Cupping him, taking him deep.
Yes…like that. God, Tess, yes, just like that. Woman, you’re driving me out of my… Oh, God, Tess…Tess…

Why couldn’t she look at him without wanting him? Wanting him to touch her, wanting to please him. Wanting…wanting.

Jack stopped halfway to where she was sitting, and pressed his hands against his chest. “What? I’ve got a smut somewhere? Sprouted a second head?”

She shook herself mentally even as she redirected her gaze to her shoe tops. “I…I was wondering if it bothered you. That Jacques called you Papa. Now Wadsworth knows, and soon the entire household will know.”

“If they don’t know by now the marquess should have them all sacked for bloody stupidity while staring into the teeth of the obvious. The obvious being our faces. Oh, wait a moment. Are you thinking about your reputation, Tess? The fallen woman? No, let me correct that, since you’re under this roof. The kept woman. The mistress.”

“I like him better in the dark,” she murmured quietly.

Jack laughed, and suddenly he was sitting beside her, his mouth close against her neck. “Many things are better in the dark. But not all of them. If I might demonstrate?”

She sat stock-still as he cleverly pushed down the bodice of her gown, freeing her left breast.

“Jack, for the love of—”

“I think we’ll both agree that love has very little to do with this,” he said. “Just watch, Tess. No, no, don’t close your eyes. Watch.”

Her breathing was already fairly ragged, even before—his back to the door, shielding her from view if someone might chance to enter—he began lightly pinching her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

She felt her nipple harden. Saw it harden. Saw what her body was feeling.

Jack leaned down and licked the very tip of her, his slightly rough tongue sending a shot of desire straight to her groin.

“There. Now touch it,” he whispered. Commanded. “Make it come alive.”

“I can’t do that…”

“Yes, you can. You’ve no inhibitions in the dark, Tess. You know how to please yourself. Do it, and let me watch. Let me help.”

His touch, and even more, his words, combined with the fact that her body had come alive again in these past two days, had her aching to feel more, more. The thought of him watching her stirred her, so that she knew she was growing moist between her thighs.

He was a magician, a sorcerer. He was evil to do this to her, and she was weak and selfish and…he licked at her again, suckled for a moment, so that when he let go the air was cool against her damp skin. He pressed the heel of his palm against her lower belly, ground it against her, adding need to the mix of arousal and nervousness.

She pushed him away and stood up, glaring down at him as she readjusted her bodice.

He was so beautifully handsome, so perfect in every way. When she looked at him she could never believe he could want her. She’d never quite trusted the passion in his eyes, never quite believed it could be meant for her.

When he’d gone, he’d proved her right; what they’d had wasn’t real, and certainly wasn’t enough.

Yes, he’d told her he loved her. Whispered it to her the first night he took her to his bed. Shouted the words at her in anger that first day in her father’s study.

But he couldn’t deny that he’d left, and that he wouldn’t have returned, they wouldn’t be here now, if not for the fact that her father had disappeared.

So what was it that Jack was trying to rekindle here and now? The love that probably never really was…or just this, the way they shot sparks off each other that had the power to very nearly ignite the world? Was he telling her that’s all they had, all they’d ever have?

“Tess?” he said as the silence between them grew too long to ignore. “Tess, I’m sorry. I’m a bastard, in every way possible. I don’t know what in bloody hell happens inside my head anymore. Forgive me.”

She shook her head. “It’s all right, Jack. You’re not the only guilty party here. When you first walked in the door I—well, never mind.”

“No, Tess, damn it, it’s not all right. I saw your face. I
knew.
And I wanted to hurt you. I wanted you to admit that you needed me as much as— Christ! What did we do wrong? What happened to us?” He lowered his head into his hands.

Tess walked over to the bellpull, and not thirty seconds later Wadsworth and Jacques
gulluped
into the drawing room.

“Wadsworth, Mr. Blackthorn will take his son now, please. And if you’d have someone fetch his ball?”

“Yes, miss, I’ll see that it is brought,” the butler said, carefully lowering Jacques to the floor and bowing his way out of the room.

Jack looked up at her even as he held his arms out to his son. “Tess?”

“It’s as you said last night, Jack. My father has been in London for a week at the least. Either we’re here in time, or we’re already too late. Another few hours won’t matter either way. There’s a lovely walled kitchen garden, I’ve already checked. Jacques needs to be outside. And you need to be with him.”

Jack picked up the boy as he stood up. Held him high against his chest as Jacques confidently laid his arm across his father’s shoulder. A matched pair of dark devils, born to destroy feminine hearts. Jack looked at Tess for long moments.

“You’ll join us?”

She shook her head, knowing she wouldn’t be able to speak without crying. The sight of Jacques’s head so close to Jack’s nearly had her coming undone.