Much Ado About Rogues (18 page)

Jack laid the tightly written page on the table and gave it a small push away from him, as if he felt even its presence offended him. “Fool, ignorant, incompetent, mediocre. We’re all inferior, aren’t we? All save him. The great Sinjon, master of all.”

Tess used the serviette to dab quickly at her eyes, hating that tears pricked there. “The boy. He couldn’t even bother to write Jacques’s name. As for me, I’m an encumbrance. And a fool. So many times the fool…”

“But no longer. No longer.” Jack picked up the letter once more. “All right,” he said brusquely. “Let’s go through this. I believe we can skip over his tainted compliment.”

“Always the hook at the end. Good, yes, but not a patch on the master,” Tess agreed, reaching for her teacup. She would be calm. She wouldn’t succumb to emotion. There was work. She’d been trained to concentrate on the work, allowing no distractions. “After that, I believe we’re to applaud Sinjon’s genius at having tricked the Gypsy and sent him off to Spain, overlooking the fact that his plan only succeeded in part. The Gypsy didn’t die.”

Jack nodded. “Luck runs out, good or bad, and he is always prepared for either. Yes, Sinjon twists even his failures into triumphs. I agree. In any event, the man’s back, even announces his return by leaving his card at the theft here in London. He was calling Sinjon out.”

“Because he can’t simply kill him. He doesn’t know the location of the secret rooms. Or if he does, he doesn’t know for certain that Sinjon hasn’t moved the collection. He’s drawing him out so that he might easily capture him and then convince him to give up its location. I should think the most efficient way to do that would be to come directly to the manor house and put a pistol to Sinjon’s head, don’t you? Why these games?”

“The Gypsy is flamboyant, remember, even melodramatic? We probably should remember that, since we’re going up against him. What else is he? Ah, here it is.
The Gypsy is a man of many faces.
All right, so now we know to expect a disguise of some sort. That’s not surprising.” He continued scanning the letter. “This one might be important—
I had long since planned my exit from this damp isle.
How long, Tess? How long has he been planning this triumphant exit of his? I would think years. Probably even years before he and the Gypsy parted ways.”

Again, Tess nodded. She wished Jack would stop speaking, because an idea had begun floating about in her brain, close, but had not yet circled near enough to catch. “What did he say about you?”

“Other than the fact that I’m his trained instrument, you mean? He’s going to reward me, remember?
For this great favor to your mentor, I give you what you believe you already possess, and much more you had no hope of knowing.
Well, that’s typically cryptic.”

“I don’t think so.” The idea was taking on more definition. “The first part—that’s Jacques and me. That’s a threat.”

Jack frowned at the page. “Damn. You’re right. He must think he can turn you against me once more.” He looked across the table at her, his dark gaze intent yet questioning. “Can he do that, Tess?”

“He tried to kidnap my son!” she exploded, banging the side of her fist against the table, so that the teacups rattled. “No matter how he attempts to twist that around to make it sound plausible, even necessary, I can never forgive him for that.
Never.
” Then she took a breath, tried to slow her pounding heart. “He doesn’t understand, Jack, because he never loved René or me. He’s never loved anybody. Only
things.
Only his own twisted genius. What you and I do is for us to decide. Sinjon is nothing to me now, he holds no power over me.”

“All right,” Jack said quietly. “For us to decide. Clearly a decision not yet made.”

“Jack…”

“No, not now, Tess. If this were anything else, I’d press my advantage. I can’t do that to you. Not even for Jacques.”

“It isn’t that I—”

“Hate me?” His smile twisted inside her, nearly making her clutch at her belly. “No, Tess, I don’t believe you hate me. But I also don’t believe you know what you’re feeling. Let’s just get this done, and take Jacques to Blackthorn. What happens after that, happens. Or doesn’t.”

At last she summoned her own smile. “You’re so damn arrogant, Jack Blackthorn.”

“Yes, I know. Sinjon would term that a flaw, in all but himself. For now, let’s return to the matter at hand. The place of this meeting, where I’m to dispatch my enemy’s enemy.”

She held up her hand. “No, not yet. There’s more to what you read me. Something about him telling you something you had little hope of knowing. It has to mean something. Sinjon may appear to waste words, but he doesn’t. They all mean something.”

“I was hoping you’d not notice that,” he said, handing her the page. “It may be the hook? After all, he finishes it by reminding me that he can’t tell me anything if he’s dead.”

Tess read the line again.
“‘…and much more you had no hope of knowing.’”
Her mind reached out, finally able to grasp what had been eluding it. “Think back to your beginnings with Sinjon, Jack. You told him everything about you, everything that you knew. He listened, didn’t he? Intently, as he would, making you believe what you said was so interesting, so important. You’d never told anyone, yet you told this stranger who’d somehow talked you out of robbing him in an alleyway he’d had no reason to be in at any event. Sinjon, who could overcome a drunken man with ease, even one holding a pistol at his chest. It never sounded right to me, Jack. Not when you told me, and not now. Where is it? It’s here somewhere,” she said, reading through the letter again. “It’s what started me thinking that— Ah, here.
‘With you, Jack, I prepared. I found you because I wanted to find you… You are the man I made you.’
”

She put down the letter. “Jack? Jack, don’t look at me that way, as if you can deny what’s on that page. He found you because he went looking for you. He found you, and then he built you into what he needed. Because he prepares. Sinjon doesn’t just measure out his moves on a chessboard as us lesser mortals do. He builds the board itself even before the game begins. He’s never cornered, never checkmated, because he always has another move already prepared, even years in advance, just in case he needs it.”

“So what are you saying, Tess? Other than that I’m a dupe.”

She looked at him levelly for some moments. “You already know what I’m going to say. He knows who you are, Jack. Doesn’t he? He already knew that first night. He found you because he wanted to find you. You were always one of his chess pieces, like the rest of us.”

He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “Damn him,” he said, and then his arm swept out and the contents of the table all went crashing to the floor.

She watched as he left the room, not calling after him that he always seemed to run away from his emotions, as if they couldn’t follow him wherever he went. Because he’d be back. She’d learned that now, so she’d give him what he needed, time with himself and his own demons.

Tess bent down and picked up Sinjon’s letter, his instructions to them, the ink blurring thanks to the tea spilled on the page. She read the lines concerning René, and somehow they brought her peace rather than pain. René had died a man, daring to curse the father he’d always feared, and he’d left Sinjon a memory clearly he couldn’t shake. René’s gentle nature was not Sinjon’s failure, he’d never accept that, but his death was. If there was a God, he still heard his son’s curse in his head.

What had Jack told her? That Sinjon had once mourned that his daughter should have been born the son? But still, he’d taught her, and he’d taught her well. She knew just where they would all meet in two days’ time. She knew where no fool would think to look for him.

“You could afford to be cryptic because you
know
Jack and I aren’t fools. We’re not ignorant, nor incompetent, nor mediocre,” she said aloud as she consigned the letter to the fire in the grate and then pulled the bell cord to summon someone to clean up Jack’s mess. “That should worry you,
Papa.
It really should…”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

S
HE
CAME
TO
him after midnight, seeking him out in the bedchamber he’d closeted himself in for the remainder of the day, licking his wounds, cursing himself for a fool, wondering how he would manage to contain his rage when he and Sinjon met in two days’ time.

She’d come to him just when he’d decided he would go to her. Needed to go to her. Needed to be with her. Could not possibly make it through the long night without her.

The firelight made a halo of her unbound blond hair, and outlined her body beneath the thin white cotton of her dressing gown as she stood between the bed and the fireplace. He could smell her perfume.

She didn’t say a word.

He didn’t dare to.

Their first night together again had been for her, to comfort her, to remind her she was alive.

Tonight, without words, he knew she had come to return the favor.

The dressing gown slid from her slim shoulders.

Slowly, she loosened the ribbons of her nightrail.

Her eyes were on him, even as the shadows thrown from the fire obscured her features.

He wanted to reach for her, but he stayed where he was. Watching.

She crossed her arms, gathering up the material of the nightrail, and lifted the garment up and over her head. It drifted down to the floor, forgotten. Unnecessary.

She lifted her arms once more, this time sliding her hands behind her head, beneath her hair, as she tilted up her chin. She ran her hands upward, lifting her golden tresses, her perfect breasts rising with the movement.

The firelight caressed her bare skin, accented the tilt of those breasts, the long sweep to her small waist, the inviting swell of her hips. Her long, strong, straight legs.

She held the pose. Until he could hear himself breathing.

She dropped her arms and allowed her long hair to fall, a single shake of her head arranging its golden length to settle perfectly below her shoulders, curl provocatively against her breasts.

Tess reached out and slowly pulled back the covers, drawing them down past his knees, revealing him as he lay naked in the bed, half propped against the pillows.

Jack lay very still, his breath coming even more quickly, his manhood stirring, filling, rising. He knew he wasn’t to move, wasn’t to touch her.

No. She would do that. For him, she would do that.

She cupped her breasts, sliding her thumbs across her nipples, scraping them lightly with her nails, teasing them into hard peaks. She began delicately pinching them between thumb and forefinger before shifting her hands…the left going to her right breast, her right, her fingers spread, beginning its slow, sensuous slide down her flat midriff. And beyond.

Yes.

There was nothing in his mind save her. Watching her. Imagining himself buried deep inside her.

He was untouchable, unreachable. He’d built himself that way; the world had contributed the bricks with which he’d constructed the walls around him. Nothing and no one got through.

Except her.

She broke through his every defense just by being who she was. He felt her hands on him even as she readied herself for him. He felt her hot wet heat surrounding him, feeding needs he didn’t know he had.

She was there, standing at his bedside. She was with him, flesh to flesh. She was deep inside his body, his mind. His soul. She imprinted herself everywhere…without even touching him.

He would never be without her, not if she were thousands of miles away.

“Tess…”

But she knew. Even as he spoke her name, his plea, she was straddling him, lowering herself onto the pulsing arousal that would soon destroy any last defense.

She leaned forward, her hands on his shoulders. And began to move.

She teased. She ground against him, sensing what he needed. She bent her head and put her open mouth against his neck, mimicking her movements with her tongue against his heated skin.

She gave.

Take it. Take what you need. There’s nothing but this now. No shadows, no room for anger, for fear. For regrets. Just take.
Take.

And he took. Just as she had taken when he’d come to her. He buried his anger in her, his pain. He let it go, let it all go. There was no room for it anymore in his heart, not when Tess filled that heart so fully.

His hands came up to up her head, his mouth sought hers, fusing them together completely as they went over the edge together.
Mine. Please…please. Mine…

He felt her tears on his cheeks, mingling with his own, and squeezed his eyes firmly shut against them.

Her kiss turned gentle before she slid herself off him. When he opened his eyes it was to see her clothed in her nightrail and dressing gown once more.

“Tomorrow, we get to work,” she said quietly as she pulled the covers back up over him, bent to kiss him one last time. She was tucking him up, as she would a child.

He reached up a hand to keep her, but then put it down. “Tess…”

“He can’t keep anything from you, Jack, any more than he can give you anything. Only you can do that. What’s between us will be settled between us. But first we get to work. Agreed?”

He nodded his head, and she smiled.

“I think I rather like this. Being in charge. It’s quite a different feeling for me.”

He pulled a pillow out from behind him and sent it winging at her laughing, retreating form. Moments later he was alone. Yet not alone.

“God, I love that woman,” he breathed into the empty air.

* * *

“G
OOD
MORNING
,
BROTHER
,
” Jack said as he slipped into the facing chair at the large table in the morning room. “Yes, coffee, Wadsworth,” he said as the butler stepped forward to serve him. “Just what I need. Thank you. How are you, Puck?”

“You mean other than faintly mystified at the sight of your cheery face? I barely recognize you.”

“I don’t always scowl, you know,” Jack said, and then ignored the amused look that passed between brother and butler. “Are you fit to travel?”

“Tossing me out, are you?” Puck asked as he attempted to apply jam to a slice of toasted bread that immediately half slid off his plate. “Damn! Ah, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Jack said as he snatched the plate and finished the job Puck had so messily begun. “You wouldn’t be in that sling if it weren’t for my stupidity.”

“Well, yes, that’s true enough. Not that I’d wish you to don sackcloth and ashes, but I could do with another slice of ham, you know. Bite-size pieces would be best.”

Wadsworth jumped-to with alacrity, and Jack was presented with another small plate, this one holding a thick pink slice of ham.

“The two of you should consider forming a small traveling company, and performing for paying customers,” he told them. “However, if you think I’m going to feed you, you’d best get used to an empty belly.”

“Ah, there’s the scowl we all know so well. I knew that cheery face wouldn’t last. Rather glad of it, to tell you the truth. A smiling Black Jack is almost more intimidating than a cheery one. Wadsworth, my good fellow, I suggest you retire now, while it’s still safe to turn your back on the fellow.”

The butler bowed and took his leave. “A good man, Wadsworth,” Jack remarked as he sliced the ham for his brother. “Beau chose well.”

“You know Beau. He’s always most comfortable with those whose loyalty can’t be questioned. Wadsworth might be lacking in polish in some areas, but there’s nothing like a former sergeant-major for dedication to duty. You were never in the army, were you? In uniform, I mean. I imagine you were there somewhere, doing whatever it is you do. Have done. Will continue to do?”

Jack smiled once more as he handed over the plate. “Not said with your usual subtlety, Puck. Is your arm still paining you?”

“Thank you. No, pretense is painful enough on its own. I suppose I should simply go straight to the heart of the matter. What happens for you now, Jack? You feel the need to go after the marquis, surely. But for the Crown, or for yourself?”

Jack immediately went on guard. His brother was after something. “Why do you ask?”

Puck held up one finger indicating that he’d answer once he had swallowed his bite of ham, and then said, “Because it makes a difference, obviously. One is a job, a mission, if you will. The other is just bloody stupid revenge and could make you sloppy. In other words, I’m worried about you, Jack. It is allowed of brothers, you know.”

“Your concern fair bids to unman me, if it weren’t for the insult. I know what I’m doing.”

Puck put down his fork. “You don’t make it easy, do you? Allowing anyone in. Why is that, Jack? Beau and I have a theory, you know. One that begins and ends with our dear mother.”

“Not now, Puck. I’ve got more than enough on my plate as it is. Besides, that’s all ancient history.”

“Not as long as it colors your present, no it isn’t. Oh, sit down,” Puck added as Jack pushed back his chair and made to rise. “We dance around you, and we dance around you. All of us. All right, so the marquess isn’t your father. There, I’ve said it. And so bloody well what? You’re our brother, and we damn well need to stick together, the three of us. It’s time for you to come home.”

Jack sat down with a thump, his hands gripping the arms of the chair until his knuckles went white. “She told you?”

Puck rolled his eyes. “Adelaide? Hardly. Do give Beau and me some credit for insight. When Beau turned eighteen, she gave him the same sort of ring you’re wearing. He asked her if the
B
stood for Blackthorn or bastard, but she didn’t answer him. Well, she did, in a way. She slapped his face. The morning after your eighteenth birthday, you disappeared. Being an observant sort, and not much caring for what had happened to Beau, and even less for whatever had happened to you, when I reached the age of eighteen and she handed me my own ring, I thanked her prettily and she patted my cheek, told me I was her baby, her treasure. I think I’d rather she’d slapped me.”

“But you gave her what she wanted.”

“Yes,” Puck said slowly. “My mother’s gift to me…a talent for toad-eating. Do you know, Jack, I am possibly the most pleasing person you’ll ever meet.”

Jack smiled. “You could charm the birds down from the trees,” he agreed silkily. “I often longed to toss you into the pigsty.”

Puck picked up a crusty roll and halfheartedly tossed it at him. “I just thank God I went to Paris and finally grew up. But that’s not my point. Adelaide cast us all into roles, did you ever realize that?”

“I did, yes. She damn near ruined Beau, convincing him that he could overcome his bastard state, be anything and anyone he wished. It was good to finally see him so content in his own skin.” Jack picked up the roll and began turning it in his hand. “So now we’re up to me. And what, in your infinite wisdom, did Adelaide build when she built me?”

Puck sighed audibly. “She didn’t build you, Jack. She did the unforgivable. She tore you down. But she paid a price for that, you know. Papa…Cyril never forgave her for sending you away.”

Jack sat back in his chair, surprised at Puck’s words. “How do you mean? She’s still there when she wants to be. He’s still the same besotted fool he always was.”

Puck got to his feet. “Let’s walk,” he said, and then headed for the hallway, leaving Jack with nothing else to do but follow him. He’d turned his back on his life at Blackthorn, told himself a thousand times that he didn’t care, that he was better alone. But the past year had taught him that his ties to his half brothers were stronger than he could have thought. If Puck wanted to talk, he owed him the courtesy of listening.

They were silent until they reached the tavern they’d visited just the other day, Puck barely settled into his chair before the barmaid bustled to the table with mugs of hot, rather rancid-smelling coffee, giggling like a girl when Puck thanked her with a wink.

“Born to please,” Jack said, seating himself across from his brother.

“And costs me nothing. Life is to be enjoyed, Jack, not endured. Watch that boy of yours, if you don’t believe me. We all were like Jacques, once upon a time. And then life…intrudes. But only to the point when we say stop, I’ve got it now, I’ll take it from here, thank you very much. Beau learned that. I learned that. It’s time you did, as well. It’s
your
life, Jack, not her idea of what or who you are. Make the most of it. Lord knows you’ve got one hell of a start with Tess and that son of yours. Let the rest go. All of it—just let it go.”

Puck’s expression was so earnest Jack had to look away. “You were going to tell me about Cyril,” he said, uncomfortable with his brother’s concern for him.

Puck sighed, nodded. “All right. Just think about what I said. She isn’t worth it. This marquis isn’t worth it. God knows Prinney and Liverpool and the rest of them aren’t worth it.” He held up his hand as Jack scowled at him. “Yes, yes, back to Cyril,” he said quickly. “First and only time Beau or I ever heard him raise his voice to her. God, what a row they had! Beau and I barely had to press our ears to the door to hear every word.”