Pure Temptation (20 page)

“You’ll hurt yourself.” Moira resisted. “Your injury…”

“It will hurt more if I don’t love you,” Jack told her as he began undressing her with firm, steady fingers. “You’re mine, sweetheart. You’ll always be mine. Fight it all you want, but I’ll wear you down until you agree to marry me.”

He dragged off her dress, then her chemise, tossing them aside. He stared at her breasts, cupping them gently and lifting them to his mouth. Her skin was warm and tempting, and Jack drank deeply of the clean, arousing scent of her. He heard the sharp intake of her breath when he drew her nipple into his mouth, suckling her. His hand moved downward over her abdomen and she arched against him, her body straining for the same kind of pleasure she’d experienced before in Jack’s arms. When his fingers slid possessively into the soft triangle between her legs, sweet, sharp, almost painful sensations shot through her veins.

Wave after wave of delicious heat washed over her, until nothing but raw need remained. With a will of their own, her arms twined around his neck, pulling him closer, arching her back, offering more of herself to his mouth and hands. Jack stiffened and gasped. Realizing that she had hurt him, she started to withdraw, but Jack would not permit it.

“No. The pain is nothing compared to the agony of wanting you. The day I found you lying in the gutter was the luckiest day of my life.”

Then his mouth followed the same path his hand had forged, blazing a fiery trail from the tight little buds cresting her breasts across her flat stomach into the lustrous copper curls crowning her thighs. A low scream tore from her throat and her hips surged upward.

“Jack! No, you mustn’t!”

A ripple of laughter slipped past his lips as his hands caught her hips and held her fast. “Aye, sweetheart, I must. I promise you’ll like it.” He cupped her bottom and lifted her even higher, denying her escape from the intimate exploration of his mouth. She made a soft mewling sound deep in her throat, wanting to die from embarrassment. She never imagined men and women were capable of doing such wicked things.

Moira was amazed at the sensations she experienced, so new, but oh, so blissful. Searing flames consumed her woman’s center, destroying her senses, stealing her reason. She was painfully aware of every sensation, every gasp, each moan, of his rough hands on her body, his mouth on her most intimate places. The chamber echoed with sensuous sounds of fevered lovemaking. The whisper of sheets beneath her naked back, the vibration of hot breath upon even hotter flesh, the silken slide of skin against skin. Love sounds, erotic sounds. Sounds too intimate to describe. Her moans were coming faster and her body shivered with liquid tremors as scalding heat sped through her veins.

“Jack! I can’t bear it! It’s too wicked.”

“Aye. You taste wicked and wanton and incredibly wonderful. Sweeter than the sweetest ambrosia. I’ll settle for nothing less than all of you.”

Drugged by his words, Moira rocked against his mouth, her hands clinging to his shoulders, her nails digging into his
back. She felt like a bowstring that was drawn to the limit of its endurance, and beyond. Suddenly the bowstring snapped, sending raw ecstasy surging through her. She cried out wordlessly, finding no words to describe the feeling. Then Jack was sliding upward along her body, finding her mouth and kissing her. She tasted herself on his lips, thinking vaguely that it wasn’t at all unpleasant.

Grasping her hand, Jack brought it to his groin. “Feel what you do to me, love. I have no control where you’re concerned.”

He was hard and hot. Steel covered in velvet. She moved her hand experimentally up and down his throbbing length, shocked at her wantonness. Jack spit out a harsh growl and removed her hand. She expected him to roll atop her and take his own pleasure and was startled when he merely kissed and caressed her.

Her breath caught in her throat. Surely it wasn’t possible to find pleasure again so soon, was it? Jack proceeded to show her how naive she was. He kissed her ravenously, until her lips were swollen and red, then lavished rapt attention to her breasts, sucking each nipple deeply into his mouth and laving the tight buds with the rough surface of his tongue. His hands worked magic on her slick, sensitive folds, thrusting his fingers into her moist crevice until she was vibrating with need.

“Take me, Moira. Take all of me,” he said in a gasp. His control hung by a slim thread. If he wasn’t deep inside her soon, he’d explode.

Moira hesitated but a moment, then grasped the thick root sprouting from the dark forest between his legs and guided it into her moist center. There were no words to mar the moment, just the thunder of heartbeats as he drove into her, filling her so completely she felt possessed. His mouth devoured her neck and shoulders, trailing downward until it latched onto her breast. Her back arched, taking him fully
inside her, stretching her unbearably. The power of him, the utter strength of him seemed to flow into her with each thrust. She cried out from pure joy, caught in a whirlwind that transported her beyond mere pleasure to rapturous oblivion. Never had she felt so completely consumed by another human being.

It was a strange kind of helplessness, welcome yet frightening. The blinding heat building in her center moved upward and outward. Then she was falling, falling, spiraling down toward a dark, searing abyss that sucked her into a pool of pure bliss.

Spurred by Moira’s savage response, Jack thrust long and deep within her tightness, wild with the sheer rapture of being where he belonged, where he wanted to be. When he heard her sobbing little cries intensify and felt her contract around him, he drove deep and held himself there, poised on the brink of ecstasy. When she arched up to meet him, he flexed his hips, impaling her, flowing onto her, into her, a moan rumbling in his heaving chest. She felt his seed splash against the walls of her womb and clasped him tightly with her arms and legs, wanting to keep him there as long as possible. He stared into her eyes, his own eyes wild, savage, intense. Satisfied. No matter who or what stood between them, they belonged together.

Jack sighed and rolled off Moira. The exertion had cost him dearly. His wound was afire and his head was throbbing, but it had been worth it. Moira watched him closely, realizing this kind of activity was definitely not recommended for a convalescent. Guilt washed over her, and she slid from bed.

“This shouldn’t have happened. Let me look at your wound.”

Jack obliged, rolling over onto his stomach. Heaving a sigh of relief, Moira saw that the bandage showed no signs of renewed bleeding. The doctor was to remove the stitches
tomorrow, and she’d have a difficult time explaining a recurrence of bleeding.

“Well, what’s the verdict?” Jack asked with a hint of amusement.

“I don’t think you did yourself any harm, but to be on the safe side this can’t happen again.”

When no reply was forthcoming, Moira’s eyes settled on Jack’s face. She wasn’t too surprised to see that he had fallen asleep. She pulled a cover over him, donned her clothes and quietly left the chamber. She had much to think about. Jack’s declaration of love and subsequent proposal had been totally unexpected. No matter what he said, she couldn’t allow him to sully his title by marrying beneath him. He had just recently come into his title and wasn’t thinking clearly. He had a responsibility to his peers and standards to uphold. He was no longer Black Jack Graystoke, debauched rake. He was the Duke of Ailesbury, an old and honorable title, one he could not besmirch. He owed it to his cousin’s memory to conduct himself with reasonable dignity. And that meant marrying a woman of equal rank.

An hour later, a visitor arrived at Graystoke Manor. Since Pettibone had gone on some mysterious errand for Jack and the maids were nowhere in sight, she answered the door. When she saw who was calling, her mouth dropped open in surprise.

“Moira! I see Lord Graystoke found you. I never did ask how you two met, and I don’t want to know, but he certainly seemed intent upon finding you when he called on me.”

Lord Mayhew, the Earl of Montclaire, stood on the doorstep, his tall, dignified form only slightly bent with age. Moira blanched and would have turned and ran if she thought he would go away. “Lord Montclaire, I didn’t know you and Jack were acquainted. Have you come about the necklace? I didn’t steal it.”

Montclaire gave her a startled look. “That’s not why I’m here. It’s imperative I speak to Lord Graystoke. May I come in?”

Moira remained firmly in place, refusing Montclaire entrance. “Lord Graystoke isn’t receiving. He’s recuperating from an injury.”

The old man searched her face. “What kind of injury?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“See here, young lady, I carry no grudge against you. I understand my son rescinded all charges against you, and I’ll not dispute him. Lady Mayhew has her necklace, and I’m not sure you stole it in the first place.”

“That’s good of you, milord. I didn’t steal the necklace.”

“Be that as it may, I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. Now, we both know I’m not young anymore and I won’t be kept standing around while you make excuses. I insist upon seeing Lord Graystoke.”

Moira’s temper flared. “Lord Graystoke was seriously injured. He needs rest. He hasn’t awakened yet from his nap.”

“Again I ask, what kind of injury did he sustain?”

“Very well, if you insist. Jack was shot by
your
son, milord. Shot in the back.”

The earl staggered under the weight of Moira’s words. “Surely you jest.”

“I wish I did.”

“’Tis worse than I expected,” he lamented. “I will wait until Lord Graystoke awakens.”

“It’s all right, Moira. Show Lord Montclaire upstairs. I’ll see him.”

Swiveling her head, Moira saw Jack standing at the top of the stairs. He had dressed himself in trousers and shirt and was leaning heavily against the banister.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Moira all but shouted. “Are you certain you’re up to receiving company?”

Montclaire’s sharp gaze settled on Moira, his perception
keen despite his advanced age. He had assumed Moira was Jack’s mistress, but realized now that it went deeper than that.

“Stop coddling me, Moira. I’m perfectly capable of dealing with this.”

When Jack returned to his chamber, Moira issued a stern warning. “I’ll show you to Lord Jack’s chamber, milord, but you must promise not to tire him.”

“I’ll do my best, young lady,” Montclaire said, “but I must get to the bottom of this. It does concern my son, does it not?”

Clamping her mouth shut, Moira led the way to Jack’s chamber. Jack was sitting in a wing chair by the fireplace, waiting. He indicated that Montclaire should take the chair opposite him. Moira turned to leave.

“No, Moira, don’t go. This concerns you as well. I want you to stay.”

If Montclaire was startled by Jack’s words, he hid it well. Moira perched gingerly at the edge of the bed, flushing when she recalled the wanton way in which she had responded to Jack’s loving on this very bed not two hours ago. Her gaze flew to his face, searching for some sign that the strenuous activity had done him serious harm and noting with relief that he appeared relaxed and well.

“You wished to see me, milord?” Jack said.

“I’m truly sorry, milord. I knew Roger had a wild streak, but I never imagined he would harm anyone.”

“You know?”

Montclaire sent Moira a speaking glance. “Moira told me. I wish to know everything, Ailesbury. Where and why did my son attack you? My reason for coming today was to inquire about the gossip I heard at my club, something about introducing Moira to society and pretending she was a lady. It seems my son was the one who unmasked her. I wanted to ask Roger about it, but I haven’t seen him in days. Lady Montclaire is worried. I don’t even know where he keeps rooms.”

“I don’t know if you’re ready to hear this, milord,” Jack began, “but there are things you don’t know about your son. Have you ever heard of the Hellfire Club?”

Montclaire paled. “Certainly, who hasn’t? But what’s that got to do with…My God, you don’t mean Roger…?”

“Surely you suspected.”

The earl looked pained. “I suppose, but one hopes. Especially when it concerns one’s heir.”

“Your son abducted Moira from your home for the purpose of offering her to the members of the Hellfire Club. Moira jumped from a moving coach to escape, and Roger mistakenly thought she was dead. That’s why he left so abruptly for France. He feared involvement in her death. When he returned and found Moira alive, he renewed his efforts to use her in the club’s rites.”

“My God! It never occurred to me that he had become so debauched. We have indulged him sinfully, I fear. From the time he was born, his mother and I let him run wild. But for him to shoot another man in the back, ’tis something that cannot be forgiven. Why? Why did he do it?”

“I had gone to Sir Dashwood’s estate, where your son had taken Moira and held her against her will. I planned to rescue her.” He sent Moira a tender look. “As it turned out, Moira didn’t need my help. She had already escaped on her own. When I went to her aid, your son took offense and shot me.”

“I’m sincerely sorry, milord. What do you intend to do? Have you notified the authorities?”

“Not yet,” Jack said. “Actually, I haven’t decided what to do.”

“I implore you, permit me to handle this in my own way.” Montclaire looked as if he’d aged ten years since he’d first entered the chamber, and Moira’s heart went out to him. “If this becomes public knowledge, my family will be dragged through the mud. The title is an old and venerable one, and it would kill me to see it besmirched.”

“What is your intention, milord?” Jack wanted to know. “Your son could have killed me. I can’t just forget it.”

“As soon as I learn where Roger keeps rooms, I will personally put him aboard the first ship leaving for America. He’ll have to exist on a remittance until he reaches his majority next year. I can assure you he will never return to English shores as long as I’m alive. Furthermore, I will instruct my lawyers to draw up papers naming my younger son my heir. Since the estate isn’t entailed, I can do as I wish in the matter. Does that satisfy you, milord?”