The Jacobite's Return (The Georgian Rebel Series) (17 page)

“You are not a desperate ruffian.”

“Try telling that to His Majesty the King and His Grace of Cumberland. The fact remains that I entered this house undetected and was able to gain entry to your bedchamber. It could just as easily have been the room next door, which I surmise belongs to Lady Sheridan?”

“Good God, you are right. There is not a moment to be lost.”

The Falcon wrinkled his nose fastidiously. “Oh, I think you can spare enough time to bathe first.”

* * *

“Jack, you cannot remain here.” Rosie, attired in her nightgown, faced him with determination.

“’Twould not be the first time we have shared a room,” Jack reminded her. “Or a bed.” His voice dropped temptingly lower. “Or more.”

“This is different. What would people
say
? Think of Mrs. Glover and the servants. What if Lady Harpenden should hear of it?”

“Rosie”—Jack regarded her with mock concern—“are you trying to be
prim
?”

“I wish you will not make a joke of this. You must see how it would look. No matter what has happened of late, I am still Clive’s wife.”

“More’s the pity. Put a bolster down the middle of the bed again if you are concerned. But I am staying put.” To illustrate his point, he threw himself, fully dressed, onto the bed.

Rosie blushed. “Much good a bolster did us last time.”

Jack raised himself on one elbow, a reminiscent smile in his eyes. “Are you complaining?” After a moment’s hesitation, she gave a tiny shake of her head. His smile deepened. “Then come to bed.”

Come to bed.
The very simplicity of the words struck her like a blow.
This is the course I hoped our lives would take back when I was giddy with love for him. Before Culloden. All I wanted was this. Normality. Marriage to Jack and to share these tiny, everyday things with him. The things other couples take for granted. The things we can never have.

Still in the grip of her forlorn thoughts, she walked slowly to the bed. Although she had discarded the sling, she cradled her left wrist against her chest, making her movements clumsy. Jack held the bedclothes back to assist her.

“What troubles you? I’ll swear ’tis more than the thought of suffering me in your bed.” Jack’s voice was soft as she lay down, and he pulled the blankets over her.

Rosie turned on her side so that their faces were inches apart. “I fell in love with you before I even knew your name. Before I spoke to you. While you were still unconscious and I didn’t know if you would live or die. As I got to know you, I grew to love you more. All I ever wanted was to be your wife. Jack Lindsey’s wife. I never cared about the title.”

“I know that.” Jack reached out a hand and twisted one dark curl around his finger.

“No, you don’t understand what I am saying. If you had asked me then to be your mistress instead of your wife, I’d have said yes.”

“I loved you too, Rosie. I would not have asked that of you.”

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Because I wanted
you
. Then I lost you. Now, after all this time, I am married to someone else, but I have become your mistress.”

“It’s not enough? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

She shook her head. “No, the opposite. I’m glad we have this, Jack. Because for so long we had nothing.”

“Once we thought forever wouldn’t be enough for us.” His voice was husky. “Is it wrong to want more?”

“I think we should make the best of what we have.” Rosie smiled mischievously, her introspection banished. There had been too many years of brooding. “And it seems I have you this night.”

“You do. I’ll not leave you alone. Not with Sheridan still on the loose.”

“In that case, you, my lord, have a mistress to keep happy this night.”

“I do, do I? And what exactly does my mistress want from me?” Catching swiftly on to the change in her mood, Jack leaned over, lightly nipping her neck with his teeth.

Rosie squirmed with enjoyment. Pulling his head down so that she could whisper in his ear, she amazed herself with her own daring by telling him in very explicit terms exactly what she wanted. “I need you inside me now, filling me up with your big, hard cock. And when you take me, I want it to be fast and rough.”

Jack gave a soft laugh. “You’ll have me blushing, my sweet wanton. But I think we may have to wait until your bones are healed before we attempt anything quite so fierce.” When she groaned in frustration, he smiled. “Fear not, I’m sure I can put my imagination—and other parts of my body—to good use.” Bending his head, he took one nipple in his mouth, tugging on the hardened flesh through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Rosie arched her back in pleasure, a delicious tingle starting low in her belly and sending a buzz of pure lust pulsing between her legs. Jack, clearly well aware of the impact of his actions, smiled wickedly into her eyes before surprising her by moving away. Getting to his feet and coming around to her side of the bed, he swung her into his arms and carried her to a chaise that was set near the window.

Having seated her, Jack proceeded to lift her nightgown up around her waist, exposing her lower body to his gaze. Kneeling before her, he coaxed her knees apart. “Wider, sweetheart.” His voice was warm with emotion. “I want to look at you.” She obeyed unquestioningly, exposing the deepest secrets of her body to his appreciative gaze. Kneeling in front of her, Jack ran one finger down her centre, keeping his eyes on hers. Rosie returned his gaze openly, drawing in a sharp breath as he plunged his finger into her hot, wet sheath.

Lowering his head to lightly trace the inside of her knee with his lips, he nipped and licked his way up her inner thigh until his breath was warm on her slick entrance. Removing his finger, he tasted her, flicking his tongue over her clitoris, swirling it around until the tiny bud thrummed. Rosie’s moans were almost sobs of pleasure at the rasping sensation of him licking her. She lifted one leg over his shoulder and he thrust his tongue deep inside her. His tongue commenced a relentless, magical rhythm. Licking, circling and caressing, then driving deep inside. It was too much to bear, and an orgasm ripped through her again and again, wave upon crashing wave. Jack continued to lap at her as she shuddered wildly, gasping out his name.

Finally, Rosie pressed a long, lingering kiss on his lips. “You taste of me,” she whispered softly, sliding her right hand down his body to the front of his breeches. His erection was rock hard and straining at the barrier of the cloth. Fumbling slightly, she undid the buttons to free his cock and stroke his length. His breath was an indrawn hiss. “Now it’s my turn, Jack. Stand up. I want to taste of you.”

“You are hurt…”

“Not so badly that I cannot manage to do this.” Lightly, she drew her finger around his tip, and Jack shuddered.

“Feels so good,” he said hoarsely.

“I want to make you feel even better.” She squeezed the shaft, then took the head of his cock between her lips. Pausing, she looked up. “How about this?”

His reply was a tortured groan as he tangled his fingers in her hair and guided her, pushing her mouth back towards his cock. Experimentally, Rosie ran her tongue along his shaft, flicking it over the sensitive underside. Jack’s body jerked in approval. He held her in place with a hand at the back of her neck while she moved her mouth up and down. Although she was hesitant at first, the sounds of Jack’s ragged breathing increased Rosie’s confidence and she grew bolder, taking him deeper. The suction of her mouth on his cock added to her arousal, and her moans vibrated against his shaft. The knowledge of her power over him acted more strongly on her. She decided she liked this new sensation of being in control.

Jack thrust his hips forward as her sucking pushed him close. Confident now, Rosie moved her hand down to cup his tight sac, and the action tipped him over the edge. His hot release filled her mouth and his fingers tightened in her hair as he called out her name.

Withdrawing from her, Jack sank to his knees beside the chaise so that he could draw Rosie to him. For several long minutes he rested his head in the curve of her neck as his breathing returned to normal.

When he carried her back to the bed and cradled her gently in his arms, his breath was warm on her cheek. “It may not have been what we intended, but I think I’m going to like having you as my mistress.”

Chapter Fifteen

Rosie was having a difficult time impressing upon Mrs. Glover that she was not actually ill. The housekeeper, who had known her all her life, was very good at turning a deaf ear to those things she did not want to hear. “You need rest, Miss Rosie.” None of the members of her father’s household had ever changed their form of address and called her “my lady” after her marriage. It was a circumstance that Rosie found curiously comforting.

Deciding that submission was easier than resistance, Rosie pretended to doze on a sofa in the parlour, with a rug over her knees, while Jack kept Xander entertained.

“Beau ball.” Xander pointed imperiously at the window.

“No.” Jack shook his head. “Beau is hurt, so he can’t play ball with you.”

Xander eyed him speculatively. “Jack ball?”

Laughing, Jack scooped Xander up and tossed him into the air. Her son’s squeals of laughter brought a smile to Rosie’s lips. This was what he had been missing. Harry and Tom had always been part of his life, so he had never lacked stable, masculine company. But a father’s love was something different. Already she could see the depth of feeling developing between Jack and his son, and in spite of the grim circumstances in which they found themselves, it warmed her heart. She was glad they had discovered each other.
It might not have been an auspicious start, but I cannot wish this meeting between them had not happened
.

“Very well, my young rascal. You and I will go and play ball while your mama stays here and enjoys some peace.”

The room was unbearably quiet after they had gone, but Rosie soon heard them in the garden and caught occasional glimpses of their game through the window.

She found her unaccustomed inactivity tedious and was plotting ways to escape into the garden to join Jack and Xander when the sounds of a vehicle drawing to a halt on the drive made her sit up. Casting the rug aside, she went to the window that overlooked the front of the house and was in time to see Lady Drummond alight from her carriage. She was alone and looked about her in a manner that could only be described as furtive. Intrigued, Rosie went into the hall to greet her.

“Oh, my dear child.” Her ladyship bustled into the house, casting her cloak, hat, gloves and muff into the outstretched arms of Mrs. Glover. “How well you do look. I told Alberta how it would be. ‘A few days’ rest will make all the difference’, I said. And, lo! How right I was. Indeed—” she scanned Rosie’s face, “—you look to be in high bloom for one who has suffered so recent an ordeal. I declare, your beauty is greater than ever. You must tell me your secret.”

Jack, who had entered the hall in time to hear this remark, quirked a brow at Rosie. “
Will
you tell her?” he whispered, as Rosie gestured for Lady Drummond to precede her into the parlour.

“Stop it, you abominable man.” The ready blush rose to her cheeks as she whispered back.

“Abominable? I remember you using a few other words to describe me last night, but not that one.” He entered the parlour and made his bow to Lady Drummond. “I can reveal all, my lady. Lady Sheridan here has discovered an addictive and most satisfying form of exercise. One that occupies much of her leisure time. You must be sure to press her for details.” He flashed a brief, wicked smile at Rosie’s outraged face. “Harry is with the young scamp, but I am under strict orders to return to the garden to complete a game of catch. I will leave you to enjoy your visit in private.”

As the door closed behind him, Rosie turned to face Lady Drummond’s enquiring gaze. “I fear Lord St. Anton delights in being cryptic. He means merely that I have been enjoying walking in the fresh air of the countryside. So much better for the complexion than that of London.”

“Yes, quite so.” Lady Drummond’s attention wandered, and her restless hands repeatedly smoothed the skirts of her gown as Mrs. Glover served tea. Rosie studied her carefully. Her ladyship appeared to have aged ten years since her arrival in Derbyshire. Her face, once plump with traces of faded prettiness, now sagged into weary lines. Her eyes were puffy, denoting the shedding of recent tears, and her fluttering, fidgeting manner was exaggerated to the point of frenzy. Rosie felt pity tug hard at her heartstrings. She wished she could find some words of comfort for this sweet, self-absorbed little lady who had always treated her with such kindness.

“How are things at Sheridan Hall?” she asked when Mrs. Glover had left the room.

“Oh, pray do not ask me. ’Tis too dreadful.” Lady Drummond gave a theatrical shudder, and then proceeded to recount the details of her own and Lady Harpenden’s arrival at Sheridan Hall. “Imagine my surprise at finding my girlhood home completely shut up. Only Dawson, our faithful old butler, and his wife, the cook-cum-housekeeper, are in residence now.” Her brow wrinkled in distaste. “Can you believe such a thing, my dear? In a
gentleman’s
residence? My father would turn in his grave if he learned of such a state of affairs. And then the house itself has been left to decay. When I think of how grand it once was. Now there are broken window-panes, peeling paint and a pervading smell of damp. The tree roots are growing up through the drive so that one might break an ankle just setting out for a stroll. And inside, the paintings are all gone, with unfaded squares of wallpaper the only evidence of their existence. The finest pieces of furniture and antiques are also missing. Sold, Alberta believes, to pay Clive’s debts. We knew things were bad, but it is worse than we feared. Strong words will be needed with Clive when we find him. If we find him…” Her voice dissolved into tears.

Rosie moved to sit beside her, taking one of Lady Drummond’s hands in her uninjured own. “I wish I could help.”

“My dear child, you are my comfort in all of this. You and young Xander. When I think of how Clive has wantonly squandered his son’s inheritance…”

Rosie felt a chill hand of dread close over her heart. Now was not the time, but one day soon the tricky subject of Xander’s parentage would have to be discussed. She had a feeling Jack would not be dissuaded from openly claiming his son. Would such an action be the trigger Clive needed to put his threats against her and Harry into action? She suspected it might. He had never shown any interest in the child the world believed was his son, merely sneering when Xander’s name was mentioned.

“How I wish I could tell my aunts that the proud name of Sheridan will be continued by the bastard son of a Jacobite rebel and a murdering whore,” was one of his favourite comments. But Rosie knew Clive would not take kindly to a situation where it was publicly known that another man was Xander’s father. She forced her mind back to what Lady Drummond was saying.

“Alberta told me not to visit you. She will be most angry if she discovers I came anyway.”

“Why ever should you not do so?” Rosie was genuinely surprised.

Lady Drummond cast a glance over her shoulder as though expecting her sister to burst through the door at any moment. “Because of Lord St. Anton. She feels that he will do his best to have Clive sent to prison or locked away in an asylum for the insane after his attack on you. Alberta thinks I may say something to give his lordship further evidence against Clive.” She looked gloomy. “She could be right. You know how my tongue runs away with me.”

Rosie regarded her in dawning horror. “Lady Harpenden cannot seriously imagine that Clive and I could continue as we were after what has happened?”

Lady Drummond covered her mouth with her hand. “There, you see! Alberta was right. I
have
said too much, only to you and not to Lord St. Anton, so it is not so very bad after all. Oh, my dear, don’t you see? If Clive were to promise to mend his ways… Well, we could be comfortable again. And there would be no need for any scandal.”

Rosie was too stunned by this view of the situation to say anything in response, and the remainder of the visit was taken up with Lady Drummond’s plans for the future, in which she envisaged a chastened Clive embracing family life and restoring Sheridan Hall to its former glory. After imbibing several cups of tea, she seemed much invigorated and appeared not to notice the lowered spirits of her hostess.

“Of course, it will take some work to re-establish his reputation in the neighbourhood. You know what tradesmen are like. Always insisting on payment and most unhappy when one runs into debt. And how they love to gossip! I could not bear to be so ruled by scandal myself. These recent attacks have given the populace much to discuss, but the thought that they could in any way be connected to Clive. The very idea is preposterous.”

“Attacks, my lady?” Rosie roused herself from her abstraction.

“Why, yes. Have you not heard? ’Twas Mrs. Dawson who told me of it, just yesterday. Several businesses in Matlock have suffered over the past week, both violent attacks on the person of the owner and damage to the property. But the suggestion that those targeted are people who are owed the most money by my nephew—or that they are the ones who have been most vocal in their condemnation of him—well, that is quite nonsensical. Anyone would think Clive a common criminal instead of a gentleman from one of the finest families in the land.” Her eyes dropped to the sling supporting Rosie’s left arm, and she became flustered again, rising from her seat. “I must go before Alberta suspects I have not, as she believes, lingered overlong in Matlock. I visited several shops prior to coming here, so I have my purchases to show for my outing. I am glad to see you in such looks, child. Lud, I would give my best pearls to have a complexion such as yours. Once those bruises are healed and the roses return to your cheeks…” Her voice trailed off as embarrassment overcame her once more.

When she had gone, Rosie sat for some time in contemplation of what she had said. Lady Drummond’s words felt like steel bars closing around her. Because, if Clive really did want to make the attempt to resume their sham marriage, she had no defence to use against his wishes. He would still be able to coerce her. He would know that she would not—could not—give evidence against him. She felt the steel bars close a little tighter.

“That child is a rogue.” Jack’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “I cannot for the life of me think who he takes after.”

She looked up with an attempt at a smile. “Has Xander been leading you a merry dance?”

“Yes, and he is now charming Mrs. Glover into feeding him cake.” He crossed the room in swift strides and, dropping on one knee beside her chair, took her good hand between both of his. “What has that old harridan said to bring such trouble to your face?”

“She is not a harridan, she has a kind heart.” The words were automatic. “But she and Lady Harpenden think that when Clive is found, all must be smoothed over. To achieve that outcome, I must go back to him.”

“Like hell you must. The man should hang for what he has done, but he won’t make it to the gallows, not if I get my hands on him first.”

“I think he is not in his right mind, Jack.”

“Then his aunts should be concerned that he gets the care he needs.” His eyes scanned her face. “As his wife, it will be your responsibility to ensure that happens. Is that what troubles you? That you must pursue the legal route to have him incarcerated? He is a gentleman, he’ll not end in Bedlam. His treatment will be kinder than that meted out to a commoner suffering the same affliction.”

She shook her head. “No matter what his treatment was to be, I cannot do it.”

“Nonsense. ’Twould not be pleasant, but it would be your duty. And I would be there to assist you.”

“No, you don’t understand. I cannot give evidence against him in a court of law or to have him committed to an asylum for the insane. To do either of those things would be to cause disaster, not just for myself, but for those I love.” A single tear spilled over and slid down her cheek. “And if you harm him, Jack, the end result will be the same.”

“Rosie, what is this hold he has over you? Tell me, I beg you.” His voice was urgent and persuasive. “I know I can help you if you will admit me into your confidence. You owe me the truth.”

“He is right, you know.” Harry’s voice startled them both, and Rosie turned towards the open window in surprise. Harry stepped easily over the ledge and into the room. Incongruously, Rosie recalled the times their father had complained about his habit of entering the house that way instead of using the conventional method of a door. “You owe Jack a full explanation.”

“You of all people know why I cannot. And you should not eavesdrop on a private conversation.”
Heaven help me, I am beginning to sound like Cousin Martha.

Ignoring her reprimand, Harry came to sit on the sofa next to her. “I am tired of living like this. Tired of living in fear, of cowering before Sheridan. Let’s say to hell with him, sis. Tell Jack. What is the worst that could happen?”

Her lips curved into an incredulous smile. “The worst is that I will stand trial for the murder of one of the king’s soldiers, with you and Tom at my side as my accomplices and Jacobite sympathisers. If that were not enough, we will be tried as traitors for assisting Jack and Fraser to evade capture after the battle of Swarkestone Bridge.” She turned her head to look at Jack. There was no longer any point in pretending. Harry’s intervention had forced the moment. The time had come to tell all. “Jack will move heaven and earth to assist us—probably at the point of a rapier—which means at best he will be forced to flee once more, at worst he will join us on the scaffold. You will both lose your lands. Xander will be orphaned. Need I continue?”

“Don’t you think there might be something Jack could do to help us? He would do anything for you.” Harry’s young face was eager as he looked up at Jack. “Would you not?”

“Need you ask it?”

Rosie looked from Jack to her brother. It was hard to believe that the time had come at last to let go of this burden. “Very well. But this is your story, Harry, and the telling of it should be yours as well.”

Harry nodded decisively. “It was not long after you left for Scotland, Jack. After the night when Rosie accidentally shot the young redcoat officer who came searching for you and Fraser.”