The Rebel's Promise (3 page)

Jack inclined his head as best he could while lying prone, “I am amazed at your wide knowledge, sir,” he admitted. “I am indeed of that family.”

“Then, if you are John Alexander Lindsey, I am addressing the Earl of St Anton, head of the family, am I not?” his host enquired, regarding him over the top of his spectacles.

“At your service, sir,”

Mr Delacourt’s encyclopaedic knowledge of the families of the British nobility never failed to impress his acquaintance, and he greatly enjoyed showing it off.

“If I am correct, you are the oldest of four children and ... let me see ... must now be twenty seven years old?”

“Twenty six,” Jack confirmed with a rueful smile at Rosie.

Mr Delacourt nodded sagely, “You are welcome to stay here, my lord,” he confirmed, “Until you are fully recovered from your injuries.”

Jack struggled to raise himself on one elbow. Failing miserably, he gave up the effort,

“Mr Delacourt, I cannot thank you enough for your help,” he assured him. “Believe me when I say that I will not stay here a moment longer than is necessary. I would not, for the entire world, place you and your family in danger.”

“Your sentiments do you credit, Lord St Anton. But I believe you will be safe here. The focus of attention has shifted back across the border once again.”

He proceeded to fill Jack in on the details of the Young Pretender’s retreat from Derby.

“It appears the prince was closer to victory than he or his generals could have known. Rumour has it that the king had ordered a vessel made ready on the Thames, so that he could flee the country, and that London was in uproar.” He shook his head sadly, “But the prince knew nought of this and listened instead to his advisors so that he is, even now, marching northwards back to Scotland. The focus of the king’s army is now, of course, to pursue him and secure a decisive victory over the Jacobites. A few troops remain nearby, and we must do all we can to shield your identity from them.”

When her father had gone, Rosie brought a glass of water and supported Jack to raise his head in order to drink it.

“Why do you frown?” she asked scanning his face, concern darkening the silver-grey depths of her eyes.

He sighed edgily, “I feel so helpless. Momentous events are taking place in which I have no part ... but it is not
only
that! It does not suit my code of honour that you should be forced to wait on me while I lie here like a feeble child!”

Rosie smiled tenderly and, unable to resist the temptation to touch him, smoothed a stray lock of hair back from his forehead,

“What a ... a mutton-headed idea … and you a grand gentleman … an earl, forsooth!” she teased him fondly, “Do stop fretting and try to get some sleep.”

Jack chuckled at her indulgent tone, “Yes, nurse!” he returned, enjoying the ready laughter which bubbled on her lips.

When Jack next opened his eyes, he found he was being watched by a dark-haired boy with a fierce expression and a large, aimlessly grinning dog. He closed his eyes again, deciding it was another dream but when, a few seconds later, he opened just one, he found they were both still there.

“Good day,” Jack decided a greeting was in order, “Won’t you be seated?”

His well-modulated tones came as a surprise to the vigilant defender, who had been expecting threats and curses. Curiosity and circumspection warred briefly in Harry’s chest. Curiosity won and, discarding his sword, he took the chair next to Jack’s bedside.

“Do you really know the prince?” he asked shyly, adding, when Jack nodded an affirmation, “What manner of man is he?”

Jack considered carefully before replying, “Very determined, witness the energy with which he raised money and ships to come to Scotland. He is a charismatic figure, a leader and one whom others will follow without question. A man one can truly admire.”

Desperate to learn more, he bombarded Jack with eager questions – had he been to both Venice
and
Rome? – and the Scottish clansmen who had joined the Young Pretender – were they
really
as fierce as the stories Harry had heard of them? Beau, deciding they would be here for some time, climbed wearily onto the bed and, after circling three times, lay down with a heavy sigh, rested his chin on Jack’s hand and closed his eyes. It was almost an hour later, when Rosie peeped into the room.

“Cousin Jack said that he learned to dance
and
fence in Paris, Sis,” Harry informed her enviously.

“I try to avoid doing both at the same time,” Jack said solemnly, making her laugh.

Rosie came and sat in her usual chair at his bedside and leaned in to pore over some of the books Harry had brought up from the library. Her dark head was bent close to Jack’s fair one as he pointed out some of the detail in a painting of The Pantheon,

“How beautiful,” she sighed.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Jack murmured, and, hearing the soft laugh in his voice, she turned her head slightly to regard at him.

He was looking straight at her, making not the slightest pretence of studying the book. Their faces were close enough to kiss and the blaze of light in his eyes almost scorched the skin from her face. Jack stared blatantly at her mouth and Rosie found herself in the decidedly odd position of not knowing what to do with her lips.

The tension laden moment was interrupted by an exclamation from Harry, who had noticed an engraving of the Venetian canals. Watching in fascination as dark lashes swept down over those incredible smoky eyes, Jack answered him absent-mindedly.

“Are all the men in Derbyshire dim-witted?” Jack asked later, when Harry had gone. Rosie raised an enquiring eyebrow, unsure of his meaning, “How old are you, sweetheart?”

Rosie wasn’t sure her father would be happy to hear him address her in such a familiar way … but
she
definitely liked it!

Blushing, she replied, “Twenty. Why do you ask?”

“And yet you are unmarried,
Miss
Delacourt,” his voice was teasing, “Hence my question …are all the men hereabouts simpletons? Or are they just a pack of dull dogs? Or have you, perchance, taken a vow of chastity?”

Rosie gave a gurgle of laughter, “You are nonsensical, sir … I mean, Jack.”

“Am I, indeed? Do you then have a husband hidden about the place? Or a betrothed, mayhap?”

“No, but I have one very determined suitor and
several
ardent admirers!” Rosie announced with mock hauteur.

Jack whistled appreciatively, “Ardent, eh? I thought a diamond as fine as you must be much sought after,” he sighed exaggeratedly, “Clearly, a one-armed outcast such as I will not be able to compete amongst the ranks of your swain.”

“You are talking foolishly, sir … Jack,” an arrested look came into her eyes, “Unless … are you flirting with me?”

“Would you
like
me to flirt with you?”

“Now, how am I supposed to answer that? I must either offend you or appear quite dreadfully fast!” her eyes danced mischievously.

“Anyhow, it takes two to flirt. I can’t flirt on my own … and you are not indulging me by flirting back!” Jack informed her primly.

The blush deepened, “You are quite incorrigible,” she told him with mock crossness, but spoilt the effect by adding, with a hint of wistfulness in her tone, “I have never learned how to flirt. It is not something my governess ever taught me. ”

Jack gave such a shout of laughter that he collapsed back onto his pillows, “Sweetheart, I will undertake to teach you to be the finest flirt in Derbyshire … if not in the whole of England!”

When Rosie entered the sickroom on the following afternoon bearing a tray containing broth and bread, she was surprised to find that Jack had won his battle to sit propped against his pillows.

“Please ...” he forestalled her, as she raised the spoon , “... I can do it myself.”

Something in his voice, a note of pride tinged with fear – the fear of helplessness – prevented her from arguing. She handed him the spoon but remained where she was, watching him as he ate. When he had finished she nodded her approval and moved the tray to a side table. As she was about to rise, Jack clasped her wrist in his hand and Rosie raised her brows in a silent question.

“Stay and talk to me,” he pleaded, patting the edge of the bed.

Ignoring the warnings of her rational self about the danger of his nearness, Rosie submitted instead to the promptings of her heart and obeyed. Suddenly shy, she looked down at the embroidered coverlet for long moments before raising her head and encountering a look of suffocating intensity. Not a word was exchanged between them but all at once she was cradled within the circle of Jack’s good arm. A thrill of longing and anticipation surged through her veins.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked softly, a smile trembling on her lips.

“About the fact that I cannot resist being so close to you without ...”

Jack’s head dipped towards her and Rosie was mesmerised by the blaze of light in the sapphire depths of his eyes. Tenderly, his lips brushed hers. This tiny, deliberate caress ignited a new fire which blazed through her body, making her tremble for more. With a tiny moan of surrender, Rosie returned the increasing pressure of Jack’s lips and he responded with a triumphant, masculine purr of possession. His tongue flicked a command across her lips and they parted instinctively. She thrilled as his tongue caressed her mouth with hungry urgency. Shyly, Rosie emulated his movements and used her own tongue to explore in return. Instantly, Jack tangled his hand in her hair, turning her head to the angle he wanted, deepening the kiss to bittersweet fervour. Rosie encircled his torso with her arms, allowing her hands to explore the velvet sinews of his back.

A heavy step in the passageway outside signalled the arrival of Tom and they sprang apart immediately. Blushing, Rosie turned away and busied herself with the tray she had brought earlier, bending her head over her task until she had regained some composure.

When she raised her eyes she found Jack regarding her steadily. Her own feelings were mirrored in his expression, telling her everything she needed to know. Her heart gave an odd little thud, secure in the knowledge that the longing which absorbed her was returned.

Chapter Two

Seated at his bedside in her nightdress and wrapped in a large woollen shawl, Rosie studied Jack as he slept. He had expressed a deep and irrevocable loathing for Mr Delacourt’s’s best nightshirt and cast it aside. Rosie allowed her gaze to wander freely over his firm, sleek upper body with its fine musculature. Unaccountably, her breath came a little faster as she studied the coarse hair of his chest which became finer as it tapered over the taut slab of his abdomen before dipping lower. She imagined herself tracing its downward passage with her fingers and had to pull in a sharp gasp of air at the rush of sensation which seized her.

When the house was quiet, she gave into temptation and crept beneath the bedclothes to join him in his bed, cuddling up close to the warmth of his body. Jack, awakened by this scandalous action, found her physical presence reassuring, but he remonstrated with her and tried to impress on her how wrong it was for them to share a bed. Rosie laughed at his cautiousness, and looked so beautiful in the candlelight, with her ebony hair tumbling about her shoulders, her smoky eyes smiling into his that he could not resist her. Instead he held her close in the crook of his good arm and wished these precious moments could last forever.

As his strength began to return, however, his body started to react to her in the most natural but insistent way. Jack worried that the time would come when he would not be able to stop at kisses. This was a very real danger as Rosie had no hesitation in pressing her body against him innocently and trustingly. That made the blood pound at his temples and in other, more basic, parts of his body. Claiming her as his own, possessing her completely, was what he wanted to do more than anything in the world but he was not in a position to offer this darling girl his hand and his heart in marriage. Determined not to compromise her, he gently, but firmly told her she must sleep in her own bed from now on.

Rosie leaned on her elbow and studied his face, with wide, troubled eyes.

“But I enjoy sleeping here with you, Jack,” she told him plaintively, “I thought you liked it too.”

He laughed, “Rosie, I do like it. Believe me, I like it far too much!”

He explained and her eyes widened further as his meaning dawned on her. A becoming blush stained her cheeks and she buried her face against his chest in embarrassment. Her leg brushed his body and she felt his hardness throb against her. A shiver which was a combination of fear and pleasure ran through her as she exulted in this evidence of the power she had over him.

She propped her chin on his chest so that she could study his face, “I don’t know very much about such things, Jack,” she admitted, the blush deepening, “But, I think that means you would like to make love to me?”

He groaned softly, pressing a kiss onto her temple. “You will never know how much!” he told her, trying to keep his voice light, “But I am not sunk so far beneath reproach as that, my love.”

She sighed, “Would it be so very bad?” she asked, a slight crease between her brows, “Because I think I would like it very much too ...”

Jack shook his head. “You don’t know what you are saying ... how could you? Rosie, my love, you are so innocent you can have no idea how wrong it would be.”

“It doesn’t feel like it would be wrong, Jack” her voice was coaxing, her hand stroking his chest, “It seems to me that this ‘innocence’ you talk about is just a barrier to our happiness. I wish you would take it away from me. I’m sure I won’t miss it, you know.”

“Enough, you shameless hussy!” he muttered, resolutely moving away from her, “You don’t know how tempting you are, or what you are asking. Now stop trying to wheedle me into forgetting that I am a gentleman and let us change this subject for one less dangerous.”