But Jack was different. She supposed it was because he’d openly declared himself not the marrying kind and she could trust him to stand by that declaration unlike Gladstone, her sixth miserable proposal. Gladstone had declared no more than friendship and respect for her and then surprised her with a marriage offer accompanied by a list of demands regarding the things she’d need to give up as his viscountess.
In those terms at least there was no risk of such a misunderstanding with Jack. She under stood Jack perfectly. Rumour could be trusted in this regard: he offered a moment of physical pleasure, no promises attached. A relationship would last only as long as Jack’s work didn’t encroach. In many ways, a relationship with Jack was over before it started. A woman who gave herself to Jack would have to be happy with whatever she could salvage. In the long term, Dulci doubted she could do such a thing. But it hardly mattered. She wanted only the experience he offered and then they could go their separate ways.
The thought haunted her through out their work out. Dulci was glad for the excuse of exercise. She could pretend the flush on her cheeks was from their exertions.
They worked a while longer on footwork and various techniques until both were well exercised from their efforts. Dulci stopped and wiped her face with a towel. ‘I’m finished, Jack. How about you? I’ll have a tea tray sent to my collections room. We can eat a little supper and I’ll show you the new batch of artefacts. I’ve just begun cataloging them. You can see for yourself that I’ve not been hood winked into buying fakes.’
The collection room far exceeded any of Jack’s preconceived expectations. Two adjoining drawing rooms had been devoted to Dulci’s work, the dividing doors between them pulled back to maximise the space; tall windows overlooking the back garden let in copious amounts of light during the day. Where the light was best, a long work table sat against a wall, strewn with stones, statues and wood carvings. Bookcases were laden with atlases and treatises from the Royal Geographic Society. Free-standing curio cabinets with glass shelves stood about the room, compelling the visitor to wander, stopping to look at each treasure.
And they were indeed treasures, Jack noted, studying each case in turn. It was impossible to tell how honestly anyone had come by the items, but they were authentic. He could rest easy on that account. Dulci had not been misled into purchasing frauds. He stopped to eye a splendid lapis-lazuli-and-gold Egyptian collar. ‘These are very fine items, Dulci.’
He studied a cabinet containing a set of bronze elephants with jewelled eyes. ‘From India?’
Dulci moved to stand beside him. ‘From a ma ha rajah. An old friend brought them back for me a few years ago.’
‘Is that wistfulness I hear?’ Jack asked, tossing her a sideways glance. ‘Would you like to go to India some day?’
‘I’d like to go anywhere.’ Dulci ran an idle hand over a mask, tracing the contours. ‘India, Egypt, the Americas. There’s a big world out there—’ Dulci waved a hand ‘—and I’ve seen so very little of it.’
A footman entered with the trays and Dulci crossed the room to direct the setting out of the tea and supper on a vacant table. Jack studied her as she gave instructions, her dark hair hanging in a thick braid down her back, the shapely curve of her hips in the tight fencing trousers she wore.
A stab of jealousy went through him. He was an only child and had never acquired an appreciation for sharing. Had Gladstone seen her dressed thusly? Probably not, Jack reasoned. No man could see Dulci turned out in tight trousers and white shirt and blithely let her go. He could feel himself rising appreciatively at the provocative sight of her backside. On the other hand, maybe Gladstone, traditional bastard that he was, had seen Dulci like this and promptly run the other way. Gladstone wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like Dulci.
Jack knew. Whether or not that was a credit to him, however, was in dubious question. Dulci was a woman full of passion, a woman ready to burst with it. He recognised it in her smiles, in her blue eyes so full of life. It was there in her dares, those stupid dares that would bring her down sooner or later. She would not be careful for ever. One risk would be to go too far with the wrong sort of gentleman who would covet her joie de vivre. He would spare her that humiliation, that fall from grace if he could. But Dulci would not tolerate being reined in.
She’d done an admirable job of fooling London society so far. He could hardly reconcile the perfectly coiffed Incomparable who took to the dance floor every night of the London Season with the energetic virago who’d bested him at fencing and took a serious interest in anthropology. He supposed it was something of a revelation to learn he wasn’t the only one who wore a mask. In that, he and Dulci were quite alike.
The one thing that had become abundantly clear to him in the past few months since Christmas and intensely so in the past few days, was that he wanted her. Kissing her in the garden had only served to reignite his previous desire. He wanted all that energy, all that beauty, all that wit, in his bed. He knew too that it would have to be her choice, her understanding of what such an arrangement would mean and what it would not, both for her as well as for him.
There were so many reasons not to pursue this mad passion any further; she was un touched and he had nothing to offer—nothing he would or could offer. This decision would cost her far more than it would cost him. It would not impede his chances to marry—not that he had any plans in that direction—but it would impede hers should she ever change her mind and accept some erstwhile suitor in the future. But the body defied logic. Such reasons did nothing to staunch his desire.
The supper things were settled at last to Dulci’s satisfaction and Jack took a seat on the sofa across from her, picking up the thread of their interrupted conversation. ‘If you want to travel, why don’t you?’ Jack reached for a plate of cold meats and bread.
Dulci laughed. ‘I haven’t the same freedoms as a man, Jack. I can’t pack my maid off to Egypt with me as if it were a trip to Bath.’ Dulci bit into her meal with a ferocity that echoed her disapproval of such strictures.
‘Of course not. Surely something can be arranged. There are guidebooks and tours these days. You’d hardly be alone.’
Dulci shook her head and made a face. ‘I don’t want to travel with a tour. It would be in credibly boring, visiting all the same places everyone else visits. I want to explore. You’ve seen land no Englishman has ever seen. It’s simply not fair. You got to because you’re a man.’ Dulci sighed and sank back against her chair. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are, Jack. Your life is portable, your body is portable. I wager you could walk out this door and be on a ship to anywhere by the tide, or a mail coach within minutes of leaving my house.’
Dulci’s eyes burned with a need so intense Jack felt it sear him deep inside. Shame on society for having no idea or tolerance for such a fire. Inside the walls of her brother’s house, she could wear trousers and fence, write her articles, collect her artefacts. But not beyond. Outside Brandon’s home, she was trapped by society’s rules and by her sex.
‘Is that why you haven’t married?’ Jack took an educated guess. Dulci could no more bear half a life for herself than she could half-measures from anyone else.
‘Whatever does that have to do with anything?’ Dulci’s answer was sharp and defensive. He didn’t blame her. His comment sounded entirely non sequitur, only it wasn’t. He could see the connection. Marriage would take her out of Brandon’s house, out of the only place she had any freedom. Jack loved women, but he was heartily glad he’d not been born one. He wanted to say something that would comfort her, but he could not give her empty words. She would know they were just that.
‘For your information, I haven’t married because I haven’t met the right man.’ Dulci took a defiant bite. Jack fought a smile. It wasn’t anyone who could convey all manner of message by simply eating.
Jack wasn’t ready to let the conversation go. It was proving to be far too interesting. ‘The right man would be…’ Jack let his words fall off.
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‘Out there somewhere.’ Dulci fluttered a hand. Not the answer he was looking for. He’d been hoping for a list of itemised qualities. ‘I am in no hurry. I have no reason to marry.’ She fixed him with a pointed stare. ‘Unlike yourself. What are you now, Jack? Mid-thirties? You need an heir for that new title of yours.’
‘Same reasons as yours, I suspect.’ The conversation was suddenly not as interesting as it had been. Thoughts of an heir and how they were begot had aroused him. He set down his plate and rose. ‘Come and show me the Venezuelan items. It is why you brought me up here, isn’t it?’ he charmed shamelessly. ‘Or is this a new rendition of showing off the etchings?’
Dulci led him to the long work table beneath the windows. The items were laid out by groupings, some already tagged with notes lying beside them. ‘These are cooking implements from what I can tell—a metate, a pestle.’ Dulci reached for a book nearby on the table and turned to a marked page. ‘The items match the drawings here and the brief description.’ She showed Jack the page. ‘I’d like to know more, though. These items suggest a certain diet and they rule out the presence of other foods. One can grind grains and seeds with these, but I have yet to find any tools that would be good for meat dishes. It tells me these people don’t eat meat at all or at least very little.’ She stopped herself. ‘I didn’t mean to go on. Am I boring you?’
‘Hardly.’ He could listen to Dulci talk all day, although given the choice there were other things he’d rather do with her. He’d wanted to see the artefacts but this evening appointment was proving ill founded. Fencing had been quite a stimulating exercise, her body pressed to his as he showed her the appropriate move and she’d not been immune.
Jack was impressed with her reasoning and said so. Dulci shrugged. ‘I’ve picked up many tips from the lectures at the Royal Geographic Society. When they say something like that it seems so obvious, yet I wouldn’t have thought of it on my own. It’s quite a reminder about how locked into our worlds we get, the blinders we wear without knowing it.’
‘Still, your applications of the knowledge are very insightful,’ Jack complimented.
‘I am hoping Señor Ortiz can fill in some blanks for me, however. The British library was severely deficient in any relevant texts, another reason why I want to do an article,’ Dulci said with more enthusiasm than Jack liked. It was the second time she’d mentioned wanting to use the Spaniard as a resource.
Jack had to prevent such a discussion from happening. It didn’t matter if this was the same cargo Ortiz was looking for, suspicion on Ortiz’s part would be enough. Jack did not want to think what lengths Ortiz might go to in order to retrieve the cargo. But now wasn’t the time to dissuade Dulci. He had to choose his moment. Jack picked up a heavy mortar to examine. He ran his hands over the smooth rock surface, an idea taking root. If this was the missing cargo, what would Ortiz be looking for? An artefact with a hidden cavity? If he could find the map first, he could use it to lead Ortiz away from Dulci.
‘The tribes Schomburgk and I ran into on the Anegada mission were infamous for their booby-traps. There were all kinds of secret levers and counter weights to spring trap doors and such. Do you think the Arawak have secret hiding places? Have you read of any similar traditions?’ Jack kept a certain amount of levity in his tone. He didn’t want to appear too eager.
Dulci knitted her brow, making an honest effort at recalling. ‘You mean like a false bottom? I haven’t heard of anything like that. It would be exciting though, wouldn’t it, to find a hidden treasure.’ She scanned the assortment of items on the table. ‘I am afraid most of these items are too small, and I’d doubt stone is very easy to carve out a hidey-hole in.’
‘I suppose so.’ Jack assented. Many of the items did look too crudely carved from hard stone to hide a secret compartment with much skill. But his eyes silently lit on a wooden statue at the far end of the table and a collection of boxes with carved lids. He’d like to study those further without drawing Dulci’s attentions. Maps could be folded. They didn’t have to be rolled. Folded, they would take up far less room. A paper map could be folded down quite small.
‘A single item contains an entire belief system if one knows how to look at it. This one tells me about their religious preferences. Nature is their god,’ Dulci was saying. ‘I think this item is almost beautiful.’ It was the soft, reverent quality of Dulci’s voice that drew his eyes to her and the item she held in the palm of her hand, a fertility fetish. ‘It’s been carved out of turquoise and someone spent hours polishing it. Perhaps it belonged to a tribal queen.’
The fetish was beautiful and highly corporeal with its full breasts and round belly or maybe the moment owed its sensual over tones to Dulci’s voice. Jack felt his member stir in response. It had been stirring for the past three days since the first night in the ballroom, if the truth be told. Did Dulci have any idea how she was affecting him? The evening, the delightful company, the temptation of Dulci’s fire were over powering. Perhaps they could play a little without too much harm, Jack’s inner devil suggested.
He took the fetish from her. ‘Maybe it was a gift from her lover.’
This time there could be no mistaking his statement as an academic assessment. Jack’s words were charged with explicit seduction. Something potent and hungry sprang to life between them. Jack let her see his rising need in the slow gaze that caressed her face, in his fingers’ deliberate stroking of the little fetish—a move calculated to look absently done. He dropped his gaze down her body. It had the desired result. Dulci bit her lip, stifling a little gasp at his boldness.
‘Stop it, Jack,’ she scolded, a nervous, excited tremor in her voice. ‘That was more than two seconds.’
‘I am making my intentions known.’ Jack took her hand. ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t see this coming.’
‘No, I won’t pretend it.’ Dulci trembled as he ran his knuckles gently the length of her arm. ‘I’ve wanted it. It’s time to finish what we started in the orangery.’ Her voice was nothing more than a breathy whisper, her desire getting the better of her.
‘And the garden, don’t forget.’ Jack reached for her, pulling her hard against him for a slow kiss. She was an innocent wanton. ‘Do you know what we started?’ he whispered, testing her.
‘I have no idea, not really.’ She parted her lips, wet and wanting. ‘But I want to know, Jack. I want to know everything and I want you to show me.’ Those blue eyes of hers smouldered with want; every man’s fantasy, his fantasy—Dulci in his arms, giving him permission to unleash her passion, to show her what her body was made for. It was a potent, frustrating elixir that worked all kinds of magic, undoing his tenuous grip on the realities beyond this room, this night.
‘Do you know what you’re doing, Dulci?’ he asked one last time. He wanted to be patient, but it was difficult to be patient when one was rock-hard and had been for some time.
‘I know, Jack. This is what I want.’
Jack nodded and stepped away from her.
‘What are you doing? Where are you going?’
‘I’m locking the door. No more interruptions, not for this.’
Dulci waited for him at the sofa, watching him as he locked the door. He was playing for time for her sake, giving her a last moment to make her decision. The die was nearly cast.
It wasn’t a question of wanting him.
She did.
It was a question of wanting him enough to live with the after math. Not the after math of lost virginity—virginity was highly over rated in her opinion, its importance a myth perpetuated by men who didn’t want women to have the same freedoms they enjoyed. It would be a relief to surrender hers and have done with it. That was not the after math that concerned her. She had grappled with the social implications of virginity since the night in the carriage.
What worried her most in the few moments she had left was whether or not she could let Jack leave as he most assuredly would; whether or not she could stand knowing that something which
would mean so much to her would mean so little to him, certainly not enough to stay. It was the way she wanted it, but she was not naïve enough to believe the event would carry no emotional weight for her.
Jack turned from the door and faced her. This was her last chance. She could call a halt or continue with an encounter that would satisfy her curiosity once and for all and hope that it would be enough.
Chapter Six
She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders in determination, her decision made. Jack could see the resolution in her eyes. He crossed the room towards her, watching as she reached a hand to loosen her hair, shaking it into a long ebony cascade, and Jack’s need ratcheted up another impossible notch. Dulci might be un touched, but she was bold, an undeniably heady combination.
Something flickered in the blue flames of her eyes. Faith, perhaps? Faith that she’d made the right decision, faith in him that he wouldn’t fail her? She wrapped her arms about his neck and he pressed her against him, covering her mouth with his in a full-bodied kiss.
The dance had begun. He would start slowly, letting their bodies know one another and then…well, then he would take them both to pleasure. He sensed her impatience, her curiosity. ‘Patience, Dulci. I’ll get us there, but not too soon. The journey’s half the fun. You’ll see.’
His hands teased her breasts through the fabric of her shirt, a hand slipped down to cup her through the trousers at the juncture of her thighs, making the presence of clothing seem as erotic as being without. Jack made short work of her shirt fastenings and she changed her mind. His hands worked magic on her bare skin.
A Thoroughly Compromised Lady Page 6
