by Jane Godman
“Is that the only reason for her tarnished reputation?”
“Oh, no. I overheard Mama and Lady Marchmont saying that most of the gentlemen here are intimately acquainted with Lady Kendall. I think that must mean in the bedchamber, don’t you?”
There wasn’t any answer to that, and Rosie went back to watching the fascinating Lady Kendall. For someone whose reputation was supposedly in tatters, she looked remarkably unconcerned. From the top of her glossy chestnut locks to the gilded toes of her fashionable shoes, every inch was perfection.
Rosie’s attention was diverted some minutes later when Jack entered the room with Perry close behind him. Jack paused just inside the door, his eyes scanning the company restlessly. Was it Rosie’s imagination, or did they come to rest briefly on her own upturned countenance before moving swiftly on?
She rose to her feet. “I find sitting around stifling,” she explained as Lady Harpenden raised an enquiring brow in her direction. “I think I will take a turn about the room. Miss Henderson, do you care to join me?”
Sarah, always glad of the opportunity to break free from her mama’s restrictive presence, rose eagerly to her feet. Linking arms, the two ladies moved, as best they could in the crowded confines of the room, around the outer edge of the assembled company.
“Oh, do let us halt near this window, Lady Sheridan. Mama does not approve of draughts, but I long for some fresh air.” Sarah paused beside the open casement.
No matter how hard Rosie tried not to search the room to see what Jack was doing, her eyes had developed a will of their own where he was concerned. She discovered him, propping up the wall with his shoulders, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his velvet breeches. Rosie, with her country upbringing, was not an admirer of town fashions, preferring a man to look like a man rather than a patched and painted popinjay. While Jack subscribed to the latest mode, he did so in a cursory fashion which was uniquely his. No amount of powder or paint could disguise his masculinity. He wore his full-skirted, burgundy coat with gold trim and a sprinkling of diamonds in the froth of lace at his throat with a nonchalance which robbed his attire of any vestige of affectation.
She was not the only one to admire his sartorial style. A teasing voice reached her ears, and Rosie froze as she became aware of the subject of Lady Kendall’s conversation.
“Sir Perry, you must introduce me to the Earl of St. Anton. I have been observing him this five minutes or more, and he is by far the most attractive man I have seen in many a long day.”
“Dash it all, Lady Lou, how am I to interpret that? Are you telling me I have been upstaged by a damned Jacobite?”
Her ladyship’s laughter was musical, and Rosie found her hand itching to slap that lovely, smiling face. You have no right to feel this way, she told herself. He is free to be with whoever he chooses. The reminder didn’t work. Jealousy, pure and undiluted, flooded her veins.
“The dangerous, heroic exploits we hear about over the border add spice to your friend’s charm. The attentions of those gentlemen I already know grow rather boring. It was the same in Paris. Perhaps my appetites are jaded, but I find myself constantly seeking fresh entertainment.” Rosie risked a glance in her direction. Lady Kendall was standing with her arm through Perry’s. They were both watching Jack, who was throwing back a glass of champagne and appeared oblivious to their scrutiny. “Your friend’s devil-may-care virility and that playful twinkle in his eye appeal to my wild side. I am determined to get to know him better.”
“When you say better, I take it you mean intimately?”
“But of course. Why would I waste my time on any other way? Will you help me?”
“Certainly. You, my dear lady, are exactly what I have been telling my good friend Jack he needs.” Perry raised her hand to his lips before tucking her hand into his arm.
With a sinking heart, Rosie watched them make their way across the room to Jack’s side.
Surely it was meant to get easier? Seeing Rosie regularly was supposed to make the pain go away, or at least make it bearable. So why did it get harder with each encounter?
Jack dashed down several glasses of Lady Marchmont’s finest champagne in quick succession in an attempt to deaden the emotion that had stormed through him when he walked into the room and saw Rosie sitting among the matrons and dowagers. She doesn’t belong with the dowds! For a wild moment as he looked down at her, he knew an impulse to throw caution to the wind. He wondered how those two prim old Sheridan aunts would react if he obeyed his instincts and hauled Rosie to her feet, threw her over his shoulder, and marched out of the room? His thoughts continued out of the house, away to his bedchamber, ensuring that she never left it… That would give the gossips something to talk about. He was beginning to calm down when Perry approached him with a dazzlingly pretty woman on his arm.
“Jack, this is Lady Louisa Kendall, and she has been looking forward to making your acquaintance. You lucky dog.” Perry raised an expressive eyebrow at Jack before leaving them alone.
“Your pardon, my lady, I am not in the mood for conversation and am unlikely to be good company this evening.” It was probably not the sort of seduction technique she was used to, but it was the best he could manage. And she was lovely enough to soon find herself another partner.
“Oh, I think you should allow me to be the judge of that.” Even through his hurt, he had to acknowledge that Louisa’s smile was bewitching. She laid a hand on his forearm and leaned in close. It was a practised movement that afforded him an excellent view of her bosom, which swelled enticingly against the confines of her bodice with every breath. The warm, musky scent she wore filled his nostrils. The unspoken invitation was clear. “I believe that silence can be conducive to pleasure, do not you, my lord? In fact, conversation can sometimes be a hindrance to two people’s enjoyment of each other’s company. You do not appear to be enjoying that champagne. I have several bottles of the finest, sweetest cognac you have ever tasted at my house.”
Jack studied her. Why not? She was undoubtedly beautiful, experienced and willing. Perhaps in her arms he could forget for an hour or two. “What are we waiting for?” He handed his glass to a passing footman.
Louisa’s lips twitched appreciatively. “What indeed?” Ignoring the clucking from a gaggle of disapproving dowagers, she took his hand.
“Damn it, Lady Lou!” one of her admirers protested as she ordered her carriage. “What does St. Anton have that I do not?”
Louisa patted his cheek with one of her naughtiest chuckles. “Me.” Still holding Jack’s hand, she ran lightly out of the room and down the staircase to the hall below.
Once they were in the carriage, she reached out her other hand to test the hard sinews of Jack’s thigh. “I looking forward to feeling this between my own very soon.”
“You are shameless, my lady.”
“Louisa,” she prompted.
“You are shameless, Louisa,” Jack corrected himself.
“It is a reputation I work hard to maintain,” she whispered, pulling his head down so that she could tease his lips with her tongue.
When they arrived at her house, Louisa led him straight to her boudoir. It was furnished in the most decadent style imaginable, with opulent red-and-gold silk hangings and a bed so large it filled most of the room. Pushing him down onto a chaise longue, Louisa leaned in close to kiss him again. She slid an exploratory hand up the length of his thigh and trailed lingering fingers experimentally across his crotch. Moving away again, she poured him a generous measure of brandy, all of which Jack knocked back immediately.
Louisa obligingly went to fetch another. “I do hope, my lord, that your prowess is enhanced rather than inhibited by alcohol?”
She went to her dressing table and began to remove her jewellery, watching him thoughtfully in the mirror as she did so. Jack was glad of a little distance between them. If truth be told, he was finding her
attentions claustrophobic, and his libido was remaining stubbornly indifferent to her blatant attentions. This has been the story of the last two years. Why did you imagine tonight would be different?
When Louisa eventually came to sit next to him, he decided a determined effort on his part was required. Sliding a hand around her waist, he bent his head towards her, but she forestalled him, placing her palm on his chest. Jack quirked a questioning eyebrow at her, and she smiled. This was a genuine expression, quite unlike the curving, courtesan’s pout she showed the world.
“Do you know how many lovers I have had, Jack?”
He was taken aback at the question. “Your ladyship’s beauty is such that many men must have been smitten by your charms.” He removed her hand from his chest and dropped a kiss onto it. He wondered idly if she intended to inflame him with accounts of her many conquests. He hoped not. The way he was feeling tonight, he wasn’t sure his own performance would compare favourably.
“My charms, yes, but more often than not ’tis my availability which proves to be my greatest attraction,” she told him with brutal honestly. “I have had so many men that I have lost count myself. Often they have been married, betrothed or somehow involved with another woman. But very few of them have ever been truly in love with someone else. If they were, they would not have looked my way.” She had his full attention now. “It may surprise you to know that I am a proud woman”—he opened his mouth to protest, and she pressed a silencing finger against his lips—“and I won’t settle for second best. When a man is with me, I want all of his attention on me. I’m not prepared to be a mild diversion when I know his thoughts are elsewhere.”
“I can assure you…”
“I saw how you looked at her, Jack.”
It was pointless arguing. “I’m sorry. I thought if anyone could make me forget her, Louisa, it would be you.”
“And I shall take that as the greatest of compliments.” She patted his cheek. “You are quite sure you cannot resolve this? Marriage is not always an insurmountable obstacle. I should know. And marriage to one such as Sheridan…” She gave a theatrical shudder as if to punctuate her words.
Jack shook his head. “She thought I had been killed at Culloden.” It was a relief to talk about it. “And, so thinking, she accepted Sheridan’s offer of marriage. Mere weeks later.”
“That is certainly very final. Yet she loves you too. I saw that in her eyes when she returned your look. She thrums with yearning for you.”
Jack felt his eyes begin to close with a combination of tiredness and brandy. “It matters not. Her choice is made and she will not turn back from it.”
Louisa’s outrage was genuine. “The man is repulsive, and there is a touch of wildness about him which I like not. She cannot prefer him over you!”
“Bless you for that.” He leaned his head wearily back against the silken cushions and, within seconds, was sound asleep. When the nightmares inevitably woke him in the night, his shoes had been removed and a blanket thrown over him. He turned his head and, by the light of the glowing fire, saw Louisa asleep in the opulent bed next to him. With a smile, he settled back down and succumbed to slumber once more.
The following morning, Jack finished a hearty breakfast. Rising to take his leave of his hostess, he paused to plant a grateful kiss on her cheek. He had woken feeling much refreshed. It seemed he had found an unexpected friend in the notorious Lady Lou. “That was the best night’s sleep I have had since I came to London. You are an angel, Louisa.”
“Palaverer! Are you quite sure I can’t tempt you back to my boudoir? We have plenty of time.”
Jack was still laughing at her brazenness as he descended the steps of the house, aware that he presented an incongruous sight in his formal attire of the previous day. Unfortunately, a group of young gentlemen with whom he was very well acquainted chose that moment to pass by Louisa’s elegant, narrow townhouse.
“What-ho, St. Anton!” Sir Dudley Ramsbotham hailed Jack with ribald delight. The whole cavalcade promptly reined in their horses and regarded him with interest.
“You are about mighty early for a morning call, old chap,” Mr. Willoughby-Watson, a perceptive young gentleman, pointed out slyly. “One would expect Lady Lou to still be abed at this hour.”
Perry, his expression indicative of his pleasure at seeing his friend finding solace of the carnal nature he had been recommending, raised his voice above the laughter. “’Tis a rare sight, Jack, to see a man who can walk out on his own two feet after a night spent in Lady Lou’s”—he coughed diplomatically—“boudoir.” There was a general ripple of lewd laughter. “Usually it takes two strong men to carry the unfortunate soul away, and an enforced period of rest and recuperation must be prescribed.”
Jack sighed. Their ribbing was good natured, and a denial on his part that anything had happened between him and Louisa would lead to disbelief and more witticisms. Despite his improved night’s sleep, he was tired, and his head ached from a surfeit of alcohol. He wanted to get home and out of his velvet and lace.
“Gentlemen, you flatter me with your assumptions, I assure you. I pray you will excuse me.”
A few ribald comments about the reason for his exhausted appearance and Louisa’s legendary expertise followed him before the horsemen rode on to the prizefight they were attending. By noon it was all over town that a party of reliable witnesses had encountered a weary but laughing Lord St. Anton leaving Lady Kendall’s house, still attired in the clothes he had been wearing the previous day.
* * *
The story came to Rosie’s ears the following morning. Mrs. Henderson called to pay Lady Drummond a visit, bringing Sarah with her.
“They say he was bold as brass,” Mrs. Henderson reported in a voice that managed to convey both shock and delight. “Leaving her house in broad daylight, in his formal dress, and openly joking with his friends about his exploits.”
Lady Drummond tutted. “Really, Louisa Kendall is quite without shame! Why, ’tis well known that she has had the Vicomte St. Etienne in her toils in Paris these last three months, and already it appears she has moved on. One cannot blame a gentleman for succumbing to his baser instincts when there are trollops such as her to pander to them.”
Mrs. Henderson smoothed her skirts primly. “Well, you must admit, my dear, that Lord St. Anton is a sight more attractive than St. Etienne. I, for one, cannot find it in me to blame Lady Kendall for switching her affections to him.” She tittered girlishly.
Rosie, who had been listening with half an ear as she engaged in desultory small talk with Sarah, stiffened alarmingly at the mention of Jack’s name, causing her companion to cast a scared glance in her direction.
Lady Drummond permitted herself a smile. “His lordship is quite devastatingly attractive,” she agreed. “But ’tis not so very long ago he was in disgrace for following his wild, Jacobite tendencies. To set the town talking by openly cavorting with Louisa Kendall is not the best way to go about restoring his damaged reputation.”
“Your face has gone very pale, Lady Sheridan.” Sarah regarded Rosie with some alarm. “Are you sure you are quite well?”
Rosie found she was pressing her hands together so tightly that her fingers ached. Drawing in a long, slow breath, she turned to her companion with what she hoped was a bright smile.
“I am fine,” she reassured her. “What will you wear to Lady Hadley’s soirée tonight?”
Sarah smiled and went on to describe the glory of her outfit in some detail, her shyness momentarily forgotten in the pleasure of a new gown. Then, lowering her voice to a whisper so that her mama did not hear, she changed the subject.
“How shocking it is to hear that Lady Kendall has become Lord St. Anton’s mistress. But, who can blame her? Is he not truly the most handsome man you have ever seen? Indeed, that smile, the way he looks at one with that twinkle in his eye, he is simply the most charmi
ng—” She broke off in consternation and eyed Rosie’s face with concern dawning in her eyes. “Oh, Lady Sheridan, so poorly you do look. I am persuaded that you do, indeed, have the headache.”
Her exclamation drew Lady Drummond’s attention. “What is this? Are you unwell, child?”
“It is nothing, my lady. Only a touch, as Sarah says, of the headache. I will be better presently. I think I should go to my room and lie down so that I am rested in time for the soirée.”
Once in her room, Rosie threw herself down on the bed. Did you expect him to remain faithful? She dealt her pillows a resounding blow with her fist. Despite her attempts to direct them elsewhere, her thoughts went insistently back to that night two years ago. That magical night when he was my lover.
Chapter Six
15th April, 1746. The night before Culloden.
Glancing quickly around her, Rosie knocked on the door of Jack’s bedchamber. The door clicked open, and without a word, Jack gathered her into his arms.
“You should not be here. You know you should not.” There was despair in his voice as he drew Rosie inside.
A shudder of pleasure ran through her as he kissed her hungrily. “Would you rather be alone tonight?”
“I swore I would wait until our marriage, Rosie.” His voice was husky with desire.
Rising on the tips of her toes, Rosie fitted her body to his, exulting in the feeling of his erection throbbing against her stomach. “Patience is for men who are not going into battle on the morrow.”
With a groan of surrender, Jack slid an arm around her, moving his lips down her neck to the hollow of her throat. With one fingertip, he traced her cheek, then her neck, pausing to follow the line of her bodice where the fabric covered the swell of her breasts. Gently, he turned her in his embrace. Before Rosie could question the movement, his lips were on the back of her neck as his fingers busied themselves undoing the laces of her gown. Spreading the fabric apart, he slid it down over one shoulder, drawing her close so that he could caress her exposed flesh with his lips.
