Of course not.
*
Jack felt even more foolish asking young Harold about his coming leap into parson’s mousetrap. The boy barely shaved. What did he know about life and loyalty and regard for the same woman lasting for the rest of your life?
Not for the first time, Jack wished his older brother were in town, or that he lived closer. Ace would understand Jack’s confusion, for he’d fought off the matchmaking mamas for years before deciding to marry Nell. She was the ideal match for him, of course, despite their differences, but how had Alex known that?
Harold barely understood Jack’s question. “What do you mean, why am I marrying Margery? I love her. Why wouldn’t I marry her?”
Why, indeed?
Chapter Twenty-Six
No one asked Harriet what she thought. What, consult an eight-year-old about the nature of love? Seek a little girl’s opinion of matrimony? She couldn’t even know anything about the physical attraction between two adults, much less whether it would last, to build a permanent relationship upon it.
They should have asked her. Harriet knew plenty. More importantly, she knew what she wanted.
Harriet wanted a family, with two parents who were going to stay together. Not a governess who could be dismissed or who might take another position; not a guardian who could marry a wicked witch who believed in sending children away to school or keeping pets in the barn. She wanted her beloved Papa Jack and her dear Allie to get married, so she did not have to worry about them moving apart, leaving her homeless again.
They loved each other. Harriet knew it. She could tell by how Allie went all rosy when Papa Jack came to call for them, and how she pretended not to notice how smooth his shave or how tight his pantaloons. She noticed, Harriet knew, because she blushed even redder.
And the captain watched the teacher all the time, and smiled to himself when no one was watching. Harriet was watching, to make sure he noticed how Allie’s new clothes were in style, with lower necks and higher waists. He noticed, Harriet knew, because he licked his lips as if his mouth were dry. Besides, he called her a goose, which meant he liked her, all right.
They had to be in love, and they had to want her.
They had to want each other, too. Who said Harriet did not know about physical attraction? Harriet knew that Patsy and Snake were always sneaking off for cuddles, and Darla and Mr. Downs were forever stealing kisses. No, she could not believe that babies came from the broom closet, because she checked, but she’d overheard Mrs. Crandall say that Darla had found one there.
Harriet wanted a baby. A brother or sister. Maybe one of both. Dressing the dog was all well and good, but Joker couldn’t talk or play skittles or giggle under the covers at night like some of the girls at school had done.
Everyone knew only married people could have babies, which was why Darla and Mr. Downs were hurrying through the reading of the banns. But Allie and Papa Jack did not seem to be in any hurry at all.
Allie did not want to marry a gambler. And Jack did not want to marry anyone. Besides, the captain was trying to find his sister. He was spending all his money on that, so he couldn’t afford to keep a wife. Harriet hadn’t found anything about Queenie at any of the dressmakers they went to, and neither had Allie, but they kept trying.
Meantime, both of them were as stubborn as Joker. And as silly as the kitten.
They needed help.
Lady Margery had agreed to lend her assistance toward making the match, but so far all she’d done was drag them off to meet this dowager or that dragon—and advise Allie to lower her necklines another inch. Harriet could not see where that did any good. If a gentleman only looked at a lady’s bosom, he wouldn’t notice her nice eyes and her friendly smile. And, Harriet feared, Allie’s bosom could not compete with the dealers’ at the club or even the fancy ladies whose front shelves acted as crumb-catchers during those everlasting teas.
Besides, if Papa Jack only liked Allie because her clothes were in the latest styles, his liking wouldn’t last. Allie was pretty inside, where it mattered, but Lady Margery was too addlepated to understand. She was too happy with her Harold to bother about Harriet’s problems anyway.
So Harriet decided to pay a call.
She was used to doing this by now, sitting through boring conversations in her best new frocks that she was supposed to keep clean. She was supposed to mind her manners, too, which meant not speaking unless she was addressed, sitting straight in a chair without swinging her legs, and not putting any of the silverware in her pockets with the macaroons for Joker.
Harriet decided that she almost liked shopping better, where she could wander off and talk to the seamstresses. She wanted to help Jack find his sister, but the measurements were tedious and the fittings were painful if she wriggled.
She wrinkled her nose. She’d rather be in the park or the stables or in the kitchens at The Red and the Black or playing games with the workmen at Carde House than either ladylike pursuit. But today she was tired of waiting. She had bigger game in mind.
She doubted she’d be welcome at her destination, so Harriet decided to bring a gift. That was proper and polite, wasn’t it? Allie would approve.
When Harriet announced to Hawkins that she was going to the stables, he thought nothing of it. She frequently visited her pony and the rest of her menagerie in another one of the box stalls. He went back to throwing the dice with Lundy. Harriet went to the back of the house and across the gardens to the rear gate. The mews were on the other side of the fence, guarded by Samuel. But Samuel was out driving Allie and Patsy on their latest shopping expedition, as Harriet knew full well.
Would her host prefer the white rat or the fish in its bowl? The rat was not precisely housebroken, especially when one first picked it up, and the fish’s water might slosh on Harriet’s new coat. She took a tin bucket that had a mesh lid instead.
Then she walked across to the road to Grosvenor Park, waving to all the nannies and the flower seller and the old man who fed the squirrels. They all waved back, assuming Miss Silver or one of the other Carde House residents was nearby as usual.
“Hey, where’s yer dog?” the newsboy called out.
“Home sleeping,” Harriet replied. “The lazy thing.”
“I guess you don’t have any treats in yer pockets, then.”
Of course Harriet did, in case her host made her wait or did not offer her tea. She shared her toast fingers and butter with the boy, who grinned and wished her a happy afternoon.
It would be, if Harriet had her way.
*
When Allie returned from her shopping trip, laden with packages, Jack was waiting in the hallway, conferring with the architect. Allie started to hand her bundles to Hawkins and asked him to help Patsy upstairs with the rest.
Jack took a hat box from Allie, tempted to look inside, curious about her taste now that she was not restricted to plain and dull. So far the gowns and accessories she had purchased were tasteful without being flamboyant. They suited her. And one, at least, she swore, was blue although he had not seen it yet. The gown she wore today was a soft, light brown that made her hair look more golden—and made Jack want to see how silky it felt. The dark honey curls were now allowed to trail around her face and down her neck from a top knot, instead of being plaited so severely at the back of her head. Jack’s fingers twitched to take the pins out and let her hair fall altogether down her shoulders.
Now she looked more like a lady of stature than a spinster of strained circumstances. She did not resemble a fashion doll, either, thank goodness, all ruffles and ribbons and lace, so she must not be listening to her cousin. He handed the hatbox to the footman and tried not to stare at Allie.
“I wanted to speak with you.”
“And I wished to speak with you.”
He led her past two workers chipping at paint flakes on the ornamental plaster work in the hall. He opened the door to the breakfast parlor, which was almost completed. Allie knew, because she had sele
cted the wallpaper when the countess’s choice was unavailable, and had checked on the progress and the results. It was bad enough she was living in the Lady Carde’s house without inflicting her suspect tastes on the other woman.
The wall covering of tiny flowers in a diamond pattern was cheerful and bright, perfect, she’d thought, for the first thing in the morning. Who could resent getting out of bed in such a springtime, sunny room? The round table and sideboard and chairs were all pushed against one wall, covered in Holland cloth so they looked like miniature icebergs amid the garden. No one was working there.
“Good,” Jack said. “Now we can talk.” But suddenly he did not have the right words to say.
Neither did Allie, although she had been rehearsing a speech for hours, it seemed. “Do you think your sister-in-law will like the wallpaper?” was the best she could do.
“Bother the wallpaper! We need to talk about this…thing between us.”
There was nothing but a broom and a dustpan between them, as far as she could see. Then she looked back at him, which was a mistake. Jack’s eyes were full of heat and hunger, and suddenly there was nothing between them at all except a few layers of clothing. His mouth was on hers, coaxing and caressing.
Allie knew she should not permit such liberties, of course. And of course she knew that Jack would let her go instantly if she protested. She also knew she wouldn’t be able to make that protest, to tell him no, to step out of his arms and forego the pleasure he offered. She never had been able to resist Jack, so why bother now, when she had already decided to give herself to him?
Instead she wrapped her arms around him, pressed her body closer to his, and kissed him back. This was exactly what she wanted, what her body had been craving, what her mind had been imagining, what she’d convinced herself was meant to be.
Allie let her tongue touch his in tentative exploration, to be rewarded with a deep sigh. Or was that hers? She breathed in the spiced scent he wore and tasted the wine he’d been drinking and felt a pressure against her that was matched by a pressure inside her. Both were growing, it appeared.
“Oh, Jack,” she murmured into his ear when he bent to trail kisses down her neck, now that her gown did not button to her chin. “I should tell you to stop.”
“Oh, Allie, I will die if you do.” He was bending lower, to kiss her collarbone, and then the soft flesh that rose from her lowered décolletage. His tongue flicked out to lick that sensitive, satiny skin and she sighed. Or was that him?
“This is wrong, but it feels so right.”
“We can make it right, sweetheart.”
He was already making her wish her precepts to perdition.
“I should leave, but I couldn’t bear to miss this.”
“You will never have to.”
Never? But mistresses did not last forever. No, Allie refused to think about that now. She refused to do anything but feel, and float on his desire for her. And hers for him.
“This,” he said, his fingers trying to tug the gown lower so his mouth could taste more of her. “This is what is between us. I cannot keep my hands off you.”
Her hands were busy too, loosening his neckcloth so she could kiss his neck and feel the difference between his shaved cheek and his chin. Her mouth just happened to be next to his ear, so she tasted that too, and he groaned, which was precisely how she felt.
She was not in pain, but she was aching. She did not have a fever, but she was burning. “And I cannot refuse you.”
“Good. Then you will?”
Despite the steam inside Allie’s skull where her brains used to be, she knew she was crossing a boundary that she could not re-cross. Once she became Jack’s lover, there was no going back to being the prim and proper Miss Silver.
To hell with Miss Silver. The person that she was here, now, in his arms, had never felt so alive, so needed, so much a woman. “I will.”
Then she was in Jack’s arms, her feet off the ground, and being carried toward the table. He swept away the dusty cloth covering and sat her on the bare wood, with her legs dangling over the edge. He stepped between them, raising her skirts to make a wider space. “You have made me very happy, my love.”
Already? Allie intended to make him—and her—a great deal happier. She was not quite sure how, but she had an expert to show her. She pulled Jack toward her. Now he had both hands free to stroke her while he kissed her and whispered words of endearment: he’d never met a woman like her, he could not stand to be without her, Harold had told him how it would be.
“Harold? You talked about this with Harold?”
Since his hand had raised her skirts even higher and was inching up her thigh, he could honestly say, “Not this, exactly.”
Then his hand was exactly where he wanted it to be, and where Allie had never dared imagine it being. She was feeling sensations swirling through her and leaving her gasping and glowing and grabbing at Jack’s shirt front to pull it up, so she could feel his chest and the soft hair that grew there and try to reach what was below the waist of his trousers.
He moved his hand, to stop hers. “Not yet, my love. Let me lock the door. It would be just like Harriet to walk in.”
“Harriet who?”
He laughed and left. Allie suddenly felt cold. No fire burned in the empty room, and no heat coursed through her blood without Jack to keep her warm. The thought of Harriet was like an Arctic blast.
Harriet was a child, her pupil, the girl she was supposed to be teaching ladylike conduct. Allie was meant to set an example, a moral paradigm of virtue. On the breakfast table?
Good grief, she’d been about to let herself be served up like a rasher of bacon, a bowl of eggs, a stack of toast! No poor dead kipper could feel as wretched as she did at that moment. Allie jumped off the table, her cheeks flaming scarlet to think that she had been such a willing accomplice in her own seduction. She shook down her skirts and tugged up her bodice, and passed Jack on the way to the door.
“Where is Harriet, by the way?” she asked as she started to turn the key in the lock again. “You said she might stay behind with you, rather than sit through another fitting.”
Jack was mentally kicking himself for destroying the moment. But there would be more moments, thank the gods of fertility, now that she had said yes. He ran his fingers through his disordered curls, wishing he could do the same for Allie’s hair, but then she would look more wanton and well loved. He sighed for lost opportunities and lustful longings, and said, “That was earlier. I had to speak with the foreman here about the roof tiles, so I brought her home after an hour of feeding the ducks on the Serpentine. Joker ate most of the bread.”
“Ah, then she must be in the kitchen looking for more, or out in the stable, feeding her pets.”
“No, she said she was tired and was going to take a nap.”
“A nap? Harriet? And you believed her? You are even more a fool than I am, thinking I could become your—”
Jack was already halfway up the stairs to the guest wing. Allie flew after him. She was just in time to see him fling back the covers over a small figure in a lacy white nightcap.
Joker growled, angry at being disturbed.
“Damnation!” Jack cursed, and the dog jumped off the bed, crawling under it.
Allie looked there, but saw only a missing stocking.
“Why would she have lied?”
Allie looked in her room and the dressing room, then across the hall in Mary Crandall’s room. “Because she is Harriet. It is second nature to her. But I wonder where she would have gone?”
“Better yet, why?”
Allie looked in the clothes press. Only one of Harriet’s new gowns was missing, and her cloak and the new chipstraw bonnet. “She did not pack up her belongings.”
“So she did not run away from home.”
“She wouldn’t. She loves it here and loves you. She most likely wanted to spend the afternoon in the stables with her pony and the rest of her menagerie and knew you would not le
t her, with Samuel gone driving me and Patsy. I think she was concerned about that hedgehog’s cough.”
Jack was already striding out of the door and down the stairs, shouting for the guards and the workers. No one had seen the girl since she went to the stable, hours ago. Hawkins had assumed she’d come in through the kitchen door, as she often did.
Samuel was still rubbing down the carriage horses. He hadn’t seen Harriet since the morning.
The boxes and bowls and cages of Harriet’s collection seemed undisturbed, and the pony was placidly munching its grain.
The footmen were sent to scour the rear gardens. Jack checked the kitchens and the cellars while the workmen searched the renovation area. Patsy and Allie opened every door on every one of the upper floors and the attics, calling Harriet’s name.
Allie met Jack back in the entry foyer, worried now. Harriet was willful and wily, but she would not miss tea, or time with her Papa Jack. “I cannot understand why she would leave.”
“Or where she would go.” He sent a messenger to The Red and the Black, just in case Harriet had decided to visit one of her friends there, although she was never supposed to travel anywhere on her own. “She intends to come back,” he reassured Allie. “She would never abandon her pets. Or you, of course.”
Allie was not comforted. “But heaven alone knows what could happen. London is such a big, crowded place. She does not know her way around all that well and might get lost. And I doubt she has a full purse, after purchasing that goat.”
“We have a goat?”
Allie ignored him and went on: “What if someone sees a nicely dressed child out on her own? She could even be abducted, now that she looks as if she comes from a prosperous home.”
Jack of Clubs Page 26
