by Connie Mason
Moira’s gaze followed Jack as he stormed from the room. The tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach abated somewhat after he left, but it didn’t entirely disappear. In her estimation, Black Jack Graystoke lived up to his reputation as a rogue and womanizer. If she had any sense at all, she’d leave the moment she was able and run for her life. Unfortunately, though, there were some things more dangerous than Black Jack Graystoke.
All things considered, Jack Graystoke offered the least peril. She felt capable of fending off his advances, and he did offer her the opportunity to escape a worse fate. If she married money and position, many of her problems would disappear.
Jack threw himself down on the bed without bothering to undress. He had no idea what had come over him in Moira’s bedroom. Had his encounter with Victoria so aroused him that no woman was safe with him? It wasn’t like him to force himself on a defenseless woman—not even one of questionable virtue. Willing women could be had anywhere. Most women of his acquaintance made themselves available to Black Jack Graystoke. He’d been a bloody fool, Jack decided irritably. And it wouldn’t happen again.
Punching his pillow in a show of annoyance, he turned on his side and closed his eyes. He’d had damn little sleep in the past several nights, and he faced a daunting task. He had to turn Moira O’Toole into a lady and marry her off to the highest bidder. Sighing wearily, he tried to think of anything but Moira’s wide golden eyes, pink-tipped breasts and smooth white flesh. Not an easy task for a man in a painful state of arousal.
A bright light shimmering against Jack’s closed eyelids brought him into blinking awareness, and he raised his arm to cover his eyes, hoping the light would go away. If anything it grew brighter, and Jack spit out a curse, wondering if Pettibone had come into the room and lit a lamp or started a fire in the grate. Curiosity got the better of him, and he slowly opened his eyes. What he saw made him wish he’d kept them closed.
The ghost of Lady Amelia hovered over the bed, nodding her head and looking quite pleased with herself.
“What in bloody hell is the matter now?” Jack bellowed. “You sent me on a wild goose chase in foul weather, and look what happened! There’s a strange female sleeping in my bed, and I’m not even in it with her!”
Lady Amelia did not seem at all daunted by Jack’s outburst. In fact, if it could be said that ghosts smiled, then that’s what Lady Amelia was now doing.
“There’s no way you’re sending me out tonight, milady,” Jack said grumpily. “I’ve had damn little sleep lately, thanks to you.”
Lady Amelia shook her head, as if to say there was no need for Jack to leave his bed.
“Can you tell me why you’re here, milady?” Jack asked courteously. “What is it you want of me? Can’t you speak? I told you before that the Devil has already laid claim to my soul. I’m beyond redemption. Let me walk the path to perdition in peace.”
Lady Amelia drifted closer, so close Jack could feel the warmth of her brilliant light. He stiffened slightly when she bent toward him, not knowing what to expect. He felt a heat against his ear, and a rasp of sound so low he thought he imagined the words.
She will save you.
“What? What did you say? Who are you talking about?”
If there was an answer, it was lost in the far reaches of the room. The light dimmed, and Lady Amelia was gone. Jack groaned and closed his eyes. Sleep came instantly. When he woke the next morning, he recalled Lady Amelia’s words and wondered what they meant. The pesky ghost was fast becoming a bloody nuisance.
Moira awakened late. Having had her rest rudely interrupted the night before, it was close to dawn before she’d finally fallen asleep.
“Are you awake, miss?” The question followed a timid rap on the door.
Moira smiled when she recognized Pettibone’s voice. “I’m awake, Mr. Pettibone. Come in.”
Pettibone entered, bearing a tray of steaming tea and tempting biscuits. “Are you hungry, miss? I’ll have something more substantial later.”
“Do you cook, too, Mr. Pettibone?” Moira asked of the erect old man.
“I do, indeed, miss. A woman comes in twice weekly to clean and wash, but I do whatever needs doing in between.”
“You’re a gem, Mr. Pettibone. I hope Sir Jack appreciates you. Perhaps when my arm heals, I can help.”
Pettibone beamed, smoothing the lines in his weathered face. “Oh, no, miss, Sir Jack wouldn’t allow it.” He flushed and looked away in embarrassment. He wondered how Moira would react to the news that Jack had confided to his valet his plans to pass her off as a lady.
Unaware of his thoughts, Moira continued brightly, “I’d like to get up today. My arm feels much better.”
“Sir Jack will tell you when you may leave the bed.”
“Please tell Sir Jack I’d like to speak with him,” Moira requested.
“Certainly, miss, as soon as he returns. He’s gone to call on young Lord Fenwick.”
Jack faced Spence over the breakfast table. None of the other Fenwicks had arisen yet, and Spence would still be abed if Jack hadn’t pounded at the door at the ungodly hour of nine in the morning.
“What can I do for you, Jack?” Spence asked, yawning hugely. “Rumor has it you and Lady Victoria left together last night. I arrived shortly after you left. Have you proposed yet?”
“Forget Victoria, Spence. That’s not why I’m here.”
“Why in the deuce are you here at this early hour? Are you having problems with the Irish lass?”
“I wish it were that simple,” Jack muttered, recalling the kiss that had nearly led to something more and how it had affected him. “My problem concerns my lack of blunt. ’Twas not my intention, but Victoria met Moira last night, and I had to introduce the wench as my ward. In order to keep this all circumspect and avoid nasty gossip, I must hire a maid to act as chaperon. Otherwise we’ll find suitors few and far between. The girl has no fortune to commend her.”
“I concur wholeheartedly, but I’m slightly bent myself until my next quarterly allowance. I’d hate for my parents to know I’ve gambled away my last quarterly. I don’t come into my own fortune for two more years.”
“Bloody hell, what a sad state of affairs when neither of us can afford the price of a maid. I won several hundred pounds at the tables last night, but I gave it all to Pettibone to settle some of the more pressing debts I’ve run up.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Spence said brightly. “There are so many maids in this house, my mother can’t keep track of them. I’ll simply go to the kitchen, select one of the kitchen helpers and loan her to you for a few months. No one will be the wiser, and she can remain on the Fenwick payroll.”
“You expect a scullery maid to act as maid to Moira?”
“Do you have a better solution?” Spence asked, pleased at having solved the problem so handily. “Let’s go and see who’s available now, before my parents are up and about.”
The young girl they chose to be Moira’s maid had potential despite her shyness and youth, Jack thought as Spence explained what was required of her.
“A lady’s maid, milord?” young Jilly Scranton asked when informed of her temporary employment with Sir Jack Graystoke. “I’m to care for a lady recovering from injuries she got in a carriage accident? I ain’t never been a lady’s maid.” A comely girl of sixteen, Jilly was a sweet-faced blonde with guileless blue eyes and an engaging smile. And she was as innocent a girl as Jack had ever seen.
“You’ll learn, Jilly,” Spence said confidently. “You must tell no one about this temporary employment. I’ll arrange it through the housekeeper so that no questions will be asked when you return. I’ll see that you’re paid a bit extra out of my next quarterly.”
“Are you certain you can clear it with the housekeeper?” Jack wondered.
Spence sent him a confident smile. “The old bird has a soft spot for me. If I butter her up a bit, she’ll agree to anything.” He turned to Jilly. “Go along with Sir Jack, Jilly. It will be al
l right.”
Jilly sent Jack a skeptical glance. She’d heard about the scandalous Black Jack Graystoke. Who hadn’t? She wondered if she was doing the right thing, but only for a moment. Anything was better than scrubbing pots and pans from morn to night and getting cuffed by Cook for not doing it fast enough. Well, almost anything. At the first hint of impropriety on Black Jack’s part, she’d be out of there faster than you could shake a stick.
“Come along, child,” Jack said, annoyed at the way Jilly was staring at him. “I won’t eat you. I prefer more worldly women. I have grave doubts about all this, but you seem intelligent enough to learn what’s expected of you.”
“Oh, yes, sir. I catch on fast, I do. I’ll gather my things and be back before you know it.”
“You’ve been a great help, Spence. I hope this works out like we planned. Moira isn’t exactly your meek miss. I made a terrible blunder when I brought Victoria home last night.”
Spence swallowed a grin. “I would have liked to see that. What happened? Did your—er—ward catch you in a compromising situation?”
“Something like that,” Jack said dryly, recalling the pure temptation of Moira’s sweet mouth and soft flesh. “But that’s neither here nor there. I just hope I can placate Victoria enough to convince her to marry me.”
“I doubt she’ll need much convincing,” Spence said blandly. “By the way, did you hear the latest gossip?”
“What gossip? Rumors abound in London Town.”
“This rumor is genuine. It involves Lord Roger Mayhew, the old Earl of Montclair’s heir.”
“What did Mayhew do now? Nothing would surprise me where that scoundrel is concerned. Did you know that he’s a member of the Hellfire Club? He and his friends tried to get me to join, you know.”
“Thank God you resisted. ’Tis rumored he bought passage to the Continent in the dead of night,” Spence confided. “It was all very mysterious. His friends denied prior knowledge of his departure. Seems he left a score or more gambling debts behind. His parents are furious.”
“Good riddance,” Jack said succinctly.
Chapter Four
Jack arrived back at Graystoke Manor just as Moira was finishing breakfast. Eating was rather awkward without the use of her right arm, but she managed to get enough food to her mouth to satisfy her hunger. She was grateful for the interruption when Jack knocked, then entered the room with Jilly in tow. Lying about in bed was beginning to bore her.
“Good morning,” Jack greeted her gruffly. Recalling the sweet temptation of Moira’s pouting nipple in his mouth, Jack found it difficult not to stare at the steady rise and fall of her breasts beneath the sheet. “This is Jilly,” he said, bringing the girl forward. “Your new maid.”
Round-eyed, Jilly stared at Moira’s battered face, bobbing a curtsy only after a nudge from Jack. “Good morning, milady. I’ll do my best to please you. Sir Jack said you’d been in an accident.”
Moira sent Jack a startled look. He knew she was no “milady.” But his warning glance told her to dispute nothing he did.
“Aye, a carriage accident,” Moira said truthfully. “I’m sure we’ll get along fine, Jilly.”
“Is there anything you’d like, milady?”
“A bath,” Moira requested. “If that’s possible,” she added, sending an inquiring glance at Jack.
“’Tis indeed possible. Find Pettibone, Jilly. He’ll carry up the tub and show you where things are kept. It will take a few days to learn your way around this pile of stone. Go along with you now, and take the empty tray with you to the kitchen.”
Jilly bobbed another curtsy, took the tray from Moira’s lap and all but ran from the room in her anxiety to please.
“If you don’t like her, we’ll find someone else,” Jack said.
“Jilly will do fine. I’m uncomfortable being waited upon. If not for my injury, I’d not even need a maid.”
“A maid is necessary for propriety’s sake,” Jack intoned dryly. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m responsible for your broken arm and sundry bruises. Now, is there anything else you’d like?”
“Aye. When can I get out of bed? I’m unaccustomed to lying about. I’d like my clothing back.”
He sent her an assessing glance. She did look better, he conceded. Her bruises were fading, and the swelling about her face was receding. “Did Dr. Dudley stop by yesterday?”
“Aye. He said things were progressing nicely and that the pneumonia he feared hasn’t materialized. He put a cast on my arm and said it could come off in four weeks.”
“Then I suppose you could get up and move about for short intervals, but don’t tire yourself. I’ll instruct Pettibone to return your clothing. I believe he had them cleaned and mended. Which leads to another problem. You’re going to need clothes in keeping with your new station in life.”
“My station?” Moira asked tartly. “I assume you’re referring to the station you and Lord Fenwick created.”
“Aye, milady,” Jack said, sending her a mocking grin. “Henceforth you are to be addressed as Lady Moira Greeley. O’Toole is too common a name. Since we are to work together closely, I will call you Moira and you may call me Jack. Now that that’s settled, I’ll summon a mantua maker to measure you for an appropriate wardrobe.”
“I don’t like this. Can’t you get into trouble?”
Jack gave a shout of laughter. “Who is there to refute my claim that you are a distant relative? Unless,” he added ominously, “there is something you’re not telling me. What about your former employers? Will they recognize you if you meet them at a social function?”
“My former employers are elderly and rarely attend social functions,” Moira said. “Even if they did, they might not recognize me dressed in fancy clothing.” She thought it best not to mention Lord Roger, since in all likelihood he was still abroad.
“Then I see nothing to hinder our plans. Once you’re properly dressed and versed in the finer points of etiquette, I’ll introduce you to society. If you’re up to it, we’ll start tomorrow on your lessons. Can you play an instrument? Or sing? Or dance?”
“I play the harpsichord and sing,” Moira said with pride. “But I never learned to dance.”
Jack was stunned. Not only did Moira speak like gentry, but she was taught to play an instrument and sing. Why had her parents educated her beyond her station? There was a mystery here somewhere; he just had to figure it out. “I’ll teach you to dance myself.”
Their conversation came to a halt when Pettibone arrived with the tub. “I’ll bring hot water directly, milady.”
“I’ll leave you to your bath,” Jack said, turning away. Just the thought of Moira in her bath made him break out in a cold sweat. This wasn’t like him, not like him at all. Women were necessary to his well-being, but this pressing need Moira aroused in him confused him. She exuded a lavish sensuality that she wasn’t even aware of. It shouldn’t bother a profligate rogue like him, but it did.
Whitcomb’s rout was a bore, Jack thought as he made his way to the gaming room. He abhorred the crush of people, but the gaming tables looked promising. Most of the men engaged in gambling were playing for high stakes and could afford it. If his luck held, and he felt it would, he would go home tonight with enough blunt to pay for Moira’s wardrobe.
“I decided to forgive you.”
Jack turned at the sound of Victoria’s voice, composing his face into a smile. “I’m forever grateful.” His mocking tone went over Victoria’s head.
“Did you doubt it? No one can hold a candle to you in bed. Shall we go to my house tonight so I can show you how well you please me?”
“I’ll come to you after I finish at the gaming tables,” Jack said. “Leave the servants’ entry unlocked. I can see myself up to your room.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Victoria purred throatily. “Don’t be late.”
For some unexplained reason, Jack could muster scant enthusiasm for Victoria’s bold invitation. A few days ago he would have
welcomed with eagerness a few scintillating hours in Victoria’s bed. Now he hoped he could rise to the occasion.
The play proved lucrative and Jack won several hundred pounds. He couldn’t recall when he’d been so successful at gambling—he’d never won enough to live comfortably. Perhaps he wasn’t cut out to be a gambler, he thought as he pocketed his winnings and excused himself. For the second time in as many days, Black Jack Graystoke admitted to excesses in both drink and gambling and thought seriously about giving them up, which frightened the hell out of him. Something was happening to him and he didn’t like it, not one damn bit.
Was this Lady Amelia’s doing? he wondered as he collected his cape and walked out into the raw night. Since that fateful day the family ghost had chosen to haunt him, his life hadn’t been the same. Didn’t Lady Amelia know it was much too late to redeem him? He had already ransomed his soul to the Devil.
Deciding he needed to clear his head, Jack sent his coachman home and walked the short distance to Victoria’s house, the invigorating air making him see things precisely as they were. He needed Victoria’s money, yet the thought of having Victoria as a wife chilled him as effectively as the cold night air. Jack wasn’t certain he believed in love, but there should be more to a relationship than lust. And lust was all he felt for Victoria, though truth to tell even that was beginning to pall. What would it be like after a few years of marriage to her?
Marriage wouldn’t change him, Jack decided. He’d still have a mistress or two, still gamble, still drink, still find amusement in unlikely places. And Victoria would discreetly carry on her own affairs of the heart once their passion cooled, which it undoubtedly would. The picture was unappetizing, yet Jack could find no alternative to his pressing need of money.
All that thinking gave Jack a massive headache and an aversion to bedding Victoria tonight. If he went to her now, in this state of mind, he would do neither of them justice. Hoping she would forgive him his lapse, Jack turned back in the direction of Graystoke Manor.
