by Connie Mason
Moira felt well enough to go downstairs and explore the house the following day. With Jilly’s help, she dressed in her plain dark serge and walked from room to room, discovering the charm and faded grandeur of the rundown mansion. At one time it must have been spectacular, she reflected. It could still be dazzling once restored to its former elegance. But of course that would take a considerable fortune, which Jack did not possess.
Jack discovered Moira in the reception hall perusing the paintings decorating the walls. “I’ve been looking for you. How are you feeling?”
“Well enough, thank you, Sir Jack.”
“Just call me Jack. My title is a minor one; I rarely use it. Only Pettibone insists on calling me Sir Jack. I thought we might engage in conversation so I might judge your ability to speak intelligently on various subjects.”
“My first lesson, Jack?” Moira asked tartly, displaying some of her old mettle.
Jack grinned. “You’re not short on wit—that’s a good sign. Let’s go to the study; it’s less intimidating than the drawing room. I met Jilly in the hall and asked her to bring refreshments.”
“First tell me about the people in these paintings. Who are they?”
“Various ancestors,” Jack said. “Lord, I haven’t looked at these pictures in years.”
“That must be your father,” Moira said, pointing to a dignified man standing stiffly at attention. “You resemble him.”
“He died when I was twelve. My mother is on his right.”
“She’s beautiful. You have her eyes. Who is the other lady?”
“Lady Amelia, my great-great-grandmother. This house was built for her.”
“She looks sad.”
“She had good reason. Her only son died a wastrel. ’Tis said she haunts the manor from time to time, trying to save others from her son’s fate.”
Moira’s eyes grew round. “Have you seen her?”
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Jack said abruptly. “Come along. Our refreshments will be arriving soon.”
A few minutes later, they were seated in the study, basking in the warmth of the hearth. Jilly brought tea, then promptly left to assist Pettibone with dinner.
“What should we talk about?” Moira asked, sipping delicately from the cup. Jack watched her closely, studying her manners and deportment. What he saw seemed to please him.
“I must say your parents did well by you. Are you certain neither of them were gentry? It isn’t unusual for a woman of gentle birth and breeding to fall in love and marry a man far beneath her in station. Or perhaps it was your father who married beneath him.”
“Da owned a small farm. Mama was an orphan. She was raised by nuns after her mother died birthing her. Her mother was an innkeeper’s daughter, but Mama never knew the name of her father. Being illegitimate always bothered Mama, but Da loved her dearly, never questioning her reasons for educating my brother and me above our stations.”
“Strange,” Jack mused thoughtfully. “Why would a farmer’s daughter need an education? You certainly can’t claim to be a lady. There are things you’ve neglected to tell me, Moira. Such as why you were walking the streets late at night in a blinding storm. Did your lover abandon you? Are you a prostitute?”
Moira rose clumsily to her feet, sheltering her injured arm. Anger and outrage stiffened her petite form and brought a dangerous glitter to her golden eyes. “You, sir, are no gentleman! Strictly speaking I may not be a lady, but I am not a prostitute!”
The corners of Jack’s lips lifted upward. “Strictly speaking,” he mocked, “I am no gentleman.”
“You owe me an apology, sir.”
“Sit down, Moira. I’ll apologize after I hear your explanation.”
God, she was splendid when roused to anger, Jack thought. Full-lipped and provocative, she tantalized with an intense eroticism that enticed and enthralled him. He envied her lover, if indeed she had one.
“I owe you no explanation,” Moira insisted, too upset to sit down. “As long as we’re airing our grievances, I may as well tell you I do not trust you, and your grand plan for my future is suspect. Why should you care what happens to me? My problems are none of your concern.”
Jack unfolded his lanky length from the chair. “I’m making it my business. You’re my responsibility, and I’d rather find you a husband than have you interfering with my own marriage plans. You saw Lady Victoria’s reaction to you. It wouldn’t do to have a beautiful ward underfoot when I bring her home as my bride.”
“I’ll get by,” Moira returned.
“I don’t doubt it. I want the truth, Moira. What were you doing out the night my carriage ran you down?”
Moira turned away, unwilling to divulge the truth for fear of ending up in Newgate. Much to her dismay, she realized she needed Jack’s protection. Since he seemed inclined to believe her earlier lies, she decided to invent another. “Very well. I was meeting my—my lover. I told him that my employers were letting me go because their son fancied me.” Almost true. “I begged my lover to marry me, and he became angry because I had lost my source of income. He broke off our relationship. I was running after him, to beg him to reconsider, when your carriage hit me.” There, she hoped the lie would please him and he would stop hounding her.
“I thought so,” Jack said with a hint of disappointment. He had hoped—ah, well, he should have known better. A beauty like Moira was bound to have lovers. He wondered if Moira had deliberately enticed her employer’s son. “Your choice of lovers leaves much to be desired.”
Moira had no answer.
“No matter.” Jack shrugged. “Needless to say, were I your lover I wouldn’t be so inconsiderate.”
He grasped her chin, raising her face so he could look into her eyes. “Forget the past, Moira. Think only of the future. You’re bright enough to convince any man you’re an innocent virgin. You almost had me convinced.” His smile did not quite reach his eyes.
A flash of pain dimmed Moira’s golden eyes as she stared back at Jack. She didn’t deserve his scorn, yet that was exactly what she got. A man as roguishly handsome and virile as Jackson Graystoke could have any woman he wanted. Why should she believe his interest in her was other than what he’d claimed? Jack felt a certain responsibility for her, nothing more.
“What are you thinking, Moira?” Jack drawled when he saw her eyes turn dark. “Are you wondering if I’m a better lover than your last one?” His hand dropped away from her chin, landing on her shoulder before trailing down to her breast. Jack knew he was treading on dangerous ground but couldn’t help himself. Moira might be experienced, but she had a look of sweet innocence about her that intrigued him. Sweet innocence and pure temptation—what an explosive combination!
Moira held her breath as she felt the heated path of his gaze follow his hand. Her breasts tingled beneath the intensity of his look and intimate caress, and a spark of desire settled in her center and began to grow as she reacted to his touch. She felt her nipple harden against his palm and drew back in alarm.
“Stop it!”
Jack sighed regretfully and removed his hand. “You’re right. As much as I’d like to continue this, I fear you’re not up to it yet. Besides, I’d rather not get involved intimately. ’Tis best we keep this on a purely impersonal level. At least until we find you a husband. After you’re safely wed, we can explore this attraction we have for one another more fully.”
“You think I’d be unfaithful?” Moira gasped in outrage.
“What I think doesn’t matter.”
“I’m not attracted to you. You’re a profligate rake and scoundrel. I find little about you to admire.”
“Don’t you?” he drawled lazily.
Jack couldn’t ignore the challenge. Reaching out, he pulled her close and kissed her long and thoroughly, thrusting his tongue past her open lips, plunging her into sweet perdition. He tasted spicy and hot and delicious. Before she realized what she was doing, she began kissing him back.
Jack was enjoyi
ng the kiss too much. He pulled away with effort. The pure wonder of Moira’s response inflamed him beyond repair. Mesmerized, he watched the pulse throbbing in her white throat and fought the urge to place his lips there.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen.” His voice held a strange hoarseness and he cleared his throat noisily. “I think we’ve conversed enough for one day. You’re tired. You should rest and get your strength back. You’ll need it when I introduce you to society. I predict you’ll be an instant success. An original. We’ll have you married in no time. Tomorrow we’ll discuss current events and literature. A woman should know just how far to go before a suitor is turned off by her intelligence.”
Moira turned and fled. It was a long, long time before breath and awareness returned. By that time she was safely in her chamber, where Jack’s magnetic presence could not tempt her. Jack Graystoke was too intense, too bold, too handsome. She was no match for him.
During the following days, Moira was put through a test of sorts by Jack and Lord Fenwick. She was brought abreast of current affairs, practiced pouring tea, grilled on etiquette and proper behavior with the ton. To Jack’s delight, he found her well-versed on a variety of subjects and intelligent enough to pick up quickly on those she was not familiar with.
During this period, a dressmaker had been engaged to sew Moira a complete wardrobe. Two day dresses arrived within a week, with the promise of three ball gowns to be delivered in time for Moira’s introduction into society. The day dresses were lovelier than any Moira had ever owned, and she wondered where Jack got the money to pay for them. She hoped it wasn’t from Lady Victoria.
To Moira’s vast relief, she and Jack were seldom alone. If Spencer Fenwick wasn’t with them, either Pettibone or Jilly was in attendance. Two weeks after she arrived at Graystoke Manor, Jack announced that she was ready for dancing lessons. When Moira arrived in the drawing room for the first lesson, she was surprised to see Pettibone seated at the out-of-tune pianoforte and the rug rolled back.
The first lesson was a disaster. With Jack’s strong arms around her and the heat of his body assaulting her, Moira couldn’t concentrate on the steps. Even when the dance steps parted them, she could still feel the warmth where his hands had rested on her body. When he introduced her to the waltz, she became so rattled that Jack threw up his hands in despair.
“What’s gotten into you, Moira? A graceful creature like you should be able to pick up the steps without difficulty.”
“Don’t scold her, Jack,” Spence chided. “Moira’s done better than either of us has a right to expect. She’s a country girl, not gentry.”
Jack stared at Moira, seeing much more than a simple country girl. Her beauty outshone the brightest star, and her intelligence was as keen as his. Moira puzzled him. She was like no poor farmer’s daughter he had ever seen. He was convinced she could hold her own with any highborn lady of his acquaintance. Moira was an enigma, Jack decided, and he envied her former lovers.
Moira’s heart beat a rapid tattoo as Jack continued to stare at her. What was he thinking? she wondered. Wasn’t she proving amusing enough? The thought that he was grooming her for another man made her strangely uncomfortable.
“Can we continue tomorrow?” she asked, shaken by her thoughts. “I’ve had enough lessons for one day.”
“Of course,” Jack agreed, “we’ll continue tomorrow. Dancing will be easier once the cast is removed from your arm.”
He watched her walk away, struck anew by her beauty. It occurred to him that he should be grateful to Lady Amelia for throwing Moira into his path. He was enjoying this little charade immensely. Spence’s two thousand pounds were as good as in his pocket.
“You seem quite taken with Moira,” Spence said, watching Jack closely. “Beware, Jack, the lady has a way about her.”
Dragging his thoughts back to his friend, Jack sent Spence an amused look. “Don’t worry about me, Spence. Moira represents two thousand pounds, the exact amount you’ll owe me when she bags a rich husband. She will, you know. With our backing and her natural beauty, how can she miss?”
“I fear you may be right.” Spence heaved a regretful sigh. “I was counting on those grays. They’d look magnificent hitched to my coach. But she isn’t engaged yet, old boy. And if you aren’t careful, she might bag you.”
Strangely uncomfortable with that remark, Jack released a nervous laugh. “I need to marry money, not some little Irish baggage who’s had too many lovers for my taste.”
“You’re sure of that? Has she told you she’s had lovers? She looks so innocent.”
“That’s what I’m counting on, Spence. I don’t want her prospective suitors questioning her innocence, or lack of it. Moira admitted she was meeting a lover the night I struck her down.”
Spence’s disappointment was obvious. “Ah, well, so much for fantasies. I’d imagined many different scenarios, most involving our timely rescue of a damsel in distress.”
“You’re a dreamer, Spence.” Jack’s voice held a hard edge that made his friend fondly recall the Black Jack of old. “We both knew what Moira was from the beginning and were willing to play out our little game. We’re doing this for amusement, remember, and to rid me of an unwanted responsibility. After all, it was my carriage that ran her down.”
He should have known Jack wouldn’t allow a woman to become important to him, Spence reflected upon hearing Jack’s remarks concerning Moira. Still, he couldn’t help thinking there was more between Jack and Moira than met the eye. The air around them vibrated with awareness when they were together. Spence could almost feel the tension between them. He thought this whole business was growing more interesting by the minute and couldn’t wait for the final outcome.
“Are you sure you’re not attracted to Moira?” Spence wanted to know.
“I’m a man, Spence. Does that answer your question? What man wouldn’t be? But I’m not about to lose my head over her.”
Jack’s answer seemed to satisfy Spence. “When do you think Moira will be ready to enter into society?”
“By the time the cast is removed from her arm, she should be groomed and ready to meet the ton. I think the Griswald rout will be a perfect time to bring her out. I received my invitation just yesterday.”
“Have you proposed to Lady Victoria yet?”
Jack shifted uneasily, recalling the countless excuses he’d given Victoria lately to explain his inattention. She hadn’t been happy about it, especially after he failed to show up at her house after the Whitcomb rout. In fact, Jack found himself avoiding her whenever possible.
“Not yet, but soon. I’m aiming for a spring wedding.”
“Invite me to the ceremony,” Spence said. “Well, I must be off. Will I see you tonight at White’s?”
“Perhaps,” Jack said noncommittally. He wasn’t going to admit to Spence that gaming no longer held the same appeal for him it previously had. Nor did drinking to excess. Lady Amelia’s appearance had turned his life awry, and he hoped she was happy.
Two weeks later, the cast was removed from Moira’s arm. She flexed it gingerly and smiled at the doctor when no pain resulted.
“Good as new,” the doctor said, beaming. “I wouldn’t lift anything heavy for a while, though I doubt Sir Jack would allow it. I understand you’re his ward.”
Moira could tell by the doctor’s tone of voice that he didn’t believe the story they had concocted. “Aye. We’re distantly related.”
“Of course,” the doctor said without conviction. “Well, young lady, the best of luck to you. I hope you’ll have no further need of my services.”
“Kind of mouthy, ain’t he?” Jilly said once the doctor left. “He was hinting at something improper. Why, from what I’ve seen, Sir Jack has been nothing but a gentleman.”
“Thank you, Jilly, but I fear you don’t know me very well. Few people would call me a gentleman.”
Moira’s eyes widened when she saw Jack filling the doorway, looking magnificent in tight gray trous
ers and a black jacket molded perfectly to his broad shoulders. His powerful presence was intimidating—just the sight of him was enough to send blood pounding through her veins. He stepped away from the door and crossed the room to where Moira was sitting.
“The doctor said your arm is good as new. How does it feel?”
“Well enough,” Moira replied, flexing her healed limb.
“I’m glad.” Suddenly aware of Jilly staring curiously at them, Jack said, “You may go, Jilly, I wish to speak to your mistress in private.”
“What do you wish to say to me that demands privacy?” Moira wanted to know once Jilly was out of hearing.
“I didn’t think you wanted Jilly to know we’re not really related. Are you satisfied with your new clothes?”
“They’re lovely,” Moira admitted. “I’ve never had anything so grand.”
“Wait until you see the ball gowns. I chose styles that will be flattering to your figure and coloring. I think you’ll be pleased.”
“My dancing has improved,” Moira said, fishing for Jack’s approval.
“So it has. No one will find fault with your dancing. You’ve exceeded my fondest hopes in every way. You’ll take London by storm. I predict you’ll be married before spring.”
The warm glow from Jack’s compliments faded abruptly when Moira pictured herself married to a man she had yet to meet. A man other than Jack. Lord, where did that thought come from? She wouldn’t have a man like Jackson Graystoke if he was served to her on a silver platter. A disreputable rake like him would abandon the marriage bed before it was cold.
“Doesn’t that please you?” Jack asked, puzzled by her silence. “You’ll be able to bring your family to London. Or help them financially if they wish to remain in Ireland.”
“Of course that pleases me,” Moira snapped. “Anything is better than being dependent on you. What about your own wedding plans? Has Lady Victoria accepted your proposal?”
