Pure Temptation

by Connie Mason

  Within a few days, Jack was taking tentative steps around his chamber and determined to venture downstairs despite both Moira’s and Pettibone’s objection.

  “This bloody wound is not going to keep me in bed,” Jack said belligerently as Moira fussed over him one afternoon. “I have pressing duties and numerous responsibilities that must be attended to.”

  “They’ll wait,” Moira said, stifling a smile. Not long ago, Jack’s sole responsibility had been to marry a wealthy wife, his only duty to uphold his reputation as a rake. “Has Mr. Pettibone spoken to you about Matilda?”

  “Aye. I’ve never known Pettibone to take up a woman’s cause as he has Matilda’s. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was smitten.”

  Moira sent him a smug look. “Matilda has taken over duties as housekeeper and is doing a remarkable job. I’m beholden to her for helping me. She has no relatives and nowhere to go. I fear Sir Dashwood will find her and exact punishment for her betrayal if she’s turned out on the street.”

  “I’ve already told Pettibone to put the woman on the payroll,” Jack said. “I’m more than grateful for what she did for you. She has a job in my household for as long as she likes.”

  Moira’s relief was immediate. She wanted no loose ends when she left. “Thank you. Is there anything you’d like while I’m here? Perhaps I can read to you.”

  Jack gave Moira an enigmatic look, then patted the bed. “Sit here beside me.”

  “I don’t think…that is…”

  “Please.”

  Put that way, she couldn’t refuse. Perched gingerly on the edge of the bed, she had no idea what Jack intended until he pulled her into his arms.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” he rasped breathlessly. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling deeply of the fragrant scent she used on her hair. He loved the color; more copper than red, so vibrant it had a life of its own.

  Raising her chin, he lowered his mouth and kissed her, starved for the taste of her sweet mouth. Stunned by his strength after suffering so grave an injury, Moira submitted willingly to the hungry violence of Jack’s mouth, parting her lips so he could deepen the kiss. His hand fell to her breast, and she leaned into the caress, loving him so extravagantly she had no control over her response. Her body burned with longing, making her forget he was recovering from a serious wound.

  After several long minutes of frenzied kissing, Jack tore his mouth from hers. “I want you, Moira. It frightens the hell out of me when I think how close you came to becoming a victim to the disciples of the Hellfire Club.” His hands sought the buttons on her dress. “I need you. I didn’t realize how much until you were gone.”

  Moira went still. “You’re not well enough for this, Jack.” Deliberately she removed his hands from her bodice. “Besides, there are things you don’t know about me.” She took a deep breath. “About Lady Mayhew’s necklace…”

  “I know you didn’t take it. You could never do anything dishonest.”

  Moira cleared her throat and said, “The night you found me lying in the gutter…Your carriage didn’t strike me. I had jumped from Lord Mayhew’s coach. He was taking me to the Hellfire Club, and I’d rather die than let that happen. He thought I was dead and left me lying in the gutter. It’s a miracle you came along when you did.”

  A ghost of a smile hovered at the corners of Jack’s mouth. “It was no miracle. Lady Amelia knew exactly what she was doing that night.”

  Moira was too distraught to catch Jack’s meaning. “It was wrong of me to let you think you were responsible for my injuries. I didn’t know you and feared you would hand me over to the authorities if I told the truth. The Mayhews were determined to press charges. I had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. I took advantage of you, Jack. How can you forgive me?”

  “It was I who took advantage of you,” Jack corrected. “Spence and I had no business using you for our amusement. At the time, his two-thousand-pound wager was mighty tempting. At first, I sincerely wanted to find you a rich husband. After I came to know you, I couldn’t bear the thought of another man having you. What a muddle I’ve made of things.”

  “I’m as much to blame as you. I could have told the truth any time I wished.”

  “It’s over. I haven’t decided yet what to do about Mayhew, but I swear he’ll never harm you again. I want you for my wife, Moira.”

  “Wife? No! It’s impossible. You can’t. It just isn’t done.”

  “I can do as I damn well please.”

  “You’re a duke. I’m a farmer’s daughter.” She clutched the locket hanging from her neck, wishing she knew how much truth she could place in her mother’s tale about noble blood flowing through her veins.

  “I don’t care what you are. You’re the woman I want to marry, the woman I want as the mother of my children.” Moira looked confused. “You still don’t understand, do you? I love you, Moira.”

  “Oh, no, you can’t!”

  “And I think you love me.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ve heard the gossip. Society will never forgive you. Marrying me will ruin your reputation.”

  Jack laughed. “What reputation? Is that a polite way of saying you don’t love me?”

  Moira wanted to blurt out to the world that she loved Jack Graystoke beyond reason, beyond time and space, but she loved him too much to ruin him. “I’m saying I can’t marry you.”

  Jack’s face hardened. “I can’t believe you’d rather become my mistress than marry me.”

  Moira blanched. “I’m not saying that, either.”

  “You’re the most exasperating female I’ve ever known. I don’t want you for a mistress.”

  He gathered her close and held her tightly as he fought the fear of losing her. It seemed as if he’d waited his entire life for Moira. He kissed her tenderly. Fiercely. Ignoring the twinge in his back from his healing wound, he framed her face in his hands. He brushed his lips over her eyelids, the upward curve of her brow, down her silken cheeks. His tongue flicked over her lips, tasting them, teasing them, then parting them to explore the sweet depths within.

  His hand trailed down her throat, across her breast, her stomach, continuing along her hip to the juncture of her legs. Cupping her between her thighs, he felt the incredible heat of her need seeping through her clothing. “You want me,” he whispered raggedly. “You’re hot and wet down there.” He eased her down on the bed and raised her skirts with an upright sweep of his hand.

  “Jack, no! Someone could come in. There is enough talk in the household without providing more fodder for the gossip mill.”

  Before she knew what he was about, he slid out of bed and locked the door. Moira gasped, unaware that he had been naked beneath the sheets. She had assumed he wore small-clothes on the lower part of his body. She gaped at him, mesmerized by the beautiful symmetry of his form. Except for the bandage covering his wound, he was pure perfection. Strong and virile and wickedly tempting. Because of his healing wound, his steps were slow and deliberate, but his body was strong and determined when he returned and pressed Moira down onto the mattress.

  “You’ll hurt yourself.” Moira resisted. “Your injury…”

  “It will hurt more if I don’t love you,” Jack told her as he began undressing her with firm, steady fingers. “You’re mine, sweetheart. You’ll always be mine. Fight it all you want, but I’ll wear you down until you agree to marry me.”

  He dragged off her dress, then her chemise, tossing them aside. He stared at her breasts, cupping them gently and lifting them to his mouth. Her skin was warm and tempting, and Jack drank deeply of the clean, arousing scent of her. He heard the sharp intake of her breath when he drew her nipple into his mouth, suckling her. His hand moved downward over her abdomen and she arched against him, her body straining for the same kind of pleasure she’d experienced before in Jack’s arms. When his fingers slid possessively into the soft triangle between her legs, sweet, sharp, almost painful sensations shot through her veins.

  Wave after
wave of delicious heat washed over her, until nothing but raw need remained. With a will of their own, her arms twined around his neck, pulling him closer, arching her back, offering more of herself to his mouth and hands. Jack stiffened and gasped. Realizing that she had hurt him, she started to withdraw, but Jack would not permit it.

  “No. The pain is nothing compared to the agony of wanting you. The day I found you lying in the gutter was the luckiest day of my life.”

  Then his mouth followed the same path his hand had forged, blazing a fiery trail from the tight little buds cresting her breasts across her flat stomach into the lustrous copper curls crowning her thighs. A low scream tore from her throat and her hips surged upward.

  “Jack! No, you mustn’t!”

  A ripple of laughter slipped past his lips as his hands caught her hips and held her fast. “Aye, sweetheart, I must. I promise you’ll like it.” He cupped her bottom and lifted her even higher, denying her escape from the intimate exploration of his mouth. She made a soft mewling sound deep in her throat, wanting to die from embarrassment. She never imagined men and women were capable of doing such wicked things.

  Moira was amazed at the sensations she experienced, so new, but oh, so blissful. Searing flames consumed her woman’s center, destroying her senses, stealing her reason. She was painfully aware of every sensation, every gasp, each moan, of his rough hands on her body, his mouth on her most intimate places. The chamber echoed with sensuous sounds of fevered lovemaking. The whisper of sheets beneath her naked back, the vibration of hot breath upon even hotter flesh, the silken slide of skin against skin. Love sounds, erotic sounds. Sounds too intimate to describe. Her moans were coming faster and her body shivered with liquid tremors as scalding heat sped through her veins.

  “Jack! I can’t bear it! It’s too wicked.”

  “Aye. You taste wicked and wanton and incredibly wonderful. Sweeter than the sweetest ambrosia. I’ll settle for nothing less than all of you.”

  Drugged by his words, Moira rocked against his mouth, her hands clinging to his shoulders, her nails digging into his back. She felt like a bowstring that was drawn to the limit of its endurance, and beyond. Suddenly the bowstring snapped, sending raw ecstasy surging through her. She cried out wordlessly, finding no words to describe the feeling. Then Jack was sliding upward along her body, finding her mouth and kissing her. She tasted herself on his lips, thinking vaguely that it wasn’t at all unpleasant.

  Grasping her hand, Jack brought it to his groin. “Feel what you do to me, love. I have no control where you’re concerned.”

  He was hard and hot. Steel covered in velvet. She moved her hand experimentally up and down his throbbing length, shocked at her wantonness. Jack spit out a harsh growl and removed her hand. She expected him to roll atop her and take his own pleasure and was startled when he merely kissed and caressed her.

  Her breath caught in her throat. Surely it wasn’t possible to find pleasure again so soon, was it? Jack proceeded to show her how naive she was. He kissed her ravenously, until her lips were swollen and red, then lavished rapt attention to her breasts, sucking each nipple deeply into his mouth and laving the tight buds with the rough surface of his tongue. His hands worked magic on her slick, sensitive folds, thrusting his fingers into her moist crevice until she was vibrating with need.

  “Take me, Moira. Take all of me,” he said in a gasp. His control hung by a slim thread. If he wasn’t deep inside her soon, he’d explode.

  Moira hesitated but a moment, then grasped the thick root sprouting from the dark forest between his legs and guided it into her moist center. There were no words to mar the moment, just the thunder of heartbeats as he drove into her, filling her so completely she felt possessed. His mouth devoured her neck and shoulders, trailing downward until it latched onto her breast. Her back arched, taking him fully inside her, stretching her unbearably. The power of him, the utter strength of him seemed to flow into her with each thrust. She cried out from pure joy, caught in a whirlwind that transported her beyond mere pleasure to rapturous oblivion. Never had she felt so completely consumed by another human being.

  It was a strange kind of helplessness, welcome yet frightening. The blinding heat building in her center moved upward and outward. Then she was falling, falling, spiraling down toward a dark, searing abyss that sucked her into a pool of pure bliss.

  Spurred by Moira’s savage response, Jack thrust long and deep within her tightness, wild with the sheer rapture of being where he belonged, where he wanted to be. When he heard her sobbing little cries intensify and felt her contract around him, he drove deep and held himself there, poised on the brink of ecstasy. When she arched up to meet him, he flexed his hips, impaling her, flowing onto her, into her, a moan rumbling in his heaving chest. She felt his seed splash against the walls of her womb and clasped him tightly with her arms and legs, wanting to keep him there as long as possible. He stared into her eyes, his own eyes wild, savage, intense. Satisfied. No matter who or what stood between them, they belonged together.

  Jack sighed and rolled off Moira. The exertion had cost him dearly. His wound was afire and his head was throbbing, but it had been worth it. Moira watched him closely, realizing this kind of activity was definitely not recommended for a convalescent. Guilt washed over her, and she slid from bed.

  “This shouldn’t have happened. Let me look at your wound.”

  Jack obliged, rolling over onto his stomach. Heaving a sigh of relief, Moira saw that the bandage showed no signs of renewed bleeding. The doctor was to remove the stitches tomorrow, and she’d have a difficult time explaining a recurrence of bleeding.

  “Well, what’s the verdict?” Jack asked with a hint of amusement.

  “I don’t think you did yourself any harm, but to be on the safe side this can’t happen again.”

  When no reply was forthcoming, Moira’s eyes settled on Jack’s face. She wasn’t too surprised to see that he had fallen asleep. She pulled a cover over him, donned her clothes and quietly left the chamber. She had much to think about. Jack’s declaration of love and subsequent proposal had been totally unexpected. No matter what he said, she couldn’t allow him to sully his title by marrying beneath him. He had just recently come into his title and wasn’t thinking clearly. He had a responsibility to his peers and standards to uphold. He was no longer Black Jack Graystoke, debauched rake. He was the Duke of Ailesbury, an old and honorable title, one he could not besmirch. He owed it to his cousin’s memory to conduct himself with reasonable dignity. And that meant marrying a woman of equal rank.

  An hour later, a visitor arrived at Graystoke Manor. Since Pettibone had gone on some mysterious errand for Jack and the maids were nowhere in sight, she answered the door. When she saw who was calling, her mouth dropped open in surprise.

  “Moira! I see Lord Graystoke found you. I never did ask how you two met, and I don’t want to know, but he certainly seemed intent upon finding you when he called on me.”

  Lord Mayhew, the Earl of Montclaire, stood on the doorstep, his tall, dignified form only slightly bent with age. Moira blanched and would have turned and ran if she thought he would go away. “Lord Montclaire, I didn’t know you and Jack were acquainted. Have you come about the necklace? I didn’t steal it.”

  Montclaire gave her a startled look. “That’s not why I’m here. It’s imperative I speak to Lord Graystoke. May I come in?”

  Moira remained firmly in place, refusing Montclaire entrance. “Lord Graystoke isn’t receiving. He’s recuperating from an injury.”

  The old man searched her face. “What kind of injury?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “See here, young lady, I carry no grudge against you. I understand my son rescinded all charges against you, and I’ll not dispute him. Lady Mayhew has her necklace, and I’m not sure you stole it in the first place.”

  “That’s good of you, milord. I didn’t steal the necklace.”

  “Be that as it may, I’m giving you the
benefit of the doubt. Now, we both know I’m not young anymore and I won’t be kept standing around while you make excuses. I insist upon seeing Lord Graystoke.”

  Moira’s temper flared. “Lord Graystoke was seriously injured. He needs rest. He hasn’t awakened yet from his nap.”

  “Again I ask, what kind of injury did he sustain?”

  “Very well, if you insist. Jack was shot by your son, milord. Shot in the back.”

  The earl staggered under the weight of Moira’s words. “Surely you jest.”

  “I wish I did.”

  “’Tis worse than I expected,” he lamented. “I will wait until Lord Graystoke awakens.”

  “It’s all right, Moira. Show Lord Montclaire upstairs. I’ll see him.”

  Swiveling her head, Moira saw Jack standing at the top of the stairs. He had dressed himself in trousers and shirt and was leaning heavily against the banister.

  “What are you doing out of bed?” Moira all but shouted. “Are you certain you’re up to receiving company?”

  Montclaire’s sharp gaze settled on Moira, his perception keen despite his advanced age. He had assumed Moira was Jack’s mistress, but realized now that it went deeper than that.

  “Stop coddling me, Moira. I’m perfectly capable of dealing with this.”

  When Jack returned to his chamber, Moira issued a stern warning. “I’ll show you to Lord Jack’s chamber, milord, but you must promise not to tire him.”

  “I’ll do my best, young lady,” Montclaire said, “but I must get to the bottom of this. It does concern my son, does it not?”

  Clamping her mouth shut, Moira led the way to Jack’s chamber. Jack was sitting in a wing chair by the fireplace, waiting. He indicated that Montclaire should take the chair opposite him. Moira turned to leave.