Nicola Cornick Collection

by Nicola Cornick

  Jack moved, murmuring in his sleep, and pressed his lips to the soft curve of her neck, and something shifted within her that felt unfamiliar and sweet and a lot like love was meant to be. For a moment Sally fought it, denied it, tried to tell herself that it was too soon to love him, impossible, pointless, hopeless and heartbreaking. But she could not resist the feelings that flooded her mind and her body.

  With a sigh she turned over to face Jack. She did not want to be in love with him. She knew it was one of the most stupid things that she could do. He was a rake with a dark past and there could never be anything other than a casual affair for them. But it was too late. Against all sense and reason her feelings were engaged and she acknowledged that she felt such a deep and burgeoning love for him that it filled her with a helpless wash of emotion.

  She needed to distract herself. Smiling a little, she ran her hands over Jack’s chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the smooth skin. He was warm and he smelled deliciously of cedar wood cologne. She bent over and lowered her lips to his chest, kissing him softly, touching her tongue to his bare skin and tasting him with a sensual curiosity that was both exploratory and provocative. Her hand slid lower, down the line of his belly and thigh, her mouth dipping to follow its trail. He stirred and groaned her name, already aroused, his erection straining.

  ‘Does this feel good?’ She whispered, astonished at her own daring, excited at what she could do to him.

  ‘Minx.’ He caught her to him, tumbling her beneath him, rolling her over so that she was lying on her stomach on the pillows. ‘You learn too quickly.’

  Confused, she tried to turn around to ask him what he was doing, but he held her hips down and she gave a shattered cry as she felt the moist flick of his tongue between her thighs. She felt intensely vulnerable as he opened her to the skilled, intimate stroke of his tongue. The sensations gathered and exploded around her like exquisite torture and then she felt the tip of his erection tease her and he entered her in a series of thrusts that immediately sent her tumbling over the edge into cataclysmic orgasm. Trembling, quiescent, she tried to slump on the pillows but he held her steady, maintaining the power of his thrusts, one moment buried within her, the next withdrawing in a rhythm as strong and primal as time. She felt his hands tighten on her hips and then he thrust deep and hard, emptying himself into her.

  For a moment there was nothing but the harshness of their breathing and then he lifted her unresisting body in his arms and turned her to face him, laying her down on the pillows. His kiss was as deep and searing as his possession had been and when he let her go there was a fierce expression in his face as though he were angry with her in some way. She stared up at him, feeling again the sense that there was a part of him that was tormented and dark, a part that he kept locked away where she could not reach him.

  ‘I will conquer this,’ he ground out, and then his mouth came down on hers again with absolute demand and his hand came up to cup her breast as though through his utter dominance of her body he might somehow control his own desires. Feeling the helpless need that coursed through her at the renewed claim in his touch, Sally freed her mouth and gasped, ‘Jack, please, I can’t …’

  But she saw the wicked glint in his eyes and knew it was pointless to protest.

  ‘You can,’ he whispered, his lips drifting over the curve of her breast. ‘You will,’ and she gave herself up to sheer sensation. Yet beneath the desire ran the deep and strong current of her love and, now that she had acknowledged it, Sally knew she could never be free of it.

  ‘Miss Sally!’

  Sally awoke in a panic to the sound of Mrs Matson’s voice. For one dreadful moment she was afraid that her old nurse had come in and found her in bed with Jack. Then she moved and once again the bed felt empty and cold and she realised with a lurch of the heart that Jack had gone.

  ‘Miss Sally.’ Mrs Matson was staring fixedly at the dent in the pillow where Jack’s head had lain. ‘I thought I told you to find a nice young man?’

  ‘Mmm.’ Sally rolled over to prop herself on her elbow. Her memories of the previous night suggested that Jack Kestrel might be many things, but he was not Matty’s idea of a nice young man.

  ‘And instead,’ Mrs Matson continued, still staring with apparent fascinated disapproval at the tumbled bed, ‘you choose a scoundrel.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sally said. She yawned. ‘Was there anything else, Matty? I am a little tired this morning.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Matty said astringently. ‘And, yes, there was something, Miss Sally. I wanted to let you know that Miss Connie has come back. I saw her getting out of a motor car outside only a moment ago.’

  With a muffled curse Sally leapt from the bed, remembering, as Mrs Matson gave a loud shriek, that she was entirely naked. She grabbed a robe, knotting it about her waist, and hurried out on to the landing.

  As she leaned on the wrought-iron banister at the top of the stairs she saw the front door open surreptitiously and her sister Connie come in. She had her shoes in her hand and was tiptoeing across the marble floor to the stairs.

  ‘Good morning,’ Sally said.

  Connie jumped and dropped the shoes with a clatter. She was wearing what Sally recognised to be an evening gown, presumably from the previous night, a sky-blue confection that should have looked divine, but actually looked a little dishevelled now. Her sleek blonde hair was ruffled and she wore no stockings. Connie had a classically pretty face with a pink-and-white complexion and china blue eyes that was almost too perfect in its symmetry. The only thing that marred her expression was the downward droop of her mouth, which seemed to imply perpetual disappointment.

  ‘What on earth are you doing up at this hour?’ Connie demanded, her blue eyes narrowed. She looked less than friendly.

  ‘I always get up at this time,’ Sally said calmly. She watched her sister as Connie started to climb the stairs, wincing in her bare feet. ‘Usually you don’t see me,’ she continued, ‘as you never wake until eleven.’

  ‘Don’t ask me where I’ve been,’ Connie said crossly.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘I was with Bertie Basset,’ Connie said. She reached the landing and stopped defiantly in front of her sister. ‘I have been with him for the last couple of days.’

  ‘I see,’ Sally said. Bertie Basset. She felt a cold dousing of shock as she remembered Jack’s original suspicions about Connie trying to fleece the Bassets one way or another and her own conviction that her sister was up to something. She had hoped against hope it might not be true.

  Connie was frowning at her. ‘You look different,’ she said. ‘More … pretty.’ She scowled. ‘Anyway, don’t scold me. I’m too tired.’

  Sally touched her sister’s elbow. ‘I need to speak with you, Connie. Urgently.’

  Connie pouted. ‘Must you? I’m too tired to talk now! We dined at Grange’s last night and then we went dancing.’ Connie smiled mistily. ‘Then we went to Bartram’s Hotel. It’s very expensive.’

  ‘I see,’ Sally said drily, wondering if Connie would have been less free with her favours had Bertie proposed to take her somewhere cheaper.

  ‘I dined with Mr Kestrel last night,’ she added.

  Connie’s eyes opened very wide. ‘Mr Jack Kestrel? He wanted to dine with you?’ Her face crumpled with disappointment and jealousy. ‘Oh, I would have liked to meet him!’

  ‘He would like to meet you too,’ Sally said grimly.

  Connie smiled, good humour restored. ‘Naturally he would. Everyone who is anyone in London wishes to meet me.’

  ‘In order to take back the letters Mr Basset wrote to you, which I believe you have been trying to use to blackmail Mr Basset’s father.’

  Connie bit her lip. A shade of colour had crept into her cheeks and she looked defensive. ‘That was a mistake.’

  ‘It certainly was.’ Sally tapped her fingers on the banister. ‘What are you up to, Connie?’ she said softly. ‘I know there is something going on. You have been with M
r Basset all night and yet you were trying to extort money from his father.’

  Connie sighed exaggeratedly. ‘Oh, Sal, you are so naïve!’ Her hair swung forward, hiding her expression. ‘Bertie and I had a falling out. I thought it was all over.’

  Sally’s heart sank at this confirmation of her sister’s guilt. ‘So you tried to make some money out of the affair.’

  ‘Why not?’ Connie straightened up. ‘He owed me something.’

  ‘And now that you and Mr Basset are reconciled, what are you planning to do?’ Sally asked sarcastically. ‘Write Lord Basset a letter of apology?’

  Connie brightened. ‘Oh, that is a splendid idea! We may pretend that the whole matter never happened.’

  ‘I was joking,’ Sally said. ‘Mr Kestrel is hardly the man to let the matter go, even if Lord Basset is. And does Mr Basset know that you threatened his father, Connie?’

  The colour deepened in Connie’s cheeks. ‘No! But he would forgive me if he did. We love each other.’

  This unlikely declaration made Sally raise her eyebrows, but she managed to repress the expressions of disbelief that jostled on her lips. ‘Best to make a clean breast of it, then,’ she said, ‘and tell him everything before his cousin does. Mr Kestrel will no doubt come back later. You could try to convince him of your good faith, although I think,’ she added drily, ‘that he will be less easy to persuade than Mr Basset.’

  ‘Oh, I will win him around,’ Connie said airily. ‘He is supposed to have an eye for a pretty face.’ She yawned. ‘I must go to bed, Sally darling, or my complexion will look dismal tonight.’

  With a vague wave of the hand she scampered along the corridor, and Sally heard the decisive click of the door behind her. Sighing, she walked back to her own room and started, rather listlessly, to hunt for something to wear. Talking to Connie about her attempted extortion had depressed her spirits. Even if Connie and Bertie were reconciled, it seemed likely that Lord Basset would think the connection highly unsuitable and try to separate the pair, using Jack as his messenger. And Connie’s feelings for Bertie did not appear to go very deep.

  Anxiety gnawed at her. In the heat of the night with Jack she had forgotten all about Connie and her extortion and blackmail. She had given herself to him with a passion and a hunger that had driven everything else from her mind. Now, however, she remembered that they would not have met at all had Jack not come to the Blue Parrot to find Connie. And he would not have forgotten his original intention, no matter how hot the desire that burned between them. She thought of Jack, and their fledgling affair, and the fact that her bed was cold and empty in the morning. She thought of her newly discovered love for him, how fragile and foolish it was, and then she felt afraid, and she could not quite shake the superstitious conviction that something was going to go terribly wrong.

  ‘Mr Churchward has called to see you, Mr Kestrel,’ Hudson, the butler, intoned. ‘I told him that you were still at breakfast and he is awaiting you in the library.’

  Jack threw down his napkin and got to his feet. He had taken breakfast alone as his uncle’s poor health left him bedridden and Lady Basset never rose before midday even though she was as fit as a fiddle. The house in Eaton Square was gloomy and quiet as a tomb now that his uncle was so ill and the Bassets no longer went out or entertained. Jack felt a strong urge to move out again to his club for the rest of his stay in London.

  Bertie had made no appearance at the table that morning and Jack had assumed, a little grimly, that he had not come back the previous night. Not that he could talk. These days the milk was being delivered when he arrived home. Once again he had forced himself to leave Sally sleeping and had crept out like a thief. This time the impulse to stay with her had been even stronger than the night before. Their intense lovemaking had not quenched the need he had for her. The reverse was true. He had tried to satisfy his desire by slaking his body, but it only seemed to make matters worse. He wanted to possess Sally Bowes’s soul as well as her body, bind her to him as his alone. He had thought it no more than a physical urge. He had been profoundly wrong. The urge to propose marriage to her after a whirlwind three days was growing ever stronger. But that was madness. He had wanted to marry Merle, but there had never been another woman since whom he wished to wed. He could not love Sally as he had loved Merle. He did not want to expose himself to that sort of pain again. Surely this instinct he had to claim her was no more than a combination of old-fashioned guilt and primitive possessiveness.

  Frowning, he crossed the hall and went into the library. He had forgotten about Churchward’s visit. Several days ago, when his uncle had first told him about Bertie’s indiscretion and Connie Bowes’s blackmail, he had asked the lawyer to look into her history. Now he felt vaguely uncomfortable about this, as though he was in some way being disloyal to Sally. He thought of Sally’s candid eyes, of the honesty that she had shown him. Whatever her sister’s duplicity, Sally had surely been telling the truth when she had said she knew nothing of it. All he could do now was to try to deal with the matter as best he could without hurting her.

  Mr John Churchward, of the firm Churchward, Churchward and Boyce of High Holborn, was perched on a chair in the library, his briefcase on his knee, looking slightly nervous. John Churchward was only the latest in a line of the Churchward family who had served the Kestrels as lawyers for decades. The Boyce mentioned in the company name was a recent partner, but Jack had never met him. All his business, including the sorrowful meeting before Jack had been banished ten years before, had been concluded with this man, a thin, stooping figure who had a nervous habit of constantly adjusting the glasses that habitually slid down his nose and whose age was indeterminate. Ten years before, Mr Churchward had been in the unhappy position of confirming that Jack’s father did not intend to pay him any type of allowance at all during his exile. On Jack’s return as a rich, self-made man, Mr Churchward, who had not looked a day older, had seemed genuinely pleased to see him and to discover the independent success Jack had made of his business ventures.

  ‘I came as soon as I could gather the information you required, sir,’ Mr Churchward said now. ‘I have made some enquiries into the background of Miss Bowes and her relationship with Mr Basset.’ He shook his head sorrowfully. ‘A most flighty young lady, if I may say so, sir, and …’ he cleared his throat, blushing slightly ‘… somewhat indiscriminate with her affections as well.’

  ‘You do not surprise me, Churchward,’ Jack said, grimly. ‘Tell me your worst.’

  ‘Well, sir …’ Churchward made a fuss of opening the case and removing a sheaf of papers ‘… Miss Constance Bowes is the youngest daughter of Sir Peter Bowes, an architect of some renown who unfortunately lost all his money in unwise speculation at the end of the last century. She has two elder sisters, the notorious suffragette Petronella Bowes—’ here Churchward’s voice dipped with distinct disapproval ‘—and the equally infamous Mrs Jonathan Hayward, who owns a nightclub in the Strand.’

  ‘Miss Sally Bowes,’ Jack said, his lips twitching. ‘I believe she prefers not to be known by her married name, Churchward.’

  ‘I dare say,’ Mr Churchward said frostily. ‘A woman of that stamp—’

  ‘To return to Miss Constance,’ Jack said, cutting in ruthlessly as Churchward’s description of Sally roused a violently protective feeling in him, ‘what of her subsequent career?’

  ‘Well, sir …’ Churchward cast Jack a startled look at his inflexibility of tone. ‘Miss Constance was twelve when her father lost all his money and fifteen when he died. She lived for a number of years with a maiden aunt. There was …’ he consulted his notes ‘… some scandal over a flirtation with a piano teacher and later a thwarted elopement with a young gentleman called Geoffrey Chavenage.’ He cleared his throat. ‘When her sister, Mrs Hayward—Miss Bowes, that is—was widowed Miss Constance went to live and work with her at the Blue Parrot Club.’ Churchward stopped. ‘Two years ago, both women were involved in a rather unsavoury lawsuit for breach
of promise.’

  Jack, who had got up and strolled over to the window whilst this recital was continuing, now turned around sharply. ‘Both women?’ he questioned. He felt a chill down his spine, a premonition that something was about to go awry. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Churchward extracted a couple of sheets from his pile of papers. ‘Miss Constance Bowes sued a Mr John Pettifer over breach of promise to marry. Her elder sister stood as a witness and supported her throughout the case. They won,’ Mr Churchward said, with gloomy dissatisfaction, ‘and were awarded substantial damages.’ He paused, pushing his glasses back up his nose. ‘It was also Mrs Hayward who dealt with the matter of her sister’s unfortunate elopement. The Chavenage family allegedly paid out to keep the matter from the courts because Miss Connie was under age at the time.’ He cleared his throat. ‘So one might conclude, sir, that this case involving Miss Constance and your unfortunate cousin is part of a pattern to entrap young gentlemen into indiscretion and subsequently extract payment from them.’

  Jack’s dark eyes had narrowed and a muscle tightened in his cheek. ‘And you are certain,’ he demanded, ‘absolutely certain, that Miss Sally Bowes—Mrs Hayward—supported her sister in bringing both these cases?’

  He saw Churchward’s surprise at the vehemence of his tone. The lawyer’s eyes blinked myopically behind the thick lenses of his glasses. ‘Yes, sir.’ He held out the papers. ‘I have the court transcripts here. Miss Bowes was her younger sister’s most staunch supporter in the case against Mr Pettifer and my sources also informed me of her role in the Chavenage case.’

  Jack took the papers. He would not, he told himself sternly, believe a word against Sally until he had seen the evidence with his own eyes. And yet even as the thought went through his mind he was scanning the papers before him. In Churchward’s neat annotations he read that the Chavenage family had apparently paid Mrs Hayward seven thousand pounds to keep the matter of her sister’s elopement with Mr Geoffrey Chavenage out of the courts. Chavenage senior was a Member of Parliament and Jack could see how badly the elopement of his son with an underage girl might affect his political standing. With increasing anger and disbelief he turned to the court transcripts for the Pettifer breach of promise case. Again, Sally had been very active in supporting her sister’s claim and had presented Connie Bowes as an innocent who had been cruelly betrayed by an experienced older man. Jack raised his brows with incredulity that the judge could have been so taken in.