Redeeming Jack (9 page)

Jack rose from the table and strolled toward the inn door without inquiring if she were ready to leave. Picking up her reticule and bonnet, Carys followed him out into the bustle of the muddy stable yard, where the duke’s elegant carriage awaited them. The sky was sullen and heavy with rain. It took all Carys’s resolve to force herself back into the confined space. Because of her dawdling, Jack and Gareth were seated opposite each other. Gareth frowned when she attempted to sit beside him.

“Sit next to Jack. I need my space.”

With a scowl for her brother, Carys flounced into the seat beside her husband. Hours passed, and rain drummed on the carriage roof in a ceaseless tattoo. Gareth snored, his mouth agape, and Carys found herself nodding off, her head pillowed against Jack’s broad shoulder.

Her dreams always began well. She was in bed, the sweet smell of lavender around her. Turning, she reached out and touched Jack’s cheek, enjoying the roughness of golden stubble and the curve of his full lower lip.

Her body warmed even as she tensed. Sometimes when he opened his eyes it would be Jack. Sometimes, when the bad dream took over, his lifeless corpse lay beside her. She never knew until the last moment whether she would feel the coldness of long-dead skin or the quickening of aroused masculine flesh under her fingertips.

She struggled to wake up and half-opened her eyes as Jack murmured something in Welsh, their private language of love. Relief flooded her and she leaned into him, exploring his skin with the tip of her tongue, inhaling his male scent.

He groaned and drew his fingers down the side of her face, settling them at the nape of her neck, drawing her closer. She gladly opened her mouth when his tongue skimmed her lips and melted into his embrace.

It wasn’t until his fingers fumbled with the buttons of her pelisse that she realized she was awake. With a gasp, she tried to draw away. His hand closed like a vise around the back of her neck.

“I’m sorry, Jack. I thought I was dreaming. I didn’t mean to—”

He cut her off with another kiss, this one more demanding, more possessive. She wanted to drag his hand to her breast. She wanted his mouth there. Shocked at her own response, she bit his lip.

“Hell-cat,” he jerked back.

She faced him, trying to hide her desire, knowing he would sense it anyway. “Stop it, Jack.” She glanced nervously at Gareth but he appeared to be sleeping. “I’m
sorry
.”

Jack pressed a finger to his now swollen lip. “For what? Kissing me or biting me?”

“Both.” Carys said firmly. “I was at fault. Please forgive me.”

“I’ll forgive you the kiss, but not the bite.” Jack sat back, his expression resigned. “I suppose I should be flattered that you dream about me.”

“Your conceit knows no bounds. Perhaps I was dreaming of another.”

“Who would that be, I wonder? The infinitely dull Lord Rice, or the other man you mentioned—Owen, wasn’t it?”

“Owen does love to kiss me, and how could I deny him?”

Jack’s smile disappeared and he brought her back against his chest. “Be silent, keep your eyes open and kiss me. I’ll wager I can make you forget them all.”

His mouth descended and he drew her even closer until she was almost in his lap, her thigh pressed against the bulge of his cock, her arms around his neck and her fingers in his hair. He groaned her name as she drew her knee up and straddled him, only the thin muslin of her skirts and the buckskin of his worn breeches separating their heat. His hand moved down to her bottom and clasped her even more firmly against him.

“God, Carys, I…”

Gareth snorted in his sleep and the carriage began to slow, making Carys scramble away from Jack’s many temptations as fast as she could. She brought her gloved hand to her trembling mouth and simply stared at him.

Jack’s smile was far too confident for her liking. “We are approaching Didcot. Perhaps you might like to wake Gareth up?”

* * *

Jack frowned as the carriage inched its way into the crowded stable yard of the Red Dragon Inn. Despite the lateness of the hour, the inn was ablaze with lights. Doors stood open, and people spilled out onto the narrow street. He breathed in the heady scent of pent-up male aggression. It reminded him of the precious, terrifying seconds before the commencement of a battle.

He turned to Carys. “Stay in the carriage. Let me go in and see what is afoot.”

He shouldered his way through the crowds of men loitering in the yard and eventually found the harassed landlord directing his staff in the heat of the kitchen.

Jack bowed. “Good evening. My party booked rooms for tonight under the name of Diable Delamere.”

The landlord wiped his meaty hand on his filthy apron and held it out. “You must be Lord Jack Llewelyn. I’m Mr. Harry Cornwell. The duke told me to expect you.”

A roar of laughter filtered through from the crowded tap room as a blushing maid ran into the kitchen, her bodice askew.

Jack gestured behind him. “The village seems crowded tonight. Do you still have the rooms?”

Mr. Cornwell scratched his head. “Well, sir, there’s a cock fight being held out on the common. I’ve managed to keep one room for you and that was difficult enough, what with the money I’ve been offered for it. But I would hate to fall foul of the Duke of Diable Delamere.” The innkeeper looked furtively over Jack’s shoulder. “He isn’t with you, is he?”

Jack resigned himself and Gareth to a night spent on the floor. If there was, indeed, a cock fight in the vicinity, every hostelry around would be full to bursting. He spared a grateful thought for the ubiquitous duke who could still inspire fear fifty miles from his illustrious presence. “What about a private parlor?”

“I’m sorry, my lord. They are all taken. But I can arrange for dinner to be brought up to you.”

Jack nodded. “Send a maid to attend my wife as well. Don’t worry, I’ll ensure that she stays in her room for the duration of our stay.”

Mr. Cornwell bowed, the relief evident on his face. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll see to the stabling of your horses myself.”

Pushing his way back to the carriage, Jack opened the door and helped Carys down. “We’ll have to stay here.” Jack said. “There’s no other choice.”

Carys tugged on his sleeve. “Whatever is going on?”

Jack pressed forward, scowling at any young gallant who dared to ogle his wife. “There’s a cock fight in the next village. The landlord managed to save us a room. For once, you will obey me and stay inside.”

In the doorway of the inn, a woman wearing a low-cut diaphanous gown stumbled against Jack. She giggled, cracking the thick paint on her face, and laid a hand on his arm. Her large breasts almost escaped her bodice. “Excuse me, love.”

The overwhelming smell of cheap perfume and gin stung Jack’s eyes. Carys stuck out her elbow and pushed past the unknown woman, her nose in the air. Jack stifled a grin as Carys dragged him up the stairs.

When they reached the chamber set aside for them, Carys whirled to face Jack, her hands on her hips. “Do you enjoy being the object of every wanton’s attention? Did it escape your notice that you had your wife on your arm?”

“I can’t help it if a pretty woman wants to speak to me. A man has his needs.”

One of her eyebrows shot up as she pulled off her bonnet and attempted to smooth her wayward hair. Red glints shone in the candlelight like tiny sparks of escaping temper. “Don’t let me stop you,” she snapped. “If you are that desperate, I’m sure the landlord can direct you to the nearest brothel.”

A knock on the door announced the arrival of their baggage. Gareth tipped the servant. Ignoring his companions, he commenced a loud discussion as to the dinner he required.

Jack gave Carys his laziest grin. Ruffling her feathers was always a pleasure. “I don’t have to pay, Carys, and I never have.” He lowered his voice. “And as you were the one who fanned the flames, so to speak, don’t you feel responsible for aiding my relief?”

Her eyes blazed retribution, and he took an involuntary step backward. Gareth cleared his throat, winked at Jack and announced his intention of visiting the kitchens. Jack scarcely acknowledged his departure, his attention all on Carys who continued to glare at him.

“I don’t care what you do, Jack,” she said.

“Yes, you damn well do.” He walked toward her until she was backed up against the bed.

He wrapped his arms around her and sought her mouth, aware of the heat building in him, desperate to draw a response from her when she couldn’t pretend she’d been dreaming. He leaned into her until her knees buckled and she fell backwards onto the feather bed, trapped beneath his weight.

Her mouth opened under his and he took possession of it, sliding his hand down her back to lock her hips against his. His cock jerked and filled out, wanting pleasure, wanting
her
.

She moaned. “Stop it. This doesn’t solve anything.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” He kissed her fiercely, fitting his hardness to her softness, feeling her yield. “But it’s better than fighting, and that’s the only other thing we do well together.”

He pictured her in Rice’s arms or, even worse, in the unknown Owen’s bed. Breathing hard, he stared down at her. She lay still, eyes closed, hands palm upwards on the coverlet like a fallen angel. Would she allow him to bed her because she missed one of the other men? Was her suppressed passion for another?

He closed his eyes and forced himself to take his hands off her. “I’ll go and see where Gareth is. Don’t leave the room.”

He strode toward the door, trying to ignore his unsatisfied cock demanding satisfaction. It had always been thus. He’d lusted after her at twenty-four and married her, despite her youth. She aroused and befuddled him so much that he lost his common sense. But he’d changed, hadn’t he? He couldn’t just repeat the same mistakes; he owed her that much.

Jack clattered down the narrow stairs. It had been a mistake to be cooped up in a carriage with her. She affected him even more than before, his body long starved of a woman’s touch, his imagination filled with erotic images of her welcome and familiar sultry taste. He licked his lips, tasting butterscotch and the hint of her arousal, and forced himself not to turn around and take her to bed.

He shoved his way through the crowds to the main taproom in search of Gareth. Amongst the roar of conversation, an insistent hand tugged on his arm and refused to be shaken off. Irritated, Jack turned to remonstrate and froze when the cold barrel of a pistol nudged his neck.

“Come quietly now, lad. I don’t want to splatter your brains all over these nice gentleman.”

Jack didn’t think he’d care about that much if he were dead. But he obediently turned and allowed himself to be hustled into a narrow alley separating the main house from the stables. His assailant threw him against the wall with such force that he forgot how to breathe. By the time he regained his senses, his captor had wrapped a hand around his throat.

“Captain Fury wants to know why you brought a woman with you.”

Jack swallowed as best he could. “She has nothing to do with my mission and thus nothing to do with Captain Fury.”

The man tightened his fingers. “Don’t try and be cocky with me, lad. I have orders to top her if she’s in Captain Fury’s way.”

In a burst of cold rage, Jack gathered his strength and struck out with his booted foot. The man collapsed on the ground, clutching his right knee.

Stepping over the moaning figure, Jack hoped he’d crippled him permanently. “You can tell Captain Fury that if he touches her, I’ll come after him.”

After rearranging his cravat and wiping a smear of blood from his lip, he returned to the inn. This time, he spotted Gareth’s red head almost immediately. He sat with a company of young men who welcomed Jack like an old friend.

Gareth waved him to a seat. “Come and have a drink. You deserve one after putting up with my sister all day.”

Jack picked up an abandoned tankard and swallowed the contents down in one—a feat that drew a roar of applause from the occupants of the table. “I won’t stay. I need to ascertain your sister’s state and then I intend to enjoy my dinner.”

Gareth looked around and lowered his voice. “Jack, I’m going to the cock fight with my friends here. Don’t tell Carys, will you? I’ll find my own way back and I’ll be ready to leave in the morning. She’ll be none the wiser.”

Jack pretended to frown. “Gareth, I thought you a man of God.”

Gareth gave a snort of laughter as he got to his feet and looked pious. “Never fear, I’m only going to persuade them of their wickedness. What else would a parson be doing at a cockfight?”

Jack followed Gareth upstairs, where a maid was busy laying out a substantial meal on the table. He took in Carys, resplendent in a soft nightgown and thick shawl. Her face was flushed, her lips a little swollen from where he’d kissed her. She regarded him steadily, refusing to drop her gaze until he was the one to look away.

With a sigh of contentment, Jack sat down and helped himself to a hearty dinner. He surreptitiously loosened his cravat to allow his swelling throat some relief. With Gareth going out, Jack had to convince Carys that she needed him to guard her. Not only from the drunken male crowds below, but also from the sudden unexpected threat of Captain Fury.

He stared at his wife’s uncompromising expression. How the devil was he going to manage that?

“I WON’T HAVE IT, Jack. You can’t sleep here.”

Jack remained by the door as Carys folded her arms across her chest and looked down her nose at him. Over dinner, she had retreated into her new calm and dignified persona, which simply made Jack want to shake her.

“I’m not suggesting we sleep in the same bed. Merely that we sleep in the same room.” He pointed down at the stout wooden floorboards that failed to mute the roars of male drunkenness from below. “Gareth isn’t around to chaperone you. He’s probably off hobnobbing with the local vicar and I can’t leave you alone.”

“I’m not stupid. I know exactly where Gareth’s gone. My only surprise is that you haven’t followed him.”

Jack noted her covert glance at the door when another roaring song broke out below. “What if someone tried to break in here? I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”