Nicola Cornick Collection: The Last Rake In London / Notorious / Desired. Nicola Cornick
that he knew she was his alone.
He felt a huge, primal surge of masculine satisfaction, something that he had never experienced before. It was disconcerting to discover that he could feel this way. It hinted at emotions he did not wish to explore.
‘So,’ he said, when she seemed disinclined to start the conversation, ‘you were a virgin.’
He looked at her. She was avoiding his eyes, fidgeting with the covers, looking both tempting and defiant. Something like indignation stirred in him. ‘You,’ he said, ‘are a widow, damn near a divorcée, you’re the owner of the most sophisticated club in London …’ He stopped. ‘How the hell,’ he finished slowly, ‘did that happen?’
She smiled ruefully. ‘It … didn’t happen.’
‘No,’ Jack said. ‘I appreciate that now.’
Sally looked down. She had wound the sheet about herself so that it wrapped her lovely, voluptuous body up in a column of white. He wanted to unwind it again, take her again.
‘Jonathan was unable to consummate our marriage,’ she said, after a moment.
‘Clearly.’
‘He … did not find me attractive.’ She looked defensive, blushing. ‘I thought that there was something wrong with me.’
‘So you thought to use me to prove that there was not?’ The words came out more harshly than Jack had intended. He saw her flinch and cursed himself.
‘I thought,’ she corrected him, ‘that it was extraordinary that you seemed to want me.’
It did not seem extraordinary to him. Resisting her was his only difficulty. Her husband had evidently been a fool. Unless …
‘Did he prefer the company of men?’ he asked.
Sally shook her head. ‘I do not think so. I think he preferred street women. He said that he had no difficulties with them, but that I was too …’ she hesitated, her tone flat ‘… too dull to interest him. He tried to make love to me, but it was no good. After we had tried—and failed—several times, he never came to my bed again. It was mortifying. I thought that it was my fault.’
Jack made an involuntary move towards her, then let his hand fall. He wanted to reassure her, to prove to her—again—that he found her incredibly attractive, but they needed to finish the conversation first.
‘Listen to me,’ he said. He caught her hand. The sheet slipped a little. She made a grab for it, but he held her still.
‘It must be apparent to you now,’ he said, ‘that you are an exceptionally attractive woman. Your husband’s lack of interest in you was in no way your fault.’
She bit her lip. ‘Thank you.’ She sounded as polite as though he had handed her a plate at a tea party. Jack wanted, suddenly and violently, to kiss her.
‘And there was never anyone else?’ he said.
She shook her head slowly.
‘So why me?’ Jack said. ‘Why now?’
She looked at him with those beautiful hazel eyes and hesitated.
‘Sally?’ he prompted.
‘Perhaps I should not say it,’ she said, ‘but it was because I wanted to.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘Maybe it is immodest in me to admit it …’
Jack gave her a look. ‘A little late for that now.’
She smiled a little. ‘Yes.’ She looked at him very directly. ‘I wanted to find out what it was like. And …’ suddenly she blushed very vividly ‘… I wanted to find out with you.’
‘You could have warned me,’ Jack said mildly. ‘It would have been nicer.’ He smiled. ‘Nicer for you.’
She evaded his gaze. ‘It wasn’t exactly bad for me, Jack.’ She traced a pattern on the sheet with her fingers. ‘Would it have made a difference to you, had you known? Would you have refused me?’
Jack thought about it. He remembered the absolute, driving need that he had felt to possess her, the sweetness of her surrender, the desire he had, even now, to slake his hunger for her again. He shook his head.
‘No,’ he said. He put a hand out and caught hold of the sheet that wrapped her up. ‘But then, I am a rake.’
Her eyes widened. He realised she was shocked.
‘I thought—’ She cleared her throat. ‘I thought that you would leave now.’
He laughed and tugged suddenly on the end of the sheet. It unfurled, leaving her naked to the waist.
‘What a lot you have to learn, my sweet,’ he said.
Chapter Four
Sally woke up as the morning sun crept across the floor of the bedroom and touched her face with its warmth. She opened her eyes slowly. She could tell that it was very early, for the light still had its dawn pallor. Out in the street she could hear the rumble of carriage wheels and the scrape and crash of the vendors setting up their stalls, but behind that noise were the calls of the birds in the garden at the back of the house and the splash of water in the fountain. It sounded peaceful.
She yawned, stretched and reached out a hand. The bed was empty. Somehow she had known that it would be. Jack had gone whilst she was asleep.
He had made love to her twice more through the long, hot darkness of the night, teaching her things she could never have imagined, taking her to places she had never even thought could exist, showing her things about herself and her responses that had dazzled and overwhelmed her. He had held her in his arms and shown her tenderness, but despite her inexperience she had not confused that with love. She knew he did not love her. There was something within Jack she was already all too aware that she could not reach, something dark that he had locked away.
He had left a note. On the table beside the bed was a crisp white piece of paper.
‘Dinner tonight at eight.’ The arrogant black scrawl suggested that he had not for a moment considered that she might refuse him. Despite herself, Sally smiled a little. So it was not over yet. Her body suffused with heat at the thought.
With a sigh she sat up, reached for a robe and thrust her feet into the little swansdown slippers that were one of her few concessions to frivolity. She frowned a little to see the pink dress crumpled on the floor, but the pieces of the corset made her blush. She would never, ever be able to view Matty’s needlework scissors in the same light again.
She opened the door of her room and walked along the landing to the stairs. Her body ached a little. It felt unfamiliar, heavy, lush in its satiation. Sally examined her feelings. There was no guilt. She felt more astonished at herself than anything else. Astonished and pleased … But beneath the pleasure she was a little afraid. She was afraid that she might have fallen in love with Jack Kestrel last night. Everything had happened so fast, like a whirlwind. If she opened the door a crack and acknowledged her feelings, she was afraid that the love would swamp her. Her parched soul, which had welcomed Jack’s desire for her, would give freely of its love as well. And he would not want that.
She had not mistaken lust for love the previous night. She might be inexperienced—less so now, admittedly—but she was no impressionable girl. She knew that Jack had wanted her desperately, violently, in the same way that she had wanted him, but equally she knew that it was just an affair to him. Yet she could not help herself. She could feel all the danger signs: the swooping sensation in the region of her heart at the thought of seeing Jack again, the breathlessness that was not merely from anticipation of his lovemaking, the pleasure she took in his company.
She would have to be careful and sensible, for Jack would surely not want her love and she did not wish her heart to be broken …
Yawning, she went down the staircase and into the hall.