Читать книгу Nicola Cornick Collection: The Last Rake In London / Notorious / Desired - Nicola Cornick, Nicola Cornick - Страница 12

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. She loved the early morning when the building was quiet and felt as though it belonged to her alone. This morning all her senses seemed to be more acute; she could smell the rich beeswax and lavender furniture polish, see the way in which the early sunlight gleamed on the wood and hear the sounds of the carts outside in the street. The Strand never slept. Even this early there was the rumble of wheels and the sounds of raised voices. But here in the club there was no noise but the splash of the little waterfall in the atrium as it played amidst the spiky palm fronds and cool marble statuary.

There was a letter on the mat by the door. It had been hand delivered and must have arrived at some point in the night. Sally recognised her sister Petronella’s scribble on the envelope. She picked it up and sat down on the stairs to read it.

Please, dear Sal, please, please help me! Clarrie and Anne are in Holloway Prison because they refused to pay their fines and their families are without support and have nowhere to turn. I need money for food and lodging and medicines. My own little ones are sick with the fever. If you could but loan me two hundred pounds …

The feeling of well being drained abruptly from Sally’s body and she read the letter again carefully. Two hundred pounds … A cold, cold shiver touched her spine. She let the letter drift from her fingers. Two hundred pounds was a fortune, enough to buy a house, more than enough comfortably to keep a family for a whole year. But she knew medicine was prohibitively expensive and fever could sweep through crowded tenements like a fire, destroying all in its path. She also knew that Nell would not ask for money unless she was absolutely desperate. Like Sally herself, Nell was too proud for charity and was determined to earn her own money.

Sally leaned her head against the banister and closed her eyes. She did not have two hundred pounds to spare. She had overreached herself with the refurbishment of the Blue Parrot and was already in debt. Yet she had always looked after Nell and Connie, trying to help them if she possibly could. It was part of the pact she had made with herself because of her guilt about their father’s death. She thought of Nell struggling to look after her own and other women’s children when their men folk were dead or had deserted them and they were in prison. Her throat locked with pity and distress.

I do not know how I may manage if you cannot help me, Nell had written. I have my own fines to pay for breach of the peace and sometimes I feel it is not worth the struggle, and yet I cannot abandon the principle of universal suffrage. But if the choice is between that and Lucy and George starving, then I do not know what I can do. Please help me, Sally. You are my only hope.

Sally sighed. She did not support the suffrage movement through militant action as Nell did and felt a terrible guilt that she professed the politics and yet did so little to help her sister. And now there were children suffering and dying of the fever for want of the money to buy medicines. Sally could not bear for anything to happen to them.

She picked up the letter and went back upstairs, her mind running over ways in which she might raise the money to help. She could not borrow further from the bank unless she mortgaged the house, a course of action she was loath to take. There were perhaps a few people whom she could approach for a loan—Gregory Holt, an investor in the club and an old friend of her family, had always offered himself as a shoulder to cry on, but Sally knew he wanted more than friendship from her and did not wish to take advantage of him and put herself in his debt. She could not ask Jack. She barely knew him and that would put their relationship on quite a different footing. She was determined to maintain her independence.

She knocked on Connie’s door as she passed along the landing, but there was no answer; peeping around the door, she saw that the bed had not been slept in. With another sigh she went back to her room and rang the bell for the maid to bring her morning tea. The day did not seem quite so bright with promise now. She knew she had to find a solution to Nell’s problems and find it fast. She had no idea what to do.

‘What do you think?’ Jack said. He was watching Sally’s face as he waited for her reaction. They had dined at White City, in the Grand Restaurant at the Franco-British Exhibition, and now they were poised two hundred feet above the ground in the fairground amusement called the Flip Flap. Beneath them the white-stuccoed buildings of the exhibition were spread out like a magical world that gleamed in the moonlight. The cascade was lit by a thousand coloured lanterns that were reflected in rainbow colours in the waters of the lagoon. Sally gave a sigh of pure enjoyment and Jack felt a surprising rush of pleasure to see her happiness.

‘It is quite, quite beautiful.’ She turned to him, smiling. ‘And quite absurd of you to pay for us to have the entire carriage to ourselves.’

Jack shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to have to share the experience with anyone but you,’ he said.

Sally turned away, resting her elbows on the side of the carriage and looking out across the lights of the capital.

‘They say you can see as far as Windsor on a fine day,’ she said. ‘We came when the exhibition first opened. It was a terrible crush. I brought my sister Nell and her children.’ She laughed. ‘Connie refused to come because she said that, although it was fashionable to be seen here, there were too many ordinary people. Her loss, I suppose. We had a splendid time.’

Jack was not surprised at this insight into Connie Bowes. The more he got to know her sister, the more different they appeared. He’d had someone out looking for both Connie and his cousin Bertie Basset all day, ever since he had received a message from Sally that morning informing him that Connie had not returned home the previous night. He was not sure which of them irritated him the more, Bertie for causing his family so much distress at a time when his father was dangerously ill, or Connie for undoubtedly having an eye to the main chance.

It had been an unsatisfactory day. Jack was not accustomed to finding his attention wandering in business meetings, a fact directly attributable to the woman now standing beside him enraptured by the view. His concentration had been severely affected all day. He had a pile of work requiring his consideration, several urgent decisions to be made and a diary full of appointments to keep, yet he had chosen to take Sally Bowes to the exhibition rather than using the evening for the business dinner he had originally planned. His sanity must be in question.

He had been shaken when he had awoken that morning to realise that he did not want to leave Sally’s bed. He had wanted to stay with her so strongly that the impulse had completely perplexed him. He had never wanted to stay with a woman any longer than it took to say goodbye. But Sally had been warm and soft curled up beside him in the big bed, her body satiated from the passion of their lovemaking. He had found himself holding her as though he never wanted to let her go.

Somehow he had found the strength to leave, but then he had lost the advantage by spending the entire day thinking about her anyway. He smiled ruefully to himself. He had thought that to take her to bed would drive this need for her from body and his mind, only to find that his desire was more acute than ever.

Just as disturbing as his unquenched lust was the guilt he felt on seducing an innocent. Jack played the game by the rules and ravishing virgins was not his style. He knew that Sally would say she was as much seducer as seduced, that his scruples were unnecessary, and that she could take care of herself, but he still felt that what he had done was wrong. Perhaps he was more old fashioned and conventional than he had imagined, for despite the fact that he had known her three days, and despite his deep-rooted rejection of marriage, he wanted to do the right thing. His instinct to propose to Sally was very strong and he assured himself it was nothing to do with the pleasure he took in her company, but simply because he had been brought up a gentleman.

‘Jack?’ Sally was standing looking at him, her face tilted up towards him, eyes bright with excitement. Tonight she was wearing a gown of deep green silk that seemed to flow fluidly over her body. It was embroidered with flowers and decorated with lace at the neck, a concealment that only served to emphasise the lush curve of her breasts. The night was warm and so she had only a diaphanous shawl about her shoulders. Beneath it her skin gleamed pale and tempting.

‘I wondered,’ she said, as the Flip Flap started to descend to the ground again, ‘if you would care to take a swan boat on the lagoon with me before we go back?’

Jack’s preference would have been to go directly back to the club and take up where they had left off the previous night, but Sally looked so excited and happy, and she caught his hand and pulled him towards the lake. They paused on the white ornamental bridge that crossed the water.

‘Such a beautiful night!’ Sally said. She glanced sideways at him. ‘With anyone else I would say that it is a night made for romance, but I remember you telling me yesterday that you do not believe in such fanciful stuff.’

‘I do not believe in love,’ Jack said. ‘It is a convenient fiction invented to dress up physical desire.’

Sally sighed, her gaze on the rippling water. ‘And yet you must have been in love once?’

‘It is true that I thought I loved Merle.’ Jack spoke harshly. Her words echoed too closely the painful memories he had been thinking of only moments before. ‘I did love her. It was the single most destructive experience of my life.’

Sally’s eyes were wide and dark on his face. ‘Why?’

‘Because I lost all control and all judgement.’ Jack shrugged. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Suddenly he made a sharp gesture. ‘You thought you were in love with your husband when you married, didn’t you? And that could hardly be said to have turned out happily.’

Sally was silent for a moment. ‘I was young,’ she said. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing. I expect you did too when you eloped. Everyone makes mistakes.’

Jack laughed harshly. ‘Not everyone makes mistakes that were as unforgivable as mine.’

Even though he was turned away from her, he could feel Sally’s gaze on him. She put a gentle hand on his arm.

‘Do you ever talk about Merle?’

‘No.’

‘It was a long time ago. Do you still love her?’

Jack did not answer, did not know the answer. He had loved Merle passionately and then he had wanted to forget her equally as passionately, but had never been able to escape her memory and her legacy. He was haunted by his guilt over her death and his self-loathing at his own weakness. But he did not want to think about that now. He wanted to wipe out the memory in the passion of Sally’s embrace.

Sally shivered and drew her shawl more closely about her shoulders as though she could sense his disquiet. ‘Never mind the boat ride,’ she said. ‘Let’s go back,’ and although she did not utter a word of reproach, Jack knew that his abruptness had broken the spell between them.

He caught her wrist, pulling her into his arms. He kissed her hard, the thrust of his tongue invading her mouth mercilessly, feeling her yield. He felt angry, but was not sure why. All he knew was that he wanted to slake all that anger and pain in Sally’s warmth. His hands held her tightly against him, and he slid one of them from her waist to her breast, feeling the nipple harden against his palm. He eased the pressure of the kiss and heard her catch her breath.

‘We cannot do this here …’ Her whisper was shocked and with a rush of awareness Jack realised they were still standing on a bridge in the middle of the lagoon, illuminated on all sides by the brightly coloured lights of the cascade. Anyone could see them.

He took her hand and pulled her towards the archway that led out into Wood Lane. For the first time he was glad that they had driven there rather than taking the underground. At least the car would afford them some privacy, although it would probably feel like hours until they got back.

He held the car door for her, started the engine, then slid in beside her into the intimate darkness. He could hear her breathing and feel the powerful awareness that shimmered between them. The complicated anger was still in him, but overlaid with desire. He gripped the wheel of the Lanchester tightly, concentrating solely on getting back to the Strand. If he started to think about making love to Sally he would probably stop and do precisely that in the middle of a London street.

‘I don’t understand,’ Sally said. Her voice was soft. ‘I don’t understand how I can feel like this when I barely know you and I don’t understand the devils that drive you.’

Jack took one hand briefly from the wheel and covered her clasped ones. ‘Don’t think about it,’ he said. There was a rough undertone to his voice. He could sense her gaze on him in the darkness, but he did not dare look at her. If he did so, he would kiss her and then …

They said nothing more as the car drew up outside the Blue Parrot, but the silence between them was electric. The tension had spun tighter and tighter as the journey progressed and now that they had finally got to their destination the anticipation was almost choking him. This time Jack picked Sally up and carried her through the main doorway and up the stairs, under the astounded gaze of Alfred the doorman and various assorted and scandalised guests who were milling around in the entrance hall. Sally struggled, one of her pretty little sequin-encrusted evening slippers coming off and bouncing down the steps.

‘Put me down!’ she hissed. Her face was pink with indignation. ‘Everyone can see!’

Jack smiled down into her face. ‘So?’

‘You are doing this to the benefit of your own reputation and think nothing of mine,’ Sally said.

Jack put her on her feet gently on the soft carpet at the top of the stairs. ‘Too late, my sweet,’ he said. ‘Everyone already believes you to be a racy and outrageous nightclub owner—so why not live up to the role?’

He dropped a kiss on her parted lips, smiling again as he took in the startled, upturned faces of their audience down in the hall. Loosening his tie, he said, ‘Come along. I am taking you to bed.’

‘Jack!’ Sally blushed a vivid scarlet.

‘It’s no more than I have wanted to do all day,’ Jack said. He could barely wait to get her as far as the bedroom as it was. With one arm about her, he hustled her down the corridor, past the appalled, upright figure of Mrs Matson, thrust open the bedroom door and pulled her inside.

‘I can’t afford to lose another corset,’ Sally said.

Jack laughed. ‘You won’t even notice it’s gone,’ he promised, lowering his mouth to hers again. The shimmering, devastating pleasure took him again as soon as their lips touched and he allowed his mind to go dark until he was aware of nothing but their spiralling need and the urgent demand to claim her again as his and his only.

This time when Sally awoke it was still dark outside and there was only one candle burning low in the room. The building was quiet. Jack was lying beside her, one arm lying across her bare stomach in a casual gesture of possession. She moved slightly and his arms tightened about her, drawing her closer to him. He felt warm and a lock of his hair tickled her cheek.

Sally lay still for a moment. Her mind felt sleepy and heavy, but her body was starting to stir, aroused by the proximity of Jack’s nakedness. For a second the sensation troubled her. She had always thought that a woman’s physical needs were supposed to be less powerful than those of a man and yet she had matched Jack’s need for her every step of the way. And surely she should feel guilt over her behaviour. She had not known him long, did not know him well, but felt so powerful a desire for him that it was completely immodest.

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 Mr 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.

‘Of course,’ Mr Churchward was saying, in his precise manner, ‘we must consider the possibility that Miss Constance Bowes was indeed the injured party in both of these instances—’

He broke off as Jack slammed one fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘I think,’ Jack said, ‘that is as likely as hell freezing over.’

‘Sir?’ Churchward looked confused.

‘Apologies, Churchward—’ Jack straightened up, casting the papers aside ‘—but I do not for one moment think that is likely. Miss Constance’s attempt to blackmail my uncle fits too neatly with the pattern for it to be a coincidence.’ He strode over to mantelpiece and rested an arm along the top whilst he tried to think coolly and calculatedly about Sally Bowes’s deception. She had told him that she knew nothing of Connie’s extortion threats and that she would do all she could to return the letters.

And he had believed her.

Fool that he was—he had been taken in by her apparent frankness, intrigued by her intelligent mind, led astray by his lust for the luscious body she hid beneath those deliciously silky gowns. There was evidence here, chapter and verse, of two occasions on which the Bowes sisters together had entrapped a young man and walked away with a fortune, but in his hunger for Sally Bowes he had almost fallen for her lies. He had exonerated the elder sister from the greed and cupidity of the younger, when in fact she was probably the one who arranged all the details of these unscrupulous affairs. Sally provided the brains, Connie the looks, to fleece the gentlemen of their choosing.

Something twisted inside him that felt almost like pain. Jack was not accustomed to feeling pain in any of his love affairs. It was something that had not happened to him for ten years. Then he felt anger, so intense and searing that for a moment his mind went blank.

‘Mr Kestrel?’ He became aware that Churchward was addressing him. ‘What would you like me to do now, sir?’

‘Churchward,’ Jack said slowly, ‘thank you for gathering this information for me. What I would like you to do now is to find out who the investors are in Miss Sally Bowes’s club, the Blue Parrot. Find out, and then approach them to see if any would be prepared to sell their stake.’

Churchward’s brows shot up. ‘Are you looking to invest in a nightclub, sir?’

‘No,’ Jack said grimly. ‘I am looking to ruin Miss Sally Bowes’s business, Churchward. Find the investors and buy them up. I want that club. I want Miss Bowes in my power.’

‘Mr Kestrel is here to see you, ma’am—’ Sally’s secretary had barely managed to get the words out when Jack Kestrel shouldered through the doorway into the office.

‘I’ll announce myself,’ he said. ‘Miss Bowes …’ He gave her an unsmiling nod.

Sally had been unable to concentrate all morning, a fact that she knew her secretary had noticed with curiosity. She had made half a dozen errors in her arithmetic and had started and abandoned three letters to the club’s suppliers. Her attention had been torn in half between worrying about Nell’s situation and thinking about Jack, and neither had been conducive to work. When Jack’s name was announced she had felt her heart do a little flip and the heat had rushed through her body in an irresistible tide, but then she had seen his face, his hard, uncompromising expression, and the smile had faded from her eyes as she had known at once that something was dreadfully wrong. Her superstitious dread had been well founded.

He did not look in the least glad to see her. In fact, he looked thunderous.

‘Thank you, Mary,’ Sally said, rising to her feet and nodding to the secretary to close the door behind her. Her heart was beating uncomfortably fast now. Already the abruptness of Jack’s tone and the dislike that she could see in his eyes reminded her all too clearly of their first meeting, before they had taken dinner together, before he had kissed her, before that tempestuous and passionate lovemaking that even now stole her breath to remember it. She felt confused, as though time had slipped back and all the things that she knew had happened between them over the past few days had never been.

‘This,’ she said, as calmly as she was able, mindful of the staff in the outer office, ‘is distressingly similar to your arrival two days ago, Mr Kestrel.’

Jack slapped a pile of papers down on the desk in front of her. ‘Do you deny that you supported your sister in a claim for damages after an elopement and also in a breach of promise case in 1906, Miss Bowes?’ he demanded.

Sally’s stomach lurched. She felt a little sick. So Jack had been digging into Connie’s past affairs. She might have guessed that he would. He must have started his enquiries before they had met, but even so she felt horribly betrayed. She remembered the previous night, the things she had done, the heated, intimate, perfect things she had allowed him to do to her, and she could not bear to think that all the time he’d had no trust in her. Even now the memories could make her melt with longing and she hated the fact that he could still do that to her when he was standing there like a cold-faced stranger. That was humiliating. But what was blisteringly painful was the fact that she had loved him then and, despite everything, loved him still.

‘You have been quick to make enquiries into our business, sir,’ she said stiffly.

‘Naturally,’ Jack said. His expression was stony. ‘Did you think I would simply trust your word, Miss Bowes? How surprisingly naïve for a woman like you!’

He allowed his gaze to appraise her insolently from her plain brown shoes to her neatly pinned hair. ‘I have to say that you have been very convincing over the past couple of days. I almost believed you honest. You are evidently both practised and clever.’

The pain of his contempt sliced through Sally like a knife. ‘You have this utterly wrong!’ she said. ‘Yes, I was involved in supporting Connie through the breach of promise case two years ago, but she had been cruelly let down and I wanted to help her—’

‘Oh, spare me the false protestations of innocence.’ The derision in Jack’s voice was searing. ‘Your sister’s attempt to extort money from my uncle is part of a pattern of blackmail that both of you have perpetrated for years.’

Sally’s outrage swamped all other emotions. ‘How dare you? It is not!’

Jack tapped the sheaf of papers. ‘The detail is all here, Miss Bowes.’ He straightened up. ‘Chavenage, Pettifer, and now you seek to add my cousin to the list.’

Sally’s mind was spinning. She knew that the cases looked damning, but her heart was sore that Jack had come to accuse, not to ask her for the truth. They had only known each other a brief time but even so, she had hoped that it would have been enough for him to trust her. Evidently not. He could make love to her with no emotional commitment whatsoever. He had no respect for her. She felt despair at the contrast with her own feelings.

‘I know that the breach of promise suit looks bad,’ she said desperately, ‘but if you would only let me explain! Connie loved John Pettifer. His desertion caused her immense distress.’ She stopped at the look of utter disbelief on Jack’s face.

‘You are breaking my heart, Miss Bowes,’ he said cynically. ‘The truth is that your sister is nothing but a gold-digger and you are as good as a procuress!’ He looked at her thoughtfully and under his scrutiny the colour burned into her face because she knew he was thinking about their nights together.

‘I am surprised,’ he drawled, ‘that you held on to your virginity for as long as you did when it was something that you could sell for money. Did you see me, Miss Bowes, and think that I was rich enough to be made to pay? How long before I receive a visit from your lawyer bringing a court case for deflowering an innocent girl?’ He laughed, and the contempt in it shrivelled Sally’s soul. ‘Damn it, even if I have to pay up, it was almost worth it. You tasted very sweet.’

The fury and misery swamped Sally. She found she was shaking. She thought of Nell struggling to find two hundred pounds to save her own children and buy medicine and food and she thought of Jack’s hateful callousness. If he already had such a low opinion of her, what did it matter what else he thought about her? She would never be able to change his opinion. Their sweet affair was over before it had barely begun and her love with it.

She took a deep breath.

‘I would settle for two hundred pounds,’ she said.

As soon as the words were out she thought she was going to faint at her own audacity. She felt sick and shaky. Jack had turned away for a moment and now he spun around to look at her and his eyes widened as though, even with the poor opinion he held of her, she had surprised him. Perhaps she had. Perhaps he had not expected her to be so shameless. Sally concentrated fiercely on thinking of her family and waited.

His gaze was hard and appraising as it scoured her from head to toe and left her trembling. Then he smiled, a cynical smile. His put his hand, very slowly, into his pocket and withdrew a leather wallet.

‘My advice,’ he drawled, ‘would be to negotiate your fee in advance in future, Miss Bowes.’

Sally swallowed hard. Her throat was dry and her heart was beating so hard she thought he would be able to see how she shook.

‘Two hundred pounds for two nights,’ Jack said, extracting some fifty-pound notes from his wallet. ‘You could have asked for much more.’ He came up to her and put a hand against her cheek. His touch was gentle, but the expression in his eyes was hard. ‘How much do you want to be my mistress?’

Sally closed her eyes. She knew that with her demand for money she had confirmed every belief he had about her mercenary soul. And yet despite the hostility between them he still wanted to sleep with her because the searing, sensual passion between them had not yet been sated. Having purchased her virginity, he thought he could buy her to be his mistress.

She had sold her virginity for two hundred pounds.

The reality hit her like a rip tide, making her tremble with despair and self-disgust. And straight on the heels of that thought she felt Jack lean down and his mouth take hers with ruthless intensity.

The kiss was a statement of possession and though it was over almost before it began, it shook Sally to the core. He let her go and she rocked back on her heels, catching her breath. Once again his gaze appraised her with insolent thoroughness, as though stripping every one of her clothes from her.

‘How much?’ he repeated. He put the banknotes in her hand.

‘Nothing,’ Sally said. She cleared her throat. ‘That is … I have no interest in being your mistress, Mr Kestrel.’

A cynical smile tugged at Jack’s lips. ‘I am sure you could be persuaded, Miss Bowes, for the right price.’ He straightened. ‘We will discuss this later. In the meantime I want to talk to your sister. She is here?’

‘I … Yes …’ Sally tried to pull herself together. ‘Connie is indeed here—I spoke with her this morning.’ She glanced ostentatiously at the clock. ‘Connie will still be abed, Mr Kestrel. You are somewhat early this morning, and I am afraid that my sister seldom rises before midday.’

‘Then we will go and wake her,’ Jack said grimly.

‘Very well.’ Sally stalked towards the door. She was still shaking. She needed some time alone. The banknotes seemed to burn her palm. ‘Please would you wait here?’ she said.

‘I am hardly going to sit idly by whilst Miss Constance escapes out of a back window,’ Jack drawled. He raised a brow. ‘Surely you are not concerned about a gentleman entering her bedroom? There must have been plenty over the years, judging by the detail in these papers.’

Sally gritted her teeth. Having just proved herself perfidious and money-grabbing in his eyes, she was not in a particularly good position to defend anyone else. She tried to focus on Nell’s children. Now they could have a roof over their heads and the medicines they needed. And Nell would be able to help the other families too …

‘Constance,’ Jack was saying thoughtfully. ‘What a damnably inappropriate name for your sister, Miss Bowes. Unless it is constancy in the pursuit of a fortune, of course.’

Sally ignored him. She thrust open the office door and stormed into the outer office, where Mary and the girl who did the typing were sitting trying to pretend that they had not been eavesdropping on every word. This time Jack had to hurry to keep up with Sally as she marched up the two flights of stairs and charged down the corridor to Connie’s room, flinging the door open.

The room was in darkness.

Sally picked her way across to the window and flung back the curtains so that the daylight flooded into the room.

It looked as though a tornado had swept through, or a very untidy burglar had ransacked the place. The bed was empty and unmade, the sheets and blankets in a tangle at the bottom. The wardrobe door was open and there were piles of clothes strewn on the floor with random shoes littered amongst them.

‘What on earth—?’ Jack began.

‘Connie is very untidy,’ Sally said abruptly, picking her way through the puddles of clothes to the dressing table.

‘She is also very absent,’ Jack pointed out.

Sally picked up the single sheet of paper that was on the dresser. It was only four hours since she had left Connie to sleep off her excesses, but now a cast-iron certainty hit Sally hard in the stomach. Her sister had never intended to stay. She had sneaked in to get some clothes and then she had run away. With Bertie Basset. She looked at the note.

Darling Sally, by the time you read this I shall be gone! Bertie and I are to be married and we went away secretly, immediately after I saw you this morning.

Sally sat down very suddenly on the dressing-table stool. In the mirror she could see her shocked, pale reflection staring back at her. She thought of Connie and Bertie Basset and a lifetime of misery and infidelity and the divorce courts. Connie had never loved anyone but John Pettifer and Sally knew she did not love Bertie in the all-consuming way that a woman should love the man she chose to marry. Connie was using Bertie, and it could only end in heartache.

We knew that Bertie’s father would never accept our love and would make poor Bertie give me up, so the only way for us to be together was to elope. We had resolved on it even before we heard that Bertie’s horrid cousin Jack was on the warpath. I am sorry to have deceived you, but I love Bertie so much that the fact he now has no money simply cannot be allowed to weigh with me and I must be united with him …

Little liar, Sally thought. She knew her sister’s feelings were as shallow as a puddle. She could see the whole swindle now: Bertie, immature and easily led, genuinely wanted to marry Connie and she wanted his title, money and status. They had cooked up an elopement together but Connie had also hatched a daring plan to have her cake and eat it. They had guessed, quite rightly, that Lord Basset would cut Bertie off without a penny, so Connie had tried to both blackmail Lord Basset and trick him into thinking the affair was all over. Had he paid up to keep her quiet, she would have got both the money and the man …

Emotion dried Sally’s throat to cardboard. There was no denying that her sister was a cunning little piece. When Connie had heard of Jack’s involvement she had realised that the money would not be forthcoming and had decided to cut her losses and run away with Bertie anyway. No doubt they would hope that, given time, the family would accept their nuptials.

Jack came across and took the piece of paper from Sally’s hand. ‘Not some new piece of fiction from your sister, Miss Bowes?’ he said. A frown darkened his brow as he scanned the letter. ‘In love with Bertie? What utter sentimental nonsense! I will say this for you and your sister—you are very inventive! I hardly need ask if you were party to this!’

‘Of course I was not,’ Sally said. She slewed around on the seat in order to glare at him. ‘Can you not read, Mr Kestrel? Connie apologises for deceiving me. Or are you so suspicious by nature that you think that we are in this together and that she put that in the letter merely to mislead you?’

Jack’s eyes narrowed as he reread the lines. ‘It matters little one way or the other, I suppose,’ he said dismissively, ‘since you are both as greedy and materialistic as each other.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘So your sister thought to get my uncle to pay her off and thus finance her to run away with my cousin? A cunning plan!’

Sally got slowly to her feet.

‘It’s a damnable disaster,’ she said.

Jack stared at her. ‘But surely you must be pleased, Miss Bowes?’ he said sarcastically. ‘Your sister has managed to catch herself a baron’s heir this time, no mere gentleman like Geoffrey Chavenage or John Pettifer. And even though my uncle may cut Bertie off without a penny, he cannot cancel the entail, and of course, my uncle is very sick and might die at any moment …’ Once again Sally felt the stinging contempt in his gaze. ‘It is a neatly executed swindle, I will give you that.’

‘It’s nothing of the sort,’ Sally said. ‘It is madness. My own experience teaches me that no one should marry unless they truly love one another—’ She broke off at the look of bored cynicism in Jack’s eyes.

‘You really are a piece of work, are you not, Miss Bowes?’ he said. ‘Such high-flown sentiments, such grasping avarice!’

‘Neither Mr Basset nor my sister should be contemplating matrimony with anyone,’ Sally snapped. ‘He is weak, immature and easily led and she is not in love with him, whatever she says! Your uncle will probably recover his health and live to be one hundred and in the meantime they will have no money and will fight like cat and dog and the whole marriage will be a complete fiasco and end in misery or the divorce courts within six months!’ She looked at him. ‘I suggest that you take yourself off to Gretna Green to try to prevent the marriage, Mr Kestrel, and let us hope you are not too late! They can only have had a few hours’ start.’

Jack did not move immediately, as she would have wished. Instead he stood still, watching her with a quizzical expression that disquieted her.

‘It is an excellent idea of yours to stop the wedding,’ he murmured, ‘and I fully intend to go to after the happy couple. There is just one small aspect of the plan that I would change, Miss Bowes.’

‘Well?’ Sally demanded impatiently. ‘What is it?’

‘You,’ Jack said. ‘You are coming with me.’

‘No, I am not!’ Sally was so horrified that she took a hasty step backwards and almost tripped over her skirts. Jack immediately put out a hand to steady her, but she snatched her arm from his grip.

‘You are not in a strong position to argue, Miss Bowes,’ Jack said smoothly. ‘You have just taken two hundred pounds from me.’ He paused. ‘I think that gives me the right to demand what I like from you.’

Sally shook her head. ‘No, it does not. I did not intend—’

‘What, to sell yourself to me?’ Jack raised a brow. ‘Forgive me, but I thought that that was exactly what you intended.’ He slid a hand around the nape of her neck, drawing her closer. ‘Did you think that a couple of nights was all that I wanted?’ he asked, his lips so close to hers that she could feel his breath. ‘Oh, no, Miss Bowes. I want you with me, in my bed, until I tell you otherwise.’ He rubbed his thumb experimentally over her lower lip and his eyes darkened with desire and satisfaction at the gasp she could not quite stifle.

‘I think,’ he added conversationally, ‘that I might decide to claim the ten thousand that your casino owes me, as well. That should take you a long time to pay off.’

Sally gasped and he took advantage to cover her lips with his own in a savage kiss.

‘I’ll be waiting in the car,’ he said, as he let her go. ‘Don’t take too long.’

After he had gone out Sally stalked across the room and slammed the door of Connie’s wardrobe for no more reason than it gave vent to her feelings. She had never been a violent person before she met Jack Kestrel, she thought bitterly. In two short nights he had turned her life upside down. And now, if she cared what happened to Connie, she had little choice other than to go with him. She could imagine what would happen to Connie once Jack caught up with her and Bertie Basset. He would drag Bertie back to London and leave Connie to fend for herself.

You have just taken two hundred pounds from me. I think that gives me the right to demand what I like from you.

For a brief moment, Sally put her head in her hands. Damn him, how she wanted to give the money straight back to him. But she could not, not if she did not want Nell to suffer. The deed was done now and what did it matter? Jack had believed the worst of her before, had thought she and Connie had deliberately set out to fleece Chavenage and Pettifer. His scorn had seared her to the soul so what did it matter now if he thought she was a greedy adventuress who sought to make profit out of their nights of passion? At least she had the money for Nell’s children and that made her fiercely glad.

She went into her own bedroom, drew aside the curtain, and looked down on to the street. The Lanchester was standing outside the main entrance to the club, its silver bodywork gleaming in the sunshine. Sally sighed. She had barely noticed the motor car the previous night, being conscious only of Jack and the need to get back to the club as quickly as possible. Now, as she saw the small crowd that was gathering to admire it, she thought bitterly how typical it was of Jack Kestrel to have the longest, lowest, sleekest, most ostentatious and expensive car in London—and to flaunt it outside her front door.

She pulled a small portmanteau out of the cupboard and started to pack a few necessities, trying to work out how long they might be away for. She knew she had an excellent manager in Dan, who could look after the business of the club on a day-to-day basis. And if they were to take the railway to Scotland, she supposed she would not need to be away for more than a few days. She would be back in plenty of time to put the final touches in place for the grand opening of the Crimson Salon.

‘I want you with me, in my bed, until I tell you otherwise,’ Jack had said. Sally shivered with a mixture of nervousness and sensual awareness. She could not deny that she found Jack devastatingly attractive, but she had never imagined, never dreamed, that it would be like this. That very morning she had acknowledged that she had tumbled helplessly in love with him. His poor opinion of her and callous disregard for her feelings had bruised her, but it had not destroyed the blazing awareness there was between them. She trembled to think of being once again in his bed, but she knew that she would not, could not, succumb to him again.

Resolutely putting the thought from her mind, she took an envelope from the desk, stuffed Jack’s money into it and scribbled Nell’s direction on it. Then she went to join Jack in the car.