Читать книгу Nicola Cornick Collection: The Last Rake In London / Notorious / Desired - Nicola Cornick, Nicola Cornick - Страница 14

Jack fiddled irritably with his cufflinks whilst the long-suffering valet he had borrowed from his brother-in-law put the final touches to his wing collar.

‘If you could just keep still a moment longer, sir,’ the man said resignedly. Jack sighed and tried not to tap his foot. The dinner suit, shirt and tie were all borrowed as well as the servant. It was fortunate that he and Stephen were of a height. He was a little broader across the shoulder and could feel the material straining a little, but it was not a bad fit. He hoped he did not split the jacket. It was no wonder his brother-in-law had given him a tuxedo rather than his best tailcoat to wear, but he thought that Lady Ottoline would probably cut up rough when she saw that he was not in formal evening dress.

He wondered what Charley would find for Sally to wear to dinner. Whatever it was, it would not be able to eclipse that luscious pink gown she had worn two nights before. He rubbed a hand across his forehead. He felt a sudden, bitter flash of emotion that their previous nights together had been so different. He had thought her honest then. Now all that was left was the devastating passion that had flared between them.

And for tonight, at least, she was also his fiancée. A smile that was more satisfied than rueful lifted his mouth. He liked the idea of being engaged to Sally very much, far more than he had expected when he had made the impulsive announcement. He knew it was a gesture of somewhat primitive possession. Her sexual capitulation to him had the unforeseen consequence of making him want to claim her formally and show her to be his own. He realised that his need for her had been one of the reasons why he had been so angry with her for her duplicity. His feelings were engaged—desire and wanting, if not love—and so her betrayal was so much more acute.

His previous affairs had had the reverse effect on him to this; all he had wanted to do was walk away from them. Now he was determined not to let Sally walk away from him until he was ready to let her go. He acknowledged that it was a very basic reaction. He had wanted Sally from the very first and now he wanted everyone else to know she belonged to him, especially Gregory Holt, who had made his interest in her so plain.

‘There you are, sir,’ the valet said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. ‘Not bad, if I say so myself.’

‘Thank you, Jeavons,’ Jack said.

As he emerged from his bedchamber he saw his sister and Sally descending the stairs in front of him. Charley had evidently gone to fetch Sally from her bedroom and take her down to dinner in case she was nervous. Jack shook his head cynically over Charley’s naïvety. Could she not see that Sally Bowes was supremely capable of taking care of herself? But perhaps not—after all, he had made a serious error of judgement about Sally himself.

He hurried down the stairs to catch up with them and as they reached the hallway Sally turned towards him.

He stopped dead.

She looked utterly divine.

Tonight Sally was wearing a gown the colour of rich autumn leaves, with layers of taffeta and silk chiffon embroidered with tiny little sequins around the square neck. Charley had lent her a ruby drop necklace and it glowed richly in the hollow of Sally’s throat, a vivid counterpoint to the creamy pallor of her skin.

And she rustled. Whenever she moved, the layers of petticoats beneath the taffeta and chiffon whispered together sensuously, setting all of Jack’s senses on edge. He could imagine the ruffles and lace beneath the sparkling gown and Sally’s warm, smooth skin beneath that.

He seriously considered carrying her straight back up the stairs and into the nearest bedroom.

‘Are you quite well, Jack?’ Charley enquired, laughing. ‘I have never seen you struck dumb before.’

‘I … ah …’ Jack pulled himself together quickly.

‘Sally has been explaining to me that the two of you are always at odds, so I have put you at opposite ends of the table,’ Charley said, fixing him with a blithe smile. ‘Aunt Otto asked particularly that she should be placed next to you, Jack. I believe she wishes to check on your moral fortitude and suitability for marriage.’

Jack cursed under his breath. ‘And I suppose Gregory Holt has offered to escort Sally,’ he said tightly, fighting down the wave of possessive fury that gripped him.

Sally merely smiled placidly and his jealousy tightened a notch. ‘How clever of you to guess!’ Charley said admiringly. ‘That is exactly what he suggested!’

‘Lord Holt has always behaved as a perfect gentleman to me,’ Sally said, her tone reminding Jack pointedly that he had not. ‘I am sure I shall be perfectly safe with him.’

‘His reputation is worse than mine,’ Jack said grimly, and saw her smile in mock-disbelief.

‘Surely that is impossible?’ she said sweetly.

Jack caught Sally’s hand just as they entered the drawing room. ‘Don’t forget that for tonight you are engaged to me,’ he whispered, ‘or I may be obliged to remind you.’

Sally’s beautiful hazel eyes opened very wide. ‘And how might you do that, Jack?’ she enquired, in an even sweeter tone.

‘By kissing you in front of everyone,’ Jack said, and watched with pleasure as the pink colour came into her cheeks.

‘You dare,’ she hissed.

‘Don’t tempt me …’

They stared at one another, captured in both the fierce mutual attraction and the equally fierce mutual hostility they could see in each other’s eyes and only broke apart when Stephen Harrington came up, cleared his throat loudly, and drew them into the room to introduce them to the other dinner guests who had come to Dauntsey for the evening.

Between fending off his aunt’s enquiries into his moral character, being polite to Stephen and Charley’s neighbours when he did not feel like it, and watching Gregory Holt flirt with his fiancée, Jack was in a vile mood by the end of dinner. The whole meal seemed interminable: consommé, oysters, champagne sorbet, trout, venison, trifle, cheese … Each course was more elaborate than the last and seemed to take hours to serve and even longer to consume. And through it all Jack could do nothing but glower at Gregory Holt as he chatted easily and with the greatest of pleasure to Sally.

‘Drown your sorrows in a glass of Tokay, old man,’ Stephen Harrington said in his ear as the ladies rose to leave the men to their drink. ‘Must say, you have got it bad. You’ve been watching Miss Bowes all through dinner. Never thought to see you brought so low!’

‘Holt annoys me,’ Jack said, through his teeth, watching as Gregory Holt took Sally’s hand and placed a kiss on the back of it in a gesture of laughing gallantry. ‘He has a damned nerve to do that to my fiancée!’

‘Oh, Greg’s harmless,’ Stephen said calmly. ‘He’s only doing it to spite you, old fellow, and because he has always held a candle for Miss Bowes. He was a protégé of her father, you know, and I understand he wanted Miss Bowes to run away with him when matters became particularly grim between herself and her late husband. Not,’ he added hastily, seeing Jack’s glare, ‘that she gave him the least encouragement.’

‘She didn’t tell me,’ Jack said. He could feel the shreds of his control slipping. So Gregory Holt was an old flame of Sally’s. Their situation was uncannily close to his elopement with Merle all those years ago. Except that Sally had had the good sense not to run away and provoke the desperate kind of situation that he and Merle had found themselves in. He took a deep breath. At least he knew they could not have been lovers, though probably not for want of trying on Holt’s part. He wanted to go straight over and confront the man about it but bearing in mind that Greg was some distant cousin of Stephen, they had known each other for years, and it was bad form to cause an affray at a country house party, that was probably not a good idea. What the hell was the matter with him? he wondered. Where had his self-control gone? He’d been a friend of Greg Holt since their schooldays and never had the slightest inclination to ram the other man’s teeth down his throat before now.

‘Well,’ Stephen said, giving him a sympathetic smile, ‘I understood from Charley that—strictly on the quiet—there is some doubt over whether Miss Bowes really is your fiancée, old man, so perhaps she did not see the need to tell you. Seems to me,’ he added, ‘that you could do with sorting out your romantic life properly, Jack, before you explode with frustration. Always thought you had a reputation for conquest, but you seem to be making a dashed mull of everything at the moment.’

‘Thank you,’ Jack said ruefully, reflecting that Stephen had hit the nail on the head. Before he had met Sally Bowes he had had no problem controlling his frustrations or ordering his romantic life successfully.

He looked up as Greg Holt put his hand on his shoulder. ‘A word, Kestrel?’

The smile faded from Jack’s eyes as he took in the other man’s demeanour. Greg had always struck him as being the most easy-going of fellows, rather like Stephen himself, but now there was no good humour in his eyes. Holt looked as though he was itching to take Jack by the throat and throttle the life out of him.

‘With the licence of an old friend,’ Greg said, his mouth a thin line, ‘I have warned Miss Bowes against marrying you, Kestrel. You would make the devil of a husband.’

Jack was already half out of his seat when Stephen grabbed his arm to restrain him.

‘Easy,’ Stephen muttered, and Jack allowed himself to relax infinitesimally.

‘It’s none of his damned business,’ he said, through gritted teeth.

Holt inclined his head ironically. ‘Miss Bowes is unprotected. It is my business when I stand in the place of a brother to her.’

‘Brother!’ Jack exploded with disbelief.

‘Just so,’ Greg said. ‘I hope for your sake that you will be an exemplary fiancé, Kestrel, because I would hate to ruin our long friendship by putting a bullet through you.’

And with a curt bow he walked away.

Jack let out the breath that he realised he had been holding for the whole encounter.

‘Damn it, he was in earnest,’ Stephen said, staring after Holt, his glass of Tokay suspended halfway to his lips.

‘In deadly earnest,’ Jack agreed. He realised that Gregory Holt must have been in love with Sally for a very long time. He wondered why she had turned him down. Holt was rich, titled, the perfect catch for a good-time girl on the make. Even if she had run off with him and had to weather the scandal of divorce, they could have been married by now.

Jack was accustomed in business to weighing evidence, making quick decisions, trusting his own judgement. He looked at Gregory Holt’s ramrod-straight back and furious demeanour and wondered what it was about Sally Bowes that seemed to command the loyalty of all the people whose lives she touched. It did not square with the evidence that he had uncovered about her. Perhaps it was time to confront her.

‘Come on,’ he said, knocking back the rest of his Tokay in one gulp, ‘it’s time to join the ladies. I want to talk to Sally.’

‘Wait a moment, old chap!’ Stephen protested. ‘It’s only ten minutes since dinner! They won’t want to see you yet. And that’s no way to treat my best wine—’

But it was too late. Jack had gone.

‘So, my dear,’ Lady Ottoline said to Sally, patting the seat beside her, ‘come and sit with me.’ She gestured to the deck of cards on the table. ‘Do you play?’

‘A little,’ Sally said, thinking ruefully of the gaming tables at the Blue Parrot. She wondered how Dan was getting on in her absence. She trusted him completely, but with the opening of the Crimson Salon a mere few days away she was extremely nervous.

‘Then perhaps we may have a game of bezique later,’ Lady Ottoline said. ‘But first I want to talk about you—and about Jack. He tells me that you met at the Wallace Collection.’

‘Indeed we did,’ Sally said, wondering how much truth and how many lies Jack had mixed together to describe their relationship.

‘Well, at least you must be a cultured gel,’ Lady Ottoline said. ‘Buffy, the current Duke, is an utter philistine, but Jack has the making of a good custodian of the Kestrel collection as long as his cousin don’t sell it off before Jack inherits.’

‘The Duke has no children of his own?’ Sally said.

‘No.’ Lady Ottoline gave her a sharp look. ‘Buffy don’t like the girls. Robert, Jack’s father, is heir to the dukedom of Kestrel and Jack after him.’

‘I see,’ Sally said, thinking that Jack Kestrel really was a great catch for any woman prepared to put up with his vile temper and inability to love her.

‘I hope,’ Lady Ottoline said disagreeably, ‘that you are not going to pretend you did not know you had caught the heir to a dukedom?’

‘I do not really care,’ Sally said, with extreme frankness. ‘When I choose to wed, Lady Ottoline, it is the man that matters to me, not his title or his money.’

Lady Ottoline’s plucked brows shot up towards her diamond headdress. ‘Well, upon my word!’

‘Having been married once before,’ Sally continued, ‘I have to be extremely careful in my next choice.’ Suddenly she felt reckless. If she could shock Lady Ottoline into repudiating her, it would serve Jack right for his machinations. ‘I do not wish to make as ghastly a mistake second time around as I did the first time,’ she said. ‘So the selection of a new husband is of paramount importance to me. He must have integrity and wit and be faithful, honourable and never, ever bore me. That is all I ask.’

There was a long silence. Sally selected a bonbon from the dish on the table in front of her and popped it into her mouth, before daring to steal a look under her lashes at Lady Ottoline. Her ladyship was regarding her with a very shrewd expression in her dark eyes.

‘I see,’ Lady Ottoline said. She frowned slightly. ‘Your name is familiar to me, Miss Bowes. Now, why would that be?’

Sally glanced at Jack across the room. He and Stephen had rejoined the ladies a scandalously short ten minutes after dinner was finished, having certainly not had time to consume a leisurely glass of port or luxuriate in a cigar, but when he had shown every sign of wanting to speak with her, Lady Ottoline had told him curtly to take himself off.

‘I wish to talk to your fiancée, Jack,’ she had said imperiously. ‘You may speak to her later.’

And so Jack had been obliged to make small talk with the other guests, but Sally was very conscious of his gaze resting on her from time to time, dark and serious but without the edge of anger that she had become accustomed to seeing there since their terrible confrontation that morning.

‘Miss Bowes?’ Lady Ottoline’s tone was sharp, but with a betraying edge of indulgence. ‘It is all very well to stare at one’s own fiancé, but I would like an answer as well, if you please.’

‘I beg your pardon, my lady,’ Sally said, hastily dragging her gaze away from Jack. ‘Perhaps you recognise my name because you have heard that I own the Blue Parrot, which is a nightclub on the Strand in London?’

There was another silence whilst she waited for Lady Ottoline to explode with shock. Surely, this time, she had overstepped the mark. No respectable great-aunt could contemplate such an alliance for her nephew. But Lady Ottoline was made of sterner stuff. She pursed her lips and shook her head. There was a steely light in her eye now as though she had realised just what Sally was about and was determined to thwart her.

‘No, that wasn’t it,’ she said. Her dark eyes brightened. ‘Do you, though? How marvellous to own a nightclub! You must tell me all about it, Miss Bowes. I do admire a gel with a bit of spirit, having been one myself.’

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Sally said, realising she had underestimated the opposition. ‘I am sure that you were.’

‘You were married to Jonathan Hayward, were you not?’ Lady Ottoline said abruptly. ‘He was a dreadful cad, a total rotter. My late brother always said that it made him feel quite nauseous to think of him.’

Sally laughed. She was starting to like Lady Ottoline rather a lot. ‘Thank you, my lady. He had much the same effect on me.’

‘We have much in common,’ Lady Ottoline said drily. ‘I suppose Jack thought I’d cut up rough if I knew all about your history?’ Her eyes gleamed with suppressed amusement. ‘Silly boy, just because I never married he must think I am as cosseted as a baby!’

‘I imagine he might have been a little wary of telling you,’ Sally said, smiling. She was enjoying this conversation a lot now. ‘After all, owning a nightclub is scarcely respectable, and nor is potential divorce.’

‘Well, who cares a fig about that?’ Lady Ottoline demanded. ‘Sometimes it is more fun to be scandalous. I remember my mama telling me that being respectable all the time was a dashed dull deal. She worked as a spy for the British government, you know, and eloped with her husband. She was quite a woman.’

‘I saw her picture at the Collection,’ Sally said. ‘She was stunningly beautiful.’ She smiled. ‘You were a very pretty child yourself, Lady Ottoline.’

Lady Ottoline gave a spontaneous chuckle. ‘Changed a bit since then, eh!’

‘Not so much, I imagine,’ Sally said, smiling.

Briefly Lady Ottoline’s beringed hand clasped Sally’s own. ‘I like you, Miss Bowes. I’m glad your experiences didn’t put you off men.’ She looked across at Jack. ‘Jack’s a good boy. You mustn’t listen to all the gossip about his past.’

‘He hasn’t told me much about that,’ Sally said truthfully.

‘Terrible scandal,’ Lady Ottoline said gruffly. ‘Ran off with a married woman when he was barely out of his teens. Robert banished him abroad, the fool. Not that I didn’t think Jack needed to grow up, but it was a terrible tragedy to cast him out like that. Broke his mother’s heart and Charlotte’s too.’

‘I am sorry for that,’ Sally said. ‘Charley is a lovely person.’

‘Well, she’s got him back now,’ Lady Ottoline said. She squeezed Sally’s hand. ‘You’ll be good for him, my dear. I can tell. And as I say, don’t listen to any gossip. He’ll tell you everything in his own good time.’

Sally doubted it. Whatever had happened between Jack and his mistress was part of the dark secrets that he kept locked inside. There was a lump in her throat as she though how little she and Jack deserved Lady Ottoline’s good opinion.

‘What will I tell her?’

Both Sally and Lady Ottoline jumped as Jack spoke from right beside them.

‘Shouldn’t go creeping up on deaf old ladies, nephew,’ Lady Ottoline said crossly, ‘or you’ll be enjoying my fortune before you know it.’ Her eyes gleamed. ‘Perhaps that’s the plan, eh! Scare me into my grave and take the money!’

‘I’d prefer to enjoy your company rather than your money, Aunt Otto,’ Jack said, and Lady Ottoline looked pleased, although she did not say anything.

‘I thought,’ Sally said, ‘that it was Mr Basset who was your heir, ma’am, not Jack?’ She smiled challengingly at him. ‘Surely he has enough money of his own?’

‘I’ve decided that I don’t want to leave my money to that silly widgeon Bertie Basset,’ Lady Ottoline said astringently. ‘My money—I can do as I please with it. He would only spend it on gambling and loose women.’

Jack caught Sally’s eye. A faint smile curled his firm mouth as though to remind her that Bertie had already done precisely that.

‘I’ve remembered!’ Lady Ottoline said triumphantly. ‘Knew I’d heard the Bowes name before. I heard your father speak once at the Sheldonian in Oxford. He was a fascinating speaker and a most talented architect.’ She glanced around. ‘I believe Gregory Holt was a pupil of his.’

‘He was.’ Sally could feel Jack’s gaze on her and was annoyed to feel herself blushing when she had nothing to blush about.

‘If you will excuse us, Aunt Otto,’ Jack said, ‘I wondered if I might take Sally for a short stroll on the terrace.’

Lady Ottoline smiled. ‘Oh, very well. I suppose you may steal Miss Bowes away now.’ She looked up at him. ‘Seems you have more sense than I gave you credit for, nephew. I like your fiancée. The only miracle is that she likes you.’

Sally avoided Jack’s gaze. He offered her his arm and she put her hand on it gingerly, as though it might burn her. She wished she were not so shockingly conscious of Jack’s physical presence. Her awareness of him always undermined her defences.

‘How the hell did you do that?’ Jack asked abruptly as they stepped through the door on to the darkened terrace. ‘She likes you more than she likes me!’

‘I answered her questions honestly,’ Sally said. She saw his look of patent disbelief and added, ‘That may surprise you, Mr Kestrel, given your opinion of me, but your great-aunt is a good judge of character by my estimation, and she liked me.’

She expected Jack to make some cutting remark, but he was silent; glancing at his face, she saw he looked pensive. They walked along the terrace to where the moat opened out into a broad lake fringed with reeds.

‘Gregory Holt warned me off a little while ago,’ Jack said, after a moment. ‘He told me that he was standing as your brother and if I hurt you he would kill me.’

Sally shot him a look of surprise. She was not sure whether she was annoyed or amused at Greg’s interference.

‘He should mind his own business,’ she said. ‘He knows I can look after myself.’

‘So I thought,’ Jack said. He paused. ‘He is in love with you,’ he added, and there was an odd tone in his voice.

‘Yes,’ Sally said after a moment. ‘I suppose he is.’

‘Has he asked you to marry him?’

‘Now you should mind your own business,’ Sally said.

Jack laughed and put a hand over hers where it rested on his arm. ‘It is my business. I am your fiancé.’

‘My temporary fiancé,’ Sally said. ‘Until tomorrow only.’

‘So my guess is that he proposed and you refused him,’ Jack said. ‘Why?’

‘Must you be so persistent?’ Sally let her breath out on a sigh. ‘I do not like you, Mr Kestrel, and I do not particularly wish to speak with you.’

‘Indulge me,’ Jack said. ‘I want to know.’

Sally freed herself and went to stand on the edge of the terrace, looking out over the darkened garden where the topiary shapes were silhouetted against the deep blue of the summer night sky. She was very conscious of Jack, still and waiting, behind her.

‘I refused him because it would not be fair to make so unequal a match,’ she said, after a moment.

‘In terms of wealth and status?’ Jack sounded incredulous. ‘But you are a baronet’s daughter.’

‘I was speaking in terms of affection,’ Sally said. ‘Not everything can be measured in pounds and pennies, Mr Kestrel.’

‘Not a philosophy I would expect to hear you supporting, Miss Bowes.’

‘Probably not,’ Sally said. She rubbed her fingers over the cool mossy stone of the terrace wall. ‘I care for Greg,’ she said. She wondered why she was even trying to explain to Jack Kestrel, who thought that her motivated by nothing but avarice. ‘I have known him a long time and he has never played me false. I owe it to him not to take his affection for me and use it badly or take advantage.’

Again she expected Jack to make some kind of cynical reply, but he was silent, and in the darkness she could not read his expression.

‘Whilst you are engaged to me,’ he said, after a moment, ‘you will have nothing to do with him.’

Sally shook her head. ‘You cannot tell me what to do, Mr Kestrel. We are not really betrothed and you have no claim on me.’

She saw Jack make a sharp movement, full of repressed anger, and she backed a step away from him. ‘If you value Holt as you say you do,’ he said, ‘it would wise to agree.’

‘In case you decide to challenge him?’

‘Quite.’

Sally tapped her fingers irritably on the balustrade. ‘You are both as bad as each other,’ she said. ‘I do not think that your aunt would appreciate your attempts to rid Stephen of his relatives.’

‘Probably not,’ Jack conceded. He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I noticed you attempting to persuade her not to cut Bertie out of her will in my favour. Thank you for that.’

‘I am sure that you have enough money,’ Sally said.

‘And Bertie does not—particularly if he is to keep your sister in the style you are hoping for.’

Sally shrugged. She might have known that he would interpret her intervention as an attempt to gain everything for Connie when all she was concerned about was that Lady Ottoline should not change her will on the basis of an engagement that was a sham.

‘Tomorrow,’ she said, ‘unless you have a better plan, we shall travel on to Gretna and then we shall see if it is too late to save your cousin from my sister.’

‘What was it that Aunt Otto said I would tell you about?’ Jack asked, as they started to walk along the terrace towards the lavender-scented beds of the parterre.

‘She said that I should not listen to any gossip about you,’ Sally said. She smiled. ‘I imagine she wished to reassure me, believing as she does that I am genuinely betrothed to you.’

‘And have you heard any gossip about me?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Sally said. ‘I have heard plenty relating to your elopement with Merle Jameson, but I do not require reassurance since I am only betrothed to you for the duration of this one night.’ She shivered in the breeze off the lake. No matter how much she professed not to care, she knew she was shamefully jealous of the other woman—the only one that Jack had ever loved.

‘Let’s go back inside,’ she said.

Jack smiled. ‘A moment,’ he said. ‘If this night is all we have, we had better make it worth every moment.’ He put a hand out and caught her wrist, drawing her closer to the warmth of his body. He smelled of cologne and fresh night air and the longing caught at the back of Sally’s throat and made it ache.

She put a hand against the crisp white of his shirtfront and held him off. ‘Mr Kestrel, it may have escaped your notice, but, as I said, I do not like you very much. Nor do you care for me. Only a man with supreme arrogance would assume that I would fall into his arms again after what has happened between us.’

Jack put up a hand and brushed the strands of hair back from her face. His touch made her skin tingle. She turned her head aside in an attempt to deny the way he made her feel.

‘In a moment,’ he said, ‘we are going to go back through those doors into the drawing room. In order to persuade everyone that we are indeed betrothed, you must look like someone who has been thoroughly kissed in the moonlight, Miss Bowes, rather than someone indignant after an acrimonious discussion.’

Panic caught at Sally’s heart. If he kissed her, she was not sure that she could resist the feelings that coursed through her. Once again she wondered, helplessly, how it was possible to dislike a man so much and yet hunger for his touch. It felt like a betrayal of her principles and yet she wanted him.

‘I could pretend—’ she started to say, but Jack slid a hand into her hair and turned her face up to his.

‘The reality,’ he said, as he leaned down very slowly to kiss her, ‘is far, far better than the pretence.’

It was not like his kisses earlier, when he had been asserting his possession and his mastery over her. Now he courted a response from her, the kiss gentle and persuasive, teasing her, tempting her to open her lips beneath his and return the kiss. Sally relaxed, feeling the warmth in her veins turn her body soft and willing. It was so seductive that she let her hands slide over Jack’s shoulders, drew him closer to her and kissed him back. Immediately Jack slid his arms about her, deepened the kiss, and the feeling flared between them like wildfire. They were both breathing hard when he let her go.

‘Jack …’ Charley’s voice floated across the terrace to them ‘… Aunt Otto says that you have been out there quite long enough and that Sally promised to play bezique with her.’

Jack swore under his breath. ‘It’s like having a nursemaid again. You had best go in and humour her.’

‘Gladly,’ Sally said, smoothing her gown. ‘I enjoy her company very much.’ She took a deep breath to steady herself. Her hands were still trembling slightly from the residual excitement tingling in her blood.

‘Try not to take too much money off her,’ Jack said. ‘I know you will be tempted to fleece her but I will make up any shortfall.’

His words touched Sally on the raw. It seemed that every time she permitted herself to forget he thought her a money-grabbing charlatan, he would remind her.

‘I’ll take her for every penny I can,’ she said recklessly, seared by his scorn. ‘What else would you expect from me, Mr Kestrel?’

‘Nothing, I suppose,’ Jack said.

Sally paused with her hand on the door. ‘Incidentally, Mr Kestrel,’ she added, ‘I have requested a room as far distant from your own as possible. I shall be removing my name from the panel by the door. And anyone creeping in there in the dead of night will be met with a chamber pot to the head, two hundred pounds or not. Do I make myself clear?’

‘As crystal,’ Jack said. ‘Good night, Miss Bowes.’