The Vagabond Duchess

‘Tempest?’ His voice emerged as a ragged moan.

She was so overwhelmed by the physical and emotional strangeness of what was happening she didn’t speak. Her fingers dug convulsively into his back. Pure instinct prompted her to raise her knees and he sank a little deeper inside her.

His shuddering groan reverberated through her. He began to move, his strokes steady and careful. At first it wasn’t quite comfortable, but gradually the discomfort was transformed into deliciously escalating tension. She arched her back, lifting her hips towards him. She was on the verge of something—

Jack’s thrusts became faster and less controlled. Suddenly he groaned and shuddered in her arms. She felt his hot release deep within her. His movements slowed until he was still except for his quickened breathing.

Temperance lay beneath him, her body tingling and somehow unsatisfied. She opened her eyes. She couldn’t see Jack’s expression. His head was a dark shadow between her and the lurid ceiling. She was breathing heavily. So was he. He was still inside her, yet she felt strangely disconnected from what had just happened. She’d dreamed of Jack the first night she’d met him. Now she was half-convinced she was still dreaming. Nothing that had happened in the past twenty-four hours had any place in her everyday life.

She became aware of her hands on Jack’s back, the grittiness of the soot and ash still clinging to both of them. In many ways he was little more than a stranger, and now her arousal was waning the unfamiliar intimacy of their position began to feel increasingly awkward. Part of her wanted to cling to him for reassurance, but another part of her wanted to push him as far away as possible.

Before she could do or say anything he withdrew from her, his movements carefully controlled as he lay down beside her as far away as the narrow mattress would allow.

For the first time since she’d met him their silence was oppressive with tension. It stretched taut between them, but it wasn’t the breathless, excited tension that had compelled her into his arms. It was darker, awkward and much harder to deal with.

She sensed him move and realised he was rearranging his clothes. Embarrassment burned through her. She hastily straightened her skirts, though she could still feel the imprint of his body on her and in her. She wondered how long it would be before she stopped feeling the after-effects of their lovemaking.

Dawn was casting a pale grey light over the bed. She stared out of the window and wished she was somewhere else. Morning was nearly here, but for the first time since she could remember she had no regular chores to perform. Why on earth had she allowed—encouraged Jack to make love to her? Grief must have addled her brain.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I didn’t mean that to happen.’

‘Are you blaming me?’ She was already feeling defensive—afraid she’d let him make a fool of her. She didn’t like the implication it was her fault.

‘No.’ He sat up and put his hand on her arm. ‘It was the two of us together. But I find you quite irresistible,’ he added.

Temperance folded her arms and looked away. ‘If you were a gentleman—’

‘You don’t mean that.’ He urged her to lie down again and propped himself on one elbow beside her. ‘To take advantage of you and walk away without a backward glance.’

‘Is that your idea of a gentleman?’ She looked at him. Now the room was lighter she could see his expression more clearly. What she saw in his eyes reassured her. To her relief it didn’t seem as if he regarded the loss of her maidenhead as a frivolous matter.

‘Isn’t it yours?’ he countered.

Temperance thought of some of her well-dressed, well-born customers. Tredgold, the man who’d planned to frighten his grandfather to death in the guise of a ghost, popped into her mind. If he’d been on this bed with her he wouldn’t waste any time worrying about her feelings. Mind you, she couldn’t imagine any circumstances in which she’d willingly come within ten feet of Tredgold, especially if there was a bed in the vicinity.

‘I don’t suppose it matters,’ she said, trying to make the best of things. ‘With London in such turmoil, no one ever will ever know or care what happened to me tonight.’

‘I know,’ said Jack. ‘And I care.’ He put his hand on her waist.

Temperance’s heart began to beat faster. ‘What does that mean?’

‘It means I wish we had more time.’ He leant closer and kissed her forehead. ‘I need to check for the latest news—and see if I can find Jakob. He was supposed to follow me to London. He’s Swedish. I hope no one mistakes him for a Dutchman.’ A shadow crossed Jack’s face.

Temperance remembered how the mob had nearly attacked Jack when they’d thought he was French. She understood his anxieties about his cousin, but she was dismayed he was leaving. After what had just taken place between them she felt awkward in his company, but she was even more upset at the idea of never seeing him again.

‘I’ll come back as soon as I can,’ he said. ‘Stay here. As long as you stay in this room and keep the door barred against strangers, you should be safe enough.’ He reached for his coat and the periwig he’d laid aside the previous night. ‘Here.’ He dropped a surprisingly large amount of money on to her lap. ‘I hope you won’t need it, but if the innkeeper tries to turn you out because he’s had a better offer, this should hold his hand.’

‘Is this my…fee?’ she said, staring at the coins without touching them. ‘For lifting my petticoats—’

‘No.’ His firm denial cut off her words. ‘I was going to give it to you anyway. If you don’t feel comfortable here, go back to Agnes’s niece.’

Temperance flinched at the notion of presenting herself to Agnes this morning. The old woman’s sharp eyes were sure to notice something different about her. If she was to protect her reputation, she had to ensure no one knew of her brief liaison with Jack.

‘I’ll stay here,’ she muttered. ‘Can’t I—’ She stopped, biting her lip. She’d been about to ask if she could go with Jack, but if he didn’t suggest it she wasn’t going to embarrass herself by asking.

‘We don’t know how much further the fire has spread,’ he replied, answering her unspoken question. ‘I don’t want to take you from safety into danger. Besides, you need to rest. When I’ve gone, bar the door and try to sleep.’

Temperance sat on the bed and watched as he put on his coat, sword and finally, his periwig. He looked at her and grinned. ‘Is it straight?’ he asked.

‘You are too vain for words,’ she grumbled. Despite everything, her mood lightened at his familiar smile. It did far more to reassure her than the money he’d dropped in her lap. Perhaps she was fooling herself, but she thought it was the kind of look a man gave to a woman he cared about—not one he’d used to ease a fleeting physical need. She knelt up, ignoring the strange, unfamiliar twinges between her legs, and rearranged his somewhat woebegone curls.

‘Thank you.’

She shifted her gaze from his hair to his dark eyes. He smiled crookedly at her. ‘I’m coming back,’ he said. ‘I promise.’

Southwark, late evening, Tuesday 4 September 1666

Temperance sat on the bed listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the inn around her, and the noisy disturbances in the streets outside. Earlier she’d left the small room long enough to buy food and drink from one of the inn servants, but she hadn’t dared go further afield. She’d had to give the innkeeper more money before he’d let her remain in the cramped chamber, and she knew if she went out she’d lose the room. She was worried about Isaac, but comforted by the knowledge he was safe at the coffeehouse in Covent Garden.

The strong gale had continued to blow most of the day, driving the flames across London. Temperance had fallen into an uneasy sleep in the early evening, only to be frightened awake by distant explosions. She’d scrambled to the window, horrified to discover the fire was burning even brighter than before.

A sudden pounding at the door made her jump.

‘Tempest? Temperance, let me in.’ Jack’s voice sounded harsh and strained.

She hurried to open it. He put his hands on her shoulders and moved her back so he could come into the small room too.

‘Did I wake you?’

‘No.’ He’d come back. He had. Her heart sang with happiness—then she sensed his tension and her stomach clenched with anxiety. ‘Did you find your cousin?’

‘No. I’ve just searched the Clink for him.’

‘The Clink?’ Temperance was sure she’d misheard. ‘The prison?’

‘Yes. Here.’ Jack caught her wrist and lifted her hand. ‘This is for you.’ She felt him put a heavy weight into her palm. She closed her fingers around it and realised it was a purse. ‘Put it away safely,’ he ordered. ‘Where’s your mother’s workbox?’ Without waiting for a reply he began to feel around for it.

‘Why do you want it?’

‘I’m taking you to stay with Fanny Berridge.’

‘It’s the middle of the night!’

‘I don’t have time to wait until morning,’ Jack said. She could hear the impatience in his voice, feel it in his movements as he dropped the workbox on to the bed.

‘I’m sorry.’ He took a deep breath, and she sensed his effort to speak more gently. ‘Take this as well.’

‘What?’ She held out her hand and felt even more confused when he didn’t give her anything.