Nicola Cornick Collection: The Last Rake In London / Notorious / Desired

‘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.’