Claire Thornton - The Vagabond Duchess

‘Because I don’t normally hide behind a woman’s skirts,’ he replied mildly, managing to reverse their positions so he was closest to the crowd. ‘Even when she defends me as well as you just did, Madam Tempest.’

‘Tempest?’ A man in the crowd repeated, in a snort of half-amused disbelief. ‘He’s got the measure of Mistress Temperance, right enough.’

‘He’s got the look of a foreigner,’ said another man.

‘I’m as English as anyone here,’ said Jack. ‘My great-grandfather was a grocer, but I was born in Sussex.’

Temperance tried to get in front of him again, but he caught her arm and wouldn’t let her.

‘I heard the rumours the fire was started by our enemies too,’ Jack said. ‘I came out this morning ready to defend us from the Dutch—but from what I’ve heard the fire started by accident, in the house of the King’s baker in Pudding Lane.’

‘Why did you speak in the heathen’s tongue yesterday?’ Agnes came close and peered up at him through slitted eyes. ‘I did hear you. You pulled off your wig and called on the devil.’

Jack grinned. ‘How long have you lived next door to Mistress Temperance?’ he asked.

‘Twenty-three years, near enough,’ Agnes replied, glowering at him. ‘I was there at her birthing.’

‘And in all those twenty-three years, haven’t you ever felt the urge to clutch at your hair and swear?’ he asked.

Several people laughed. Only the improvement in the crowd’s mood stopped Temperance from giving Jack a swift kick on his ankle. She’d thrown herself into the breach, determined to save him, despite his annoying behaviour and questionable morals—and now he repaid her by making fun of her!

‘In English.’ Agnes prodded him in the chest. ‘I chastise her in English. Not French.’

Jack caught Agnes’s hand and held it. ‘But when I was three years old the Roundheads drove my mother out of our home,’ he said, his attention apparently focussed entirely on Agnes. ‘She fled in fear of our lives. I had to wait seventeen years to return home to England. I am not at fault for what happened when I was still a child in arms.’

‘You visited the French Court. After so long there you must have French sympathies,’ Agnes said, but she no longer sounded so hostile.

‘I went to the French Court when I was fourteen,’ Jack said, releasing Agnes’s hand. ‘That’s a long time ago. I am not a French spy.’

‘What was your great-grandfather’s name?’ asked an elderly man Temperance recognised as Nicholas Farley. ‘I’m a grocer, perhaps I knew him.’

‘Edmund Beaufleur.’

‘Edmund Beaufleur!’ Farley exclaimed. ‘He was Lord Mayor in Queen Bess’s reign.’

‘That’s right,’ Jack said.

‘Well, well, well.’ Farley nodded with interest. ‘Edmund Beaufleur’s great-grandson. Who’d have thought it?’

Temperance couldn’t believe it. London was on fire yet, by the looks of things, any minute now Farley would drag Jack off to examine the Company records in the Grocers’ Hall. At least most of the potential lynch mob had dispersed.

‘It has been an honour to meet you, sir,’ said Jack to Farley. ‘I look forward to seeing you again in happier times. I’d enjoy learning more about my great-grandfather when we can talk at leisure.’

‘Yes.’ Farley looked up and Temperance saw the animation in his face replaced by grim anxiety. ‘There is much to do.’

‘Let’s go inside, sweetheart.’ Jack took her elbow and guided her towards her door.

‘Yes. Yes.’ She gathered herself and fumbled with her key. A few moments later they were standing in the shop. With the shutters closed the only light came from the open door. Temperance stared at Jack in the gloom.

‘They might really have hurt you,’ she whispered, remembering the volatile, angry mood of the crowd when she’d arrived. She started to tremble and wrapped her arms around herself. ‘They were going to attack you—just because Agnes Cruikshank always has to push her nose into other people’s business and n-never gets her f-facts right.’

Jack closed the distance between them and put his hands on her shoulders. She stood still as he rubbed his hands up and down her back. She was too shaken to protest at his action, and too tall to rest her head on his shoulder and pretend she hadn’t noticed what he was doing. She felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek, the solid strength of his body close to hers.

‘They didn’t hurt me—thanks to you,’ he said, his voice soft and soothing. ‘And I do thank you. You are a true virago of a draper, Mistress Tempest.’

She felt his lips brush her skin, then he kissed her. A real kiss, even though it was on her cheek, not her mouth. Her heart rate accelerated. For a moment she forgot about the disaster overshadowing London. She felt hot, excited, unsure. In the dark of the night she’d imagined him kissing her—even though she hadn’t known if she’d ever see him again. She’d hugged herself, pretending it was his arms around her, wondering what it would feel like if he was really holding her.

She’d been kissed a few times before, but it had always been an awkward, embarrassing experience. She’d been several inches taller than the hopeful suitor who’d pursued her when she was eighteen. The discrepancy in their heights might not have been a problem if he’d been genuinely attracted to her. Unfortunately, it was her inheritance that had appealed to him, and he’d lacked the necessary address to hide his real motivation. Temperance had sent him away without regret.

But Jack was different. In his arms she didn’t feel oversized and unfeminine. He was so graceful and sure of himself that somehow he made her feel more confident in her own appeal. She clutched his coat and lifted her head, instinctively turning her face towards his. His lips slid over her cheek in a hot trail, then his mouth found hers.

Temperance felt the jolt of intimate contact all the way to her toes. Yet it was only his mouth on hers. She held his coat in her clenched fist and his open hands lay on her back, but there was still an inch or two of space between their bodies. The only place where their naked skin touched was mouth to mouth. She was astounded that every novel, delightful sensation rippling through her body was generated by nothing more than the movement of his lips and tongue against hers.

It was too dark in the shop to see clearly, but she closed her eyes the better to lose herself in the experience. It was a wonderment she’d never known before. How could a man’s lips be so firm and soft at the same time? His caresses so delicate yet compelling? His tongue stroked her upper lip, teasing and exploring until her knees felt weak. Hardly aware of what she was doing, her arm slid around his neck as she leant against him for support.

His hold on her tightened. One hand in the small of her back pressed her against him. His other hand lifted to cup her head, holding her firmly in place as his tongue slipped inside her mouth and the gentle kiss became far more potent. Lights exploded behind Temperance’s eyelids. The pleasant feelings rippling through her inexperienced body suddenly became a torrent of hot, elemental sensation. She gasped and pulled back, half-thrilled, half-frightened by the unfamiliar feelings he aroused.

After a second his hold on her relaxed. She felt his chest expand as he drew in a deep, not quite steady breath.

‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured against her hair. ‘I didn’t intend that.’

‘Oh, no?’ Temperance pushed against him, upset by his comment. ‘In the dark did you forget what I look—?’

He silenced her with a brisk, almost impatient kiss.

‘Of course I remember what you look like,’ he said, releasing her. ‘Don’t insult me. Or yourself. Even I, irresponsible reprobate though you think me, occasionally put practical matters ahead of pleasure.’