Louise Allen - Regency Scoundrels And Scandals

Now, when she thought of him, looked at him, she had to guard her expression every second. When she was close to him she must be constantly vigilant in case she reached to touch him. When they were alone they were in peril every moment of being spied upon or overheard. In constant danger of having something that was heartfelt and honest and beautiful turned in to a squalid scandal for the gossip columns to hint and snigger at.

Eva closed the heavy volume and stood up, weighing it in her hands. Then she took it over to the bookcase it belonged in, pulling over the library steps so she could reach the shelf. It slid back easily into its rightful place, but she stayed where she was, seized with inertia.

They had been travelling to such purpose; now they had stopped, if only for a while, and it all seemed strange and purposeless. She had no control, she was simply the queen on the chessboard being moved about by invisible players. Should she even be here now—or should she be in Maubourg? What if Philippe had succumbed to his illness, or Antoine had made his way back? Or perhaps there was no one there in control. She wanted to be with Freddie so much it hurt, but the anxiety over what was the right thing to do nagged painfully.

‘What are you dreaming about?’ Jack was so close beside her that she jumped and almost overbalanced on the steps. He reached up his hands, and, heedless of all her mental warnings to herself, she let him lift her down, sliding down the length of his body, aware that he was finding that contact as instantly arousing as she was.

‘Those trousers are too snug for this sort of thing,’ she remarked, letting her eyes linger on the very visible evidence as she stepped away. ‘I was thinking about chess,’ she added.

‘Indeed. And you are quite right, I had best stay in here studying something dull while you remove yourself.’ He seemed serious under the flash of humour, turning to study the rows of books.

‘No…actually I was thinking that perhaps I should go back to Maubourg, now. What if Philippe has died? Or Antoine has got back there? What if King Louis discovers our troops came across the frontier and invades? The French would love an excuse.’

Jack turned slowly on his heel and regarded her. ‘Are you saying you want to turn round now and go all that way back, into God knows what and with Bonaparte still on the loose?’

‘I think perhaps I should.’ Eva found she was twisting her hands together in her skirt and made herself stop.

‘And your son?’

She shook her head, helplessly. ‘I know what I want, to be with him, but is it right? How can I tell what my duty is?’

‘To hell with your duty,’ Jack said explosively. ‘I do not know, and I do not care, about the Grand Duchy of Maubourg, but I do know what my duty is—and that is to get you back to England and reunite you with a small boy who needs his mother.’

‘Do you think that isn’t what I want?’ she demanded. ‘Do you think I want to meddle in politics rather than be with Freddie?’

‘I don’t know—do you?’

‘No! Oh, for goodness’ sake, can’t you see I love my son more than anything? But Maubourg is his inheritance.’

‘If he loses his mother, that is irretrievable. If something happens to the Duchy, then the Allies will sort it out.’

‘Possibly they will—some time, when all the big, important things have been done. Or they’ll find a good use for it and we’ll be helpless.’ Eva found she had marched down the room in a swirl of skirts and swung round, infuriated by Jack’s lack of understanding. ‘Jack, I think I should go back. I’ll write to Freddie, let him know I will join him as soon as I can.’

She paused, catching her breath on a sob as she thought of Freddie reading such a note, expecting Jack to answer with a solution that would make it all right, but he was silent, watching her. As she glared he folded his arms, casually, as though waiting for her tantrum to blow itself out.

‘Do not stand there like that!’ Goaded, Eva jabbed one long finger at him. ‘Say you’ll take me back’

‘And do not do that,’ Jack retorted, unmoving. ‘I am not your footman to be hectored. I will not take you back, and if you try to arrange it yourself I will take you back to England by force.’ For the first time she saw the full power of his anger turned on her. It was not in his voice, or his tone—both were calm and polite—but it was in his eyes, hard flint that were sparking fire.

‘Oh!’ Exasperated, frightened by what she read in those eyes, Eva acted without conscious intent. The flat of her hand swung for his right cheek, even as she realised what she was doing and that Jack had not even troubled to move to avoid the blow. His hand came up with almost insulting ease and caught her wrist and they stared at each other, so close that the angry rise and fall of her breasts almost touched his shirt front.

Then both her wrists were held tight, she was pulled against his chest, and, as he had in that field above Hougoumont, he punished her with a kiss. But then, as she had known full well at the time, it was a reaction to his fear for her safety, a plea to her to obey and stay safe. This, she realised with the part of her mind that was still capable of rational thought, was pure temper and her own rose to meet it.

Her fingers flexed into claws in his grip, her body arched against his, struggling to be free, yet wantonly provoking his reaction. Her lips opened under the assault of his and his tongue claimed her, thrusting arrogantly in a quite blatant demonstration of intent. Everything in her responded, love and fury and anxiety mingling into molten heat that pooled in her belly, driving her almost wild with desire.

Eva jerked both wrists down, surprising Jack just enough to free herself, then she had fastened her arms around his neck and was kissing him back with all the passion she was capable of, her body burning against his, her hips urging her tight into the hard, aroused masculinity she craved. She rocked, rubbing herself against him in blatant invitation until she was rewarded by the sound of his growl, low in his throat.

Somehow he had pushed her against the bookshelves; hard leather spines pressed into her shoulders and buttocks as his knee worked between her thighs, opening her as flagrantly as if she was wearing not a stitch. And still, neither could break the kiss, the furious, all-devouring, heated exchange that threatened to topple her into utter abandon.

What would have happened if there had not been the knock on the door Eva had no idea. Possibly they would have stripped each other naked and made angry, brazen, heated love on the library’s rich Turkey carpet.

She wrenched herself away, her hands flying to her hair, her décolletage, her skirts. ‘Get out,’ she hissed. ‘Just get out!’ Without a second glance at Jack she ran across to the pair of globes which stood by the desk, turned her back on the door and called, ‘Come in!’

‘Ma’am, Mr Catterick wondered if you would care to join him for tea?’ It was the butler. Eva looked back over her shoulder. Jack was apparently engrossed in a vast folio of maps on a stand that effectively hid whatever state of dishevelment he was in.

‘Certainly. Please tell Mr Catterick I will join him in a few moments.’

‘Ma’am. And Mr Ryder?’

‘I am going out, I have arrangements to make,’ Jack said curtly. ‘I will be back for dinner.’ He looked directly at Eva. ‘Henry will remain here.’ It was a warning not to try to leave.

‘Certainly, sir.’ The butler bowed himself out. Eva stepped across to the over-mantel mirror and surveyed her flushed face and wide eyes. At least the day was becoming uncomfortably hot, that at least might be taken as some excuse.