Desire picked up a piece of charred brocade. She paused briefly to wonder where the brittle, blackened fabric had come from. Had it once hung around a lady’s bed, or been part of a gentleman’s favourite coat? How strangely and unexpectedly the fire had interrupted everyone’s lives. She dropped the burnt material into her sack and moved on to the next piece of detritus.
Night had long since fallen and the roof was illuminated by a combination of moonlight and several torches. In the east, sulphur-coloured flames still leapt high into the sky over London. The smell of burning filled the air, though smoke no longer blew in fierce gusts across the rooftop. The fires had been burning for four days now. Perhaps the destruction would only end when there was nothing left for the flames to consume. Desire shuddered at the thought. She stooped to pick up a piece of paper, which strangely did not seem burnt at all, and put that in her sack as well.
Her rooftop sanctuary was almost unrecognisable beneath the accumulated debris of the fire. Ash lay like a shroud over everything, its weight twisting familiar plants into strange and unfamiliar shapes, eerie as phantoms in the flickering torchlight. Desire crouched to brush the ash from the leaves of one of her favourite plants. A cloud of fine dust blew up into her face and she jerked her head backwards to avoid breathing it in. She could taste the destruction as well as smell and see it.
Restoring the garden to order would be a huge task. She’d already decided there was no way to clean the thin layer of gravel that covered the roof leads. It would have to be swept up and replaced. That was a job for later, and one Desire would quite willingly leave to the strong arms and backs of her porters.
She wasn’t on the roof at nearly midnight because she had a compulsion to set the garden to rights immediately, but because this was where she always came when she sought peace of mind.
Jakob was sitting on a stone bench several feet away. He’d insisted on coming with her, for her own safety. Desire hadn’t objected. Though her garden was still her emotional haven, she no longer took it for granted the high parapets protected her from intruders.
After explaining everything to Benjamin, and writing a note to her household in Kingston authorising Kilverdale’s presence, she had returned to Godwin House. Benjamin, Jakob and several of Lord Halross’s servants had accompanied her. There had been no point in going to Kingston to confront Arscott because he wasn’t there, but Desire had half-expected to find him in the house on the Strand. By the time they’d arrived, her nerves had been wound tight in expectation of a traumatic meeting with Arscott. But there had been no sign of the steward. He’d hadn’t returned since his fleeting visit that morning.
Desire’s immediate reaction at Arscott’s absence had been relief. She was dreading the moment when she must question him. But she was also anxious and frustrated. Where was he? When would he be found? The uncertainty played on her nerves. She almost believed Jakob’s allegations, but she wanted to talk to Arscott herself. Hear his defence or confession. And then—she sighed heavily enough to create a small eddy of ash—she would have to make some painful decisions.
She stood up and moved on a couple of paces. A large piece of wood lay aslant a small bed of ash-encrusted herbs. The smell of the fire overpowered the scent of the herbs. Desire reached across and tried to lift the wood. She discovered she needed two hands to do so. She was amazed that such a heavy object had been whirled aloft by the fierce winds that had blown over London earlier in the week.
She lifted the wood clear of the plants and dropped it on the gravel. The impact kicked up a small billow of gritty ash that settled on the bottom of her skirt. The shabby work clothes she’d changed into earlier were filthy. Her thoughts jumped to her maid. She’d needed Lucy’s help to unlace the beautiful blue gown. The maid had arrived at Godwin House at twilight, riding pillion behind one of the grooms. They had followed Benjamin from Kingston, but hadn’t travelled at such breakneck speed. Lucy had burst into tears of relief on discovering her mistress safe and sound, but her attention had been very happily diverted into admiration for the blue silk gown.
‘I knew you’d look good in silk, my lady. You must have some gowns made up just like this,’ she said firmly.
‘I believe I will,’ said Desire, laughing at Lucy’s eager expression. Some good had come of the catastrophe. She would please herself and her maid by extending her wardrobe.
Desire’s disorganised thoughts returned abruptly to her immediate surroundings. She looked around and saw Jakob sitting at his ease on the bench. His dark clothes blended into the shadows. She could see the pale outline of his head, but not his expression. Even though he made no sound or movement to attract her attention, behind all the other thoughts buzzing randomly through her mind she was constantly aware of his presence.
He hadn’t tried to dissuade her from coming on to the roof. Nor had he tried to talk to her. He just sat quietly and let her flit from one half-finished task—or thought—to the next. His patience was both comforting and disconcerting. She wondered what he was thinking. Had he spared a moment’s consideration for the kiss they’d shared last night? Or was he wholly preoccupied by bringing Arscott to justice?
She abandoned the half-filled sack of rubbish and went to stand by the parapet overlooking London. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to imagine the dreadful destruction she hadn’t seen with her own eyes just as, a few days ago, she had tried to imagine the people hurrying along the lively streets. Most of those streets were gone now. Tears filled her eyes. She lifted her hand and realised it was encased in a heavy leather glove. She dragged off both gloves and laid them on the parapet. Despite the protection of the gloves, her fingers were still covered in a fine layer of dust and grit. She caught a tear on her knuckle and swallowed a sob that would betray her volatile emotions to Jakob.
‘My lady?’ he said softly, from just a few feet behind her.
She caught her breath in surprise. She hadn’t realised he’d left the bench. ‘You move as silently as a ghost!’ She kept her head turned away from him and tried to insert a cheerful note into her voice.
‘You were lost in your thoughts. It is a sad sight.’
‘Yes.’ Desire was very conscious of him standing behind her, looking over her shoulder towards the burning city. He didn’t touch her, but she could sense his solid strength very close to her.
‘It is so…foolish,’ she said, suddenly driven to share her thoughts with him. ‘I stood here on Saturday afternoon, wishing I could go into London, even thinking of ways I could—and now it is too late. London has gone. I’ll never…I’ll never see it.’ Her voice wavered on a sob. Of its own volition her mouth turned down at the corners. She struggled to control her trembling lips, grateful for the darkness and the fact she wasn’t looking at Jakob.
He put his arms around her. The comfort of his embrace almost destroyed her self-control. She squeezed her eyes tight shut, determined not to surrender to tears.
‘It will be rebuilt,’ he said against her hair.
She took several careful breaths, focussing her attention on the sensation of being held in his strong arms rather than her grief. The dawning quiver of excitement he aroused within her was a pleasant distraction from her regrets.
‘It won’t be the same,’ she said, when she could trust her voice.
‘It may be better.’
‘I won’t be able to make a true comparison. I hardly knew it at all, and now I never will. I never took the chance to see it while I could and now it’s too late.’
Too late.
Such sad and final words. The distant flames blurred before Desire’s eyes. She blinked them away. There was no one to blame but herself. When her father had still been alive it had been her duty to abide by his wishes. But since his death she had been responsible for herself. It was true she had suffered from the interference of other people, but the ultimate decision to hide from the world these past five years had been hers. She had been afraid. And while she waited for courage too many chances had passed her by. She stared at the burning city and resolved she would never leave it too late again. Her caution had resulted only in loneliness and, according to all the indications, made her vulnerable to an over-ambitious, murderous steward.
‘Come and sit down,’ said Jakob.
She let him guide her to the bench. Earlier she’d laid a large piece of sacking over it to protect his fine clothes. She sat down beside him, taking care not to let her ash-covered skirt brush against his black brocade coat. All her jumbled thoughts about the events of the day slid into the background. When she was this close to Jakob she could think of nothing but him. All her senses were attuned to his tiniest movement. She wondered what he’d been thinking of while he’d been sitting so patiently. She wanted to know his thoughts and feelings and intentions. Most important of all, she wanted to know how he felt about her.
‘How are your hands?’ she asked, taking refuge in common courtesy.
‘Healing nicely, thank you.’ He’d replaced the bandages with a pair of soft gloves given to him by Lord Halross.
‘I’m glad.’ She glanced at Jakob and saw he was watching her. She quickly looked away, gripping her skirt nervously. Then she realised what she was doing and folded her hands in her lap, trying to give the appearance at least of serenity.
His long leg was stretched out lazily beside her. She remembered the feel of it lying across hers and her whole body flushed with self-conscious heat. She forgot about the anticipated reputation-saving marriage proposal he had not made earlier and remembered instead how he’d kissed her in the darkness last night. She tingled with embarrassing pleasure as she recalled the exhilarating weight of his body upon hers, pressing her into the mattress, filling her with tumultuous sensations.
Perhaps it was because they were alone beneath the moon that her thoughts were so wayward. Most of the torches had now burnt out and there was little chance they’d be interrupted. Benjamin had been exhausted from his hard ride and anxiety and had gone early to bed and no one else was likely to bother them.
Desire stole another glance at Jakob. Perhaps he would kiss her again. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, unconsciously sucking it as she considered the possibility. There was no denying she’d enjoyed the experience. No other man had ever shown any interest in kissing her. To be fair, she’d never felt any urge to kiss any other man. If Arscott was captured tomorrow and Jakob no longer felt any obligation to guard her, this might be her last opportunity. He’d apparently enjoyed kissing her before and, although it was probably very shocking of her, she didn’t see how one more kiss would do any harm.
How did she indicate to him she wouldn’t mind if he kissed her? Athena would surely know, but Desire had no idea. She glanced down at herself. The shabby old dress was suitable for delving in the dirty ash covering her garden, not enticing the interest of a handsome man. It covered her from throat to ankles. She recalled Athena’s trick with the bodice of the blue gown, but it would be far too obvious and immodest to adjust her neckline in Jakob’s presence.
Then she remembered that he’d kissed her last night after she’d nearly stepped on him lying outside the door. Perhaps she should stand up and pretend to fall over his outstretched leg? She’d have to jump up fast before he had a chance to rise also as courtesy demanded. But he already believed she was a trifle clumsy, and if she accidentally fell on to his lap…
Jakob took her hand. Her heart gave a startled thump and then began to beat so fast and loudly she was sure he could hear it. But the last time he’d taken her hand it had been the prelude to bad news, not a kiss.
‘Are you going to tell me some other bad thing?’ she burst out.
‘I hope not.’ He sounded taken aback.
‘Oh.’ Desire flushed with embarrassment. If he’d been planning to kiss her, of course he wouldn’t consider it bad. And if he now believed she thought it would be a bad thing, she might have put him off. How did other women manage in this kind of situation? Perhaps next time she saw Athena she should endure the embarrassment of asking for advice. In the meantime, she decided a small amount of encouragement to Jakob might be in order.
‘You may if you wish,’ she said, keeping her eyes studiously fixed on the corner of the water cistern because she was far too self-conscious to look at him.
‘’That is very gracious of you, my lady.’ He’d sounded mildly perplexed before, but now there was not a shadow of doubt that he was amused.
Mortified and incensed, Desire leapt to her feet. ‘It’s late. I’ll say goodnight to you, sir—’
He gave a deft tug on the hand he still held and she landed on his lap.
‘How dare you!’ she sputtered, startled by how he’d turned the tables on her. ‘Unhand me!’
‘I’m not handling you,’ he pointed out. He demonstrated by holding both arms out on either side of her. ‘You can dismount any time you wish.’
‘I am not mounted!’ She was half-scandalised by his turn of phrase. She supposed he was flirting with her—and the reality was even more overwhelming than the memory of his kisses.
She could feel his muscular thighs through the layers of her skirts. He rested one arm casually across her lap, but he didn’t constrain her in any way. The weight of his arm across her legs was very…stimulating…in a rather subtle way. She was surrounded by his strength, but he wasn’t using force to hold her captive.
This close she could see the teasing light in his eyes. His smile was a wickedly enticing dare, tempting her to come closer. Without realising what she was doing, she rested one hand on his shoulder as she waited to see what his next move would be. He just tilted his head back a little further. The look in his eyes said he was perfectly well aware of what she was thinking and what she expected of him—and somehow she just knew he was inviting her to kiss him.
It wasn’t what she’d expected. He was the one who was supposed to kiss her—wasn’t he? She caught her lower lip between her teeth as she worried over the problem. But his hair was a temptation she couldn’t resist. Almost without realising it, she began to stroke and play with the long golden strands. Even in the moonlight she saw how his eyes darkened at her actions.
Suddenly she snatched her hand back.
‘I’m all ashy!’ she gasped, belatedly remembering her hands were far from clean.
‘I can stand a little ash,’ he replied, his voice so deep it reverberated throughout Desire’s body. ‘Don’t stop for that.’
‘Oh.’ She lifted her hand again, a little tentatively. For a moment she looked beyond Jakob and saw the distant fires and the stark black silhouettes of ruined buildings. Soon perhaps most of the city would be gone.
Too late. She was never going to leave it too late again.
With sudden resolution she lowered her head and gently touched her mouth to Jakob’s lips. Her heart hammered with nervousness at her boldness. Her blood sang in her ears, drowning out any other sound. She was so overwhelmed by her own brazen behaviour that for several seconds she forgot to be excited by the feel of Jakob’s mouth against hers.
She expected him to kiss her back. Instead she felt him smile against her lips.
She jerked her head away and tried to scramble off his lap.
For the first time he tightened his hold on her, easily preventing her half-hearted attempt to escape.
‘You’re laughing at me!’ she accused him, hurt and indignant.
‘No. Never.’ His deep voice was soothing and seductive. ‘Again,’ he murmured, ‘try again.’
Desire looked at him warily. He didn’t appear to be laughing at her. She couldn’t quite read his expression, but when he smiled and lifted his chin very slightly she could only interpret the gesture as a renewed invitation to kiss him. She would much have preferred him to kiss her, but she wasn’t bold enough to say that.
She took a deep breath, her courage in both hands, and lightly brushed her lips across his a second time. He didn’t smile this time, but nor did he kiss her into the state of delirious confusion she’d experienced the previous night.
‘More,’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘More, älskling.’
‘More?’ Desire lifted her head once more to stare at him in suspicion and frustration.
‘Kiss me the way I want to be kissed,’ he said softly. ‘Kiss me the way a man dreams of being kissed when—’
‘You are making fun of me!’
‘Do you have any idea of what torture it was to lie beside you all night and not touch you again?’
‘I… Oh…torture?’ Desire gazed at him, intrigued and pleased by what he’d just said. ‘Really? You wanted to kiss me again?’
‘And now you’re torturing me,’ he pointed out. ‘Giving me such insipid little pecks when I know—’
‘You are trying to provoke me into kissing you!’ Desire exclaimed, thumping his shoulder. ‘To make me prove I can do better than…than… You are devious and underhand! That is not gentlemanly!’
Jakob laughed softly. ‘Such energy. Such passion. Show me, älskling.’
‘You are a scoundrel,’ she told him, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.
‘Mmm.’ Jakob hummed in amused, wordless agreement with her assessment of his character. For the first time he put his hands on her waist.
She held her breath as he spanned her slim waist, then slid his hands up her back towards her shoulders, very gently urging her closer.
She let him pull her closer, but her hand on his shoulder kept a certain careful distance between them.
‘You are trying to take advantage of my lack of worldly experience,’ she said, far more confident than she had been a few minutes ago.
‘Not with any great success,’ he retorted. ‘And at considerable expense to my manly pride.’
‘You mean it normally only takes one glance from your fine blue eyes and women melt into a pool at your feet,’ Desire said, exhilarated by their teasing conversation.
‘Or thereabouts,’ he agreed. ‘You are the first wench ever to beat me black and blue, abuse me and scorn—’
‘I did not beat you black and blue,’ she interrupted indignantly. ‘Did I really hurt you?’ she asked, a little worriedly.
‘Would you like to see the bruises?’ Even in the lantern light she could see the wicked gleam in his eyes.
‘No. Thank you.’ She was determined not to seem flustered. ‘I will make you a salve for them if you like.’
‘A kiss would be much better medicine.’
‘You didn’t kiss me back!’ Desire burst out, then became mortified at what she’d just said.
‘You gave up too soon. Persistence is a virtue—and would have been rewarded.’
‘Insufferable arrogance!’ Desire was outraged. ‘It is not I who should stoop to tempt you, but you who should—’ She broke off as she felt Jakob shake with laughter. ‘Humph.’ She turned sideways on his lap and folded her arms across her chest.
It would be more dignified if she stood up and left the roof, but that seemed a rather extreme—not to say irreversible—step to take. She settled for not looking at him, but she felt both vulnerable and frustrated. He understood the rules of this game far better than she did.
He kissed her temple.
It was very pleasurable, but she refused to surrender immediately to his seductive caresses. He had made her feel foolish. She kept her face averted from him.
‘Desire?’ he murmured against her skin.
‘Don’t call me that.’
‘Don’t you think I do?’ His kissed her temple again, brushed his lips over her cheek and kissed the corner of her mouth. She drew in a quick, responsive breath, then nervously moistened her lower lip with her tongue.
Jakob stroked the tender skin beneath her ear with light fingertips. A second later his mouth replaced his fingers. Desire sighed as his warm lips tantalised her sensitive flesh. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the intoxicating sensations he conjured within her.
His hand slid lower. For a moment he laid his palm flat on the upper plane of her breast. Even through her bodice she could feel the heat of his touch. On a surge of excitement she turned her head towards him. Instantly his mouth claimed hers.
The shock of possession was overwhelming. She felt rather than heard his deep, satisfied hum as he ravished her mouth. She twisted to face him more fully, instinctively pressing her breasts against his firm chest. Her hand slipped up around his neck. He filled her entire awareness. The tip of his tongue stroked inside her mouth and she shivered at the exotic, masculine taste of him. His tongue pressed more urgently past her lips in an erotic rhythm. She began to ache with a hot, unfulfilled need in a different place entirely. She wriggled in his lap.
He groaned against her mouth and his hand clamped on her hip, holding her more tightly against his lower body. Even through the layers of her skirts she became aware of a hard pressure against her hip. It partially distracted her from his hot kisses. She squirmed again, experimentally, eager to discover if what she thought she could feel was what she really could feel.
‘Do that one more time and your skirts will be up around your waist and you’ll be astride me,’ Jakob warned her harshly.
She was shocked into abrupt stillness, hardly even daring to breathe. Her body was flushed and aching with arousal, her lips swollen and tingling from Jakob’s kisses. But he had just spoken to her more harshly than ever before. She felt disorientated. Confused. She looked at him in bewilderment. His face was in shadows and she couldn’t see his expression. Instead she heard his ragged intake of breath. The thigh muscles beneath her were solid with tension. He deliberately moved his arms away from her. His embrace had been warm and welcoming, now his whole body was rigid with silent rejection.
Desire found herself sitting on the lap of a man who clearly didn’t want her there. It was one of the most humiliating experiences of her life. Even Kilverdale hadn’t tempted her with kisses before slighting her.
A crashing tidal wave of anger came to her rescue. Fury at Jakob for playing games with her. Fury at herself for so naïvely allowing him to do so. It must have greatly amused him to tease her into kissing him. She had behaved like the most wanton alehouse wench and now he was treating her accordingly. It was intolerable.
She tried to stand up, desperate to put as much physical distance between them as possible.
Instantly his arms closed around her, preventing her from moving.
‘Let me go!’ She sat stiffly upright, refusing to sacrifice her dignity in a struggle.
‘Desire—’
‘I wish to go in now,’ she said coldly, refusing to look at him. ‘Kindly release me.’
He allowed her to slip off his lap and she stood up. Her legs felt like water, but she stiffened her knees and hoped he wouldn’t notice how she trembled.
‘Goodnight, sir,’ she said, proud of her steady voice.
‘Desire—’
Her step faltered briefly, then she walked away without looking back.
Jakob let her go. He wasn’t sure what he would have said if she’d stayed. He was frustrated by the outcome of their tryst and angry with himself. He had meant to do no more than indulge them both in a little light-hearted flirtation. He should have known better. The need Desire created in him was far too powerful to be satisfied by a mere kiss. His hasty words had been provoked by the deeply conflicting emotions she aroused in him, but he’d regretted them as soon as they were out of his mouth. It had been unfair to speak so harshly to her. But it was easy to forget how inexperienced she was, and to mistake her genuine confusion or indignation for the provocative ploys of a more knowing woman.
He stretched out his arms and legs in an effort to release some of the tension cramping his muscles. When he’d set out for England, he hadn’t expected his life to become so complicated so quickly. He’d lingered at Dover because he hadn’t been in a hurry to present himself to his grandfather. But now his status as Lord Swiftbourne’s heir was the least of his immediate problems. There was Arscott to bring to justice. Desire to keep safe. The continuing but reduced danger of the fire. Even the possibility of invasion by the French or Dutch—though he was inclined to trust Swiftbourne’s sources that there was no imminent threat.
And in the midst of everything else was his powerful attraction to Desire. He’d been drawn to her from the first moment he saw her, flushed and contented in the middle of her garden. His admiration for her had grown during the failed abduction attempt. She had held him at bay so courageously with Potticary’s pistol and then prevented her angry household from lynching him. It had taken rare strength of character to enforce her wishes, especially when Arscott was undermining her authority with subtle encouragement to the servants who usually took their orders from him.
Jakob suspected that, even now, Desire didn’t fully realise it was the steward who had prompted the first cry to lynch him, a cry that had been enthusiastically taken up by almost every other man on the roof until Benjamin arrived.
He owed her his life. He respected the fierce integrity that had compelled her to save him. Most of all, he liked her directness and her honesty. There was nothing coy about Lady Desire. She’d wanted him to kiss her and she’d come very close to saying so. The memory of her gracious, though carefully unspecified, permission brought a smile to his lips. And she was as passionate as she was honest. The remembered feel of her in his arms, warm and responsive, stirred his blood anew. His smiled faded as he recalled what had happened next. She hadn’t received a fair return for her lack of guile. He could hardly blame her for her anger at the way he’d just treated her.
He frowned at an ash-covered bed of lavender. One of the earliest decisions he’d made after discovering he would one day inherit his grandfather’s title was that, since he would eventually end his days in England, he would wait and take an English wife. He’d seen how his Swedish-born mother dreaded moving to England when her husband inherited. In the end she’d been spared that upheaval by the unexpected death of James Balston in a quayside accident but, for more than a decade, the eventual move had been a continual source of background anxiety to her. With his mother’s example before him, Jakob had never had any heart to set up a cosy family in Sweden, only to uproot it and transplant it to an unfamiliar land.
The decision had imposed little hardship on him—as a younger man he hadn’t been ready for the restrictions of marriage—but it had made him cautious. For the whole of his adult life he had been careful never to let any flirtation become too serious, and never to allow any woman to harbour misplaced dreams of becoming his wife. Keeping a woman at a distance—while at the same time taking whatever uncommitted pleasure she was willing to give—had become a habit.
He’d instinctively fallen into the same pattern in his flirtation with Desire. The unusual circumstances of their initial meeting and continuing contact removed most of the restrictions that normally protected a gently bred young woman. It was easy and very pleasant to tease and kiss her. But Desire did not understand the rules of the game he usually played. If they continued as they had been, he risked hurting her even more badly than Kilverdale—not to mention destroying her reputation.
He stared into the darkness. His original decision had been to delay marriage because of the peculiar circumstances of his inheritance, not avoid it permanently. That thought led him back to Swiftbourne. Desire was just the kind of wealthy noblewoman that any sensible man would wish his heir to marry. Jakob was sure that Lord Swiftbourne had begun to calculate the advantages of the match from the moment he’d learnt of Jakob’s involvement with Desire.
The thought set him on edge. He knew that, sooner or later, he would end up living permanently in England. He’d come now to acquaint himself with the Swiftbourne estates and dependents, but he still wasn’t sure whether he wanted to stay here while he waited for Swiftbourne to die. The role of the dutiful—or impatient—heir did not appeal to him. He only meant to remain in England if he could find something to do that satisfied his need for independent, fulfilling action. He would have to be much more cautious in his dealings with Desire. He had no wish to play fast and lose with her feelings or expectations.
In the meantime, his most important task was to keep her safe. He stood up and followed her down into the house.
There were very few mirrors in Godwin House and most of those had been removed to save them from the fire. Desire had to search through several, seldom-used rooms before she found one. She held up a candle so she could see herself clearly. The scars were there, just as she remembered. Two jagged lines across her cheek. Perhaps they were a little less pronounced than they had been when she was a child. She had another scar on her leg that snaked over her thigh, but that didn’t matter because no one else ever saw it. Only the scars on her face were important.
She traced her fingers along the ugly ridges. She could remember her life before she’d had them—but she couldn’t remember what it was like not to be scarred. It seemed that all her life she had been turning her face aside to avoid curious glances from strangers.
She stroked her fingers back over the scars. It was a long time since she’d studied them in such close detail. They were not beautiful, but they were not—she did not think they were…repellent. Today she had met many strangers and none of them had acted as if they found her appearance repulsive. She’d seen curiosity in their eyes, but not revulsion.
Fear of rejection had haunted Desire ever since she’d overheard Kilverdale’s cruel words six years ago. But perhaps she’d been afraid of it even before their betrothal had been discussed. She’d always known her fortune made her an attractive bride, yet she’d been twenty-four before her father had begun marriage negotiations on her behalf.
She stroked her hand once more over her cheek. Had it been her father’s fear for his beloved only child that had delayed his marriage plans on her behalf—he’d always been more protective of her tender feelings than her practical-minded mother—or the complications of the ever-changing political situation? Or had he simply not wanted to lose her company?
One reason Lord Larksmere hadn’t sought a husband for his daughter earlier had been the death of Lady Larksmere. Desire’s mother had died, after being ill for nearly two years, when Desire was twenty-one. Desire had nursed the Countess for most of that time, always sure her valiant mother would get better, never once giving any thought to a suitor for herself. Despite the forewarning, the Countess’s death had come as a shock to the whole household. By the time Lord Larksmere had recovered sufficiently from his personal grief to look outwards once more, Cromwell was dead and the whole country once more teetered in uncertainty. It wasn’t until the return of Charles II, when Desire was twenty-four, that her father had made a serious attempt to find her a husband.
With hindsight, Desire could see that the proposed marriage between Kilverdale and herself would have been a mismatch in more ways than one. The Royalist returned from exile and the daughter of one of Cromwell’s allies were from completely different worlds. Lord Larksmere had not supported the execution of the King and had withdrawn from public life from that time forward, but he had always remained on good terms with Cromwell.
When Desire had first overheard Kilverdale’s cruel comment about her, she’d taken it as a personal rejection of her, but for the first time she wondered if she’d been wrong. Was her appearance the real cause of the anger and bitterness she’d heard in his voice that dreadful day? Or had he simply vented his anger and grief at everything the Parliamentarians had cost him on the nearest available target? Perhaps even regretted his cruelty later?
Because everyone she’d met today—Jakob, Athena, Lord Swiftbourne, even Lord Halross—trusted without question that Kilverdale would diligently protect the fortune she’d sent to Kingston. There must be more to the man than casual unkindness if he could inspire so much confidence in those who knew him. If she’d been wrong about Arscott and wrong about Kilverdale, how much else had she been wrong about?
A creaking board caught her attention. The big old house was full of creaks and groans. Most of the time she hardly noticed, but tonight she lifted her candle and glanced around the shadows of the seldom-used chamber. She could see nothing to alarm her. The oldest parts of the house had been built more than a century ago. Even the newest additions dated back eighty years to the reign of Elizabeth. Desire’s grandfather had had the new wing built, Arscott’s grandfather had been one of the masons who’d worked on it.
Desire’s grandfather had died before she was born. Her only knowledge of him came from his portrait, which usually hung in the great parlour, and the stories told by her father. He’d been a staunch Roman Catholic who had never forgiven his son—Desire’s father—for becoming a Protestant. It was strange to think that, although Desire did not share the same form of worship as her grandfather, she had inherited so much else from him. Not only the house in which she lived, but the links between her family and Arscott’s, which dated back at least three generations. She could still hardly believe the steward was guilty of everything Jakob claimed.
Jakob.
She turned back to the mirror, finally allowing herself to remember what had happened on the roof. Her immediate reaction had been anger, hurt and a bitter sense of rejection. He was as cruel as Kilverdale. Humiliated pride demanded that she banish him from her house and presence at the first opportunity. Only the certainty that he wouldn’t obey such a demand had prevented her from uttering it on the roof. It would be even more humiliating when he ignored her order.
But now she was calmer, she was able to see that there was a huge difference between what the two men had said—and what they’d meant. Kilverdale had said he didn’t want her under any circumstances. Jakob had implied the absolute reverse.
Do that one more time and your skirts will be up around your waist and you’ll be astride me.
Desire flushed with mortification at the image conjured by the crude words, but they weren’t a rejection. Ungallant, unromantic and brutally direct—but not a rejection. They were a warning: she’d stirred his lust to danger point. He’d wanted her so much he’d been on the point of taking her right there on the roof.
She laid one hand against the wall beside the mirror. Even in the candlelight she could see the turbulent expression in her eyes. She couldn’t doubt Jakob’s physical readiness to make love to her. Her kisses had created that response in him. Until she’d met Jakob, she’d never imagined she could ever have such a potent effect upon a man. She was excited, scared and furious.
Part of her anger was directed at Jakob for playing games with her. It wasn’t fair to tempt her to kiss him and then blame her when his male passion became too fierce. But she was also angry at herself because her lack of worldly experience made her so susceptible to him. A more sophisticated woman wouldn’t have permitted him to toy with her so humiliatingly.
She’d played right into his hands. Wondering how to make him kiss her! He must be laughing himself sick at her innocence. The little pigeon so desperate for masculine approval she’d even given him permission to pluck her—or at least to kiss her. What had she been thinking? Jakob was an opportunist scoundrel who had kissed her at every available opportunity since she’d knelt before him in the rowing boat.
She whirled away from the mirror so fast the candle nearly blew out. He was beautiful and she was not. Did he think it was an act of charity to kiss her? He had taken advantage of her and she had let him because no other man had ever wanted her. But that wasn’t good enough. She was not his plaything.
She strode out of the small chamber into the long gallery, which stretched the full length of the east wing. She started to pace up and down. The candle flame flickered wildly in the breeze she created. She set it down a safe distance away and continued to march up and down the shadowy gallery, working out her anger and frustration in the exercise. Her footsteps echoed on the floorboards. To the end and back. To the end and back. She’d walked miles in this gallery over the years. Hundreds of miles? Thousands of miles? And never gone anywhere.
She reached the end of the gallery and turned on her heel with an angry swish of her skirts. A fine cloud of ash blew up from her hem, reminding her of the destruction and lost chances beyond the safety of her walls. A single candle was inadequate to light the entire length of the gallery—most of it was in darkness. The shadows didn’t scare her. She was familiar with them. The world beyond her gates was far more daunting. So was Jakob. The growing strength of her attraction to him and her suspicion that he was simply amusing himself at her expense both scared and angered her. She hated being at such a disadvantage.
But she also needed a husband. There were many good and practical reasons for marriage—she needed a strong man to protect her and give her children. But she also need a husband for her own personal contentment. A husband who would escort her into society, talk to her, ease her loneliness, tease her, kiss her…
Jakob had proved to be competent at all of those things—apart from a tendency to withhold essential information from her, though perhaps she could train him out of that error. But was he looking for a wife? That was a question of utmost importance.
The answer was immediately obvious. A man who would one day inherit an earldom must be eager to ensure the succession. Her father had reconciled himself to the will of God on the matter, but only after Lady Larksmere had endured several miscarriages and Desire’s five older brothers and sisters had all died before their second birthday. Desire knew it had been a lingering sadness to her father to the end of his life that his title would die with him.
So Jakob needed a wife. No doubt he would prefer one who was young and unblemished, but in her favour was her fortune and the fact he apparently liked kissing and teasing her. That was a lot more than many marriages were founded upon.
She stopped dead in the middle of the gallery and drew in a deep, resolute breath. Jakob seemed a very good candidate to become her husband. But she needed to know more about him, and she definitely had to make sure he didn’t play games at her expense. It was time to take over the direction of her own life. Tomorrow she would make a start.