Chapter Thirteen
Where there’s a rogue, there’s a way.
Where the devil was she?
Upon Jack’s last furtive glance at his fob watch, nigh half hour had passed since Tamsyn had faded from sight beyond the crags laid bare by low tide and toward the hidden caves.
Guests now languished in the reposing area, chatting or lightly dozing, but Jack anxiously scanned the beach for returning grey skirts. All that caught his eye, however, was a gull dipping into the sea to rise gleefully with a flash of silver.
He tugged out his fob watch again, clicking open the case.
Enough was enough.
Unfolding his legs, he mutely rose to thread his way through the recumbent guests, worried that memories of that night would cause her anguish, that visions would assail her, and the thought lent speed to his heels. She could be crying or–
“Where are you going, young Winterbourne?”
Bloody chaperones.
The all-seeing great-aunt reclined on a plump cushion, both eyes closed.
“Thought I’d walk off the muggety pie, Mrs Pencally.”
She puckered her lips. One quelling eye opened. “Well, put your jacket back on and try the opposite direction to my niece.” The eye closed.
“My intention, of course, Mrs Pencally, but all these rocks do so confuse one’s compass.” And he turned on his heel to head up the beach, not deterred in the least. For if he climbed back to the headland and followed the coastal path a little further, he’d find that steep overgrown trail which led directly to the far end of the cove.
Humid sea breeze met Jack’s skin as the trail broadened onto the isolated inlet, boulders strewn as though a giant had ploughed his fist into the lunging cliffs and let nature fall asunder.
Never should he have left her alone for so long. What if she’d slipped on a rock or was sobbing in the cave? What if–
A tinkle of laughter and…
White slender toes flicked glinting droplets of water into the air as Tamsyn paddled in the shallows, and the punishing tension in his chest, which he’d not even realised he’d been sentenced to, eased.
Tamsyn Penrose wasn’t scared or anxious but glorious and fearless.
Maybe there was something to be said for water after all, as her gown was hitched to the knee.
Delicious, and he wondered what she would do if he tumbled her into the deep blue, kissed her with salty lips, yanked her skirts higher and explored with sleek hands, gown soaked wet and revealing every intoxicating inch.
Craving clawed at his resolve and the shale crunched as he strolled toward her, the rip of gentle tide dousing his approach.
“Are you my mermaid, Tamsyn?” he called, shedding his jacket. “Ready to lure some poor fellow out to Jones’s locker?”
She startled and looked up. “Not I,” she replied. “He must come of his own free will or not at all.”
Well, so much for come-hither sea maidens.
“But,” she continued, “I am being encircled by a significant number of small fishes nibbling my toes.” And Tamsyn proceeded to stagger from the shallows, tide lapping her legs like a lover’s tongue.
Innocent, he silently repeated. Rule number two.
“I believe we are making our way home soon.”
“Oh.”
Oh indeed, as they both glanced to her feet now caked in sand and bits of broken shell.
Capturing her fingers, he led her to a hollow rock formed like a ready-made armchair. “Allow me to dry you off.”
“But you haven’t–” Her words stalled as he began unravelling his cravat. Miggens would likely get the hump, but to hell with it.
Lowering to both knees before her, he pushed the skirt hem to her knee.
Tamsyn did not protest.
Her legs were slender with thin feet and pretty toes – well, compared to his hairy creations – and the sight hitched his breath.
A plethora of coquettish ladies had been served up at the picnic banquet and yet…
Tamsyn was the one lady he desired.
Brave, beguiling Tamsyn.
Deftly, he patted her toes, wiping the sand from them.
But little by little, the cravat whispering over her skin became a caress, and his hand encircled her ankle to lift her foot and dry her heel, fingers lingering on the delicate bones.
This gesture had been meant as purely practical, but now the eroticism of the scene enveloped him, and Tamsyn must have sensed it too, as her breathing shallowed in harmony with his own.
Yet she did not draw back.
Dazedly, he tried to remember his rules, but unbidden, his touch swept her shin, abandoning the cravat for naked fingertips upon naked skin.
Soft, damp and satin smooth.
“Jack?”
His gaze flicked up and found passion, longing and surrender, storm-blue eyes following his fingers as they slid past her knee, beneath her skirts.
Thrumming desire besieged him and with his other hand, he grabbed a loose trail of dark hair that rested upon her shoulder, twirling it around his fist, drawing her toward him.
Inches separated their mouths and never had he anticipated anything more.
He’d tasted yesternight, so brief and sweet, but now he wanted deeper. Her spirit and soul.
“Jack,” she murmured again, his name a plea. And like the fellow in that mermaid’s tale, he was powerless to resist her lure.
Their lips met.
Tentative and supple.
He could tell she had little knowledge but it tantalised him, that bewitching mix of innocence and sensuality, and unlike before in the dark, this kiss wasn’t created from turmoil, but from mutual need and downright desire.
Hands grasped his shirt and he reciprocated, parting her legs and hauling her close, plundering her mouth. Tamsyn moaned against his lips, and his senses unravelled as she acquired knowledge fast, meeting his tongue, full breasts pressing to his chest, fist clutching at his nape.
Yearning tied his body taut and his hand moved up her thigh, so silky and–
A surge of cold engulfed his knees and he pulled away, panting.
“Th-the tide’s coming in,” she whispered, and assuredly, the stretching reach of a wave had drenched his breeches. “My feet are soaked again.”
Wrenching his hand from Tamsyn’s thigh, he pulled back to his haunches, for once unsure of himself.
“I should not have done that. I apologise.” Those were the wrong words to say to a woman, he knew that, but true nonetheless. Never did he kiss maidens and certainly not in such a manner, ferocious and needy.
She stood, her grey skirts falling to veil the agreeable view. He’d expected upset or bewilderment but was instead greeted by…acceptance.
“You are a rogue, are you not?” she stated, rearranging pins in her hair. “And rogues kiss women all the time. I expect you’ve kissed half a dozen since arriving in Cornwall.”
He should agree. Shrug. Cause her to feel as though she was one of many.
“My lips,” he said, rising to his feet, “have not roamed since I left London and met you. But…you are correct, I am not a constant creature.”
Smiling, she cupped his cheek, and he refrained from turning his face to kiss her palm.
“Many men seduce from behind masks with sham words, Jack, so I appreciate your sincerity. And I hear a sennight is your limit for a dalliance, so mayhap in a day or two, you would lose interest.”
For some reason, that irritated him. But he kept it to himself.
Jack shifted. “For propriety, you’d best make your way back alone. I need…” He needed to get his unruly body under control, his arousal so fierce. “…to retie my cravat.”
They both stared at the sandy, mangled lump of cloth at his feet and she raised a brow.
Yes, it would take a miracle but nevertheless Tamsyn nodded and bent to gather her shoes. “Don’t be long. The tide has long turned.”
He watched as she scrambled back over the rocks with nimble feet and little hesitation, fingers grasping boulders as though a paramour’s torso.
Such notions did little to douse his stormy desire, but he refused to allow his gaze to wander till her skirts had disappeared over the outcrop.
Exhaling heavily, Jack picked his way along the sea-smoothed granite, avoiding scurrying crabs and watching the water gurgle and ripple in the many secretive pools.
A jutting group of boulders stretched into the deeper briny expanse, and he clambered up to seek the cool breeze, shaking off his waistcoat and flapping his shirt.
Where the devil was his self-control?
She’d agreed to tell him all and didn’t require further wooing.
But then, that wasn’t why he’d kissed her.
The mission, La Chauve-Souris, even his own reputation and rules had all been forgotten for a taste of Tamsyn Penrose.
At last, a cooler breeze assailed his skin and as a wave crashed against the rocks below, he forced his thoughts to sombreness, anything to quench the arousal still surging in his veins.
Thrusting a hand through his hair, he looked to the cliffs and thought of the night she’d been trapped in that cave, alone with a dead boy. Why had La Chauve-Souris left her alive?
He turned back to the sea, but sudden pain seared his nape and clouds of grey rolled in. He caught a glimpse of cudgel before his legs crumpled beneath him.
Heaving an arm aloft, he sought grip but seaweed tore in his scrabbling fingers and a bitter wave broke, lifting him from the rock and dragging him below. Water smothered his breath and the sea claimed its prey.