Scoundrel's Daughter Read online

  Jack didn’t think he’d ever seen anything quite as beautiful as her eyes, bright and curious as she’d looked at all the stone staircases, the narrow passageways and the columned galleries. It had taken her breath away.

  Experiencing it with her had taken his breath away.

  He had to quit thinking about her before going up to their room, or he was going to find it impossible to avoid touching her. Though it had been nothing short of torture to hold her in his arms last night, he had a suspicion that a night without her was going to be worse.

  Jack scraped his fingers through his hair and wondered how he had come to this: thinking about a woman—a prissy, bossy woman—every waking hour.

  Dorothea Bright was not at all what he’d thought at first. He still didn’t know quite who she was or what was going on under her bristly surface, but she posed a number of contradictions to his way of thinking. She acted as if she didn’t know her father at all, but her knowledge of ancient languages was staggering. No one but Alastair Bright would have bothered teaching her all that.

  And she seemed ridiculously naive about travel. Was it possible that she hadn’t shared her father’s quest for ancient artifacts, that she hadn’t actually traveled with him?

  Sometimes she seemed so puzzled by the smallest things. And worn out by such modest exercise as walking through the ruins today. He truly did not know what to make of her, but he decided that he was not going to figure her out tonight. Nor was he going to spend the night in that room with her. Sure, he’d considered seducing her to gain her allegiance, to turn her against Alastair. But he was not such a scoundrel that he would use a woman that way. Besides being too dishonest for his constitution, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt Dorrie Bright.

  And that would hurt her. She was not some pawn to be used in his revenge plot against Alastair, even if she was the man’s daughter.

  As Jack stretched out on a long sofa in the main room of the inn, he could not keep himself from remembering how it felt to have her lying next to him, tucked up in his arms. And he considered the possibility of lying with her every night for the rest of his life.

  He pulled up the collar of his coat to ward off the sudden chill. Oh, yes. He was much safer here.

  Dorothea propped both pillows behind her in order to ease her breathing. She hadn’t felt so short of breath in years, and she remembered her mother’s frequent admonitions to remain quiet and avoid overexertion.

  Until now, she had always followed her mother’s wishes. She’d heeded the warnings that overexertion would cause problems—that she would have trouble catching her breath, her heart would pound erratically and her ankles would swell. In truth, Dorothea guessed she hadn’t actually believed her mother’s dire predictions. She had not considered a walk through Rievaulx to be any more taxing than her walk from the London docks to her father’s house. On the contrary, she had enjoyed it immensely and did not know how she would ever be able to return to her passive, quiescent existence after three days with Jack Temple. Three days of learning how it felt to be alive.

  One full day to think about his kiss.

  Dorothea hadn’t realized how sheltered she’d been in her mother’s home. They’d had a maid and a footman to attend to their needs, and Dorothea had hardly ever needed to leave the house. Of course she’d spent time in the garden when the weather permitted, but, in general, her mother insisted that Dorothea stay indoors and not exert herself in any way.

  She’d had very few gentlemen callers. Honoria had discouraged such activities, leaving Dorothea with only a few contacts from the university. That was how she’d known Albert Bloomsby, the only young man who had satisfied Honoria’s requirements in a suitor.

  Thinking of him now, Albert seemed impossibly bland. Not just in appearance, for that was pleasing enough, Dorothea supposed, but in personality. Albert was dull. He was deferential to the point of being submissive. And he had been so solicitous of Dorothea’s mother. Until now, she had not realized how annoying that had been.

  There was no fire in Albert…no passion. That was what had always been missing in her life. There was no exhilaration or excitement, no amazement or awe and certainly there had been no outbursts of any kind of temper, either good or bad. Honoria had maintained a perfectly modulated household. She’d kept her daughter sheltered and protected from all the upsets of life.

  It wasn’t until Dorothea’s move to London and Jack Temple’s arrival in her father’s house that she had ever had to fend for herself.

  And, in spite of the physical weakness that plagued her now, Dorothea discovered she liked how it felt to be on her own. The small discomforts she suffered now would be nothing compared to what she would endure if she were forced to become sedentary again.

  Inching up her gown to look at her feet, she was gratified to see that there was no swelling. At least, not yet. Then she glanced at the door and wondered when Jack would arrive. Somehow, she had to keep him from discovering her heart condition.

  Because if he knew, Dorothea was sure he wouldn’t let her accompany him any farther on his quest for the Mandylion.

  Chapter Ten

  Jack awoke at an ungodly early hour with a sore back and a crick in his neck. He sat up on the sofa, rubbed his aching muscles and realized no one was up and about yet. The sun hadn’t risen and only the earliest robin had started to sing.

  He figured Dorrie would sleep another couple of hours at least, giving him a chance to ride back to Rievaulx and wander around the ruins again. He wanted to explore some specific areas of the abbey.

  He put his shoes on, grabbed his coat and headed for the door, then retraced his steps and returned to the registration desk. Locating a sheet of paper and a pencil, Jack wrote a quick note in case Dorrie came looking for him before he returned.

  He slipped out of the inn, borrowed a saddle and a shovel, mounted his horse and headed for the abbey.

  After talking to Atwater, Jack had a better idea of the layout of the monastery. He knew where the refectory and chapter house were and the layout of the cloister and dormitory. With so much rubble all over the ruins, he thought he might dig a bit and see if he could turn up anything in the vicinity of where the abbot’s office would have been located.

  If there were any clues to be had, that’s where they would be found.

  It did not take long to reach the site, and Jack dismounted to wander in the predawn light. He found himself wishing he’d waited for Dorrie.

  He’d wandered many an excavation site in his years as an explorer, but had never felt such pure enjoyment in the search as he had yesterday afternoon. Dorrie’s presence had magnified Jack’s pleasure.

  Still, she was her father’s daughter, he reminded himself, and Jack had to be cautious about how much he revealed to her. No matter how much he enjoyed baiting her—hell, he enjoyed watching her do the smallest things—he was not about to let her get hold of the Mandylion before him. She would just turn it over to her father.

  Not that he had any real worry on that score. As he’d noted before, she didn’t seem to have the vaguest idea how to go about following the clues of the map and key. She’d been completely enthralled by the ruins, and if Jack were honest with himself, he felt the slightest bit guilty about coming back here without her.

  It had come down to the two of them in this together, no matter what their separate motives happened to be.

  With the shovel he’d appropriated from Atwater’s stable, Jack started digging through debris. After an hour, he realized it would take weeks to get through the three hundred years’ detritus that was scattered about. He wasn’t going to find anything significant under the top layer.

  He brushed off his hands and placed them on his hips. He didn’t mind the hard, tedious work that was usually required to make grand discoveries. But this was pointless. He needed his team—men who had the skills to unearth anything worth keeping—in order to excavate the site properly.

  He picked up the shirt and jacket he’d disca
rded and threw them on, but when he headed back to the inn, it was with anticipation, rather than disappointment.

  When Dorothea awoke, she felt much better. Her breathing was fairly normal, and her appetite was back.

  But there was no sign of Jack. It didn’t look as if he’d even slept in the room, unless he’d spent the night on the floor without even a blanket to ward off the chill.

  She should have felt grateful for the privacy he’d given her. She did feel grateful. She had certainly not missed him in her bed, sharing his heat, feeling the weight of his presence. She had spent many years alone and was content to spend many more.

  Sliding out of bed, Dorothea went to the window, opening the curtains to a beautiful, golden morning. Lifting the sash, she leaned out, breathing deeply of the fresh air, and wondered what the day would bring.

  Would they travel to another one of the sites marked on the map? And if they did, how would Jack know exactly where it was? Maps drawn in medieval times were notoriously inaccurate. Dorothea knew Jack would have to be guessing when he decided where they went next. But Dorothea decided she did not care what their destination was. She only wanted to join in on the search.

  Smiling at the prospect of another exhilarating day, she went to stand before the commode and poured fresh water into the basin. Humming quietly to herself, she washed her hands and face.

  Jack stuffed the map in his back pocket and quietly opened the door to Dorrie’s room. It was well past midmorning, and though he’d allowed her to sleep this long, they had to get going soon. He had chosen the next site he wanted to visit, and it would take a few hours’ travel to reach it.

  He had looked in on her several times throughout the morning, only to find her sound asleep. This time, however, she was standing at the washstand, wearing a thin, white night rail that touched the floor. Her arms were bare and her hair was a luscious mass of shining mahogany waves that reached her waist. She had not heard him come in, so he had the pleasure of listening to her sweet voice humming a quiet tune, until she suddenly turned and caught sight of him.

  “Jack!” was her whispered cry.

  She was buttoned up to the neck, but the gown did not conceal her curves from him. The cloth was thin, and the water she’d splashed down the front made it nearly transparent. The sight of her clad so simply was more erotic than any of the pieces in Alastair’s collection, and even more revealing than what he’d seen through the kitchen window the night he’d broken into her father’s house.

  He knew he should beg her pardon and see himself out of the room. But he did not. His feet would not move.

  But his eyes did. They looked their fill, appreciating every feminine inch of her, down to her toes, then back up her trim legs to the dark vee where they met. His glance grazed the peaks of her breasts before moving up to her neck and chin and to that full mouth that he ached to taste.

  Her lips parted, and he was suddenly standing a hair’s breadth away from her. He touched his mouth to hers, then slipped a hand around her waist to pull her close. When he felt her breath catch, he deepened the kiss, closing his eyes to all but the woman in his arms.

  He had wanted this since the last time they’d kissed. He’d thought of it all afternoon while they’d first explored Rievaulx and again at supper when he’d gotten lost in her eyes.

  Her taste was intoxicating, and the sensation of her body against his was even more arousing now than it had been when they’d shared a bed. He changed the angle of the kiss and felt her arms slide up his chest and over his shoulders. When her fingers dipped into the hair at his nape, an insatiable hunger ran through him.

  His tongue invaded her mouth, sampling heaven as he used his hand to press her body against his. Her innocent response was as strong an aphrodisiac as the cantharides powder used by the ancient Greeks. He shuddered with arousal and slipped his hands lower, cupping her buttocks.

  Soon, that was not enough. He had to feel bare skin beneath his hands.

  Without breaking the kiss, Jack drew her night rail up until the length of it was bunched in his hand at her waist. Then he caressed the silky skin of her bottom, feeling every soft curve. He caught sight of her—and of his hands stroking her—in the cheval mirror standing in the corner behind her.

  Jack nearly came apart.

  Her bottom was heart-shaped and smooth; her legs delicately shaped, tapering to trim knees and ankles. Jack could continue lifting the gown until he had her completely undressed, but he lingered there, caressing, his fingers seeking, arousing.

  Dorrie moaned and rocked her hips against him. He groaned when he realized the situation had spun away from him. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers and fought for control. He had two choices: either turn around and leave now or lay her on the bed and do exactly what their bodies were demanding of them.

  He must be out of his mind.

  “Dorrie,” he rasped, letting the fabric of her gown slide back to the floor. “I…we…still have differences,” he finally said. “Your father…the Mandylion…”

  He watched her long lashes close over her eyes. She took a deep breath while he cursed himself for letting lust sneak up on him and rule his actions this morning. He’d been a far better man last night.

  Dorothea could not have been more mortified. She had behaved no better than a common trollop, though Jack Temple had clearly shown he wanted no part of her.

  She turned away abruptly so that he would not see the tears of embarrassment she was frantically blinking away.

  “Dorrie.”

  “I’ll be ready to leave in a quarter hour,” she said, keeping her voice as steady as possible. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  He did not move, but neither did Dorothea, who was willing to wait him out. Once she was dressed, she would feel more composed. She would not have to dwell upon what had nearly happened here or Jack’s rebuff.

  In the meantime, she stood perfectly still while she waited to hear the sounds that accompanied his departure from the room. When he was gone, she crumpled to the bed and wept.

  She had never felt so stupid, so worthless, in her life.

  After a few minutes of tearful indulgence, Dorothea composed herself and got dressed, taking care to leave no part of her body—besides her hands and face—exposed. It had been quite enough to be naked to Jack Temple’s perusal once this morning and to have been found wanting. It would not happen again.

  There was no reason to become sidetracked from the task at hand. She was going to find a way to discover the Mandylion without Jack Temple. He was relying upon her to make the translations, and she could make up anything she pleased. She had never had occasion to lie before, but she was certain she could manage to do so with such an important prize. Then she would turn the Mandylion over to her father, and he would receive credit for the discovery.

  Once she was laced tightly and buttoned up, she pinned on her hat and slipped on her gloves. Feeling as well girded as she could be, she descended the stairs and stepped into the room where they’d had supper the previous night.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Adams,” said a cheerful Mrs. Atwater. “Your breakfast is ready. Your husband is hitching the horses to your carriage, and then, I expect you’ll be on your way.”

  “Yes, I expect so,” Dorothea said quietly, attempting to be as polite and friendly as the innkeeper’s wife.

  “Shall I have one of the boys gather your bags? Take them down to your carriage?”

  “Yes, please,” Dorothea replied.

  She sat down to her breakfast and ate sparingly, dreading the moment when Jack would appear to collect her. She did not know how she would face the man after their disastrous encounter. How did a woman behave with a man who’d seen her naked…a man who then decided he didn’t want her?

  Dorothea swallowed thickly and pushed away from the table. The best thing was to get it over and done. Soon.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Atwater,” Dorothea said. “I don’t have much appetite this morning.”
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br />   The woman gave Dorothea a wink, then looked pointedly at her abdomen. “You must not be too far along,” she said. “You’re not showing at all.”

  Dorothea nearly choked at the implication that she was carrying Jack’s child.

  “Don’t worry, deary,” Mrs. Atwater added, “it doesn’t last long—the sickness, I mean. And soon you’ll have a young one to look after.”

  Unconsciously, Dorothea placed a hand on her midsection. The thought of Jack’s child inside her…She did not know what to say.

  She jumped when Jack stepped up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

  “You take care of the missus, now,” Mrs. Atwater said as Jack turned Dorothea and they started out of the room. “Don’t be dragging her all over the countryside in her condition.”

  The only condition that had ever been ascribed to Dorothea had been her heart condition. An illness, not a joy. In a daze, she allowed Jack to lead her to the carriage. She mounted, seated herself and thought of possibilities she had never considered before.

  Jack drove the carriage away from the inn, and when Dorothea glanced up to look at him, she found him gazing at her with an odd expression. She blushed. He was probably remembering…

  “You all right?” he asked.

  She gave a brusque nod. “Yes.”

  A child. The thought of bearing Jack’s child was not as abhorrent as it might have been only yesterday. For the first time in her life, Dorothea imagined herself as a mother. First, she would have to become a wife, of course. She had every reason to believe that Albert Bloomsby would eventually come to London for her and ask for her hand. He was a most suitable candidate for marriage, even though he was a bit dull. And after they were wed, she and Albert would…engage in the sort of activity that led to procreation.

  The trouble was that she could not imagine any kind of intimacy with Albert. His hands were pale and soft and would not feel anything like—

  Jack’s.