LITMIR.BIZ

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soft and warm against her own, almost robbed her of her senses but she battled against the mind-numbing sensations he was arousing within her. She must remain calm and make her comparisons. The man in the arbour had smelled of leather and snuff and wine. Now her head was filled with much more refreshing aromas of citrus and spices. The rogue had been content to press his lips hard against hers but Jack’s mobile mouth was working gently upon her lips, encouraging them to part. She almost swooned as his tongue explored her mouth, playing havoc with her already disordered senses. She had peeled off her gloves, now with a little moan her hand came up to his cheek. It was smooth and cool beneath her fingers, not rough and pitted. Suddenly it was all too clear; Major Jack Clifton was not the villain.

      Having established this fact, Eloise knew she should now draw back, but her body would not obey her. Instead of pressing her hands against his chest and pushing him off, they crept up around his neck. In one sudden, swift movement he caught her about the waist and dragged her on to his lap, all the time his mouth locked on hers and his tongue darting and teasing, robbing her of any ability to think.

      At last he raised his head and gave a long, ragged sigh but he kept his arms tightly about her, and she could not find the strength to disengage herself from his hold. Instead her fingers clung to his jacket and she buried her face in his shoulder.

      ‘Oh, what must you think of me?’ she murmured into the folds of his beautifully starched neckcloth.

      He rested his cheek on the top of her head.

      ‘You were in need of comfort,’ he murmured.

      She could feel the words reverberating in his chest.

      ‘I was, of course, but I should not have imposed upon you.’

      His laugh rumbled against her cheek.

      ‘That was no imposition, my dear, it was sheer delight. In fact, I think we should do it again.’

      Eloise was filled with horror. She had behaved quite as wantonly as her reputation had led him to expect and suddenly it was very important that he should not think ill of her. She raised her head and tried to slide off his lap, but strong hands held her firm. She blushed in the darkness, aware of his body pressed against her. The heat from his powerful thighs seemed to be transmitting itself to her own limbs and she had to make a determined effort not to wriggle. She said quietly, ‘Please, Major, let me go.’

      Immediately he released her and she eased herself back on to the padded seat of the chaise.

      ‘It—it is not as is seems,’ she began. How much should she tell him? How much could she tell him?

      They were rattling into London now and when she looked up the light from the streetlamps showed her that her companion was smiling.

      ‘How is it, then?’ he said. ‘Tell me.’

      Jack waited, watching as she clasped her hands in her lap, searching around in her mind for words to explain herself. She was such an intriguing mixture of shy innocence and searing passion. It was almost possible to believe she was a virtuous woman. Almost.

      ‘I am afraid I have given you a very false impression, Major Clifton. I am nothing like the Wanton Widow society has christened me. In fact, I—’

      She broke off as the carriage slowed. Jack glanced out of the window.

      ‘Dover Street. You are home, my lady.’ He opened the door and jumped down, turning to hold out his hand to her. ‘We will continue this conversation inside.’

      ‘Oh, no!’ She shrank back. ‘No, I do not think we should to that. It is so very late…’

      He grinned.

      ‘After the events of the past few days I do not think we need to stand upon ceremony, ma’am. Come, we will be more comfortable inside. Besides, your nerves are still disordered and I want to see you take a cup of wine before I leave. It will help you to sleep.’

      Jack helped her down from the carriage, but even as they trod up the steps into the house she was suggesting that they should continue their discussions on the morrow. Jack ignored her protests. He was reluctant to leave her: the anger he had felt when he realised the blackguard had escaped them was nothing compared to the cold, gut-wrenching fear he had experienced, knowing that Eloise had been alone with the villain. Lady Allyngham might consider herself a woman of the world, she might enjoy her flirtations with gentlemen of the ton, but for a brief time tonight she had been at the mercy of an unscrupulous villain, and Jack’s blood ran cold when he thought of what might have happened to her. With one hand possessively around her waist he swept her into the house and guided her towards the morning room, where a thin strip of candlelight glowed beneath the door.

      ‘Major Clifton, I assure you I am perfectly composed now.’ She continued to protest as the wooden-faced lackey threw open the door of the morning room. ‘There really is no need for you to stay.’

      Jack opened his mouth to reply as he followed her into the room but the words remained unspoken. They were not alone. Alex Mortimer was sitting in a chair beside the fire, a glass of brandy on the table beside him and his booted legs stretched out towards the hearth.

      ‘Alex!’

      The lady’s unfeigned pleasure at the sight of her visitor had Jack grinding his teeth. Mortimer, too, looked particularly at his ease. Damn him. He rose as Eloise went forwards, her hands held out towards him.

      ‘I did not expect you back in town for days yet.’

      ‘My business was concluded early.’ Mortimer took her hands and planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘Noyes told me you had gone to Vauxhall, so I thought I would wait for you.’ He looked across at Jack and raised his brows. ‘Am I de trop?’

      ‘No, of course not,’ said Eloise quickly. Jack noticed she had the grace to blush. ‘You know Major Clifton?’

      ‘We have met.’ Alex nodded towards Jack, his eyes wary. ‘Is it the usual practice to bring gentlemen home now, Elle?’

      Jack’s chin jutted belligerently. ‘Is it the usual practice to treat a lady’s house as if it was your own?’

      Eloise stepped between them.

      ‘Major Clifton escorted me back from Vauxhall.’

      Alex’s brows rose higher. ‘I trust you had a pleasant evening.’

      Jack was about to retort that pleasure had not been the object of attending the gardens when he realised Eloise was looking at him, such a look of entreaty in her blue eyes that he could not ignore it. He allowed himself a faint, mocking smile.

      ‘How could it be otherwise,’ he drawled, ‘with Lady Allyngham at my side? And now that you are safely home, madam, and have no further need of my…services, I shall take my leave.’

      There was some bitter satisfaction in the way her cheeks flamed at the inference. Mortimer frowned and took a step forwards. Jack braced himself for the challenge but it never came. Eloise put out her hand, palm down, saying coolly,

      ‘Yes, thank you, Major, for escorting me tonight. I am very grateful.’

      The shadow of reproach he saw in her eyes flayed his lacerated spirits. He cursed silently. They find Mortimer making himself at home in her house and she expects him to act like a gentleman. Clenching his jaw against further unwary comments, he gave a stiff little bow and retired, reminding himself that the widow’s behaviour really was no concern of his. But this comforting thought did nothing to alleviate the black mood that enveloped him as he strode back to King Street.

      Eloise watched the door close with a snap behind the major and let her breath go in a long and very audible sigh. She untied her cloak and threw it over a chair.

      ‘I am sorry if I have frightened off your lover,’ murmured Alex.

      Eloise swung round.

      ‘Major Clifton is not my lover!’ she retorted, knowing the heat was flooding back into her

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