This Rake of Mine (38 page)

And every day, he'd pull her as close as he could, what with the thick metal bars between them, and kiss her. Kiss her until her knees went weak and she wobbled out of the jail with a devilish smile on her wickedly tempting lips.

But today was the end of his sentence, and Sir Norris should be here any minute to release him.

And then there would be no bars between them.

Jack had fantasized about this day for one long, hard month, and nothing and no one was going to stand in their way tonight.

Demmit… this afternoon, if he had any say in the matter. And he doubted Miranda would protest, given the requests she'd whispered in his ear yesterday.

Outside, the crunch of carriage wheels could be heard, and Jack stopped his pacing to listen.

The carriage stopped outside the jail. Sir Norris! About demmed time. And arriving in his carriage. Trying to make this mockery of justice look as official as possible.

Now that the baronet knew the truth about Thistleton Park, he'd become a regular bosom-bow. Offering his suggestions for landing places, names of his various contacts in Calais. All but hinting that he would love to do his part for King and country. Jack was of half a mind to send him along with Temple the next time the marquis went across the Channel.

Serve Templeton right for siding with Sir Norris over his imprisonment.

But when the door opened, it wasn't the toady little baronet but a tall, dignified man who looked around the tidy but small jail and sniffed.

Jack took a step back. "Parkerton!"

"Nice to see you recognize me," he said, entering the room as if it were a London salon, setting his walking stick at a jaunty angle and tipping his nose up just so.

No one was more ducal than Parkerton.

"What the devil are you doing here?" Jack asked. While the rest of the family kowtowed and toadied up to the duke, Jack could never quite bring himself to be awed by his brother's position.

"I think the better question is what are you doing here?" Parkerton looked around and sniffed again. "Not that this sight isn't a surprise. Mother always said you'd embarrass us utterly one day."

Jack tamped down his irritation. Once Sir Norris got here, he'd no longer have to listen to his brother's sermons and he'd find Miranda. "Is that all?" he said. "Come to crow and lecture? Well, be done with it. I have plans for the day."

"Yes, well, as impatient as ever," the duke said. "Imagine my surprise when a wagon arrived at Parkerton Hall and I received this impertinent letter."

He held out the piece of paper, and Jack came over to the bars and took it. He didn't recognize the handwriting, so he began to read.

To His Grace, the Duke of Parkerton

Parkerton Hall, Somerset

Your Grace,

As the future mistress of Thistleton Park, I have compiled an inventory of the house and determined that there are numerous paintings and belongings that have, through no misfortune of their own, found their way here.

Thus, I hereby return these paintings of your ancestors and consign them to your care. It is my suggestion…

Suggestion?
Jack snorted. Miranda's suggestions were rather like Parkerton's. Orders offered with the subtlety of a lit powder keg.

He continued to read.

It is my suggestion that you offer them the hospitality of your home as is due any Tremont. Perhaps by welcoming them home, you may well lay to rest the rifts that have divided your esteemed and noble family over the centuries.

Yours respectfully,

Miss Jane Porter

Jack coughed, trying not to laugh completely out loud. The cheeky chit, she'd gone and antagonized Parkerton. Oh, he didn't know what he could ever do to repay his gratitude for seeing his brother look so vexed.

"Well?" Parkerton demanded.

"Well, what?" Jack asked.

"How the devil did you find such a magnificent woman?"

Jack's gaze flew up and met his brother's.

Parkerton was smiling. No, not smiling, grinning. "I came down here immediately to give this impertinent miss a lesson in manners and nearly fell over when I found Aunt Josephine in the music room playing the pianoforte." His brother arched a brow, as if expecting an explanation or some sort of apology for not being part and parcel of this deception, but Jack wasn't going to offer any.

So Parkerton continued, "I was further accosted by a Miss Langley, who grilled me for over an hour as to the merits of every unmarried duke in the realm." He shuddered. "I fear for my peers when she comes of age. Then I was cornered by two more misses, one of whom bears a startling resemblance to the other little chit running about your house. Apparently they are composing a play based on our family's trials and tribulations and wanted to know how I was afflicted by the Tremont madness so they could add my curse to the final act, which they have for some reason entitled 'A Pirate's Revengeful Kiss.' " Parkerton rubbed his forehead and shuddered. "However, I was rescued by Mr. Birdwell, who thankfully has never changed—"

Not that you know of
, Jack mused.

"And was finally shown to Miss Porter, who was busy with your secretary updating your ledgers." The duke heaved a sigh. "I never knew that Thistleton Park could manage a state of profitability, but Miss Porter has made it so. Though I am not sure all of her enterprises are entirely proper or lawful." He arched a brow and shot a glance at Jack that suggested he wasn't amused at these less than legal ventures.

Jack shrugged. What was he to say? In a month, Miranda had improved their percentages on the little bit of smuggling he did engage in to cover Thistleton Park's other comings and goings, and now the estate was turning a tidy profit.

His brother had more to say. "If you weren't about to marry her, I would consider hiring her to manage my estates. A more formidable, sharp-witted woman I have never met."

Jack chuckled.

Parkerton smiled as well. "I asked her if she was sure of her intentions, that she wanted to marry my ne'er-do-well brother, and she nearly threw me out of the house, declaring me an impertinent devil." He heaved a sigh. "As I said, she is quite a lady."

Jack cursed his luck. He would have loved to see Miranda giving his brother a wigging. A sight to behold indeed, especially if it had left his brother like this, nearly a humble wreck of his usual ostentatious and overbearing self.

"So I have come to offer my blessings on this union and bring you a decent suit of clothes to wear to your wedding."

Parkerton turned and rapped on the door, and a parade of liveried servants brought in wash basins, hot water (most likely obtained from the public house), and a suit of clothes, along with Parkerton's esteemed valet, Richards.

They stood, crowded hoof to jowls, in the tiny jail, with Jack still locked in his cell.

From behind the bevy of servants came a familiar voice. "Get out of my way, the lot of you," Sir Norris called out. He barged and prodded his way through them and nearly bowled over Parkerton in the process. He got to the cell and, with as much pomp and ceremony as he could muster, made a great speech, declaring Jack's sentence over and declaiming the importance of justice in a civilized society, until Parkerton rapped him with his walking stick and made a very ducal suggestion… er, order. "Unlock the door, sir."

"Oh, um, certainly, Yer Grace," Sir Norris said, fumbling with the keys and finally setting Jack free.

"What is all this?" Jack demanded.

"My wedding present to you. Rather a promise to a friend that I would see you married today."

Templeton, Jack had to imagine. The marquis had told him of Miranda's threat—so leave it to the marquis to ensure the deed was done. He'd enlisted Jack's brother as honorary best man—or, rather, enforcer.

Not that he had any objections to marrying Miranda, but he had something else in mind for the present time.

An afternoon in bed with Miranda.

The vicar could wait. But apparently not his brother.

Before Jack knew it, he was scrubbed and dressed and properly presentable. Parkerton escorted him outside to the ducal carriage and drove him straight to Thistleton Park.

"Quite something," Parkerton said as they drove through the gates.

"Remarkable," Jack said, as he climbed out of the carriage and walked up the steps. Why, he barely recognized his own house. The yard was tidy and neat, the ivy and roses trimmed, the lawns cut just so. And inside the changes were just as evident. No longer dreary and dark, his house was as scrubbed and presentable as its master.

And then he saw her. Miranda. Beckoning to him from the music room. She had on a gown of green, and she looked like Spring personified. Delicious and bright and full of promise.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw that his brother was preoccupied in a discussion with the vicar, so Jack had his chance.

And when the duke turned around, his brother was gone from sight.

"Where is Lord John?" he said, his voice commanding the immediate attention of all those around him.

One of the twins—Felicity, he thought—said, "I saw him go in the music room with Miss Porter."

Parkerton went over to the doors and threw them open, ready to stop the pair before there was any more scandal, but the room was empty. "Where the devil have they gone to?"

Aunt Josephine and Birdwell looked at each other, then up at the ceiling at the bedroom above them, and knew exactly what the passionate bride-to-be and her groom were about. They both burst out laughing.

" 'Tis highly improper," Parkerton declared, having also shot a glance at the ceiling. "And here I thought marriage to Miss Porter would reform my brother's rakish character."

And with all the pearls of wisdom that Felicity and Tally carried from their nannies', as well as their own experience, it was Pippin who set the record straight for the duke. She nudged him and waggled a finger at him to come closer.

"Once a lady has been kissed by a rake," she said, "she is never quite the same. I daresay Miss Porter prefers Jack just the way he is."

"This is entirely improper," Miranda said as Jack teased her out of her gown. "We aren't even married yet."

"We will be before this day is out," he said, as if that made it perfectly right.

Miranda opened her mouth to protest again, but he bested her by covering her lips with his and kissing her objections away until she was trembling in his arms. His tongue swept over hers, teased her, while his fingers continued to loosen the bindings of her corset.

There was something I was going to say
, she thought, even as his fingers dipped inside her bodice and freed her breasts.

It could wait, she had to imagine as he hoisted her in his arms and tossed her onto the bed. He fell upon her like a man starved and had her quickly writhing with a need that matched his own.

"I thought I'd go mad every time I saw you," he whispered in her ear, "and couldn't do this." His lips curled around one of her nipples and lapped and teased it to a burning point.

Madness, this is utter madness
, she thought.

Her back arched and her hips rocked back and forth, anticipating the blissful torment to come.

"I thought of you as well," she confessed.

"How, Miranda?" he whispered, urging her to let go of any last vestiges of propriety. "How did you want me?"

The passion in his eyes emboldened her.

"Naked," she said brazenly. "Naked and atop me."

"And what else," he said, catching hold of her and pulling her beneath him, more than willing to give her whatever she desired, fantasized.

His hardness pressed against her. The feel of it made her breathless. She wanted to touch it, caress it, put it in her mouth and taste him. But there would be time for that later. Her body ached for him, she ached for something only he could give her.

"Inside me," she said, opening her thighs, her hips rising to meet him. He wasn't the only one who had ached for this for thirty long nights. "I wanted you inside me."

She caught his hips and pulled him closer, and he answered her by filling her quickly and deeply.

Miranda cried out, with delirium, with pure joy at the desire that sparked through her veins.

His desires, his needs, pent up like hers, raged through them both, and in a heated, fast, hard fury, they rode together to completion. Miranda's eyes fluttered open even as her body shuddered with joy, even as he was gasping for air, filling her until he could press himself no further.

"Oh, Jack," she said. "Oh, yes."

From the rakish light in his eyes, the groan of passion that wrenched from his lips, she knew that he too had gained what had been denied them for these past few weeks.

Completion.

And after some quiet moments in each other's arms, touching each other and sharing the warmth of the afterglow, Jack stretched and looked over at her.

"Now let's go downstairs and make this proper," he suggested.

Miranda sighed and stretched as well, her legs twining with his, her hands running down the length of his torso until her fingers found him. Still hard.

"Hmmm," she murmured. It seemed such a waste…

As practical as ever, Miranda pulled her rake back into her arms. "Not just yet," she said before she kissed him hungrily, whispering words in his ear that left him in no doubt as to what she wanted.

To be ruined yet again.

And as he did so, eagerly and enthusiastically, bringing her to those dizzying, blissful heights of passion once more, Miranda realized something very important.

Proper had its time and place.

And now wasn't one of those times.

^