Nicola Cornick Collection Page 4

  ‘No, thank you,’ Sally said, considering for a moment the tumble of evening dresses on her bed. ‘I think I need the Poiret column gown tonight, Matty, to give me courage.’

  ‘We’ll have to change your corset, then,’ Matty said, with disapproval. ‘Don’t like these newfangled modern contraptions, myself. They’ll be doing away with the corset altogether at this rate and then where will we be? What’s wrong with the old styles, I always say?’

  ‘You can’t breathe in them,’ Sally said.

  ‘I’ve breathed perfectly well for nigh on seventy years,’ the old nurse proclaimed. ‘Nothing wrong in a bit of tight lacing. Sit down and I’ll do your hair.’

  Sally sat obediently before the big mirror and Matty started to unpin her hair and brush it out. It was long and thick, a rich chestnut colour with lustrous golden strands. Matty always grumbled that it was a crime Sally wore her hair in such severe styles so that no one could see how beautiful it was. Sally claimed that it was not her job to look beautiful, but to keep the Blue Parrot running smoothly.

  ‘I’ll put the matching bandeau and the diamond pins in tonight, Miss Sally,’ Matty said now. ‘No arguing, mind.’

  Sally was not going to argue. Jack Kestrel was, she was sure, a connoisseur of feminine beauty and whilst she could not compete in looks with some of the Blue Parrot’s prettiest hostesses—or, indeed, with her own sister—she knew she scrubbed up quite well. The Poiret dress also added to her confidence. Long, silky, lusciously rich and expensive, it slithered over her head and skimmed her body like a straight column of bright fuchsia-pink colour.

  ‘Don’t look so bad, I suppose,’ Matty said grudgingly. ‘You’ve certainly got the figure for it, Miss Sally. Doubt your young man will be able to take his eyes off you.’

  ‘He’s here to talk about his cousin, not to court me,’ Sally said, repressing a traitorous rush of excitement at the thought of Jack Kestrel’s eyes on her. ‘His cousin Mr Basset, I mean, not the Duke of Kestrel.’

  Matty puffed out her thin cheeks. ‘Mr Basset, Miss Connie’s young man?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sally said. ‘Do you know about that? Does Connie really like him?’

  Matty looked a little grim. ‘You never know with Miss Connie, do you? Think she’s out with him tonight, though. Told me earlier that she was dining with him.’

  Sally frowned as she reached for her fuchsia evening bag. Albert the doorman had said much the same thing, which made no sense if Connie was trying to extort money from Lord Basset over his son’s indiscretion. Surely she would wait for the affair to end before she tried to blackmail Bertie Basset? There was something else going on here. Sally was sure of it. Connie was up to something and Sally did not like the sound of it.

  Not that she was going to discuss her doubts with Jack Kestrel. She was taking dinner with him merely to pass the time until Connie returned. Not for a moment could she forget that, nor allow herself to be distracted by Jack’s undeniable charm or the inconvenient attraction he held for her. She would be cool and composed. She would remember that he was dangerous to her on so many levels.

  She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. The Poiret gown shimmered seductively over every curve. The diamonds sparkled in her hair. She drew herself up. This was business, not pleasure and she had best not forget that.

  Dan met her as soon as she stepped off the bottom step and on to the marble floor of the entrance hall. She raised her brows at the look on his face.

  ‘Trouble?’

  ‘Yes.’ A frown wrinkled Dan’s broad forehead. ‘Mr Kestrel is in the Gold Salon. Said he wanted to play a few hands of baccarat.’

  ‘And?’ Sally kept a smile plastered on her face as a noisy group of diners passed by and paused to compliment her on the quality of the Blue Parrot’s service.

  ‘And now the bank is down five thousand pounds.’

  ‘Damnation!’ Sally felt a twinge of real alarm. A little while ago Jack Kestrel had threatened to ruin her business, but she had not thought he would do so that very night by breaking the bank at her own gaming tables.

  ‘There’s worse,’ Dan said in an undertone, taking her arm and hurrying her along the corridor towards the casino. ‘The King is here.’

  ‘What?’ For a moment Sally felt faint. ‘The King? King Edward?’

  ‘Himself.’ Dan nodded in gloomy agreement. ‘Playing at the same table as Mr Kestrel. And losing to him like everyone else.’

  ‘Hell and the devil.’ Sally’s heels clicked agitatedly on the marble floor as she quickened her pace. Damn Jack Kestrel. She thought she had contained the threat he posed, had imagined him sitting at table harmlessly drinking her champagne and here he was beating the King at baccarat and bankrupting her in the process. Matty was right. He was dangerous. She should never have let him out of her sight.

  ‘I wouldn’t like to say that he was cheating, now,’ Dan said, in his rich Irish brogue, ‘but …’ there was puzzlement in his blue eyes ‘… I’ve been watching him and either he is extraordinarily lucky or …’ He let the sentence hang.

  Sally paused discreetly within the doorway so that she could watch Jack Kestrel at the baccarat table without being observed herself. He sprawled in his chair, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead, his cards held in one careless hand. He had discarded his jacket and the pristine whiteness of his shirt looked stark against the darkness of his tanned skin. Seeing him there, Sally thought once again of his rakish forebears. There was something about him, something to do with his air of lazy arrogance, the perfection of his tailoring, the casual grace with which he wore it, that recalled the gamblers of a previous century, the rakes who made and lost their fortunes in the London of the Regency, a time like the present one that was full of the glitter and the lure of money and scandal.

  ‘Miss Bowes?’ Dan said with increased urgency, and Sally’s attention snapped back.

  ‘I’m thinking what best to do.’

  ‘Better think quickly, then,’ Dan said grimly. ‘We’re down ten thousand now.’

  Sally allowed her gaze to wander over the other occupants of the baccarat table. She was not going to be hurried because what she did next could make all the difference between keeping and losing her business. It was on a knife edge. If Jack Kestrel kept playing and winning …

  She knew most of the other people in the room. The King frequented the Blue Parrot regularly these days and brought his cronies with him. Despite being on a losing streak, he looked to be in a good mood. There was a full champagne flute at his elbow. The smoke from his cigar spiralled upwards, wreathing about the chandelier. He was watching the game from beneath heavy-lidded eyes and every so often he would stroke thoughtfully at his sharply trimmed beard.

  ‘You have the devil’s own luck, Kestrel,’ Sally heard him say now. ‘Lucky at cards, unlucky in love, eh? Which makes you rich but with no one to spend it on, what!’

  The group of hangers-on laughed obligingly and Sally saw the shadow of a smile touch Jack Kestrel’s firm mouth. She doubted that he had a great deal of difficulty in finding a willing woman on whom to lavish his fortune, for he was without a doubt one of the most sinfully handsome men that she had ever seen in the Blue Parrot. Nor was she the only woman to have noticed. The King’s mistress, Mrs Alice Keppel, looking as regal as the Queen in a golden gown with diamonds sparkling on her impressive décolletage, was watching Jack with more interest than the King would surely deem strictly necessary. A blonde woman in a tight red-silk gown and with matching red lipstick had draped herself across the chair next to Jack, but he seemed unaware of her presence, for his dark eyes were narrowed on the cards and his full attention was on the play. Her foot was tapping with impatience that she did not command his interest and she flicked the ash from her cigarette with a red-tipped finger.

  ‘What shall I do, Miss Bowes?’ Dan was waiting for her instructions. ‘Shall I throw him out, perhaps?’

  Sally laughed. It was tempting, but she was not sure that she could allow
Dan to use strong tactics tonight. Not in front of the King.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Send for more champagne and caviar and smoked salmon.’

  ‘More!’ Dan’s brows shot upwards. ‘Lord save us, they’ve already had half a dozen bottles and they have only been here a half-hour!’

  ‘You sound like my old nurse,’ Sally said. ‘We’re not here to look after their health, Daniel, only to tend to their pleasure and take their money. I am going to remind Mr Kestrel that he has an appointment to take dinner with me.’

  Jack looked up as Sally started to walk towards the baccarat table. The woman in red put a hand on his arm and started to speak to him, but he shook her off and her scarlet mouth turned down with disappointment. His gaze, intense and black, rested on Sally’s face. It made her feel a little breathless.

  The King’s eyes lit up when he saw her approaching.

  ‘Hello, Sally, old thing! How are you? Ten thousand pounds poorer by my reckoning, thanks to this chap here!’ He nodded at Jack. ‘Damned inconvenient habit he has of breaking the bank. I’ve told him to stop now because this is my favourite club, what, and I want to be invited back!’

  ‘Thank you, your Majesty,’ Sally said, smiling.

  Jack stretched, the muscle rippling beneath the white linen of his shirt. ‘Did your manager think I was cheating?’ he enquired lazily. ‘Usually they only call the owner when they are about to throw me out.’

  Sally met his eyes. ‘On the contrary, Mr Kestrel, I am here because I thought that we had an appointment for dinner. If you would care to continue playing, however, that is your choice.’

  Jack laughed. There was a spark of devilment in his eyes. ‘I’ll play bezique with you, Miss Bowes.’ He held her gaze. ‘All my winnings tonight against one night with you.’

  The shock hit Sally hard, depriving her of breath. The wicked spark was still in Jack’s eyes, but beneath it was something hard and challenging. Despite herself, Sally felt her body stir in response to that very masculine demand.

  There was a gasp of outrage around the table, followed by a moment of profound silence. The eyes of the woman in red narrowed. She looked like an angry cat about to spit. Sally felt her venom. Several of the men exchanged a look.

  ‘Bad form, Kestrel,’ the King said testily. ‘Miss Bowes doesn’t cover that sort of stake.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, your Majesty.’ Jack spoke gently. His gaze was still resting on Sally and it was dark and moody, but still with something in the depths that made her shiver. It was as though the two of them were quite alone.

  ‘When I see something that I want, I go after it,’ Jack said. ‘The gamble just makes the game more exciting.’ He raised one dark brow. ‘Miss Bowes?’

  ‘Mr Kestrel.’ Sally’s voice was quiet, but as cutting as a whip. ‘His Majesty is in the right of it. I have already told you once this evening that I am not that sort of woman and this is not that sort of club.’

  ‘Everything has a price, Miss Bowes,’ Jack said. The counters clicked softly as he stacked them together.

  ‘I am priceless,’ Sally said sweetly, and the King laughed and the tension eased. ‘Your price, on the other hand,’ she said, ‘is ten thousand pounds in winnings and dinner with me, should you choose to accept it.’

  ‘I’d take it, Kestrel,’ one of the other men said. ‘It’s more than the rest of us have ever been offered.’

  Jack stood up and shrugged himself into his jacket. ‘I’ll accept dinner gladly,’ he said, ‘and leave the rest to chance.’

  Dan had arrived with the champagne and the caviar and King Edward took Sally’s hand and kissed the back of it with heavy gallantry and said she was a pearl amongst women. She felt a huge relief—Jack’s winning streak had been halted, albeit at a high cost, and the King’s favour retained.

  Jack took her elbow as they walked out of the casino together.

  ‘Are you angry with me?’ he asked softly. His breath stirred her hair.

  ‘Does it matter?’ Sally said tightly. ‘The disapproval of others strikes me as something that is supremely irrelevant to you, Mr Kestrel.’

  He laughed and she saw the brilliant amusement in his eyes. ‘You read me very well,’ he said. ‘You can still win back that ten thousand pounds, you know.’

  Sally flicked him a glance. ‘And you read me very badly, Mr Kestrel, if you do not think I meant what I said earlier.’ She turned to face him. For a moment they were alone in the corridor. ‘You want revenge on me for Connie’s behaviour,’ she said, ‘so you think to break the bank and ruin me. That is all that matters to you.’

  ‘You are mistaken.’ Jack raised his hand and the back of his fingers brushed the line of her jaw. ‘It is you I want, Sally Bowes. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you last night.’

  Suddenly the corridor felt airless. Sally took a step back and felt the smooth, cool plaster of the wall against her sticky palms. She knew that the fact they were in public would make no odds to him at all. If Jack Kestrel would proposition a woman in front of the King, he would be eminently capable of kissing her in a corridor and not give a damn who saw them. She felt dizzy and hot.

  ‘You can’t have—’ she began, but he never gave her the chance to finish her sentence. He leaned in close and kissed her, biting down gently on her lower lip, and the aching need flashed through her and she moaned, opening her lips beneath his. He took her mouth wholly and completely and her body caught ablaze like a lightning strike. She had never experienced anything like it.

  They broke apart as a couple came down the corridor and cast them a curious look. Sally turned away from the light. She had no idea what feelings and emotions were showing there, but her face felt too naked, too revealing of the turmoil inside her. Her heart was beating in hard, heavy strokes. She knew she was shaking. Jack took her chin in his hand, as he had done earlier in the office, and turned her face towards the light. He ran his thumb over her full lower lip, where he had kissed her, and the lust slammed through her body and she almost groaned aloud.

  ‘Sally—’ his voice was rough ‘—where can we go?’

  She understood what he meant, but the thought brought the first, cold thread of sanity back to her overheated mind.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said. She frowned a little. It was hopeless to pretend that she did not respond to him, that she did not want him. Her behaviour had given the lie to that. She tried to be equally honest with her words.

  ‘You go too fast for me,’ she said. ‘I am not accustomed to feeling like this. I can’t believe we …’

  She saw his tight expression ease a little.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘In the heat of the moment—’

  ‘Yes.’ Sally smoothed the pink gown down over her hips. Her movements were jerky. Her hands still shook. ‘Excuse me,’ she whispered. ‘You must excuse me, Mr Kestrel.’

  He caught her wrist. ‘You promised me dinner,’ he said. A smile touched the corner of his mouth. ‘My price, remember. You cannot run out on me now.’

  Sally stared at him for what felt like an age. ‘That will have to be all,’ she said.

  He inclined his head. ‘Of course.’

  ‘And you will have to give me a few minutes.’

  He nodded. ‘Certainly you cannot go into the dining room looking like that.’ A smile lit his eyes, a mixture of tenderness and satisfaction that made her heart jolt. ‘You look … ravished.’

  The helpless desire swept through her again and she saw his eyes darken almost black with lust as he recognised the need in her. He reached for her again, but she wrenched herself away and hurried down the corridor to the powder room. Fortunately it was empty. She shut the door carefully behind her and stood, breathing hard, her back pressed against the panels, eyes shut.

  What on earth had possessed her? What possible excuse could there be for her forgetting that Jack Kestrel was a danger to both her virtue and her livelihood, for letting him kiss her with such devastating expertise and for responding in full meas
ure to that kiss? She must have been mad. She had not even drunk a drop of champagne. Her wits must have gone begging.

  She must have wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  Sally opened her eyes. Even now she could feel the imprint of Jack’s touch on her body and the impossible, melting, uncontrollable warmth that had raced through her blood when he had kissed her. She pressed one hand to her lips. She had been kissed so seldom, and never like that. When they had been engaged, Jonathan, her husband, had kissed her once or twice, a mere respectful peck on the lips that should have warned her of future difficulties if only she had had the experience to realise, but it had never been like Jack’s kiss, full of passion and desire and heated demand. That was the thing that had betrayed her. She had never felt wanted before, never felt wholly desired in a way that made her entire body tremble with sensual heat. When it had happened with Jack she had forgotten everything else in the maelstrom of her emotions.

  She sank down on to the little plush red stool and stared helplessly at her reflection in the mirror. Jack had been right. She did look ravished. She wanted to be ravished, seduced. Jack had swept into her life and destroyed all her carefully erected defences in the space of two brief meetings. To experience physical love for the first time at the hands of Jack Kestrel, who could make her feel wicked and wanton and desirable … Just the thought made her burn.

  With a little sigh she started to tidy her hair, adjusting the bandeau, securing the pins. She straightened her dress. She looked tidy again, the immaculate owner of the Blue Parrot, as neat and composed as ever. Except something had changed in her face. Her lips were a little swollen from Jack’s kisses and in her eyes she saw a startled awareness and a knowledge, and a wanting. Her needs, her emotions and her desires were awakened now and were clamouring for release.

  She glanced at the little gold clock on the wall. A couple more hours and she would be free of Jack Kestrel’s dangerous presence. She could talk to Connie, secure the letters, send them to Jack and the business would be closed. She need never see him again. She could forget this madness that possessed her. This urge to kick aside every careful precept by which she had lived her life for so long was too frightening. She was not at all sure where it might lead her.