With Jack’s own muscles burning, he hastened for the staircase with no intention of relinquishing his precious bundle to anyone.
Mrs Pencally and the butler dashed along behind. “When we spied you in the distance, my lord, we prepared baths in both your rooms. Benjamin can assist you in your valet’s absence. I’m afraid no message can be sent to Sir Jago till the storm has passed.”
Nodding, Jack turned left for Tamsyn’s celestial blue bedchamber, a maid opening the door before them. The butler continued his caring words but all Jack yearned to do was hold Tamsyn tight, close his eyes, be silent, hear her breathe and be so very thankful.
“Can I–” the maid began.
“My gratitude,” Jack rasped, spinning, “but I will see to your mistress’s needs.” It was beyond improper, blatantly untoward and yet he’d be damned if he would ever let her go.
The butler hovered at the doorway, biting his lip; Mrs Pencally narrowed her teary eyes.
Tamsyn reached out a hand to her great-aunt and smiled. “I shall be fine,” she said softly. “Thank you, thank you all for your concern and aid. I am weary but well, and without Lord Winterbourne, I would have died tonight. We need to be alone, just for a short while.”
Mrs Pencally pursed her lips yet nodded. Sir Jago’s loyal butler continued to frown.
But enough was enough, and Jack booted the door shut.
Tamsyn wasn’t entirely sure of Jack’s mood as he turned the key and then began methodically stripping her of her wet clothes in the dimly lit chamber.
However, it did not appear to be one of passion, his face as solemn as a clomen cat. With trembling hand, he clasped her exposed wrist, brushed his lips over the wounded skin, commenced unbuttoning and unlacing.
She supposed her own state should be one of exhaustion, maybe hysteria or even vague wretchedness.
It was anything but.
Instead, she felt unrestrained, fierce and desperately alive. And as Jack’s brisk fingers brushed her skin, overwhelming desire transcended even those.
A gasp escaped her as the corset’s sodden laces yanked to a tight knot and he cursed.
“I’ve a knife in the top drawer by my bed.”
Any normal man might have asked why but he simply nodded, avoided her eyes, and strode to fetch it.
In silence, he returned, slit the lacing and her corset fell in a soggy heap, leaving her in a nigh-transparent wet chemise. She quivered as his eyes remained dulled as damp coal, cheekbones taut.
“Jack?” She took her hand from fiddling with the chemise ribbons and brought it to his cheek. A shudder ran through him.
“Bath,” he merely answered.
“No, Jack. What is wrong?”
That damp coal ignited. “You need ask me that? I was meant to protect you, and…and you nearly died. Drowned.”
Well, yes. There was that.
“But you saved me fromLa Chauve-Souris, Jack. If you hadn’t killed him, I would be aboard that ship by now or drowned and washed up in the cove.”
Thunder boomed anew, trinkets rattling. The rain intensified, lashing the windows in a sudden burst, but a steamy heat still pervaded the room and despite her drenched clothes, she wasn’t cold in the slightest.
Raising on tiptoe, she placed a kiss on his cheek, the briefest of touches. “Thank you. My nightmare is at an end. He’s dead and I can…live.”
At last, emotion showed in his eyes and she was hauled against his rock-like, dripping body, broad hands streaking down her back. He buried his face in her neck, the heat of his breath searing her skin. “My heart nearly gave out,” he murmured, “when I saw you sink below those waves.”
“I thought the rogue had no heart.”
Silence bled for a moment. Even the resuming storm hesitated.
He drew back to cup her cheeks. “I am also a man, Tamsyn. I feel pain and hurt and…” His black eyes blistered. “I… I care for you deeply. You deserve all happiness.”
