∞∞∞
Having tiptoed her fingers over his muscled arms, Tamsyn swept them across his firm chest as it fell and rose in slumber.
They had dozed lightly in each other’s arms after that first wild joining, until Jack’s fingers and lips had roamed once more.
Rather mistakenly, she’d thought that fierceness would have abated, simmering to slow and sweet, but intensity at being alive, at knowing how passion felt had added a breathless potency – skin had been nipped, thrusts had grown savage and cries had been muffled beneath sparring mouths.
Tamsyn’s body still roiled in heat and she splayed her hand over the flat belly and then skimmed dow–
A hand firmly trapped it. “Have mercy, Tamsyn. Even rogues need their rest.”
Propping her head upon an elbow, she gazed down as thick black lashes lazily lifted, the guttering candle barely able to illuminate his eyes.
Some while ago, Jack had risen to open a window, the rain having ceased its raucous onslaught and now merely falling in a steady patter. Fresh breeze fragranced with wet grass and sea salt now drifted in to cool their skin.
“I seem to remember reading that the Marquess of Winterbourne had the stamina of six men.”
“Don’t believe everything you read.” He winked. “It’s ten.”
She thumped his wounded arm, heard a pained grunt and recollections of the day filled her: Lynch, the perilous gallop, the rabid sea and…Mr Miggens coming to their rescue.
“Your valet is remarkable,” she murmured.
“Doubtless,” he replied, winding hair around his knuckles and closing his lids. “No one can quite starch my neckcloths like Oliver can.”
The flippant and affable rogue had returned, and she wasn’t sure she wanted him quite yet, not until morning.
“You are very…familiar with Mr Miggens.” She stared avidly at his face. “And you have similar noses.”
“Hmm,” he mumbled distractedly, using her fingers to draw patterns on his chest. “The Winterbourne nose.”
“Pardon?”
Jack’s eyes snapped open. “I mean–”
“Are you saying he’s your sibling?” She raised up. “But of course. In the sea… I thought I’d heard… How did I not see it?”
Grumbling, Jack yanked her back onto his chest, fingers combing through her hair. They got stuck, gave up and started lower down. “He’s my half-brother but don’t tell Miss Treherne.”
“Why ever not?”
He sighed. “Oliver has an inordinate amount of pride – must be from his mother’s side – and he wishes Miss Treherne to like him for what he is. Valet and by-blow.”
“Lowdy is not narrow-minded.”
“No, I can see that but nevertheless she is an earl’s cousin. Although now a paid companion, she is still used to being waited upon. She dines at your table and shops at the modiste, has all the trappings of a lady. If she married a valet, she would lose all that.”
“Oh.”
But why hadn’t Jack helped his half-brother with land or patronage, and she parted her lips to ask when…she halted.
Whenever she’d thought less of Jack, invariably she’d been mistaken. He projected an air of frivolity, of glitter, but that was merely the surface.
Underneath he held deep affection.
“I expect you offered him land and he said no.”
“How did you…” He shifted to stare at her. “Yes, I did. There’s an unentailed estate in Somerset but he won’t bloody take it. The lone way to help him was to make him my valet and even then, he only draws half the wage I offer. Woolly-crowned lob-cock.”
