Propping herself on an elbow, she watched Jack tug on his breeches, admired anew his tight buttocks and muscled back, realised she would never see this sight again.
“What will happen now?”
Jack hauled on his crumpled shirt, despite her silent protest, and came to sit on the bed, not pretending to misunderstand. “We’ll collect their bodies this morning and visit the magistrate.La Chauve-Sourisand Lynch will be buried together somewhere, I expect. Then…my mission is done.”
She fiddled with the bedsheet, smoothing out the creases. “Father must have spent the night safe in Helston, but he’ll return this morning if the roads are clear. I’m worried the servants will talk and–”
A kiss halted her fussing. “If Sir Jago demands matrimony for our night, then I will accept it.”
No, she would not allow that. She’d cajole, bribe and generally make her father’s life a misery if he sought to pressure Jack into marrying her. What could be worse than an unwilling husband?
In no manner was she downcast this morning – resigned perhaps, weary certainly, ached deliciously – but she had loved Jack Winterbourne in every way and who could be miserable about that?
She would lend him no reason to depart with discomfiting memories of a fretful female. A clinging vine.
Jack abruptly tensed, hand halting on her naked arm, and she peered up to a furrowed brow and parted lips. “We also… I didn’t… I’ve never overlooked…” A hand speared through his hair, the curls bouncing into perfect order once more – how did he do that?
“What?”
“A babe, Tamsyn, I didn’t…”
Oh. She was a country girl; she knew how things worked, but last night all had been forgotten in the delight of being alive, in the fervent passion of her lover, in the wildness of the storm.
That he too had been swept away in desire with no thought as to the consequences sent a frisson of delight coursing… She quashed it.
Bad Tamsyn. Again.
“It was only the one night,” she said, unable to offer more. “I will send word to London if…”
“I would return immediately.”
She stroked his stubbled cheek, let her thumb wander to his lips. “You are a good man, Jack.”
But he shook his head, and with one last gentle kiss, he left her bedchamber, a glum slump to his shoulders.
Jack let the back of his head fall against her closed door.
A night he would treasure and forever remember.
He should be overjoyed.
But…
Damn, he hurt.
Leaving Tamsyn’s bed felt wrong, depraved and utterly codheaded.
Never before had he experienced the slightest twinge of remorse, but then never had it been Tamsyn, a sweet innocent.
An innocent who’d so lightly accepted his departure.
No hysterics or weeping eyes, no pleas to stay or lingering sighs. No attempt to entrap a marquess.
He should be overjoyed.
She’d simply let him go.
Damn, he hurt.
