Page 21 of Joy to the Earl

She smiled at the thought, her heart lifting to the heavens. Would he do it? Obviously Jack wasn’t looking to wed, and if she wed, one of Sir Markham’s ghastly male relatives would probably try to fight her for Fliss’ inheritance. But if she and Jack loved discreetly…

Leaning forward, Rosalind nodded firmly. “I will speak to Jack, but I believe we should all return to London as soon as possible.”

Chapter 5

London, January 1814

He’d never experienced anything like London.

Peering through the carriage window as they inched along streets thick with snow, Jack struggled to take it all in as the afternoon gloom rapidly darkened to evening. The sheer quantity of people, the soaring cathedrals, endless shops, and the rows of elegant townhouses almost joined together. Gray, so much gray, although a lot of red brick too. Parks behind high iron railings, meant to keep passersby out. And as for the stench…truly vile.

“It’s a very peculiar odor, isn’t it?”

Jack turned and smiled at Rosalind, who cradled a sleeping Felicity in her arms. “I’ve never smelled anything like it. How do people live here without casting up their accounts on every corner?”

“You get used to it. The smell fades into the background a bit once you have been here a while. Besides, it is not nearly as bad in the West End, due to the prevailing winds.”

“Do you see your couples in London, or only in the country?”

“Usually only in the country,” said Rosalind, shifting Felicity slightly so she could take another bite of the raisin scone her cook had prepared for the journey here. “It is far more private. The gossips in the city are unlike anything you could imagine. Fast, cruel, and unforgiving, and for what my clients are going through, not worth the risk.”

“Talking about risk, I’m glad we finally made it. I thought that fog would never lift.”

“I know! It was ridiculous. Actually, I believe a week of unrelenting fog is a record. No one ever saw anything so thick—the owner of the tavern we had luncheon in told me it caused havoc everywhere. People getting lost, riding into ditches, even mail coaches overturning!”

“Well, the fog might have lifted, but the temperature hasn’t. Bloody freezing here. I’m sure far worse than Rutland; actually makes me yearn for the lighter snow and ice surrounding Nelson Manor.”

Rosalind laughed. “But not North Yorkshire?”

He shook his head. “You aren’t there.”

Even as he said the words he knew how trite they sounded, but it was fact. Since Christmas Day they had spent every night together in her bed, talking and sipping brandy and laughing between hours and hours of torrid fucking. As it turned out, the Eros powder hadn’t made a huge amount of difference; when he and Rosalind were naked together, it seemed they couldn’t do anything but pleasure each other, the need to kiss and stroke and suck and be physically joined insatiable.

And hell, the things he’d learned. Textbooks offered a bland, scientific perspective, the journal of a hedonistic explorer as he travelled and traded his way through Prussia and China quite another. But neither compared to real life experience. The slick guide of skin on skin, the taste of Rosalind’s cunt in his mouth, the sounds she made when she orgasmed. Perhaps it was due to her work with troubled married couples, but she was so uninhibited when it came to talking about pleasures of the flesh, and equally patient when showing him something new. He’d finally confessed all about his failed attempts at losing his virginity in Whitby, and it had been surprisingly freeing rather than embarrassing. Well, especially now, when he probably had more experience than all the men of Whitby combined.

“Jack…I’m so glad you came to London with us. You know I want you to stay quite desperately. Well, me and a certain little miss. But should you ever decide it is not what you want, or is making you unhappy, please just tell me.”

He laughed. “That sounds like you are expecting me to talk to you with great clarity, madam.”

“That is exactly what I am expecting. The truth, always, no matter how hard.”

“Very well,” he replied, tilting his head so his mouth was directly next to her ear. Then he told her in explicit detail what he planned for the evening ahead, once Felicity was safely tucked into her bed in the townhouse nursery.

Rosalind swallowed hard, her cheeks turning a very becoming shade of pink. “I have not tried that before…with toys.”

“Toys?” said Felicity sleepily, awoken by the word that apparently a child could hear at any hour of the day or night, from any distance or state of consciousness. “What toys?”

“Ah, I was just pondering how your toys had fared without you, darling. Hopefully they haven’t been too lonely.”

“I hope so too. You need to play with toys all the time, Mama. They like it. It makes them happy and you happy too.”

Rosalind pressed her lips together, her eyes bright with mirth. “I’ve no d-doubt.”

“Are we nearly home? Wellington is tired and cross,” said Felicity, her brow furrowing.

Jack glanced at the kitten, currently sprawled across a velvet cushion in a wide basket sitting on the opposite side of the carriage and attempting to dismember a ball of wool. “Poor Wellington. A feline’s leisure time is never done. Is she a good mouser?”

The little girl shot him an arrested look. “Catch mice? Ugh. Why would she do that?”