Much Ado About Rogues. Kasey Michaels
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Tess’s education was turned over to a succession of English governesses.
Rupert’s replacement was discharged the day René had twisted the man’s rod-wielding arm behind his back and run him headfirst into the solid oak door of the schoolroom. He’d been fifteen, and it had taken all of those five long years for him to find the courage his sister had displayed at ten—which their father had been quick to point out.
There was no winning with the marquis. Fail him, and face his quiet disapproval that was ten times worse than any possible beating. Do something right, and hear nothing, or wait for the flaw to be pointed out to you as the stinging hook at the end of the faint praise.
Yet all Tess and René wanted out of life was to please the man. René pretended an interest in the lessons their father began with him after the tutor was sent packing, but it was Tess who showed the most aptitude when René would share what he’d learned with her. Her twin would rather read poetry; Tess would rather hold a book on military tactics up to a mirror, to practice reading backward. René enjoyed playing the flute; Tess practiced for hours with the slim tools René loaned her, until she could easily open every locked door in the manor house. After every hour spent at lessons with his father, René would spend two with Tess, teaching her everything he’d learned until she’d not only mastered each lesson, but outshone her teacher.
The marquis finally found her out the day René accidentally pinked her as they practiced with the foils and the button had come off the tip of his weapon without either of them noticing.
That was the second time the marquis had looked at her with something close to approval in his eyes, as he’d tied his handkerchief around her forearm and ordered her to borrow a shirt and breeches from René and report to him in the gardens. Then he’d tossed her back her weapon and grabbed one for himself.
She’d excelled; she knew it, even if her father never acknowledged any new skill she mastered over the next years. But she’d lost a part of her brother to her success, and to their shared strong desire to please the marquis. René never complained, never said anything, but Tess knew.
He tried, so very hard, but he had not been born to experience the thrill of clearing a five-barred fence, or find the center of the target with a thrown knife. And there was nothing of stealth about him, either in action or in his mind. He was his mother’s son, kind and gentle. She was her father’s daughter, quick of mind, fascinated by intrigue and all that went with it.
But it was more than a simple love of the game, or even striving to please their father. René could never know it, but Tess felt it her responsibility to protect him, just as she had done years before with Rupert. More and more, she took his place on the marquis’s more minor missions, even being included in the planning of those missions that included all three of them, invariably casting René in a minor role, safely in the background.
Until Jack. His inclusion had changed everything. The marquis at last had the perfect pupil—talented, and male. Tess had hated him for his intrusion into their lives. She’d watched in disgust as he mastered in months what it had taken her years to learn, and then gone on to do as she had done with René: outpace the teacher with his ingenuity and skills. She’d envied the trust the marquis placed in him, suffered in silence as René seemed to turn their successor into some sort of hero to be admired, emulated.
She’d fought Jack for well over a year, until her fascination with this singular man overcame her resentment at being usurped in her father’s affection. She’d then begun to watch him, not with jealousy any longer, but with growing interest in Jack, the man. So darkly mysterious, so compellingly handsome, his rare smiles doing strange, delicious things to her insides. And, increasingly, he’d been watching her. For months more, they’d danced around each other, both of them knowing there was something unsettled between them, a growing hunger that sooner or later had to be fed.
And dear God, how they had feasted…
Tess took another sip of wine, hoping it would somehow settle her. The afternoon had dragged on seemingly forever, and over the hours she’d changed her mind about the white silk gown. Punishing Jack, punishing herself, made no sense. She stood in front of the glass over the side table and inspected her reflection as it was directed back to her in the candlelight.
Her gown was simplicity itself, even modest, save for the fact that the pale, unadorned orchid silk rather cunningly outlined her breasts and rib cage and slid smoothly over her buttocks when she walked, making it clear she wore no undergarments. Even the modest cap sleeves were fashioned of all but transparent veiling. She was more covered than she was in most of her gowns, and yet she might as well be naked to the discerning eye.
Jack had a discerning eye.
A triple strand of crystals hugged her neck, and she wore her blond hair loose, floating down over her shoulders. He had always liked burying his head in her hair, or fisting its length tightly as he tipped her head back, to nibble at the base of her throat. And lower.
She was making it easy for him, all but offering him a written invitation.
She couldn’t push Jack away and at the same time convince him that he needed her with him when he set off to find her father. No, what she needed even more than finding her father was to get Jack moving, get him gone, get the two of them as far away from the manor as possible, as quickly as possible.
She had her priorities straight now, and fighting Jack couldn’t figure into the mix, not when it was so important her father was found, that she was with Jack when her father was found. She couldn’t know how much her lover had changed in four years, if he would actually execute his old mentor on orders from the Crown.
What had shocked her most when she’d realized it was that she didn’t know what she would do if he tried. She no longer knew how she felt about her father.
Tess only knew that Jack couldn’t be left to his own devices. Where he went, she would go, or she would follow. He had to know that as well, so it only made sense that they travel together.
She’d make it worth his while. He wanted her; that was one thing that hadn’t changed in four years. She’d give him what he wanted tonight, and he’d give her what she wanted tomorrow when they rode away from the manor house.
The meagerness of his government pension had long ago caused the marquis to forgo the costly services of a butler, and since Jack never knocked, and moved with the stealth of a cat intent on bringing down a rabbit, she did her best not to flinch when he suddenly appeared in the room.
She’d expected his usual, impeccable London tailoring, but he had not bothered with the formality of town clothes. No, tonight Jack was the dark and dangerous pirate she’d seen many times before, all in black, his shirt collarless and discreetly ruffled, full-sleeved and open at the neck, his breeches showing the narrowness of waist and hip, the smooth muscles of his long, straight legs.
“Planning on breaking into the squire’s house tonight to recover Crown secrets, Jack?” she asked, indicating his attire with a sweep of her arm. “Or perhaps relieving some travelers of their prized belongings out on the highway as you were doing when Papa first found you, just to keep your skills sharp?”
He approached her without a word, walking in a full circle around her before coming to a halt, their bodies only inches apart. She could feel her nipples begin to harden under his hot gaze, pushing against the thin fabric of her gown. He didn’t touch her, but she could already feel his hands on her. “And you, Tess? You also look ready for a nocturnal ride. Are we dispensing with dinner?”
She longed to slap his handsome, grinning face. But she couldn’t blame him for attempting to get some of his own back after the way she’d treated him when he’d kissed her. She reached out boldly, cupped his sex. “Ah, yes, I suppose we are. You know the way.”
She watched as his eyes darkened and then let her hand drift across his lower belly and hip as she walked past him, heading for the stairs, her mouth dry, her heart pounding. He’d never forgive her if he found out what she was up to… but he’d never find out. It was imperative he leave here and never return. And when she cut him, dismissed