Chapter twenty-one

Rose woke and burrowed deeper into the warmth of the bed. Slowly rising to consciousness, she stretched out fully, her legs brushing along Jack's hair-dusted calf. With a sudden flare of awareness, she sat upright and shot a startled glance at the pillow beside her. Jack slept peacefully on his stomach, the sheet and counterpane straddling his hips, leaving his muscular back exposed. She jumped out of the bed as if it were on fire. His eyes opened sleepily, his lips curving in a languid smile, and then he fell back asleep, obviously finding her angered surprise to be of no danger to him.

Grabbing her clothes, Rose retreated to the next room to dress, wondering how he'd found her so quickly. She'd deliberately avoided any of her own family holdings so that it would be difficult, if not impossible to locate her. Not many knew of her Mother's grandfather's existence. But Jack had found her before even a day had passed. It was as though she was not allowed to have time to be away from the circus which surrounded her entire existence. A woman needed time to think, to process ones feelings.

Furious and flustered at finding him in her bed, Rose left the house and made her way to the roped path on the cliffs that led to the beach below. She picked her way carefully down the somewhat steep and rocky decline. The cliff rose some distance above the shore and Rose ignored the stunning view in favor of studying the ground at her feet. She didn't mind the concentration it took. Instead she relished the temporary distraction from her confusion. Finally reaching the beach, she dropped onto the damp sand and hugged her knees to her chest. She prayed for the sound of the waves lapping on the beach to soothe her. For her mind to be taken away, on another adventure away from her own world. Just months before, she would be able to easily open a book at a page and become lost in the poetry, in the words of another place and time which existed purely in her own mind and yet, now, it seemed the only thing which she was capable of allowing to consume her mind was him.

She vividly recalled the first moment she'd laid eyes on Jack Dawson. She remembered how her breath had caught in her throat and how hot her skin had suddenly become, how her breathing and heart rate had quickened until she thought she might swoon. Those had not been singular reactions. She had felt them many times since then and even just that morning when he had smiled at her, all sleep-tousled masculine beauty. She couldn't live like that, couldn't see how anyone could live consumed by a lust that seemed insatiable. Unschooled as she was, she hadn't known a body could crave the touch of another the way it did food or air. It wasn't just the touch of his, or a single look, it was the conversations which they had together. The way he promised her things, she trusted him so easily and with her entire life.

He was to marry her. To consume her more. To leave her breathless every single day of her life. Her life had become dangerous; almost like a plot within a book to kill the heroine. She was the 'damsel'. He was the hero on the white horse. She laughed at her own utter foolishness. One man tried to kill her, another wished to marry her. Hockley was the one who had almost become her husband and yet, he was nowhere to be seen in this entire mess. Was that the ultimate danger? The unknown whereabouts of the scandalous being?

Tilting her head, Rose closed her eyes and rested her cheek against her knees. Why couldn't Jack simply stay away? Running had been the best idea, there would have been no evidence of her whereabouts. Samantha Rowland's death had shaken her. She had not yet shed a tear for her friend or the babe which she had carried. There had been nothing but utter grief as well as the sheer, all-consuming spell which Jack Dawson had placed her under. Instead, she had wept for his safety. Waited for him to return to her, fearing each and every time he left her side. He would return, brutally kissing her lips as though it would be the last time. Bubbling beneath the surface had been the absolute instinctual urge to place her hands beneath his shirts and allow him to lead her to lay beneath him once more. In times of need, her love for him had multiplied. The animal sense within her seemed to come alive. Literally everything about him intoxicated her, brainwashed her and made her believe that he was the one who she was meant to live her life with.

She was angry. At herself. At Jack. At all involved. She had come here to collect her thoughts and to remain incognito for just a little while until the charade died down. It was too much to endure and it would only be so soon before her own mother would be hurt. Rose had already been impaled. The truth was, she knew deep down the wound wasn't intended to kill her, just to wound. To scare. To use her as almost bait to get to Dawson. It had riled him. He had stronger intentions than before to stake a dagger into Hockley's heart. Jack Dawson would come to harm; Rose knew that much. Staying well away from him was the only answer. The voice of reason had spoken to her for days on end, convincing her and now she had finally seen sense. They would have to stay away from each other.

The thought was unsettling, making her stomach feel sensitive and her shaking palms to tremble even more but what was the alternative? For all who she loved to die? To be murdered before her eyes. She loved Jack, so much, which was why she had to let him go. To live.

Jack paused on the small porch and took in his surroundings. The bite of the salty morning air was sharp. He wondered if Rose had collected a wrap before venturing out. To say she'd looked horrified to discover him in her bed would be an understatement. Knowing her as he did, he suspected she'd run out without forethought. Where the devil had she gone? Why had she gone? He had some sneaky suspicions; he had heard of how hot headed and impulsive she was. How she feared her own feelings and the danger which she had been in. To him, none of that had mattered.

"She's gone down to the beach, Dawson," came a dry tone to his left. Jack turned his head to greet the Duke of Ravensend, Ruth's grandfather.

"Your Grace." He dipped his head in a bow. "It was my intent to present myself this morn and explain my presence. I trust you don't find my stay an imposition."

The duke led a black stallion by the reins and came to a halt directly before him. ''She has fallen for you. For now. Once she's finished with you? Hodgeham, perhaps? Or Stanton again? A younger one, I'm certain. She's as wild as this brute." The duke gestured to his horse. Jack grit his teeth. "Stanton is a friend in the chastest sense of the word and Hodgeham …"

He snorted in disgust. "Hodgeham couldn't manage her."

"And you can?"

"Better than any other man."

"You should marry her then. Or perhaps that's your intent. Either you or some other poor chap. Hockley?''

"She has no wish to marry him.''

"She will," Ravensend said with a confident nod. ''If not him, she will marry a man of title. She has no children. When she's of the mind, she'll pick someone. Perhaps with more than just his seed to offer."

Jack came to an abrupt stop. Eldridge, William, and now Ravensend. He'd be damned if another individual meddled in his affairs. The aging Duke's face was leathered, his attire almost eight decades old and yet, the senselessness which came from his mouth was tosh. Whatever happened to a man growing wise with the wisdom which the world imparted on a person. For Christ's Sakes, what did this old coot know of any of their situations aside from the tittle tattle which Society fed back to the Coast?

"Pardon me, Your Grace." He spun on the heel of his boot and made rapid strides toward the roped walk. He would put a stop to all their intrusions once and for all. The words of others raced through his mind as he followed the path. His anger caused his feet to pound the floor louder than he cared for. The wind was cool against his face, but it did nothing to calm his rapid breathing. What was the opinion of others? Why ever could he not marry the woman he loved for his love was pure, even if his blood wasn't. That had not mattered to either of them just weeks before, so what now? He should have married her then to ensure that any sort of backing down couldn't be done. His feet pounded, his head taking him out to the side where he pictured Rose to be. He went with a purpose, as he always had when it come to her. His body was heavy, restless and his hands curled into fists by his sides as though he would be ready to burst at any given moment.

Rose prowled the coastline restlessly, picking up small pebbles and stones along the way. She tossed them over the water, trying to skip them and failing miserably. Trudy had once spent an entire afternoon attempting to teach her how to skip rocks. Although she'd never acquired the skill, the repetitive swing of her arm was calming. The music of the English coastline—the lapping waves and the cries of seagulls— brought her a measure of peace from her fevered thoughts. "A calm surface is required, love," came the deeply luxurious voice from behind her.

With shoulders squared, she turned to face her tormenter. Dressed casually in a worn sweater and wool breeches, Jack had never looked more virile, the roughness of his edges unblunted by any social veneer. His hair was tied back at his nape, but the salty breeze tugged the silken strands free and blew them softly across his handsome face. Just looking at him made her feel like crying.

"You shouldn't have come," she told him.

"I had no choice."

"Yes, you did. If you had any sense you would allow this …" She gestured wildly. "… thing between us to die out gracefully, instead of dragging it out to its inevitable bad end."

"Damn you." A muscle in his jaw ticked as he took a step toward her. ''Damn you to hell for throwing away what exists between us as if it does not signify. Risking your life—" Her hands clenched into fists at his wounded tone.

"I took the outriders with me at least some of the way. We did lose them."

"The only bit of sense you've shown since I met you."

"You are a bully! You have been from the first. Seducing, scheming, and manipulating me however you wish. Go back to London, be Lord Sedgewick's brother, and find another woman's life to ruin. You cannot love me. You cannot!"

Turning from him, Rose stalked toward the cliffs. Jack caught her arm as she attempted to pass, pulling her to a stop. She struggled with a frightened cry, alarmed by the possessiveness of his gaze.

"I was content before you came along. My life was simple and orderly. I want that back. I don't want you." Her eyes were lined with unshed tears. Here was the tight nip of pain which he had so often heard she was capable of causing.

He thrust her away with such a force that she stumbled.

"Regardless, you have me."

She hurried toward the rope-lined path.

''I shall leave."

"Craven," he drawled after her.

Eyes wide, Rose turned to face him again. Like the time he'd asked her to dance, his sapphire eyes sparkled with challenge. This time though, she would not be goaded into acting foolishly.

"Perhaps," she admitted, lifting her chin. "You frighten me. Your determination, your recklessness, your passion. Everything about you scares the wits from me. It's not how I wish to live my life."

His chest expanded on a deep breath. Behind him the waves continued to beat upon the shore, the relentless driving rhythm.

''You and I suit."

She swallowed hard, her stomach roiling. "Physically, perhaps. But lust fades. In no time at all you'll grow weary of a wife and seek your pleasures elsewhere."

"If you think such a thing of me, then why have I not touched you since that first time. It was you with lingering hands.''

Furious, she grabbed handfuls of sand and threw them at his chest.

"Go to hell!"

He laughed, shaking out his sweater with maddening nonchalance. "You possess me.''

Rose searched his face, looking for deceit and found nothing but cool impassivity. His face, so breathtaking, revealed nothing of his thoughts. The determined line of his jaw, however, was achingly familiar.

''Is that so?''

''Yes, you know as much. Or you wouldn't have ran.''

''Excuse me?''

''You ran away out of fear. Fear of Hockley, of his intentions, of your feelings.''

''And you know so much of me, do you?'' She called, her free curls whipping about her face in the wind.

''Yes, I know all of you.'' He told her calmly. His voice was soft, as soothing as the waves which lapped beautifully against the sandy beach. He was almost a lullaby, calming a young child to sleep. The flush of his cheeks with the wind caused his face to be all the more handsome. Was the possible? He was so still, so unnerved.

''There is little danger for you around here."

"True," he admitted. "But perhaps I can make the rest of your life so pleasant that my work will be of less consequence."

"Impossible!" She went to turn but his voice called her back.

"A fortnight," he urged. "It's all I ask. You owe me that much, at least."

"No." The gleam in his eye could not be mistaken. "I know what you want."

Jack met her gaze squarely. "I won't touch you. I swear it."

"You lie." His brow rose.

"You doubt I can restrain myself? I shared a bed with you last night and didn't make love to you. I assure you; I have control over my baser needs." Rose chewed her lower lip, weighing her options. To be free of him forever. To have the freedom of her own head, her thoughts and to never need a man in such a way again.

"You will find another room?" she asked.

"Yes."

"You promise not to make any advances?" Her voice was like that of a child, knowing full well that it was she who would be the harder one to curb the attraction.

''I promise." His mouth curved wickedly. "When you want me, iIam yours.''

She bristled at his apparent arrogance.

"What do you hope to accomplish by this?"

He came toward her and when he spoke, his voice was tender.

"We already know you enjoy me, in your life and in your bed. I intend to prove you will enjoy having me in the rest of your life as well. I'm not always so tiresome. In fact, some would say I'm quite pleasant."

"Why me?" she asked plaintively, her hand sheltering her racing heart.

"Why marriage?" Jack shrugged. '''The time is right' would be the simplest answer. I enjoy your company, despite how often you are obstinate and disagreeable. I love your fire, your wit, your beauty and just how damned stubborn you are. No man has ever proved their worth to you. I walked into your life, perhaps assuming that I should be allowed a place as your husband when we both know of your past. I intend to show you just how little of a bastard I am." When she shook her head, he frowned. "You said yes once before."

"That was before I knew about the true dangers."

His tone deepened, became cajoling. "Don't you wish to manage your own household? Wouldn't you like to have children? Build a family? Surely you don't wish to be alone forever."

Startled, she stared at him with wide eyes. Jack Dawson discussing children? The longing that washed over her so unexpectedly scared her to death. The tiny nick in her pit of her stomach urged her to lean forward and to take such an offer but her feet remain rooted to the very spot of sand.

"You want an heir?'' She looked away to hide her reaction.

''There is no heir. I am nothing, remember. I want you.'' Her eyes flew to meet his again. Flustered by his nearness and his determination, Rose turned toward the path in the cliffs.

"Do we have an agreement?" he called after her, remaining behind.

"Yes," she threw over her shoulder, her voice carried by the wind.

"A fortnight, then you are out of my life."

His satisfaction was a palpable thing and she ran from it.

Rose reached the top of the cliff and fell to her knees. Marriage. The word choked her throat and made her dizzy, leaving her panting for air like a swimmer too long under water. Why was that so scary now? It was as though before she had been under some great spell which she had just woken up from and was now seeing some sort of sense. His wife. She would be his wife forever.

Jack's will was a force to be reckoned with. What the devil was she to do now that he'd set his mind on marriage? He was dangerous. He would bring danger to her. To her family. To any children which they may conceive. Lifting her head, she looked toward the livery with aching longing. It would be such a relief to go, to leave the turmoil behind. But she discarded the idea. Jack would come for her, he would track her down as long as she still wanted him. And no matter how hard she tried, she was unable to hide the depth and breadth of her attraction. Therefore, the only way to be rid of his attentions was to accept the bargain he offered. Jack would have to end his pursuit of his own accord. There was no other way the obstinate man would quit. Wearily resolved, Rose stood and made her way toward the guesthouse. She would have to move carefully. He knew her too well. The slightest intimation that she was uneasy and he would pounce, pressing his advantage with his customary ruthlessness, to her anyway. In reality, she knew just how much he loved her. She would have to be relaxed and indifferent. It was the only solution. Satisfied she had a reasonable plan of action; she quickened her pace.

Meanwhile, Jack lingered on discussion. In two days, something inside Rose had flipped. Switched. Had a discussion with her mother ensured her escape to the sea? Lady DeWitt sat comfortably just a mere mile or so away at Lord Wellington's beach house perhaps blissfully unaware of her daughter's turmoil.

Jack sighed. He would have to woo her like a gentleman, something he'd never managed even the first time. But should he succeed, he would thwart Hockley's plan to replace him as her husband and prove to one and all that Rose was his. There would be no doubt. Marriage. He shuddered. It had finally happened. The woman had driven him insane. He had finally fallen in love. It was cruel and he was undeserving of the woman. Life without her would be easier, carefree and calm. He could live in relative peace, take women into his bed as he saw fit and then toss them out when the morning frost crept in. They would remain nameless and as meaningless as the others had. That was the life which he had led for as long as he remembered. It was nothing. He had been nothing. His life had been empty, lonely, boring...nothing.

She gave him purpose and so he would fight to live. Or to die. For her.