The Vagabond Duchess. Claire Thornton

you dream about the fire?’ he asked.

      She nodded jerkily and started to cry. From the moment she’d realised Agnes had been left in her shop there had been no time to dwell on the fate of her home. Now she knew her dream had shown her the exact truth. She hadn’t been standing on her stairs when her bedchamber caught fire, but by now it had burned just as surely as in her nightmare.

      ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry,’ Jack murmured.

      She nodded, but she couldn’t speak. For a little while her grief was too overwhelming to control. It was the first time since the death of her father that there had been anyone to comfort her. She clung to Jack, uncharacteristically surrendering to the full force of her emotions. She’d been raised to show more self-discipline than this, but Jack didn’t seem shocked. He held her close in a strong, steady embrace. He even rummaged up a grimy handkerchief to offer her.

      There was a window facing towards the Thames. The inferno burning on the other side of the river cast a flickering, shadowy light over the bed. Temperance kept her head turned away from the window, but the sight of the handkerchief provoked her into an unexpected hiccough of laughter.

      ‘I’ve got my own,’ she said. ‘I am a linen draper.’

      She pulled away from Jack, immediately missing the sense of security she’d felt in his arms. It was tempting to lean against him again, but she sat up straight and concentrated on finding her handkerchief. Finally, she produced the square of linen and dried her eyes and blew her nose. She still had to stifle an unexpected sob now and then, but she felt calmer.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said.

      ‘What for?’ Jack sounded mildly amused. ‘You spurned my chivalrous gesture.’

      ‘For…’ She hesitated. ‘Never mind,’ she said, not wanting to dwell on her loss of self-control. ‘I suppose a man with your varied past is always finding himself in unusual situations. I expect weeping women are commonplace in your life.’

      To her surprise, Jack started to laugh. ‘When all else fails I stick pins in them,’ he said. ‘Although fresh chopped onion is also—’

      ‘That’s not what I meant,’ Temperance interrupted crossly.

      ‘It has happened,’ he replied, more seriously than she’d anticipated. ‘But I hope I am wiser—and kinder—now.’

      ‘Is she…?’ Temperance’s breath caught at the implication of his words. ‘Is she waiting for you now?’ She knew so little about Jack Bow, but he had come to mean a lot to her in the past few days. Was she just another interlude in his wayward life?

      ‘No…’ Jack paused. ‘There’s no woman waiting for me,’ he clarified.

      ‘Oh.’ Temperance twisted the handkerchief between her hands, not sure what to say. She’d been so exhausted when they’d arrived at the inn she’d fallen on the bed without even noticing Jack was beside her. She’d slept heavily for a few hours, but now she was awake and her mind began to run in all kinds of anxious directions. Jack on the bed was only one of her worries.

      She glanced up and inadvertently looked in the direction of the unshuttered window. Her stomach clenched at the ominous play of shadows and lurid light flickering across the room.

      ‘It’s still burning.’ She scrambled forward to see better. ‘What am I going to do?’ she whispered, clutching the windowsill. ‘It’s all gone. What are we all going to do? London’s gone!’

      ‘Rebuild,’ said Jack, sliding to the bottom of the bed to sit beside her.

      ‘That’s easy for you to say!’ Temperance turned on him. ‘You never stay anywhere. You just wander where you please—’ Her voice caught on a sob.

      Jack’s arms closed around her. She struggled for a few seconds, resenting his efforts to comfort her when he was so unmoved by the fate of the City.

      ‘I’ve wept for other losses,’ he said. ‘People—not places.’

      She heard the truth in his voice and stopped trying to pull herself out of his embrace.

      ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do,’ she whispered.

      ‘You’ll manage.’ He rested his forehead against hers for a moment. ‘But not tonight. You don’t have to manage anything tonight. Come on,’ he urged her to move back up the bed. ‘Lie down again. Rest. We’ll face our next set of problems in the morning.’

      It was an awkward realignment. Jack knelt on Temperance’s skirt in the darkness and she scrabbled ineffectually against the mattress before she realised what was wrong, but at last they were lying next to each other again.

      Temperance turned on to her back and gazed upwards. She gave a gasping groan and rolled on to her side.

      ‘It’s on the ceiling!’ She couldn’t believe the shadows of the fire even danced there. The monster was everywhere. In her home, in her nightmare, and even in the temporary safety of this rathole Jack had found for them.

      ‘I know,’ said Jack.

      ‘I can’t sleep now.’ She bit her lip because she was determined not to cry any more. ‘Every time I close my eyes I can see it!’

      ‘Think of something else.’ He stroked her arm.

      ‘I don’t know anything else.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘I’ve never been anywhere but London. In all my memories London is there. Now it isn’t… You tell me something else.’ She laid her hand on his shoulder. He’d removed his coat and she could feel the firm muscles beneath his linen shirt. ‘You’ve been so many places. Tell me about one of them.’

      ‘My home’s in Sussex,’ he said, after a moment. ‘Shall I tell you about that?’

      ‘Yes.’ She wondered if his home was in his mind because of her loss. ‘Please tell me.’

      ‘It’s green,’ he said. ‘I last saw it in April and everything was green. New buds and leaves. The daffodils made a brave show beneath the trees. Bright sunshine yellow.’

      ‘Good colours,’ Temperance murmured, clinging to the image of sunshine-yellow daffodils instead of the hideous red and black of fiery destruction.

      ‘Very good.’ He brushed his lips against her forehead. ‘The village green was in full bloom.’

      ‘What village?’ Temperance moved a little closer to him.

      ‘Arunhurst,’ he replied. ‘The church is very pretty. Norman…’ He kissed her cheek.

      ‘What church?’ Her hand slid around his waist of its own volition.

      ‘St Mary’s.’ His breath caressed her skin.

      She turned her head and his lips found hers. The kiss began gentle and comforting, but almost immediately desperate passion exploded between them. Her hand locked in his shirt and she pulled him closer, responding without thought of consequences. Her whole world had collapsed around her ears, but Jack was strong and reassuringly vital. Alive.

      He rolled her on to her back and deepened the kiss. His tongue was so bold. She’d never imagined anything like it. Excitement leapt within her. She lifted her hand to touch him and felt the crisp brush of his short hair against her fingers. She tugged desperately at his shirt so she could feel his bare skin. She needed to wrap her arms around him. To get as close as she could to his virile, living energy. When he kissed her like this she couldn’t think of anything else. She didn’t want to think of anything else. When he kissed her, all her problems vanished into oblivion. Her hands pressed against his naked back, feeling the flex of his taut muscles. Her heart thudded in her ears. Jack filled her senses and her mind until there was only room for the compelling needs he aroused in her.

      He kissed her cheek, then bent his head to caress her neck with