Mad Jack (Sherbrooke Brides 4)

Without saying anything else, he knelt down beside her, wearing only his breeches. She’d never seen a half-naked man before, and the surprise of it made a little noise in her throat, which brought his face to hers. “What’s wrong?”

“You don’t have a shirt on. I’ve never seen a man’s chest before.”

He sat back on his heels, frowning down at her. “Don’t be a twit. You dress like Jack the valet, hide in a barn older than my grandfather, and then make silly little noises just because I don’t have cloth over my upper parts? Close your eyes, then.” He unfastened her chemise and pulled back the soft white batiste just a bit. It wasn’t enough. He pulled the material wide, baring her breasts. She was so surprised her eyes popped open. She just lay there staring up at him, not knowing what to do. Then she raised her hand in a protective gesture. He gently shoved her hand back down. She just sighed, closed her eyes, and said, “I’m not a twit.”

“Good.” He lightly touched his fingers to a lower rib that was yellow and blue, edged with fingers of green and black. She tried to pull away, but it hurt so badly she just groaned instead. “That’s right. Make noise, but hold still. Now, let’s see what we’ve got here.” He pulled the material fully apart. Though he didn’t want to, he saw that her nipples were puckered from the cold. Dear God, it was amazing how a woman’s breasts could do a man in very quickly; on the other hand, her breasts were lovely. No, he was looking at the rib he’d smashed with his foot, not at two very nice female breasts. She lay there, stiff and shivering with cold as he ran his fingers over her ribs, up and down her arms, felt her belly, asking over and over, “Here? Does that hurt? No? Good.”

It was a relief, she thought, looking at him because she simply couldn’t keep her eyes closed. He didn’t appear to notice her womanly parts at all. She could have been Jack for all he cared. No, he was looking again at her ribs and now he was lightly stroking his fingertips over that particular rib that hurt so badly she had to bite her lip to keep quiet. Then he pressed harder and she cried out.

He looked up at her briefly. “Sorry. Just hold still. I had to see how bad it was. No, it isn’t broken, thank God, but you’re not going to feel like performing the cotillion for the next week or two.” He sat back on his haunches. “Well, you deserve the pain. Stealing my Durban, a solid old boy I’ve had since I was fourteen years old. The chances are he would have brought you low, you know. Whenever Durban sees any dandelions—it doesn’t matter where—even on the side of a road that’s filled with carriages and other horses, he has to have them. Dandelions are ambrosia to Durban. It doesn’t matter what you do. Indeed, the only thing you can do is simply let him eat all the bloody dandelions he wants. Only then will he move another hoof in the direction you want, even if it’s the wrong direction.

“Now, I’m not going to feel sorry for you. I’m not going to apologize. No matter what you are, you were still stealing my horse. I’ll bet the aunts had no idea what you were going to do, did they?”

“They know me very well. If they’d put their brains to it, I’m sure they would have realized that I’d do what I did. I left them a letter.”

He could only stare at her. “Bloody hell. Actually, that’s just perfect. What should I have expected? You’re a damned female, after all. Now, tell me your name and tell me right now.”

He was staring at just her face, not her womanly breast parts, which were still very bare.

She was white and silent.

“Is it Jacqueline and you shortened it to Jack?”

She shook her head.

“What else is there that goes with Jack? Jennifer? Jasmine?”

“My name is Winifrede Levering and I’m very cold.”

“Winifrede? What’s a Levering?”

“Winifrede was my grandmother’s name and Levering was her family name. My grandmother on my father’s side. My father loved his mother very much and I got stuck with the results.”

He grunted, closed the chemise over her breasts, and covered her with handfuls of straw.

“Your family name?”

She shook her head. Her jaw hurt, the side of her face hurt. She held herself perfectly still and said, “I don’t want to tell you that. If I do, it will be all over.”

“What will be all over?” He tossed more straw over her.

“I didn’t mean to say that, precisely. My family name is McGregor.”

“You’re not any better at lying than you are at stealing. I’ll accept the Winifrede Levering—it’s too dreadful not to be true. It’s a name that really doesn’t suit you at all—it even nearly hurts to say that name aloud, so, yes, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re telling the

truth about that. But McGregor? The truth, please, now.”

She sighed. Why couldn’t she think of a name that he would accept? She wasn’t about to tell him who she was. She had no idea what he would do. Probably he’d return her directly to her stepfather.

“I must leave,” she said, and he heard the desperation in her voice. There was also pain. What was he supposed to do now?

“Very well,” he said, his voice as cold as the month of February had been last winter. “Once our clothes are dry, I’ll take you back to London and turn you over to the aunts. I’m certain they’ll tell me everything I want to know. They can also deal with you. Of course, they didn’t do a very good job of dealing with you before, but what choice do I have? Poor old birds, stuck with you. They do indeed have my sympathy.”

“They did an excellent job of dealing with me. It was just that I had no choice. I had to go back to Folkstone. The aunts are wonderful. They’re trying to protect me. They won’t tell you a thing.”

“I’m cold as well,” he said, as he lay down beside her and pulled straw over himself. “I came home last night expecting to pour a nice bit of brandy down my gullet and then stretch out on my back and dream sweet dreams, perhaps about my mistress, who doesn’t want another protector. But no, it wasn’t to be.” He gave her a look of loathing. Then he blinked. “Damn. I thought I’d covered you well enough but I didn’t. That straw on your skin will tear you apart.”

He was over her in an instant, brushing off straw, then pulling her chemise completely together and fastening the small buttons, his fingers lightly brushing over her left breast. She nearly heaved she was so frightened. “For heaven’s sake, hold still. I’m not a bloody rapist.”