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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 his lips. She stared up at the ceiling, but she didn’t see the flickering shadow patterns of the fire. All her attention was focussed on Jack. His breathing was as fast and ragged as her own. She could feel the hot urgency pulsing through his body.
He pulled up her skirts with an uncharacteristically clumsy gesture and then she felt his hand on her bare thigh. She gasped as almost unbearable tension filled her. He stroked the outer side of her leg, touching her more intimately than she’d ever been touched before.
She held her breath, her grip on his back tightening until her nails pressed into his muscles.
His fingers brushed along her legs as he found his way by touch alone. She moved restlessly beneath him, her breath emerging in quick, almost whimpering gasps.
His hand came briefly to rest on her inner thigh—then stroked boldly upwards. Potent sensation flooded her body. She trembled with an unfamiliar mixture of excitement and almost painfully urgent anticipation. She was swollen and aching, and when he touched her intimately air exploded from her lungs in a wordless gasp of pleasure.
Her legs fell bonelessly apart as he continued to stroke her hot, moist flesh. His own breathing was harsh with excitement. Her body responded to his teasing, tormenting fingers with small spasms of pleasure and intensifying need. When he took his hand away she gave a whimper of protest, but a few seconds later he lifted himself over her.
Her breath caught in her throat. The unfamiliar sensation of his erection pressing against her provoked a brief moment of clarity. She’d never thought this would happen to her. She was too tall, her personality too forthright. Men had looked with covetous eyes at her shop, but not at her. Now Jack was poised above her, his lean, muscular body taut with unfulfilled passion.
She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the intensity of the moment. It was so strange to feel Jack inside her, stretching her. She held tight to him, her anchor in the storm of new sensations.
He paused. She could feel the straining of his muscles as he held still. The expansion and contraction of his ribs as he braced himself over and in her.
‘Tempest?’ His voice emerged as a ragged moan.
She was so overwhelmed by the physical and emotional strangeness of what was happening she didn’t speak. Her fingers dug convulsively into his back. Pure instinct prompted her to raise her knees and he sank a little deeper inside her.
His shuddering groan reverberated through her. He began to move, his strokes steady and careful. At first it wasn’t quite comfortable, but gradually the discomfort was transformed into deliciously escalating tension. She arched her back, lifting her hips towards him. She was on the verge of something—
Jack’s thrusts became faster and less controlled. Suddenly he groaned and shuddered in her arms. She felt his hot release deep within her. His movements slowed until he was still except for his quickened breathing.
Temperance lay beneath him, her body tingling and somehow unsatisfied. She opened her eyes. She couldn’t see Jack’s expression. His head was a dark shadow between her and the lurid ceiling. She was breathing heavily. So was he. He was still inside her, yet she felt strangely disconnected from what had just happened. She’d dreamed of Jack the first night she’d met him. Now she was half-convinced she was still dreaming. Nothing that had happened in the past twenty-four hours had any place in her everyday life.
She became aware of her hands on Jack’s back, the grittiness of the soot and ash still clinging to both of them. In many ways he was little more than a stranger, and now her arousal was waning the unfamiliar intimacy of their position began to feel increasingly awkward. Part of her wanted to cling to him for reassurance, but another part of her wanted to push him as far away as possible.
Before she could do or say anything he withdrew from her, his movements carefully controlled as he lay down beside her as far away as the narrow mattress would allow.
For the first time since she’d met him their silence was oppressive with tension. It stretched taut between them, but it wasn’t the breathless, excited tension that had compelled her into his arms. It was darker, awkward and much harder to deal with.
She sensed him move and realised he was rearranging his clothes. Embarrassment burned through her. She hastily straightened her skirts, though she could still feel the imprint of his body on her and in her. She wondered how long it would be before she stopped feeling the after-effects of their lovemaking.
Dawn was casting a pale grey light over the bed. She stared out of the window and wished she was somewhere else. Morning was nearly here, but for the first time since she could remember she had no regular chores to perform. Why on earth had she allowed—encouraged Jack to make love to her? Grief must have addled her brain.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I didn’t mean that to happen.’
‘Are you blaming me?’ She was already feeling defensive—afraid she’d let him make a fool of her. She didn’t like the implication it was her fault.
‘No.’ He sat up and put his hand on her arm. ‘It was the two of us together. But I find you quite irresistible,’ he added.
Temperance folded her arms and looked away. ‘If you were a gentleman—’
‘You don’t mean that.’ He urged her to lie down again and propped himself on one elbow beside her. ‘To take advantage of you and walk away without a backward glance.’
‘Is that your idea of a gentleman?’ She looked at him. Now the room was lighter she could see his expression more clearly. What she saw in his eyes reassured her. To her relief it didn’t seem as if he regarded the loss of her maidenhead as a frivolous matter.
‘Isn’t it yours?’ he countered.
Temperance thought of some of her well-dressed, well-born customers. Tredgold, the man who’d planned to frighten his grandfather to death in the guise of a ghost, popped into her mind. If he’d been on this bed with her he wouldn’t waste any time worrying about her feelings. Mind you, she couldn’t imagine any circumstances in which she’d willingly come within ten feet of Tredgold, especially if there was a bed in the vicinity.
‘I don’t suppose it matters,’ she said, trying to make the best of things. ‘With London in such turmoil, no one ever will ever know or care what happened to me tonight.’
‘I know,’ said Jack. ‘And I care.’ He put his hand on her waist.
Temperance’s heart began to beat faster. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I wish we had more time.’ He leant closer and kissed her forehead. ‘I need to check for the latest news—and see if I can find Jakob. He was supposed to follow me to London. He’s Swedish. I hope no one mistakes him for a Dutchman.’ A shadow crossed Jack’s face.
Temperance remembered how the mob had nearly attacked Jack when they’d thought he was French. She understood his anxieties about his cousin, but she was dismayed he was leaving. After what had just taken place between them she felt awkward in his company, but she was even more upset at the idea of never seeing him again.
‘I’ll come back as soon as I can,’ he said. ‘Stay here. As long as you stay in this room and keep the door barred against strangers, you should be safe enough.’ He reached for his coat and the periwig he’d laid aside the previous night. ‘Here.’ He dropped a surprisingly large amount of money on to her lap. ‘I hope you won’t need it, but if the innkeeper tries to turn you out because he’s had a better offer, this should hold his hand.’
‘Is this my…fee?’ she said, staring at the coins without touching them. ‘For lifting my petticoats—’
‘No.’ His firm denial cut off her words. ‘I was going to give it to you anyway. If you don’t feel comfortable here, go back to Agnes’s niece.’
Temperance flinched at the notion of presenting herself to Agnes this morning. The old woman’s sharp eyes were sure to notice something different about her. If she was to protect her reputation, she had to ensure no one knew of her brief liaison with Jack.
‘I’ll stay here,’ she muttered. ‘Can’t I—’ She stopped, biting her lip. She’d been about to ask if she could go with Jack, but if he didn’t suggest it she wasn’t going to embarrass herself by asking.
‘We don’t know how much further the fire has spread,’ he replied, answering her unspoken question. ‘I don’t want to take you from safety into danger. Besides, you need to rest. When I’ve gone, bar the door and try to sleep.’
Temperance sat on the bed and watched as he put on his coat, sword and finally, his periwig. He looked at her and grinned. ‘Is it straight?’ he asked.
‘You are too vain for words,’ she grumbled. Despite everything, her mood lightened at his familiar smile. It did far more to reassure her than the money he’d dropped in her lap. Perhaps she was fooling herself, but she thought it was the kind of look a man gave to a woman he cared about—not one he’d used to ease a fleeting physical need. She knelt up, ignoring the strange, unfamiliar twinges between her legs, and rearranged his somewhat woebegone curls.
‘Thank you.’
She shifted her gaze from his hair to his dark eyes. He smiled crookedly at her. ‘I’m coming back,’ he said. ‘I promise.’
Southwark, late evening, Tuesday 4 September 1666
Temperance sat on the bed listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the inn around her, and the noisy disturbances in the streets outside. Earlier she’d left the small room long enough to buy food and drink from one of the inn servants, but she hadn’t dared go further afield. She’d had to give the innkeeper more money before he’d let her remain in the cramped chamber, and she knew if she went out she’d lose the room. She was worried about Isaac, but comforted by the knowledge he was safe at the coffeehouse in Covent Garden.
The strong gale had continued to blow most of the day, driving the flames across London. Temperance had fallen into an uneasy sleep in the early evening, only to be frightened awake by distant explosions. She’d scrambled to the window, horrified to discover the fire was burning even brighter than before.
A sudden pounding at the door made her jump.
‘Tempest? Temperance, let me in.’ Jack’s voice sounded harsh and strained.
She hurried to open it. He put his hands on her shoulders and moved her back so he could come into the small room too.
‘Did I wake you?’
‘No.’ He’d come back. He had. Her heart sang with happiness—then she sensed his tension and her stomach clenched with anxiety. ‘Did you find your cousin?’
‘No. I’ve just searched the Clink for him.’
‘The Clink?’ Temperance was sure she’d misheard. ‘The prison?’
‘Yes. Here.’ Jack caught her wrist and lifted her hand. ‘This is for you.’ She felt him put a heavy weight into her palm. She closed her fingers around it and realised it was a purse. ‘Put it away safely,’ he ordered. ‘Where’s your mother’s workbox?’ Without waiting for a reply he began to feel around for it.
‘Why do you want it?’
‘I’m taking you to stay with Fanny Berridge.’
‘It’s the middle of the night!’
‘I don’t have time to wait until morning,’ Jack said. She could hear the impatience in his voice, feel it in his movements as he dropped the workbox on to the bed.
‘I’m sorry.’ He took a deep breath, and she sensed his effort to speak more gently. ‘Take this as well.’
‘What?’ She held out her hand and felt even more confused when he didn’t give her anything.
