Reforming Jane

by Maggie Carpenter

“I don’t watch much television. Who are the others?”

  “The blonde is the daughter of an MP, and the other one comes from a centuries-old aristocratic family. Those three come in here all the time. I’m surprised you haven’t spotted them before.”

  “That explains it,” Henry muttered under his breath. “Three rich girls your age would be ripe for the picking. I wonder if they insisted you come here and you had no choice.”

  “Pardon? I didn’t hear you.”

  “Redheads always catch my eye,” Henry said, turning his attention away from the girls and sending the bartender a grin.

  “She looks familiar,” Jimmy frowned, “but I’m sure I’d remember hair like that. Anyway, do you want another drink?”

  Henry nodded, and as Jimmy moved away, Henry looked back at Jane. She had sat with her back to him, but no surprise there. She’d have recognized him the moment she’d walked through the door. Was making witty conversation with her newfound friends suddenly difficult because he was sitting at the bar? The man who had put her over his knee and smacked her bare backside until it was stinging hot. It was a delicious thought, and he chose to believe it.

  “Watch your elbow.”

  Looking up, Henry saw the bartender had removed his empty glass and a fresh drink was waiting.

  “Thanks, and I think I want to order something to eat. I’m going to be staying a while.”

  The bartender raised his eyebrows in surprise. Henry was a creature of habit. He’d come in around seven o’clock every Friday, drink two martinis, then leave.

  “I know,” Henry chuckled, reading Jimmy’s expression.

  “I guess you really do have a thing for redheads!”

  “And I want to switch this out for a scotch,” Henry added. “Do you have steak here?”

  “The lamb chops are better.”

  “Fine. Lamb chops.”

  Henry knew he had time for a leisurely meal. His Sherlock brain told him that Jane, or whatever her name was, wouldn’t want to walk past him when it was time to leave. He smiled. She’d be in a pickle if she had to visit the powder room, but then, he didn’t want to risk going to the men’s room either, concerned she’d be watching him through the eyes she undoubtedly had in the back of her head, and she’d bolt while he was gone.

  Scotch was his drink of choice when he was pondering, and his brilliant mind went to work. Thinking things through put him in his comfort zone. He dealt with complex problems all day, and at night his head would still be tumbling as he tried to sleep. The only time he wasn’t thinking was when he had a woman over his lap, or her wrists were in shackles and her arms were pulled above her head, or she was begging for permission to climax, or some other salacious scenario.

  Puzzles! He loved them. Why would a young woman as attractive and bright as Jane be hustling for a living? It was still the most tantalizing question he’d had in a long time, perhaps ever, and he was determined to uncover the mystery.

  * * *

  Jane was rarely panicked, and she wasn’t now, but she was doing some mental gymnastics. She didn’t think Henry was the type to cause a scene, but she absolutely did not want him stopping by her merry little party to say hello. She was running a long con, and after six weeks of arduous work she was nearing the payoff.

  She hadn’t wanted to go to Candles. She’d prevented them from going there several times before, but this time, as they’d walked out of Sylvia Parker’s front door and climbed into the car they’d rented for the night, Sylvia had told the driver where to go, and that had been that. Jane’s keen instinct told her to keep her mouth shut, but she’d prepared herself. She was disguised, but if Henry was sharp, and if he was there, she wouldn’t put it past him to recognize her. She’d been annoyed when she’d walked into the restaurant and seen him at the bar, but she hadn’t been surprised.

  Amanda Duncan, the daughter of an old and aristocratic family, began blathering on about wanting to go to her parents’ country home the following weekend. Jane took the opportunity to purposely cause her bag to fall on the floor, and as she reached down to pick it up, she risked a quick glance. Henry was sipping from a tumbler and talking to the bartender. She frowned. When she’d been studying him, she’d only ever seen him with a martini. Knowing habits and patterns, anticipating people’s reactions and being one step ahead, that was how she survived. The slightest deviation was something to be noted. She flashed back to the moment she’d walked in. She’d sent her eyes directly to the bar to see if he was there. As was his habit, he’d had a martini glass. Why the change?

  “What do you think, Jane?” Sylvia asked as Jane sat up and hooked her bag to the back of the chair. “Are you up for going down to the country for a couple of days of expensive wine and too much food?”

  “Am I up for going down?” Jane laughed. “You do have a way with words, Sylvia.”

  “Is that a yes?” Amanda asked. “Please say you’ll come.”

  “I’d really like to, but it will depend on whether or not dad decides to fly back this week. He won’t like it if I’m away his first weekend home after being gone for a month.”

  “When will you know?”

  “Soon. When I spoke to him this afternoon, he said the deal is almost done.”

  “I still can’t believe your dad will own a goldmine,” Sylvia sighed. “You’ll be rich forever.”

  “I know! It’s so exciting. It’s not a big mine, at least not yet, but he thinks it will be. I know my father, and he wouldn’t have spent all this time away unless he was sure about it.”

  “When will you be flying down to Australia to see it?” Sylvia pressed. “Will you bring me back a nugget?”

  “I’m not sure dad will let me bring back chunks of gold and give them away. I don’t know even know if that’s legal, but maybe there’s a way to—”

  “If it’s not legal, then you’d better not do it.”

  Henry’s voice had come from behind her, and Jane inwardly cringed. He’d interrupted at a crucial moment! How had she not sensed him walking over to the table? Quickly gathering her wits, she turned her head and looked up at his smiling face.

  “Hello, Henry, fancy meeting you here.”

  “Now there’s an original line,” Sylvia laughed. “Hi, I’m Sylvia Parker. Who are you?”

  “Henry Gibson,” he said with a nod.

  “This is Amanda Duncan, and Susan Braithwaite,” Jane said, introducing the last girl who rarely spoke until she’d consumed a drink or two.

  “What’s this about doing something illegal?” Henry asked, his eyes catching Jane’s with a steely glint.

  “I was saying I wouldn’t do it if it was!”

  “Good thing, you never know what could happen if you push the limits of the law. You could get yourself into all sorts of trouble.”

  “But isn’t that half the fun?” Jane retorted, challenging him with a return gaze.

  “Yes, it is, it is,” Sylvia chimed in. “I push the limits of the law all the time.”

  “And how exactly do you do that?” Henry asked, his Sherlock brain sizing up the girls in nanoseconds.

  Sylvia was behaving just as he would expect the stereotypical actress would. Wanting to be the center of attention, insecure, and working hard to be liked. The girl called Amanda was from serious money. She reeked of it. The tennis bracelet on her wrist was sparkling like the Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square, and her complexion was peaches and cream personified. The other girl, Susan, she was the most interesting. She was reserved, but her tailored, conservative clothes spoke of her parents’ position. They were important, or one of them was, and she’d been told to watch herself and stay out of trouble, but it wasn’t easy. She had a covert wild side brimming beneath her reserved facade.

  “I can’t tell a stranger all my secrets,” Sylvia winked, “and you might be a detective from Scotland Yard. I couldn’t possibly share more without knowing you better.”

  She was outrageously flirting, and Henry couldn’t help but feel f
lattered.

  “Henry, is that your meal arriving?” Jane remarked, looking across at a dinner plate being placed on the bar.

  “Ah, yes, so it is,” Henry said, looking over his shoulder.

  “Why don’t you—”

  “Get back to it before it gets cold,” Amanda said quickly, interrupting Sylvia before she could finish.

  Jane had no idea why Amanda had done it, but she was immensely grateful. She knew Sylvia was about to ask Henry to join them. Jane thought Sylvia an absolute cow and had to fight the temptation to shoot her a scowl. Sylvia would have continued to flirt, without thinking for a moment about any interest Jane might have in the man who had stopped by the table to say hello. To control her anger, she thought about how sweet it was going to be when she took her money.

  “Yes, I should,” Henry agreed. “Cold lamb chops, not particularly appealing. Delighted to have met you all, and good to see you again, Jane. You should come and join me here for a drink. I’m always at the bar on a Friday night.”

  “I might do that,” she replied, faking a smile.

  But as he walked away, Jane wasn’t sure if she was annoyed or relieved. He’d stepped in at an inopportune time, but now the pressure was off. She didn’t have to worry about him for the remainder of the evening. Why he had come over, however, was confounding her. When she’d approached him a couple of months before, she’d felt there was more to him than it appeared, as though he carried some deep, dark secret, then he’d made his proposition: come back to my flat for a spanking or I call the police. It had confirmed her suspicions. He lived life on the kinky side.

  She had no problem with the kinky side. She rather enjoyed a smattering of bondage now and then, and she wasn’t averse to spanking during sex. She wasn’t sure why, but looking back on that night, she recalled being relaxed as he’d hailed a cab, strange considering she knew she was about to get her bottom whacked. His house had been nice—very nice, in fact—and everything about him had been nice. Even when he’d ordered her to pull down her jeans and lie over his lap, he’d been respectful. In spite of the circumstances, she’d been drawn to him. If her life had been different, she might have allowed herself to give in to the attraction she’d felt.

  “Why did you interrupt me, Amanda?” Sylvia asked testily, snapping Jane back to the present. “I was going to ask him to join us.”

  “Because it’s obvious Jane has a thing for him, and he has a thing for her. Couldn’t you tell? Right, Jane?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Jane said quickly, hoping it would be enough to stop Sylvia from harboring any ideas about Henry.

  “So what?” Sylvia frowned.

  “So,” Amanda continued, rolling her eyes, “you were already flirting, and you would have kept going and made that poor guy incredibly uncomfortable.”

  “Thank God, the waitress,” Susan remarked, speaking for the first time. “It appears your boyfriend wants to make an impression.”

  “Compliments of the gentleman at the bar,” the waitress declared, setting a champagne bucket beside the table.

  “How perfectly marvelous,” Amanda said with a happy smile. “Champers, just what the doctor ordered.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Jane corrected her, “but I should go and thank him. I’ll be right back.”

  “Be quick. I want to know what you were going to say about those gold nuggets,” Sylvia said earnestly.

  “Ooh, yes, me too,” Amanda piped up.

  “It wasn’t about the nuggets exactly, and now I’m wondering if I should say anything at all. I don’t want to get your hopes up,” Jane said, feigning thought as she stood up from the table. “I won’t be long.”

  As she walked away, her lips curled into a wicked half-smile. It had been the perfect tease. Henry’s interruption was unexpectedly working to her benefit. Her eyes zeroed in on him as she approached, but he didn’t look up. Was he deliberately ignoring her? Of course he was. Let the games begin!

  “What’s all that about?” she asked, stopping to stand beside him though there was an empty bar stool available.

  “All what?” he asked innocently.

  “Don’t be coy, it doesn’t suit you!”

  “You’re a bit testy tonight,” he remarked, turning his head and looking at her.

  “Would you please just answer the question?”

  “I thought you and your friends might like a drink,” he replied, elegantly wiping his lips with his serviette.

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously!”

  “We both know that’s codswallop!” she exclaimed, brushing away a wisp of red hair with her gloved hand.

  “We do?”

  “I don’t know what you’re playing at,” she said grimly, “but I’d appreciate it if you’d leave us alone.”

  “Not even a thank you? Really, Jane, that’s very impolite; perhaps you need another spanking!”

  He was oozing a subtle but powerful energy, and she suddenly felt like a ten-year-old being scolded by an adult.

  “Keep your voice down,” she whispered angrily.

  “You don’t want people to know I’ve had you over my knee?” he grinned.

  “You’re impossible, and to answer your question, my friends might be grateful,” she managed, hating that her face was flushing red, “but I’m—”

  “You’re working, and I interrupted you,” he said quietly. “You’ve been cultivating them for some time, and payday is in sight. You don’t want me getting in the way.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “Jane, please, that’s just insulting.”

  “Fine,” she huffed. “Are you going to leave me alone?”

  He tilted his head to the side, then let out a heavy sigh.

  “If you’re prepared to risk years in jail and want to waste that brilliant mind of yours, that is entirely up to you.”

  “That isn’t an answer,” she quipped.

  Turning back to the bar, he reached for his drink, took a sip, placed it back down, and then turned his entire body around to face her.

  “I will not return to your table, on one condition.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake, what condition?”

  “You agree to have dinner with me here on Sunday night.”

  “That’s blackmail!”

  “Yes, it is, and you have no right glowering at me as you are. It’s rather like the pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?”

  “What do you mean by dinner?” she frowned, narrowing her eyes and lowering her voice.

  “That’s two times,” he scolded, his voice quiet but stern. “Don’t make it three.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  A strange wave of nerves was whistling through her body. He was getting the better of her. It was uncomfortable. She felt powerless. It was an alien feeling, and very disturbing.

  “Twice you’ve insulted me. I may coerce you into sharing a meal, but that’s it.”

  She stared back at him. She’d made a mistake, and, caught off guard, she didn’t know how to respond.

  “Apologize,” he said firmly.

  “What?”

  “You heard me, apologize. You know very well I’m not a man who would take advantage of you. I’ve had that opportunity, remember?”

  Jane had never felt her knees grow weak. She had never been at a loss for words. She had never felt compelled to drop her eyes, or had her face burn crimson with a fiery heat.

  “I’m waiting,” Henry said, his voice deepening.

  He watched her squirm. He knew she was beside herself. Jane was the one who controlled things, she was the one who had others dancing to her tune, but not this time. She had run across the one man who could put her in her place.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

  “Apology accepted. You may return to your work, but I expect to see you here on Sunday night at seven o’clock. Are we clear?”

  “Yes.”

  Turning sharply, s
he walked briskly back to the table and sat down. The girls were nattering about a sale they wanted to check out at LaSalle, a high-end boutique that offered designer clothing directly from Paris. Relieved they were deep in conversation, she took several sips of champagne. She needed to collect herself.

  “That took a while,” Sylvia finally said, turning her attention back to Jane. “Is love afoot?”

  “He wishes,” Jane replied.

  “So… what’s the big secret you had to think about?” Amanda asked earnestly. “You know, when you said you didn’t want to get our hopes up? Please, you have to tell us.”

  Jane looked at the three attentive faces expectantly staring at her. Again it appeared Henry had done her a favor by making her leave the table. Even Susan appeared eager to hear what she had to say.

  “You have to promise not to breathe a word,” Jane said, her voice almost a whisper, “and I’m not making any promises.”

  “We won’t tell a soul, we won’t,” Amanda said impatiently.

  “And we won’t hold you to anything,” Sylvia offered, leaning forward, dying to hear what Jane had to say.

  “I might be able to get you shares in the mine. Might,” she repeated, “and when dad hits the mother lode, you’ll make oodles.”

  Chapter Three

  It was Saturday morning, and carrying a bouquet of tiger lilies, Jane did what she did every Saturday morning; she started off to the cemetery to visit the one person who had truly, deeply cared about her. His name was Bernie, and he had rescued her. It hadn’t been a romantic relationship; he had been her mentor, her best friend, her surrogate father, and she had deeply loved him.

  Jane Campbell had become Jane Campbell when she had run away from a foster home. She’d been fifteen at the time. The new home had been the latest in a series, and was supposed to provide support and stability for children deemed difficult. When she’d been handed their list of rules, she’d only been halfway through reading them when she’d decided, just like all the other places in which she’d been housed, the home was not the place for her. Perplexed, she’d sat on the bed in the much too tidy, sparse room, taken a deep breath, and decided it was time to break out of the system. She would change her name and go out into the world.