The Frenchman's Widow

by Eliza Lloyd

  “Jack was never my friend. Anything Jack has, I can take from him. You never told him, did you?”

  “Told him what?”

  “That we were lovers.”

  “I was a whore. Jack did not care who I sold my favors to after our agreement was over. And so we are clear, you didn’t purchase my favors, you took them.”

  She was playing a dangerous game. To engage Shiffington was to dangle temptation in front of him. He wanted to win. He wanted to dominate. Or was it about Jack? And the jealous conflict that occurred between intimates?

  “I paid you then,” he said. “I’ll pay you more now.”

  “I don’t need money. And I doubt you have enough anyhow.”

  “All right, I won’t pay you, but you will spread your legs for me. Eagerly, I think, once I learn everything about your life and all the small ways I can force you to do my bidding. I think you enjoy your newfound respectability and would do anything to keep it.”

  She smiled and replied with an aplomb she did not feel. “You’re a monster. I should tell Jack. It might be too late, but he ought to know what kind of man you are.”

  “Oh, he knows. Do you think he is going to come to your rescue? He left you behind in London when he got married. Besides, I’ve heard he is close to a second marriage contract with a lovely merchant’s daughter. I’m told she comes with a dowry fit for a king. Jack was always lucky that way.”

  For the first time she lowered her gaze. Married? Again? So that was why he had not arrived in Brighton as he had promised.

  Married.

  Shiffington was a thief, stealing her lightness of heart, her contentment, and now the prick wanted to steal her love away from Jack with blackmail.

  She didn’t say another word and the dance mercifully came to an end.

  “Not so fast,” he said, as she tried to twist from his arms. “We have business to attend.”

  Mrs. Peel rescued her, the beaming smile confirmation she hadn’t a clue that Imogene was ready to run from the room. “Your pardon, Mr. Shiffington. I must steal Madame LeClerc away.”

  He bowed to them, but his gaze was on Imogene and full of determination to keep his vile promise.

  Imogene allowed Mrs. Peel to introduce her to another man. Evidently she was determined to make a match for the widowed Madame LeClerc, though Imogene was thankful for the distraction. Once she was safely away and once Shiffington’s attention was engaged elsewhere, Imogene ducked through an arched doorway and hurried to the nearest door.

  The night air cooled her temper but did nothing to comfort her about Jack. Had he made the promise to her in the heat of the moment only to regret it after she’d left his bed? What had she to bring to a marriage except an embarrassing past and a portion of Pierre’s fortune? No matter how much money she’d inherited, that wouldn’t hide her sins.

  You deceitful bastard, she thought. Maybe he made the promise to this other woman in the heat of the moment too!

  Fifteen minutes later she stood in front of her home. Her wonderful home, now spoiled by Shiffington’s threats. If it were only Imogene Farrell she had to worry about instead of a houseful of innocent, fragile children...

  She gulped a deep, shuddering breath, tears near to spilling.

  A light shone in the kitchen and Imogene tiptoed back there to see Mr. and Mrs. Brewster taking tea.

  Mrs. Brewster jumped to her feet. “Oh, Madame LeClerc. Won’t you join us?” The teapot was settled on a thick pad near the fire, the cups were within reach.

  “No. No. I’ll get it,” Imogene said. She poured, the soothing gurgle allowing time to calm herself.

  She sat down with them, feeling melancholic and beaten down. Shiffington was right about one thing—she did enjoy the respectability, the sense of importance. Was it selfish to want to be someone?

  Was it selfish and foolish to want to be someone...someone who could be loved by a man like Jack? Or respected by peers?

  Was it unfair to have her past hold her captive? A prisoner of circumstance she had no control over?

  “What is it, dear?” Mrs. Brewster asked, patting Imo’s hand.

  Charlie wasn’t here to give advice. Danny didn’t need to know. And maybe it was a good thing Frank wasn’t around to see one of his family done wrong, though she would pour her heart out in the next letter to him.

  Tears gathered in Imogene’s eyes and the dark matters came spilling out. Shiffington. His threats. Their past association.

  “And this scoundrel has threatened you?” Mr. Brewster asked.

  “I don’t know what to do. I can’t have him ruin the girls’ chance at happiness and respectability. And I’m not going to be his whore!”

  “No one thought you were.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you if you left my service,” she said.

  “Just when you need us most?”

  Imogene finally smiled. “Well, I guess I have overcome worse things.”

  “And you will again,” Mr. Brewster said. “Let us think on it tonight. Maybe an answer will present itself in the morning.”

  And maybe the sun would come up in the west too.

  * * * * *

  Lily was hiding again. She’d refused to remove her costume last night when she went to bed. Screams and tearless crying rang throughout the house. No amount of cajoling could get her out of it today.

  “Lily, where are you?” Imogene called into another of the bedrooms. She marveled that her life revolved around a near five-year-old and her particular tantrums. Discipline did not come easy; Imo had remembered being boxed aplenty as a child—from her brothers, from complete strangers—and she wasn’t going to do that to her daughter. Well, maybe she was going to do that to her daughter. A well-placed swat to her bum...

  An excited Mrs. Brewster caught Imogene in the hallway. “Madame LeClerc, you have a visitor.”

  Imogene leaned against the wall. Her breathlessness was a combination of anger and fear. “Who is it?”

  “He didn’t give a name. He’s a gentleman, though.”

  “Hell!” Shiffington could pretend to be anything he wanted, but he was no gentleman. “Oh, sorry, Mrs. Brewster.”

  Crikey! The slime dab. She pressed her hand to her stomach. She hadn’t had a case of the mullygrubs since the last time she’d had to deal with Shiffington. If memory served, she’d promised to kill the bastard.

  “I can tell him you are not at home.”

  “No. That won’t do any good. He’ll only come back.” Imogene squared her shoulders. “Make sure Lily doesn’t come downstairs.”

  An executioner might have been more welcome. She was going to tell the bastard no. He could do as he pleased and if he chose to expose her past, embarrass her amongst the community of Brighton, then she would uproot her family and move back to Paris. Or maybe to Italy. Without Jack.

  She descended the stairs slowly, trying not to make a sound that would alert him any sooner than necessary. She wanted the advantage, plus she needed temporary courage.

  He turned and a burst of tears blurred her vision. “You bastard!”

  She marched up to Jack Davenport and slapped his face. “That is for arriving so late.” She slapped him a second time. “And that is for coming at all.”

  “I was told Imogene Farrell lived here.” He rubbed his skin, smiling in spite of his no-doubt stinging cheek. “By the feel of it, I would say they are wrong.”

  “Would you like me to belt you a third time? I think I could prove she is alive and well. Damn you! What took so long?” She braced her fist against her hip. Her knees shook with excitement; her stomach quivered with happiness and shock.

  He reached for her hand and squeezed. “So you missed me?”

  The cheeky bastard was smiling like a loon. She searched his face for some sign of his intent.

  “Miss you? Like a chapped arse,” she said.

  Jack laughed, his other hand snaked around her waist and pulled her close. She resisted, not because she didn’t want to be in his a
rms, but because she had to keep something of herself from him. But when he leaned toward her, she threw her arms about his neck and stood on her toes to kiss him.

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” she said. His arms tightened about her and his lips caressed her neck.

  “I promised I would come and I am here.”

  She stared hard, a difficult task when his hand was cupping her bottom. “If you think we’re going to shag beneath my roof, you’re very mistaken.”

  “Then where? The garden behind the house looked nice.” He glanced around. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

  “Oh, Jack.”

  Imogene turned her face into his chest and inhaled him. It was hell to love Jack Davenport. She bunched her fingers in his jacket, unwilling to let go.

  “Are you going to stay?” she asked.

  “Imogene, we need to talk.” He gripped her shoulders, easing her away.

  “We are talking.”

  “About us.”

  “I heard all about the woman you plan to marry,” she said. A bit of anger welled up, but she’d always had a hard time being upset with him.

  Jack’s brow dropped a bit. “Oh, you have? How does London gossip reach a widow in Brighton?”

  “I have friends.”

  The double door to the room was still open and Mrs. Brewster, followed by Madelina, brought in a tea tray along with a tray of sweets, as any proper household might provide. Imogene knew to be a good hostess, but sometimes she was forgetful of such etiquette. Mrs. Brewster covered most of Imogene’s sins.

  And since Jack made her lose her mind...

  Imogene stepped away from Jack, but she noticed the secretive glances the two cast toward him. When the women left and closed the door behind them, Imogene said, “Well, you might as well have a seat.”

  She poured tea for him, her hand shaking. It was bad enough he caused her stomach to flutter when she was with him; it was even worse knowing he was about to deliver bad news. But wouldn’t she rather hear from him than that arse Shiffington?

  Jack sat and slid one arm behind her. His heat engulfed her. She had to lower the teapot before she dropped it.

  “Look at me, please?” He clucked her chin. “Do you remember what I told you in London?”

  His gaze bore into hers and she had to blink against the burning intensity.

  “Goodbye?”

  “Oh Imogene,” he said, followed by a laugh. “There is no one quite like you.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss over her knuckles, as if she were some fine lady of longstanding acquaintance.

  “Who is she?” Imogene asked, steeling herself against bad news.

  “There is no one. Only you.”

  “But—”

  “You are going to marry me, aren’t you?”

  “Oh.” She lowered her hands and glanced down to see her knuckles were white with fear. Could she? Could she be the wife of an earl? If he were still just a mister, a gentleman, could she do it then?

  “I’m not making a second mistake with you,” he said.

  “It’s a wonderful dream, isn’t it? That I could be with you?”

  She laughed through her tears. Jack brushed back her hair, his thumb caressed along her cheek. His tender kiss caused tingles down her throat and arms.

  “We are marrying. The sooner, the better. Everything else can wait, including the discussion about the other woman. Or whatever you’ve heard. I’m not going to spend another five years living with regret. I love you.” He squeezed her hand gently, while tears leaked down her cheeks.

  “I love you more,” she said. “Since the first moment I met you.” She’d stopped breathing, the air and earth stopped moving. “I won’t love anyone else. I can’t.”

  “I must say, you aren’t very discerning if you picked me.” He pressed a sweet kiss to her lips. “When did you learn to cry?”

  “My damn stays squeeze them out. Don’t you want to know why?” she asked. She wanted to tell him. To confess everything.

  He gave a short laugh. “No. It’s enough that you do.” He slid his fingers through her hair and kissed her again. “I trust you, Imogene. With the small things. With the important things. And I won’t betray the love you have for me.”

  “You don’t have to love me. I’ll be happy just being with you.”

  “Such a silly woman you are. Of course I love you. Only it wasn’t the moment I met you. It was the moment I let you go. Let me prove it to you.”

  “What did you have in mind?” she asked.

  Jack leaned back and pulled Imogene into his lap. “Well, let’s start by strolling over to the church.”

  “Then we can come back here and do something scandalous?”

  “Beneath your roof?”

  “No, beneath my skirts. Don’t tell me I’ll have to teach you all over again.”

  “I’ve learned a thing or two.”

  Imogene gripped his hand. “Jack, are you sure? There are so many reasons—”

  “Not to do this? Those reasons don’t matter. I love you and we were meant to be together. Are you going to marry me?”

  “Damn it, Jack. It took you long enough.”

  The Frenchman’s Widow

  Copyright © 2015, 2016 Eliza Lloyd

  All rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead or places, events or locations is coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover art by Dar Albert

  Editors: MacKenzie Walton

  Electronic book publication 2015, 2016

  Other works by Eliza Lloyd

  Historical

  Wicked Affairs Series

  Wicked Desires

  Wicked Temptation

  Wicked Lord

  Wicked Secrets

  Wicked Indiscretions

  Wicked Siren

  Birds of Paradise Series

  Another Lover

  The Darkness in the Marquess of Dane

  A Mistress To Remember (TBA)

  Mad Duchesses (series complete)

  One Last Night

  From Now On

  Age of Innocence

  The Day After

  Mad Duchesses Boxed Set

  The Curse of the Weatherby Ball

  An Occasion to Sin

  An Inadvisable Wager (TBA)

  The Infamous Forresters

  All A Mistress Wants (also part of the Wanton Christmas Wishes anthology)

  My Dear Mr. Forrester (also part of the Seven Nights of Sin anthology)

  Imogene Farrell series

  Imogene

  Jack’s Hellion

  The Frenchman’s Widow

  Lady Prescott’s Confidential Matter

  Imogene Farrell Boxed Set

  Body of Knowledge series

  The Timeless Earl

  The All-Seeing Eye

  The Trouble With Scots

  A Sleight of Hand (TBA)

  Contemporary Romantic Suspense

  Cold Play series

  Best Served Cold

  On Thin Ice

  Play It Cool

  Contemporary

  Far From Home series

  Lessons in Mountain Climbing

  Lessons in Fly Fishing

  Lessons in Horse Whispering (TBA)

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