by Eliza Lloyd
“That’s not an option. The stairs at back are the best way, but they go out at the far side of the house.”
“How do you know?”
“I know. Now do as I say.”
“What about you?”
Jack glanced out the window again. “I have a delicious whore waiting for me, for whom I paid good money. Besides, it’s necessary, as I’ll have to throw Tiny off the trail if she finds you missing.”
“I have a better idea.” Imo grabbed a vase on the nightstand and with a big swing brought it down on the back of Jack’s head. He turned, his knees gave out, but his gaze held hers until he hit the floor.
“Sorry, Jack.” She shrugged. She’d rather see him dead than with another woman.
And now she’d given him the perfect excuse. He could tell anyone who needed to know that she’d conked him on the head and escaped. Imo grabbed her shoes, deciding she didn’t need to take the time to put them on her feet. She’d gone near her whole life without them, or with shoes that had so many holes she might as well have been barefoot.
Peeking out the door, she made a run for the stairs and quickly found her way down the narrow passage. Tiny couldn’t follow this way—she’d probably get stuck. A light at the bottom of the staircase caused Imo to slow and peer around the corner. She slipped to the right, opened the creaky door and eased into the dark of night.
At the corner of Jade House, she looked to her right and to her left.
To the left was Jack’s carriage. To the right was freedom.
* * * * *
When Jack came to, he found his nose buried in a green and grey Aubusson carpet. The scene woven into the carpet was fitting, that of an innocent milkmaid fleeing the attentions of a well-dressed noble.
“Mr. Davenport, can you hear me? Don’t just stand there, help him up.” Tiny’s voice grated in his ears, but it all came rushing back. Imogene had fled, not only from Tiny but him as well.
Two men grabbed him by the arms and helped him to his feet. He swayed dangerously and grabbed the nearby bedpost for support. “What happened?”
“I thought you could tell me,” she said.
He rubbed his hand over the lump at the back of his head. “I heard a struggle. That led me to this room. There was a woman tied up who said she needed help and this is my reward for being a concerned citizen,” he said with bitterness, not a bit of it feigned.
“You couldn’t have known, Mr. Davenport. She’s been a problem. Don’t worry yourself about it. My men will find her.” She snapped her fingers and the room emptied except the two of them. “I’ll refund you this evening’s service, of course.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m sure I’ll be back soon,” he replied. Sooner than he had imagined, as he thought that after tonight, he’d have Imogene warming his bed. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get to my carriage and be on my way home.”
“Yes. Of course. Do you need assistance?”
“Just point me in the right direction.”
He glanced down at the shattered pottery. He was lucky to be standing, the little bitch. Somewhere in the next eighty-three days, if he found her, he was going to pull down her boy breeches and tan her hide until she was pink. Then the other possibilities flashed through his mind and, this time, he knew he would tear London apart to find her.
Yes, he wanted to get to his carriage. He held the railing as he teetered down the stairs of Jade House and wobbled across the street to the conveyance. He could not care less about getting home. He wanted to know if Imogene was safely hidden. Or if she bald-faced lied to him.
Theodore jumped from the high seat where he’d been drinking and hurried to open the carriage door for Jack. He wasn’t walking as fast as he liked and his headache made his vision swim. Nevertheless, he made it to the carriage, ready to tear the hinges off the boot box lid.
He grabbed both sides of the carriage frame and hauled himself in. He sat on the back-facing padded bench and put his face in his hands. The carriage lurched as Teddy cracked the whip.
“Imogene, by all that’s holy you’d better be in this carriage.” He flipped the bench upward, but she wasn’t there.
“Jack.” The sound of his name, muffled but in the carriage, caused him to jump. He was sitting on her. He dropped the carriage bench and moved to the other side, then lifted the other seat.
“What the hell took so long?” she demanded.
“A mild concussion and Tiny’s interrogation. Nothing I couldn’t handle. You could have killed me.”
The faint light from the streetlamp illuminated Imo as she hitched her skirts up and threw one stocking-covered foot and one shapely leg out of the small hold. “Do you mind?” She held out her hand. “Something’s poking me in the arse.”
Jack couldn’t help himself. He laughed in spite of the situation. With Imogene, he never knew what to expect. Ignoring her offered hand, he reached for her waist, plucked her from the cramped interior and pulled her into his lap. How long had he looked for her, waited to have her again?
“Oh, and I’m fine, by the way. Thank you for asking,” he said.
“I didn’t hit you that hard.”
She batted at her skirts and rubbed her bottom against his groin as she tried to settle. “It smelled like mice. Probably ought to have someone clean it out. For next time I need a place to hide.”
He reached for the interior candle encased in a glass housing and lit the wick, somehow grappling with the char cloth and steel, while holding Imogene tighter than a tick. The dim light was more than enough for him to view her after all these months.
His gaze bore into hers. He traced his fingers over the wound marring her face. Still so beautiful. So desirable. He had no gentlemanly impulses to ask if she was unharmed. Only primitive need beat in him and this time he wouldn’t have her on her knees—he’d have her on her back.
“So, Jack, how have you been?”
Chapter Three
“Where have you been?” he said in return, suddenly depositing her on the opposite seat. Imogene watched him settle in the carriage, his legs encroaching across the short aisle, his foot sliding between her legs, his hand subtly moving across his crotch. Good, she hoped he was excruciatingly uncomfortable.
“I’ve been staying with a friend of my mam’s. A dear friend. Who’s probably wondering where I am right about now.”
And thinking of Mary made her think of Danny, still on the block last she’d seen. And Charlie, who’d probably already sensed the present danger.
She stared at Jack though, forgetting her little infatuation while she thought of how Jack could help her free Frank. To that end, she would do nearly anything.
Jack belonged in his fancy coach with his fancy breeches and shiny new fiancée. She was the one who didn’t fit into his life.
Still the same man, though. Still strong-jawed and broad-shouldered with a hint of puckered skin at his neck. A scar she’d never noticed.
Still a man Imogene wanted, if the ache in her chest was an indication. And it seemed the doing involved fucking, one thing she’d never done but thought she could manage right well, unless he wanted to try her sourdough bread, which Mary said was the best she’d ever tasted. The only thing new was the betrothal. She wondered if the woman loved him. Was it the same woman she’d seen at St. George’s? Or the woman at Hyde Park?
“And this dear friend lets you out of the house unescorted?” Jack asked.
Imo snorted. “I’ve lived on the streets most of my life. I think I can go out unescorted.”
“Yes, I can tell you’re good at staying safe.”
“I’m not fragile. I won’t break. What happened tonight was a freak accident. An exploit-TA-tion of circumstances.” She hoped she said the word right. Now that she was going to be his whore, she didn’t want to be a girl from the streets. She wanted to be a woman he enjoyed being with, but she didn’t know how to hide her ignorance and simplicity, other than by mimicking what she’d seen and copied at Mary’s hous
e, especially Mrs. Holland’s behavior. Jack seemed like the kind of man who would grow bored with an uneducated, unfashionable woman.
“While you are with me, you won’t be going out unescorted.”
“Ah, the rules. Yes, let’s talk about that. I won’t go out unescorted. I want my cash up front and I ain’t fucking you until I know Frank’s safe. And I want a new dress. A pink silky one.” Something else she’d learned from Mrs. Holland—ask your lover for trinkets and whatnot while he was happy. Mrs. Holland usually did the asking after the fucking. Imo couldn’t wait that long.
“Imogene, you are a surprise. You don’t want to hold out for two dresses?”
“You’re making fun of me. One is enough since I already have this one. I want something to look pretty in, so you won’t be embarrassed to be seen with me.”
“I won’t be embarrassed.”
His gaze bore into hers and his slow, intense words made her heat from her toes to her scalp. Why did he have to go and say something nice? This was supposed to be about business. The business part had never made her nervous until now. She hadn’t had a man’s cock in her hand for months. She was sure it would all come back. She knew she could please him that way.
“Now that that’s settled, we need to talk about Frank,” she said.
“It’s not settled and we’ll talk about Frank later. You’ll have your money tomorrow, but tonight I am going to bed you, and since we’re talking about that, we don’t need to use the term ‘fuck’ to describe the activities we perform when we’re in bed together.”
“Why not? That’s what it is. And you say it all the time.”
“You’re a woman. And I’d prefer the woman I’m with didn’t curse like a pirate. I’d prefer something more civilized, a word like intercourse, sex, bedding, shagging. Loving?” His brow rose suggestively.
“That’s a nice one. That means we’re fucking, right?”
“Yes. That’s what it means.”
“Where are you taking me? Mrs. Holland, she’s Lord Bancroft’s last mistress, she had a fancy house on Fitzroy Square all to herself. Her own servants too. One for her hair and one to iron her clothes. She was a real bitch, though. Don’t know how Lord Bancroft put up with her.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Oh, that’s where my friend, my mam’s friend is employed, and she got me a nice job there. While I was gone.”
“Is that where you went after your business burned down?”
“That old shack burned down too?” Danny hadn’t told her that. Tiny really did want her to stop whoring to go to all that trouble. Imogene backtracked. Tiny just wanted Imo to whore for her business and Tiny’s profit.
“What do you mean too?”
“Well, the night I disappeared, I really didn’t disappear, you know. Our house burned down. Everyone said it was Mrs. Bunton’s fault, but it wasn’t. Someone set the place on fire and then tried to kidnap me. I think it was Tiny’s men.”
“And you still thought it safe to prowl around London in the evening?”
Imo didn’t answer immediately, but she had a load of other things to tell him.
Jack let her talk and talk. All he did was lean back, watch her and ask questions.
The carriage came to a stop. In her nervousness, she’d chatted more than she’d intended and she hadn’t paid attention to where the carriage traveled. She glanced out the window and saw fancy houses, even bigger than those on Fitzroy Square.
“Where are we?”
“Your new home.”
“Is this where you keep all your mistresses?”
“I’ve only had one other, but yes, this is where she stayed.”
“It looks way too nice for me. And too big. It’s practically a mansion!” Imo wrinkled her nose. She hadn’t thought about where she would stay. She certainly hadn’t imagined a manor fit for the bloody King of England.
“Imogene, the house will be yours. The ten servants for your use.”
She fell back against the plush squibs. “Ten! No, I can’t. I don’t know what to do with servants. No. It should be just us.”
“They are for your convenience. That’s what I pay them for. Just like Mrs. Holland, you’ll have a hairdresser and—”
“No, I don’t like my hair brushed.”
“And someone to make your meals and prepare your dresses.”
“I’m only going to have two dresses and I can take care of them myself.”
“And you’ll have a footman to draw a bath.”
She sat up then. “A bath. With a tub and all? Like one of them fancy copper ones with the smooth rolled edges? And all the water it can hold?”
“Copper tub. Water up to your neck. Bath soaps, perfumes, towels softer than rabbit hair and a warm fire when you’re done.”
“All that?”
“Every bit and more.”
“Well, hell, what are we waiting for?”
Jack watched her scramble from the carriage, not waiting for assistance. He grabbed her waist and set her back in the coach seat. “A lady waits for a gentleman to assist her.”
She laughed. “I ain’t no lady. What do you think, I’m going to trip on the step?”
“Nevertheless, a gentleman disembarks first and assists the woman, lady or not.”
She folded her hands in her lap and rolled her eyes.
When Jack stepped down, he turned his hand toward her palm up. “Your hand, Miss Farrell?”
“Thank you, kind sir,” she said with a mimic that sounded natural.
He hadn’t been able to tempt her to anything until he mentioned the bath. It was good to know she had at least one weakness, though he suspected when he got her in bed, she’d have another that he’d be able to exploit with regularity.
Because of the late hour, only a lone footman was there to greet them. Jack consistently stayed at the house and his servants kept things in readiness. It was a safe retreat from his parents’ constant eagerness to share, as Mama put it. Nosing about in his business was more like it.
Jack was one of three children; the other two having passed away in their infancy. He should be more open to his mother’s constant need to shower him with love but she tended to smother him.
His gaze followed Imo as she examined everything from the shiny marble floors to the wooden balustrade of the staircase and then up at the massive chandelier overhead. Even without lighted candles, it was still impressive. She picked up a silver figurine on a hall table then poked an inquisitive nose through an open sitting room door.
“Vernon, would you see that a bath is prepared for the lady?” Once he left them, Jack asked, “Are you hungry? Or would you like to see the house?”
He watched her run her fingers over the smooth surface, ignoring his questions. She waved the figurine at him. “Is it silver?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“It’s pretty.” She glanced at him, evidently not liking what she saw in his expression. “I ain’t gonna steal it.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
She hmpfed and set the piece down. “’Sides, with five hundred pounds, I could buy a lot of them and have one for every room in the house. And then some.”
He showed her the front drawing room, the small business office and then led her through the house, up the servants’ staircase and then to the main library, another formal sitting room and the private bedrooms. They passed an alcove that contained a large ornate bathtub. Imogene glanced over her shoulder as they left it behind. “And this is where you’ll be sleeping?”
He nodded.
The room next door was every bit as large as his, with matching bedframes and complementing blue-and-brown colors. Vernon worked at the fireplace and then walked past them with a respectful nod and started running the water for her bath.
Jack had never seen Imogene speechless. She strolled into the room as if she were walking on clouds. She ran a hand over the panels of the bed coverlet, touched the gilt-edged clock, stood in front of t
he cheval mirror and then walked back to the alcove. She stood next to the bath and dipped her fingers into the water. She said nothing, then turned away and folded her arms across her chest.
Things he took for granted were shiny and new to her. He’d never had occasion to consider, or want to consider, what her life had been like. But it was safe to assume there was a bit of hell each day.
Vernon cranked the handles to stop the flow of water, bowed to him and then left the room.
“Imogene?” Jack walked up behind her and lowered his hands to her shoulders. “Imogene, what is it?”
“No one’s ever done anything this nice for me before.” Tears ran down her face. With Imogene, he never had to wonder what she was thinking or feeling. They were going to get along splendidly. His last mistress would pout and sulk over the merest slight and discovering the distress usually took a few days, during which time he was usually denied access to her bed. Imogene was as fresh as a breeze after the rain.
Jack had waited months for this hour and something as simple as a bath had won all the concessions he needed for one night.
“Let’s get you out of this dress and into the bath. It’s been a long night, and I’ve an incredible need to have it end before long.”
“Jack, can I send a letter to my brother? And to Mary?”
“Of course. There is ink and paper in your desk.” He pointed to the other side of the room and turned his attention to the undressing of his new mistress.
“Can’t write. Can you do it for me? Please?” she asked.
Jack took a moment to absorb her. He didn’t want to wait, but this small thing would only add credits to his ledger. He slid his hand along her neck and bent slowly to kiss her. She didn’t flinch, but accepted his lips and mouth and tongue as if she’d been waiting for this as long as he had.
“You enjoy the bath, and I shall write your letter. Now, let me help you with this.” Buttons were no challenge for him. He had Imogene’s dress peeled back and her arms bare. She wiggled out of the lifeless gown and let it fall to the floor. Everything else followed, as if he weren’t even in the room. Unashamed and unknowingly proud, she possessed a unique confidence that might as well have been an aphrodisiac. She had complete disregard for her appearance and her hair and yet she was as clean as a freshly scrubbed babe.