Jack's Hellion

by Eliza Lloyd

  “Yes,” he said.

  His voice was low and earthy and called to her in some new way—fucking was more than just two bodies finding pleasure. A drop of sweat coursed down his face. His jaw flexed. She wanted to brush her finger along his cheekbone then draw him to her embrace. She wanted him all to herself.

  He plunged deep into her. His mouth latched onto her breast.

  He ground his hips into the cradle of her thighs. A tender assault. A welcome bond. Finally, he arched. Imo gripped his arse cheek with one hand and slid her fingers through his hair as if it were a lifeline. She pressed her lips to his cheek and understood why Charlie prayed.

  “Ah, ah, shit. Oh shit,” he said.

  The familiar tightening and the strong release made Imo happy. Deep inside, she even felt the warmth of this fluid. Uneducated she might be, but he liked fucking with her.

  “Oh, Imogene,” he said before he rolled away gasping for air. “I’m sorry. It’s going to take several more tries before I can even think about pleasing you.” Then he cupped her face and smiled, “But have no doubt that I will.”

  “You please me, Jack.” Imogene was content but not in a way she could explain.

  “I’m sorry, little chick, I’ve got to have more.”

  She glanced at his cock, still hard but not tight-skinned and monstrous as he was before.

  Jack rolled between her legs again. Kneeling, he lifted her legs to her shoulders, leaned forward, thrust his cock inside of her and began moving in the fast, familiar rhythm. His tumescence bulged with renewed vigor.

  Imo could only stare at his perfect beauty. The candle on the bedside burned low, casting a dim light across his face. Shadows fell across his body, making him look stronger and manly and dangerous.

  Was he aware of her in his search for release?

  From this position, she couldn’t do much for him, not even touching. She breathed deeply and relaxed, lifting her arms over her head. If this was whoring, she wondered why she didn’t give in to him when he’d last asked her. Why had she been so determined to stay away from him? Just as the familiar tightening started, just when she thought she needed more from Jack, he moaned in release, relaxing over her, letting her legs slip down his arms and settle around his hips.

  He leaned forward, bracing his hands on each side of her head. His gaze raked over her features.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I just enjoy looking at you.”

  A bead of sweat rolled down his face from his hairline. She swept a hand across his face. Just as she was about to say how beautiful he was and that she loved him, he rolled away.

  “Where are you going?” she asked. She ignored his nakedness.

  “To my room. You’ll be able to get some sleep without me.”

  “No. I don’t like to sleep by myself.” She’d never slept alone a night in her life, or at least in her remembrance.

  “You’re not alone. I’ll be right next door.”

  Imogene stared as he walked away. He slipped through the door, at least leaving it open.

  The big bed felt like an empty ocean without him. And it was too soft. Fluffy covers and a soft mattress and pillows that smelled like a flower garden. This wasn’t a bed—it was a sinking trap.

  Naked and alone, she lay on her back, wanting him to come back to bed. Two beds. In rooms next to each other. So they could sleep apart. And the room was too hot. And nothing was familiar.

  How much time would she spend alone, while Jack went about his business and she waited impatiently for him to return? She could tell being a mistress was going to be boring. Did Jack expect her to just lie around in bed until he wanted to fu—to make love? Would she get fat and lazy ’cause there was nothing for her to do?

  Even the shagging, the sex, whatever he wanted to call it, wasn’t that great. Not at all like the night at Vauxhall. She thought it would be wonderful to have him inside of her. At first it didn’t seem like he could come and then it was over too quickly.

  Mrs. Holland made demands of Lord Bancroft. Maybe Imo needed to make demands of Jack, and then she remembered she had. Buy her a new dress, get Frank out of prison and pay her five hundred pounds.

  Now she couldn’t sleep. There was no sound! No one yelling in the street, no one snoring or stumbling over her to reach the slop pail. No dogs. No warmth from Charlie as he snuggled next to her.

  Imo threw back the covers and rolled out of the bed, sliding out, her toes sinking into a plush carpet.

  She wasn’t going to sleep alone. She wasn’t going to sleep in this bed. And she wasn’t going to let him wake up in the morning and forget one of his promises to her.

  The door between the two rooms was still open. In the center of the bed, his lumpy self moved and she heard a light snoring sound.

  Imogene located the spot in the bed with the most room. Without disturbing his covers, she wormed her way underneath from the bottom of the bed and then wiggled in behind him.

  What if Jack hadn’t been at Jade House tonight? What if, instead of him, she’d lost her virginity to some bent old stick of a man who smelled bad and hurt her? And where it would only get worse from then on? And Tiny kept all the money?

  Jack had saved her. And tomorrow, he was going to save Frank.

  Imo slipped her hand around his waist and pressed her breasts into his back.

  She would love him forever. She smiled at her silly thought. At the end of forever, maybe he would love her too.

  * * * * *

  Jack knew he was awake, but he couldn’t quite make his eyes believe it, and they refused to obey any sort of command to open. His backside burned with heat and a pest was fluttering around his face. He batted the annoyance away only to have it return and land on his nose.

  The sound of giggling behind him further confused his senses.

  He rolled and peeked out of one eye. The prettiest face in Mayfair watched him. No. In London.

  She held a feather in one hand and her breasts were burning holes in his back.

  For a guilty moment, he wondered at the age of his latest mistress. He feared asking her. He hated to think he was debauched enough to sleep with a fifteen-year-old. Even knowing some debutantes married at sixteen did nothing to alleviate the sudden nagging worry.

  “What time is it?” he growled, not really angry but certainly very tired. “And why are you in my bed?”

  “I don’t know, but the sun’s up and we have to go to Newgate this morning. First thing.”

  “Imogene, I barely slept last night. And Frank’s not going anywhere.” He turned away and pulled the covers over his shoulder. Sleep was more important than sex at the moment and if he didn’t get his mind off the naked body next to him, sex would become a priority, sleep be damned.

  Her hand clasped his shoulder, and when he didn’t budge, she crawled over him and propped her head in her hand, her nose mere inches from his. Her legs were still draped over his hips. “Jack, you promised.”

  “I said we would talk about it and now isn’t the time.”

  “He’s going to hang in three days if you don’t get him out of there.”

  He scraped a hand over his face and blinked. He lowered his hand to her legs, intending to move them, but encountered her hip instead. He caressed lightly along the smooth skin. “Do you know anything about Newgate? People don’t get out of Newgate. They go in and they are either hanged or they’re transported. They don’t get out.”

  “You said—”

  “Imogene, it’s impossible. You need to accept that your brother is lost.”

  “You’re not even going to try?”

  “I don’t know anyone. It’s pointless.”

  “Well, I guess I bedded the wrong man.” Quicker than he could command her to wait, she was out of the bed and stomping across the room, naked as the day she was born.

  “Then I’m going to do something. It’s clear I wasted my time spreading my legs for you,” she yelled from the bath alcove, both hands planted
on her bare hips. “And you still owe me for last night.”

  Jack threw his covers back and padded after her. “The agreement was for eighty-three days, of which you’ve spent exactly ten hours in my bed. That agreement was because I rescued you from Tiny, not because I could save your brother.”

  “You agreed, Jack.”

  He took a deep breath through his nose. He knew how futile the effort would be. She just needed to understand the justice system. “Last night in the carriage, you said he was convicted of murder.”

  “Right. But he had to kill ‘em, or else they would have got away with kidnapping me. It was justified.”

  “No one saw it. There’s no one to testify differently.”

  “There’s me and Danny.”

  “You were both part of the crime. At best, you’d both be arrested. At worst, you’ll both end up swinging beside your brother. Do you want that?”

  “Tiny was the one who arranged it. Why does she get to tell lies about Frank and no one does anything about her kidnapping me—twice? He’s my brother, Jack. You know people. You have money. You can save him.”

  Jack didn’t have a brother, and maybe if he did, he’d do everything in his power to right this wrong. He believed his efforts would be for naught, but when he saw the tears cloud her big eyes, he knew he had to try.

  He embraced her. Her silky arms slid around his waist and held tight. “All right. I’ll go, but not until you acknowledge I could fail. I may not be able to do a thing for him.”

  “But you will try, and that’s all that matters to me. I can be ready as soon as I put on my dress.”

  “You’re not going with me.”

  “But I have to. I have to see Frank.”

  “This is dirty business, not fit for a woman. Besides, I’m having a dressmaker attend you after lunch. I can’t have you running around naked every day.” He held her away from his body as he looked at her breasts. “Although I admit it has a certain appeal.”

  “What will I do while you’re gone?”

  “Take a bath?” he suggested and received a bright smile as his reward.

  “Oh, I already did, but I think I’ll take another.”

  “In a minute, Imogene. I think we have time for other things first.”

  * * * * *

  Imogene had been worth the wait. His immature reaction to her had him very receptive to pleasure but very unable to please. A fact he would remedy shortly, once he got his enthusiastic response to her under control.

  Maxwell, his valet, waited in Jack’s room, obviously hearing the morning’s activity. One corner of his mouth quirked and he had one eyebrow raised as he laid out Jack’s clothing.

  “Might I enquire as to where you found her?”

  Yes, she was unconventional and entirely unsuitable for an earl’s nephew in line for the title, but Jack wasn’t going to tolerate the servants making sport of Imogene. It was enough that Jack wanted her. “Miss Farrell and I met a year ago. While she is in this house, I am placing her well-being in your hands. I will not tolerate the slightest remark regarding her background. Is that clear?” Maxwell ruled the roost while Jack was absent. He’d never understood the hierarchy of the household, only that to say something to Max was to say it to all the servants. Jack only cared that the relay system was efficient and adhered to without extra demands of enforcement from him.

  “Abundantly. I shall look forward to meeting her.”

  He didn’t have to wait long. She reappeared in his room, dressed but barefoot, not five minutes later. Jack was still wearing a bath towel around his shoulders.

  “Oh, hallo,” she said to Max. “I’m Imogene.” She held out her hand as if she were dealing on the docks.

  Jack wrapped the towel around his waist, sure that this was the first time he’d introduced a woman to anyone while he was stark naked. “Miss Imogene Farrell. Maxwell Turner, my valet. Max, this is Miss Farrell, whom I was telling you about.”

  Max clutched her hand and turned it slightly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Jack refrained from smiling as he saw Imogene nearly yank her hand from Maxwell’s, but he’d been expecting her reaction and held tight. “Charmed, Miss Farrell. If there is anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable, you’ve only to ask.”

  “Do you play cards?” she asked.

  “I most certainly do.”

  “Wonderful. We’re going to get along right well,” she said.

  She had planned to take a bath, but had decided to make a nuisance of herself and trod underfoot while Max attempted to dress Jack. He went about shaving, glancing at Imogene in the mirror as she spoke. She paced behind him and as she stepped, disappeared out of his vision only to reappear a moment later with yet another question.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “I don’t know, Imogene, but if it will be too late, I’ll send a note.”

  “What are you going to say to them?”

  “Imogene, this is a private matter, and I don’t think Maxwell needs to know about the situation.”

  Her eyes grew round in understanding. “Oh.” Her gaze shifted around the room and back to Jack and then she sat quietly until he wiped his face with a towel.

  She padded after him as he returned to the bedchamber to dress.

  He lifted his chin as Maxwell started the knot around Jack’s neck.

  “Doesn’t that choke you? Looks awful tight to me.”

  Maxwell cleared his throat but finished the elaborate knot with a flourish. Lastly, he held the navy-colored jacket and Jack slipped his arms into the sleeves.

  Jack wondered again about her age. She was like an inquisitive child in a woman’s body. He couldn’t think of a woman in London who could match her beauty and he tried to imagine what she would be like educated and polished. The best modistes in London would vie for such a face and figure to grace their creations, unless they learned she was an orphan as poor as a church mouse and willing to perform fellatio for the right amount of coin.

  His business plans were liable to take all day and his eighty-three days would disappear rapidly enough without the distraction of Newgate. Already he dreaded the news he’d have to give to Imogene.

  Max brushed at some imaginary speck of dust on Jack’s coat.

  Imagine got all doe-eyed. “You look so handsome, Jack.”

  “Do I? I’ll take your word for it.” He bent and kissed her forehead. The notion of her being a child still chafed, but when she turned her mouth upward, he forgot his musings and went to task, kissing her properly.

  “While you’re gone, I’m going to go see my brothers.”

  “And?”

  “And I’ll take an escort.”

  “Good girl. Max, would you arrange for one of the footman to attend Miss Farrell this morning? Make sure the man knows she is to be back after lunch for an appointment with a seamstress.”

  “Thank you. You’re too good to me, Jack.”

  “Hold your verdict until I get back. Many, many things could go wrong with this plan.” He could be assured that this time she would be where she was supposed to be when he returned. Imogene wouldn’t go anywhere until she knew her brother was safe or at least had news about him.

  “You won’t fail. I know it.”

  Jack hated to be the one to disappoint her, so he said nothing.

  * * * * *

  Imogene planned to walk to Fitzroy Square, but Maxwell stuffed her in one of Jack’s fancy carriages as if she were some fine lady of Mayfair. The footman, the one she’d met last night, Vernon, rode outside on the runner, making her look as if she was a bloody princess traveling with her entourage. She would have preferred having him with her so she could at least talk to someone. Yes, being Jack’s mistress was going to be boring and lonely.

  The conveyance slowed and came to a stop even before she’d had a chance to think about the fine carriage and the new dress she would have today and what she was going to tell Danny.

  Was it just yesterday she walked out the
back door with all of her high intentions to save Frank? Sometimes she hated being uneducated. Even uneducated people treated the unlearned as if they didn’t know a thing.

  The footman opened her door and helped her to the ground. She vowed not to embarrass Jack with her street ways. She’d seen the smirk on Maxwell’s face when she’d entered Jack’s bedroom. She might not know books, but she knew people.

  Maxwell had looked down his nose at her. She’d win him over the first time they played cards. No man liked losing to a woman.

  “You’ll wait for me?” she asked.

  “I’m coming with you, Miss Farrell. Mr. Davenport said I was not to leave you unattended,” the footman said.

  “Well, follow along then.” She didn’t go to the front door. She might be the new mistress of a gentleman, but she was still Imogene Farrell.

  She stopped at the stable first.

  Charlie dropped the pitchfork he was carrying and ran to her. His arms held her tight and neither of them said a word. Imo pressed her cheek to the top of his head. He suddenly seemed older.

  “Don’t never leave me again.”

  “I didn’t mean to and I’m really sorry, but I had to do something for Frank. Come on, I need to talk with Danny and Mrs. FitzPatrick.”

  He clutched her hand. “I prayed like I never prayed before.”

  “And your prayers worked. An angel found me and kept me safe.”

  DeeDee squealed when she opened the door, and shortly they were in the kitchen and through the door of the herb room where Danny still lay on the block bench. His eyes were open and his color better.

  Danny saw her and attempted to sit up, but Imo held his shoulder, keeping him in place.

  “Imo, I’ve a mind to beat you within an inch of your life. We were worried out of our minds.” He glanced over her shoulder at the man with her. “Who’s that?”

  “I’ll explain everything when Mary gets here. Vernon, would you mind stepping outside the door? Please? I’m not going anywhere. He’s my brother.”

  The heavy door closed behind him. Imo leaned over Danny and stared at the bindings around his stomach. “You seem better. The doc did a good job?” she asked.

  “Where were you last night? Why didn’t you come home?”