Jack's Hellion

by Eliza Lloyd

  “All these dresses are for me?”

  “Yes, Miss Farrell,” Maxwell answered. “I think the rest will arrive at the end of the week.”

  Her shaking knees gave way. She landed on the edge of the bed where the gewgaws were piled. “The rest?”

  “I thought Mr. Davenport made it clear that the modiste was to supply an entire wardrobe.”

  “But I just wanted one.”

  “Will that be all, Miss Farrell?” Maxwell asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Libby will finish up here.” He hesitated and Imogene glanced his direction. He cleared his throat, looking as uncomfortable as Imogene felt. “Will you be joining me for cards in the library later?”

  Cards? Yes. Just the ticket to get her mind off this new life of ease and privilege and astounding difference. The pile of clothes on the bed and the feather hat belonged to some rich, idle woman with lineage and education, not Imogene Farrell. What did one do with a wardrobe? It wouldn’t fit into a valise. She could only wear one dress at a time, maybe two if it was cold.

  “I’ll be down in an hour.”

  She gripped the counterpane of the bed. Imogene wasn’t sick about the dresses. She understood Jack wouldn’t want her to look like an orphan and a pauper. What Jack didn’t understand was that Imogene liked not having anything. Well, not anything anything. It was very difficult to lose something if a body never had it in the first place.

  Kind of like her brothers. She had them and now they were gone.

  All these clothes would be gone someday too. Everything. The silk dresses, the too-soft bed, the breakfast plate with four sausage links and two eggs and all the apple tarts she could eat. She needed to hide some of those tarts for Charlie.

  Just as it arrived, it would disappear. She didn’t want to grow attached. She didn’t want to feel she needed anything. She wanted to be able to walk away without any regrets when her time with Jack was over.

  She wanted to be able to walk away from Jack too.

  But for every kindness, for every little bauble and every kiss, Imogene knew she let a part of herself get lost in the futility of loving Jack. To not love him was impossible.

  To love him less was her only salvation.

  She would take her feelings for him with her when she left. She didn’t think she would be able to travel far enough to rid herself of the simple need to pour her affection out on him.

  What would make her lose her mind and heart completely was knowing Jack could never return that love.

  “Why are you crying, miss?” Libby asked.

  “No reason.” She didn’t bother to wipe at the tears. She didn’t think they’d stop anytime soon and she had a whole hour until she had to meet Maxwell for today’s thrashing at cards.

  “He must care an almighty lot about you to buy all these clothes.”

  “That’s just like Jack. He’d probably do it for anybody.”

  Anybody he paid to be his mistress. Anybody he found joy in fucking.

  Anybody at all.

  * * * * *

  “I cheat,” Imogene said as Vernon the footman and the cook, Edmond, sat at the table with her and Maxwell. Edmond smirked and Vernon shrugged. Maxwell must have decided he’d lost enough of his own money and he’d invited fresh players to the table.

  Maxwell still thought her cheating involved just the way she dressed which, of course, she still took full advantage of. Her declaration didn’t seem to surprise either of the newcomers, but she thought it was only fair to warn them since she had a quick hand and Maxwell had already predisposed them to believe her cheating involved displays of enticing flesh rather than true trickery.

  Cheating, by their standards, seemed to be limited to the strategic use and display of body parts, and the men, simple-minded as they were, couldn’t think much beyond a little bare flesh.

  One of the yellow gowns Jack bought for her had a deep décolletage, showing most of her tits. The nipples would pop out if she moved too suddenly, and if she were losing badly, she’d find a way to display those too. There were long flowing sleeves with two thin off-the-shoulder strips of ruffled lace that held everything up. Libby frowned when Imogene wanted to wear the tawdry style, saying it was an evening gown, not a dress to wear while playing cards. Imogene knew full well she wasn’t going to wear it to a fancy ball, so why not wear the dress when it would do some good?

  After six days of morning cards, she’d worked into a more satisfying routine. Cards each morning, a visit to Fitzroy Square every other afternoon and long baths twice a day. There was still too much spare time, so she took to walking in the small enclosed garden behind his townhouse, wearing her old brown shoes, not the fancy new ones that had heels and pinched her toes.

  She’d retrieved her boy’s clothes but hadn’t had an opportunity for wearing them. Truthfully, the rough wool seemed coarse and unfriendly after the soft cottons and silks she wore now. Imogene could scarcely believe she’d been so spoiled for the good life in such a short time. Even remembering a time when the Farrells slept under Mrs. Bunton’s leaking roof seemed like another age.

  Jack had gone back to Newgate this morning to find out when Frank was being transported. She’d had to ask and she’d properly thanked him afterward. The ships only sailed when they had a full contingent of prisoners and Frank had been on a hulk since Jack had made the bribe at the magistrate’s office. And a jailor. And the ship’s captain.

  She learned that whores whored for more than just money. They whored for protection, safety, food, comfort, and yes, even to save the lives of people they loved—brothers, children, themselves. Pride allowed her to say she was happy to be doing the service for Jack. Her life had gotten immeasurably easier since their agreement. She’d helped Frank. Her mind accepted the circumstances with little thought of right and wrong. She’d known whoring would be her life. Her imagination hadn’t supplied such fine details though.

  Danny was healing, and in just a short week, Charlie seemed to grow taller. No one, including Mary, asked about her lover. They accepted Jack for what he’d done for Frank. They accepted the situation because it was inevitable anyway, and for the time being, brought with it unforeseen benefits. No more questions would be asked. No accusations of sin would be leveled.

  Maxwell’s fingers drummed against the table. Vernon removed his liveried jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. The cook still wore his apron as a lunch of Fricandeau, whatever that was, was cooking in the kitchen with only an assistant busy with the preparations.

  “What is your preference, gentlemen?” Imogene asked, imitating Mrs. Holland’s sultry voice with the tone she’d used when cajoling and wheedling Lord Bancroft. “Vingt-et-un? Commerce? Did Maxwell explain the rules?”

  “Aye, miss. All of them,” Vernon said. They had become better acquainted as Vernon had to escort her on the three occasions she’d gone out.

  “Commerce, I think,” Maxwell said, and the others agreed.

  Maxwell dealt first. He had yet to figure out that the cards were marked. The thin shavings that marred the edges were delicately cut and, unless one were really seeking the marks, difficult to feel with the entire deck in one’s hand.

  She put her elbows on the table and leaned forward, chatting about the marvelous dinner they’d had last night. The gaping gown kept their eyes darting back and forth from her cleavage to her gaze with amazing regularity. She kept eye contact with them while Maxwell asked her to cut. As she did every time, she palmed a card, easily hidden in the folds of her sleeves.

  “Maxwell, you’ve dealt a fine hand,” she said. Vernon held his cards in one hand and played with the coins in his other, lifting and dropping them, making the loveliest sound as they clinked together.

  “The proof is in the pot. I don’t see you making any significant wagers. Perhaps your luck has changed,” Maxwell said as he picked up several coins.

  “Perhaps,” she said.

  The coins landed in the middle. The cook threw his cards o
n the table.

  “Miss Farrell?” Maxwell’s brow winged upward, requesting her play.

  Imogene turned the cards over on the table, holding back a king for the next round. She displayed the cards and her breasts. “Two knaves and a ten.”

  Maxwell stared at her hand. “Two fives and a seven.”

  “Vernon, can you beat me?”

  “No, Miss Farrell.”

  Imogene’s luck was always aided by the extra card, her breasts and their unwillingness to believe she cheated. When she dealt, she slid her fingers along the cards to identify what she dealt to each of them. If it was a card she needed, her deft fingers flipped the card to the bottom of the deck so she could deal it to her hand.

  “I once saw my brother Frank pull three tricks in a row, all kings. I’m sure he was cheating but never figured out how he did it. It’s easy to palm one card, but three?” Imogene said casually. She wasn’t a lady, yet they accepted her words like a Sunday morning sermon.

  “Luck seems to run in your family, Miss Farrell.”

  “’Tain’t luck, I’ve told you that twice every day since we started playing, but you won’t believe me.”

  Maxwell chuckled. Vernon and the cook just smiled, still condescending to her lesser woman’s mind. Imogene kept them laughing, happy to be losing their money to her. The pile of farthings grew.

  “Well, gentlemen, what do you say to raising the stakes?”

  Chapter Seven

  Jack returned early and was drawn to the sound of Imogene’s laughter, but more by the sound of men in the same room with her, enjoying her company. He stood at the open library door, hat in hand, while Imogene beguiled his servants with her bright smile and nearly bare breasts.

  Even stoic Maxwell appeared dazzled, making Imogene look like a snake charmer as her hands worked the deck of cards and her fingers plucked at the pile of money in front of her.

  “Well, gentlemen, what do you say to raising the stakes?” she had asked.

  Curiosity made him wait to reveal himself. What exactly was she proposing?

  “One final hand. Winner take all. Until tomorrow, that is.”

  “It looks like you already have most of the money,” Jack said.

  Four pairs of eyes glanced in his direction, three of those sets looked panicked, while Imogene’s sparkled. Three bodies jumped from their seats, the chair legs scraping the hardwood floor as they pushed back. Imogene turned to him with a smile but continued to rake the ill-gotten gains into a pile of money in front of her.

  “Lord Jack. You’re home,” she said, knowing full well he wasn’t a lord.

  Jack glared at his servants. “Is it your day off?”

  “No, sir,” Maxwell said. The other two stood with their heads down. Imogene shuffled the deck of cards.

  “Is there some special occasion of which I am unaware?” He glanced at each of them in turn. His legs were braced wide, his hands behind his back.

  “No, sir,” came the muffled reply.

  “Then might I suggest you return to your duties, for which I pay you.”

  The three of them scrambled to leave the room. Maxwell’s impeccable manners had failed; he left Jack holding his own hat. Cook got the last of his anger. “What time will our meal be ready? Or has it even been started yet?”

  “Momentarily, sir. On time. It will be but a moment.” He bobbed again and left the room.

  When the door closed behind them, Jack threw his hat on a corner settee and strolled toward Imogene and the card table. Again he folded his hands behind his back, glaring down at her and waiting for an explanation.

  She turned her bright smile on him as if nothing were wrong. “I’m so glad you’re home. Do you want to have sex before lunch?” She caressed the cards with those tempting fingers.

  “No, I do not. What in the hell do you think you are doing with the servants?”

  “Oh, just playing cards.”

  “Playing cards? They work for you. They are not here to provide your entertainment. And I might add that I’m paying you as well. You are not here for their entertainment.”

  Her eyebrows popped up. “You haven’t paid me yet.”

  “That is beside the point,” he said.

  “What point? Are you telling me I can’t play cards while you’re gone?”

  “I’m telling you that you can’t run around this house baring your breasts and feet to the servants. They may get the wrong idea.”

  “What idea is that? That I’m your whore?” She leaned forward and crooked her finger, indicating he should come closer. “I think they already know,” she whispered.

  Jack was trying to make a point and she was missing it entirely. Not only was she being impudent, she thought to entice him with the same display that had his servants slavering like mad dogs. He’d seen enough. Her tempting assets wouldn’t distract him, not when he set his mind to the task.

  “Nevertheless—”

  “Do you want to play cards before lunch?” she asked, turning her back on him.

  “I don’t gamble with women.”

  “Are you worried I’ll beat you?” She shuffled with a quick flick of her fingers and the cards arched and folded together with a snap.

  “Miss Farrell, I am a practiced card player. No matter your skill, you are no match.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. I cheat. I’ll do fine.”

  “You cheat?” A smile flickered across his face. “Yes, I can see that you are a very skilled cheat.” He raked his gaze over her breasts. “But you were playing against amateurs.” He doubted his servants had ever been treated to such a fine display. Jack on the other hand had. Not that he was boasting, but he had slept with some very well-endowed women over the years, and while Imogene’s breasts were certainly spectacular, he could control himself.

  “You’re right. It’s nearly time to eat and I’m starved. ’Sides, it would take about an hour to get all your money anyway.”

  “An hour? You think you can beat me in an hour?”

  “No. I’ll beat you much sooner than that, but your money should be gone within the hour.”

  “Deal.” He grabbed the back of the chair and swung his leg over.

  She shuffled and allowed him to cut. Three cards landed in front of him. He was feeling lucky, had since he’d found Imogene at Jade House.

  “Do you like my new dress?”

  “It’s lovely. A good color for you,” he said, glancing at the three cards and ready to discard them for a new set.

  “You don’t think it’s kinda skimpy, do you? Tilly says it’s an evening dress, one I shouldn’t wear before noon. Isn’t that silly?”

  “It is, but since you’ll be wearing it for my pleasure, I do not mind in the least.”

  Imogene stared at her cards. “If I bend just right, I nearly fall out.” She started to lean forward. Jack was wise to her tactics, but he stared anyhow.

  “I’ll take two new cards.” She dealt and then turned her attention to her own. “And you, Imogene, how many cards for you?” Jack asked.

  “None.”

  “None? This is commerce. It is expected that you would trade for better cards.”

  “I have damn good cards. Thank you, Jack. Are you betting?” she asked, fingering the coins in front of her.

  “Is there a limit?”

  “No. Only I am limited by the coins in front of me.”

  “Farthings? Rather steep play. Tell you what, I’ll play with crowns and we’ll call your farthings the equivalent.” He dug inside his waistcoat and found several coins. He went back in and pulled out every coin he carried.

  “Oh, that would be fun. I love playing cards with you.”

  Jack expected her to demurely and tentatively place one farthing in the middle of the table. She placed ten.

  This game was going to be over in a hurry. He had nearly twenty crowns, a few pence, a couple sovereigns. He snatched ten crowns from his pile and dropped it in the middle of the table, nearly covering her farthings.
r />   Jack turned his cards, very confident. A pair of queens and a knave. “Can you beat that?”

  She fanned her cards and reached for the money. “Three tens.”

  Three hands later, he won back a farthing.

  Two hands later, he had three pennies left in front of him.

  “I’ve obviously underestimated you.”

  “People usually do, but cheating helps. One more hand?”

  He pushed the three pence across the table in surrender. “No, I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Never discount beginner’s luck.”

  She laughed, tapped the cards against the table and left them in a neatly squared pile. “I told you, I cheat.”

  “I think I should have some forfeit since I lost not only my money but my pride as well.”

  “After lunch, I think. And then you have to tell me all the news about Frank.”

  * * * * *

  “My lord, I do wish to apologize. Miss Farrell seemed in need of attention and when she proposed cards, well, you know how much I enjoy a good game. I couldn’t turn her down,” Maxwell said.

  “Don’t think another thing about it.”

  “So, we can still play cards with her?”

  “Yes, but do try to limit your playing time. I don’t want the other servants thinking that working here is only a suggestion.”

  “Yes, Mr. Davenport.” He cleared his throat. “And did you beat her, sir?”

  “Did I take a strap to her backside, no. Did she clean me out, yes.” Maxwell smiled, obviously pleased he wasn’t the only man Imogene had duped with her womanly display. “Well, man, get this jacket off me and ready for lunch. We’re thirty minutes late.”

  “My word, she is a clever girl,” Max said, barely concealing his smile.

  “Indeed. I think she was more clever to tell us she was cheating. I’ll be more careful next time. It’s not like I haven’t seen breasts before.”

  “It does disarm one. And if I were you, I’d be more careful about next time.”

  “The pot calling the kettle black, Maxwell. You plan to play with her again.”

  “Unless it displeases you.”

  “If it makes her happy, you may do so. However, I would appreciate it if you and the others would remember she is not public property in spite of the open acceptance of her position.”