Jack's Hellion

by Eliza Lloyd

  Everything about her was disarming. Women in London had finishing schools and deportment classes and yet very often, their manners were practiced and tedious. Everything out of Imogene’s mouth entertained him. She spoke with directness and humor about any number of subjects taboo for other women.

  He chuckled as he dressed in clean clothes. He did enjoy his Imogene.

  * * * * *

  Imogene listened to every word Jack uttered during the meal. He’d found out when Frank was being transported and talked to the captain of the ship. Seems the man knew someone who knew someone that Jack knew, and with more well-placed coins, Frank would be fed and treated well enough on the journey. Jack amended his statement by saying Frank wouldn’t be purposefully mistreated. Everything else was up to fate and tides and temperament.

  “Oh Jack, I just love you so much. You don’t know.” She rested her hand over his and he turned his palm and squeezed gently.

  “I’m sorry I was unable to do more.”

  She rested her chin in her hand and stared at him. Imogene thought he looked quite dashing with his tight, tan breeches and green jacket. She’d seen the stern look on his face enough to know it would take only a few well-chosen words to make him forget his anger and disgust over Frank’s situation.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I’m no hero.”

  After lunch, she led him up the stairs to his room. She wanted to show him how much she loved him since he’d brushed her words aside.

  He lowered himself to the side of the bed. Imogene stepped between his legs and stood in front of him, working at the tight knots of the silken cravat that Maxwell had tangled several times and somehow made look dashing. His hands slipped around her waist and then slid over the roundness of her bottom.

  “Would you like to walk with me this afternoon? Maybe Hyde Park along the water? You know, afterward,” she asked.

  “No, I have another commitment. I’m sorry.”

  “With Catherine?”

  Jack didn’t say anything.

  Imogene dropped the cravat to the floor and then peeled back his jacket. He shucked it down his arms and threw it over the back of a chair.

  With the tips of her fingers, she pushed him back on the bed and then slowly worked at the rows of buttons on each side of his trouser’s placket.

  “I won’t be jealous if you tell me about her.”

  “Imogene,” he cautioned, his eyelids lowered in warning. She hiked up her skirts, crawled over him and then settled in a comfortable straddle. His body was very snug and very warm between her legs. Wiggling, she watched as his expression changed from irritation to impatience.

  His hands circled her waist and then slid upward until he cupped her breasts, molding them into rounder, larger spheres. The gown gaped and he reached in with one hand and toyed with her nipples.

  “What time do you have to leave?” she asked. He kneaded at her breast and in response, her gaze shuttered as the delicious warmth spread through her. She rocked forward and then back, catching the tip of his very wonderful cock into her core.

  The night was long and slow and full of the intimacy that made Imogene suffer with want. Her body was replete, but her heart wanted more of him.

  Imogene cuddled against his chest. He smoothed his hand down her back.

  “I love you, Jack.”

  * * * * *

  After she bathed, Imogene dressed with care for the first time in her life. Libby stuffed her into a corset and pulled the wide silk ribbons through the very tiny holes at her back.

  Jack said they had business to attend. Maybe he was taking her to the docks.

  “I can’t breathe.” Imogene placed her hands at her stomach and looked up at the ceiling. It wasn’t just the corset—the image in the mirror caused a pain deep under her ribs that made her feel faint.

  “Oh, you’ll be fine, miss. Once you get used to it, you’ll wonder how you got along without. And I never felt such a fine silk. And the smallest stitches. Fine quality, it is.”

  “Well, all I know is Jack better like it. This seems like a whole lot of trouble for a scrap of material he ain’t never gonna see.”

  “He’ll see it all right,” Libby said. “And it will make this dress look all the better.”

  Imogene glanced toward the bed where a green dress in the oddest color she’d ever seen lay spread over the coverlet. A hat—Imo had trouble remembering to say bonnet and it made her giggle when she did—lay on the bed along with a pair of gloves. The shoes Imo had refused even though they matched the dress.

  “Really, you can have those shoes. I won’t never wear them. I mean, I won’t ever wear them. I won’t wear them.” She should have paid better attention to Mrs. Holland and her proper language.

  Libby glanced toward the lace-drawn footwear with longing but demurred. “Oh, I can’t, Miss Farrell. What would Mr. Davenport say if he saw me wearing them while I cleaned the silver?”

  “You mean, what would Maxwell say? Jack probably doesn’t even notice the silver needs cleaning, let alone what you got on your feet.”

  “Well, there is that. Maxwell sees everything, and him being a valet and all. You’d think he’d stay busy keeping Mr. Davenport’s unmentionables ironed, but he’s always into the household business. Puts on airs about it too, like he’s the lord of the manor.”

  “Did someone mention the lord of the manor?” Jack strolled into her room without knocking. He wore black breeches, a tan jacket and a green-as-grass waistcoat with knotted gold threads. The gold chain from his watch hung low. He carried a black hat and smart-looking stick with a gold knob at the end.

  Imogene pinched at her arm, reminding herself she wasn’t living in a dream. If she felt breathless because of the corset, the feeling was worse now that Jack was next to her. How many times had they stood this close? She still wasn’t used to his overwhelming presence.

  She examined him closely. The only time she could touch his dark, wavy hair was while they were abed. A strong urge overtook her. She wanted him. All of him. And she wanted to be free to stroke and caress him at her leisure.

  Maybe he was ordinary in the beau monde. To her he was all she had ever hoped for. More probably since she didn’t know men like him existed.

  She took a deep breath, feeling near teary-eyed watching him. He could have been an ogre and she would have still loved him.

  “Miss Farrell, I was under the impression it wouldn’t take you long to dress. I think you said ‘in a jiff’. I’ve been waiting downstairs for nearly an hour.” The smile on his face softened his words. The gleam in his eye was always present when he looked at her in such a state of undress.

  “I’m sorry. I could have just worn my breeches if’n we’re going to the docks.”

  “We are not going to the docks.”

  “Then where?”

  Libby directed her to step into her skirts and then hold her hands out as the sleeves covered her arms.

  “I have been remiss about our agreement and we are going to take care of that today.” He lowered his hat and stick to the bed and then stepped in behind her. “Allow me.”

  Libby stepped away.

  Imo shivered as his hand caressed her neck for a moment before working at the buttons that closed her gown.

  “You may go, Libby.”

  “Yes, Mr. Davenport.” She curtsied and was gone, leaving Jack behind, looking rakish and handsome and Imogene still feeling giddy whenever he was around. A body should get used to having a man so close.

  He stared at her through the reflection of the mirror. “You look good enough to eat.”

  “No, Jack. I just got dressed.”

  “No? The only words that get to pass these lips are ‘yes, Jack’ and ‘more, Jack’.”

  “Haven’t you had enough?” She elbowed him, pushing away, but he grabbed her arm and settled her closer to him with his hands around her stomach.

  “I will let you know when I have, and until then, you are at my beck and call. But not righ
t now, I think. I’d rather build up the anticipation.” He kissed the side of her neck and then patted her backside.

  “Good, ’cause once you get me out of this corset, I’m not going back in.”

  “You need to get used to it. I’m sure the men in the house prefer you barefoot and available. I do not. Not outside your door, anyway.”

  “They know what I do. And it ain’t like they never saw a naked woman either. ’Cept Vernon, and he colors red as a beet when he looks at me. Maybe he ain’t been fucked yet. I think I’ll ask him.”

  “No, you will not ask him. You’ll give him the wrong idea.”

  “Like what?”

  “That you are offering to relieve him of his infirmity.”

  Imogene laughed. “They know I’m yours.”

  “Yes, they do, but there is no reason to tempt them, and it is important they also respect you.”

  “No one respects a whore.”

  “Even a whore can act respectable and it starts with the way you dress. Your attitude. Your deportment.”

  Her shoulders fell and she turned in his arms. “Jack, I won’t never be one of your fancy Mayfair women. You can’t brew a magic potion that turns Imogene Farrell into a lady. I have the stench of the street clear to my bones. If I never uttered another word, a body only has to look at me to know I’m the kind of woman a man throws away when he’s done. And I don’t even know the color of my dress.”

  Disappointment was an emotion she’d lived with all her life, and if she thought there was a way to change, she would. She would do almost anything for Jack, like becoming a woman he would be proud to display in public, a woman who spoke and didn’t make him cringe, a woman who could woo the ton with her poise and sophistication.

  A woman whose name wasn’t Imogene Farrell. The whore. The mistress. The street rat.

  No, it would never happen.

  Anyway, Imogene could not imagine such a circumstance. Not in the few weeks she had. Not with Jack’s betrothed in the way.

  Jack plucked up her bonnet and rested it on her head before tying the ribbons at the side of her face, under her ear. “There. A perfect flower.” He retrieved his hat and walking stick and presented his arm. “Shall we, Miss Farrell?”

  At the head of the stairs, Imogene asked, “So where are we going?”

  “To the bank.”

  “Are we going to rob it?”

  Jack chuckled. “No. You reminded me yesterday that I had not seen to the settlement regarding your services.” They took the steps together. “I’m setting up a fund for you, in the three percents, I believe, and there are a few papers for you to sign.”

  Imogene stopped in the middle of the staircase. “No.”

  “Imogene?”

  “No.” She picked up her skirts and turned away, heading back up the stairs.

  His arm snaked around her waist, preventing her from getting away. “Imogene, what is it?”

  “I want cash. You can just bring it to me.”

  “Don’t be silly. The people you know would kill you for fifty pounds, let alone five hundred. No. You’ll have your own fund that pays you quarterly. It’s the best and most responsible thing I can do for you.”

  “I’m not going to the bank. You can bring the cash and I’ll give it to Danny. He’ll know what to do with it.”

  “Imogene, your brother is not getting your money. It’s time you learned to take care of yourself, and if that means I help you, then so be it. If I do my best to take care of you now, then later on...later on, I won’t have to worry about you being in poor circumstances.” He clasped her hand. “Imogene, that money will be enough for you to have a modest, comfortable life without the help of another man like me if you plan correctly.”

  “I’m not going to the bank.”

  “I’m sorry, but I insist.”

  Imogene hated tears at a time like this when she needed strength and resolve. “Please don’t make me.”

  He frowned and then pursed his lips.

  “All right.” Jack stared at her for a moment and then said, “Come with me to the library. I think I’d like a drink, and then I’ll take you for a carriage ride to your choice of destinations.”

  “You mean it?”

  “My word as a gentleman. And since you’re already dressed, I can show you off.”

  “You’re not trying to trick me?”

  “My word is good. Like the voice of God.”

  “On your honor.”

  “On my honor.” He held out his hand and she accepted the firm grasp. They said nothing as he led her into the library and seated her in a fluffy chair near the empty fireplace. She clasped her hands in her lap. He slipped the knot of her bonnet and dropped it onto the table beside her.

  The gurgle of liqueur filled crystal and, before she missed him, Jack had returned with a glass of some pretty reddish-brown liquid.

  Imo tipped back the drink and gulped it down just as Jack said, “Sip slowly or—”

  Imo coughed and bent forward, dropping the empty glass. “Peter, Paul and Mary! I’m going to have flames coming out my arse in a few minutes. Why didn’t you tell me it burned like hellfire?”

  Jack had his hand over his mouth trying not to laugh.

  Imo stood in a huff. “You did that on purpose.”

  “I did no such thing,” he said through his laughter. “It’s meant to be sipped. Slowly. Not gulped like watered-down ale.”

  “Yeah, well, an ale suits me just fine.”

  He took a sip and his gaze bore into hers. “Imogene, I don’t know when I’ve laughed so much.”

  “Or fucked. You horny bastard. I’m not in the mood to be laughed at.”

  He started laughing again until tears came out the side of his eyes. “Sit down, little chick, before your anger shoots a flare through the ceiling.”

  “It won’t be my anger. It’ll be that god-awful drink.”

  She plopped back in the chair, much less ladylike. She folded her hands across her chest and refused to look in his direction until she felt his gaze upon her. Imogene faced him again. “What are you staring at?”

  “Why don’t you want to go to the bank?” He’d stopped laughing at her and his face got that serious look that demanded an answer.

  “That’s not why I’m sitting here with you.”

  “Nevertheless, I want to know. And we are going to sit here until you tell me. I hope your corset is especially tight. I might get my answer quicker.”

  “I didn’t know you were so mean. I’m going to tell Charlie to stop praying for you.”

  “He prays for me?”

  “He prays for everybody. He sees angels too.”

  “Very often?”

  “More than anybody I know.”

  “The bank, Imogene. Tell my why.”

  “You paid me to be your whore, not tell all my secrets.”

  “I think for five hundred pounds, I’ve purchased some of your secrets too.”

  “You really are going to pay me that much?”

  “It’s what we agreed on.”

  “Not really. I said it hopin,’ but you didn’t say yes or no, so I wasn’t sure.”

  His expression softened and his smile turned lopsided. “You’ve been well worth the entertainment. And since I’m in a lecturing mood, you should have made sure of the agreement before sleeping in my bed.”

  “You wouldn’t cheat me. I know it here.” Imogene pointed to her chest. What she was really saying was that she didn’t believe someone she loved would cheat her.

  “How is it that you keep steering this conversation away from what I really want to know? It is a sound business principle that any mistress would employ. She must look to her future.”

  “I heard old D’Abner say a hundred times, if’n I heard him say it ten, cash is king.”

  “At three percent, you will have income of fifteen pounds a year. You can live comfortably.”

  “Not like this. Unless, of course, I get another lover after you.” Imo knew
she was being cruel, but she didn’t want to talk about going to no bank. Not when she couldn’t read. Or write. She didn’t want to look more ignorant than she was, especially not in front of Jack.

  Jack steepled his hands in front of him but didn’t say a word.

  “I’ll have to make sure he is rich. Really rich. And now that I know I’m worth five hundred pounds, maybe I’ll get one thousand. Seeing as how I’m experienced and all.”

  “Well, in that case, I think I know just the gentleman I can pawn you off on when I’m all done with you. Except you don’t really know a thing about whoring, so I doubt he’d think you very knowledge since what we’ve done only satisfies the very basic of proclivities. No, you’d be lucky to get a hundred pounds and a baron.”

  His words shot an arrow through her heart. “I didn’t mean it, Jack.”

  “I know you didn’t. And I don’t want you with anyone else.”

  “I don’t want anybody else either. It doesn’t matter what they offer. I told you I loved you and I meant it. I can’t repay you for what you’ve done for the Farrells.”

  “And we’ve come full circle. I can pay you for what you’ve done for me. Why don’t you want to go to the bank?”

  Her breath lodged in her throat. Why not tell him? He already knew what she’d done that last year of her life. He’d seen her naked. He knew she was an orphan.

  “I can’t read none. And I can’t write.” She pushed up out of her chair. Her voice rose along with the fervor in her words. “I don’t want to embarrass you and I don’t want to explain to no jackass banker sitting behind some damned oversize desk why I can’t sign his stupid papers.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “So there you have it. I don’t need any percents. I need cash. ’Cause if you leave it there, I’ll only have to go back and the whole thing starts over again.”

  “Then that settles it. You will just have to learn to read and write.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jack was a blockhead. He should have asked before he presumed she had a modicum of education. He attributed her rough language and lack of femininity to growing up on the streets of London. He’d never considered what poor children did about their education.