Jack of Clubs (19 page)

Now Patsy started crying again. “He'll kill me this time, I know he will!”

Calloway picked her up to shut her up. He tossed her over his shoulder, making sure most of Patsy, her hair especially, was covered by Allie's dark cloak. “Go look, Miss Silver.”

Allie peered around the side of the building near the street. She did not see anyone who looked suspicious. She did not see any of the new guards, either. “I thought we were supposed to have more watchmen,” she said, signaling Calloway that the coast was clear.

“That's at night,” he said, carrying Patsy as if she weighed as little as the kitten. They came out of the alley and hurried around the corner to the house. Unfortunately, they forgot to move the barrel back.

Fedder had turned around. He saw the opening to the alley, saw a blood-stained handkerchief, and ran back out to the street, just as Allie with the kitten, and Calloway with his burden, ducked into the club.

“Hey,” Fedder shouted.

Calloway kicked the door shut behind them. “Can you walk, miss?” he asked Patsy, putting her down. “'Cause I better stay here and discourage the scum just in case he thinks he saw something.” He took his club from Allie, who put the kitten in its basket before quickly helping Patsy up the stairs to the rooms she shared with Harriet.

“This is Patsy,” she told her charge when Harriet burst into the sitting room. “She is going to be our new maid, and if you tell anyone about her, you cannot keep the kitten Mr. Calloway found for you.”

“Snake found me a kitten? Isn't he wonderful?” she yelled on her way back down the stairs before Allie could tell her to bring back hot water and bandages and lineament from Cook's stores.

“He is that,” Patsy said, stars in her one eye that wasn't swollen shut.

While Allie helped Patsy into her own spare nightgown, and Harriet was introducing the kitten to Joker, Jack was getting ready for an evening of deep play. First he instructed the new guards to keep their eyes open for any suspicious characters.

“What about that scum what's passed out at the corner?”

“Drunk?”

“Not unless he was so foxed he clouted hisself over the head with a lamp post.”

“If he's dead, call the Watch. Otherwise drag him out of sight. This is an elegant establishment. We don't want the club patrons seeing anything so ugly.”

They saw a lot worse than that, later.

The rooms were not quite full, but Jack was sitting at a table, a growing stack of welcome coins and chips in front of him, when there was a commotion at the door. He barely looked up from his hand of cards, concentrating on recalling what had been played. Calloway could handle anything.

But Fedder had come back with reinforcements. The argument grew louder.

“I told you, we don't have no whores here!” Calloway shouted. “This is a private club for gentlemen, not your kind, Fedder. I told you to get out and iffen you don't I'll say it again with my fists, again.”

“I want the bitch what ran away. Patsy.”

Now Jack had to get up. His customers were muttering at the ill-bred interruption. He went to stand beside the larger Calloway, knowing together they were a formidable force. Jack's lip curled at the sight of the scurvy whore-monger, with a bandage on his head. “You are costing me money, Fedder, so take your whining elsewhere.”

“You are costing me money, too, damn you and your fancy club. That gal is worth plenty. Fresh from the country, pure as the driven snow.”

Jack was revolted, and reminded of the thin line between him and slime like Fedder. “We have no girls named Patsy, and we have no cheap doxies. Now get out.”

Fedder tried to push past him, to see for himself. Jack was not going to let him. He grabbed the moleskin coat. Calloway stepped in front of the brute he'd brought along. “I said your Patsy is not here. If you want to discuss it outside, I would be happy to oblige.”

Downs took Calloway's place at the door, but some of the gamblers left their places at the tables and pushed past him, laying odds on the outcome of the coming mill. Jack handed one of them his coat, rather than let Fedder's blood stain it. The bastard had ruined his winning game; he was not going to ruin Jack's expensive clothes, too. Jack briefly thought of his vow to abstain from violence against his fellow man. Fedder was no man; he was a parasite, a leech, sucking the blood of helpless young women. Jack thought of his sister's unknown fate, of what could have befallen Miss Silver, or Harriet later. He swung first.

While Calloway held back the other man, Jack swung again. Fedder was no match for the former officer, not without his bully boy.

“Patsy. Is. Not. Here.” Each word was punctuated by another blow. Fedder was on the ground. “Now go, and never come back.”

The larger thug dragged Fedder away while Jack put his coat back on and the bettors settled their wagers.

“What was that all about, Calloway?” Jack asked as he wrapped his handkerchief around his bleeding knuckles, trying to smile for the customers so they would go back to losing money to the house. “Why would he think we had his Patsy? Everyone knows we don't take on virgins.”

“Everyone but Miss Silver, I'd guess.”

Chapter Nineteen

“You hired a…what?”

Jack had left the club, left his winnings, and left all thought of his customers below when he took the stairs two—or three—at a time to Miss Silver's rooms. No matter that a gentleman never called at a lady's bedchamber, much less when the lady ought to be asleep. Jack had left his gentlemanly instincts downstairs too, along with the skin of his knuckles. He pounded on the door with the side of his fist, prepared to break it down if the blasted thing did not open soon.

It did. There was Allie, rubbing her eyes. She'd been asleep on the chaise longue in the sitting room, wrapped in an extra blanket. Harriet was sharing the bed with Patsy, Joker, and the new kitten, which made it too crowded for Allie's comfort. Awakening to a racket at her door, Allie had panicked that there was another fire. She had not bothered to find her robe to cover her nightgown, but she did have a pitcher of water in her hand. Now she blinked, set the pitcher down, and made sure that the neck of her nightgown was properly tied. “What time is it?”

“It is time we had a talk, Miss Straight and Narrow, Miss My Reputation is My Redemption. What about my reputation, dash it? I am trying to run an elegant, high-toned operation, catering to wealthy gentlemen of impeccable tastes who prize their privacy and my discretion. I have barely scotched yesterday's scandal and now the club will be immersed in another tomorrow.”

“I did not—”

“Not? You did not what?” he raged. “You did not involve my genteel gambling parlor with a notorious procurer? You did not hire a tuppenny prostitute to be my ward's nursemaid?”

Allie raised her chin. “No, I hired a young girl who was lied to, practically kidnapped, and nearly forced to commit unspeakable acts against her will. I hired a person who was brave enough to escape her captors, and who is willing to work hard at honest labor. I hired a female who will learn her letters and numbers, to better herself. What is wrong with that?”

“What is wrong is the filth of Fedder littering my doorstep, the headlines that will appear in the scandal sheets, and the new enemy I just gained. Devil take it, I used to be considered a charming fellow without a foe in the world, once the French had been defeated. Now I am in a marquess's black books, as well as a double dealer's and a rejected mistress's. I am the target of an arsonist, and you, my dear Miss Silver, have just made me another antagonist. A pimp, of all things! Could you not have picked another respectable member of society to offend this time? Besides, my brother will likely turn against me when he discovers what kind of female you hired as a housemaid.”

“He beat her,” was all Allie said.

Jack sighed, his fury spent. “I know. Calloway told me how you climbed the wall to help her.”

“What should I have done?”

“You should have let Calloway hire a hackney to drive her somewhere, anywhere but here.”

“Is that what you would have done?”

They both knew it was not. Jack ran his fingers through his hair, trying to find a reply that would justify his earlier shouting at her.

“Your hands!” Allie pulled him farther into the room, closer to the lamp. Then she pushed him toward a chair while she ran for the salve Calloway had sent up for Patsy's bruises. She knelt at Jack's feet, rubbing the stuff onto his bloodied knuckles as carefully as she could.

As lightly as he could, Jack touched the long braid she wore, wanting to feel her hair's silky texture, finding it impossible not to. Somehow his free hand turned totally ungovernable and moved to caress her cheek.

“Why did you not come find me?” he asked.

Allie kept her eyes on his battered knuckles, liking the feel of his hand on her cheek, his other hand in hers. How could one be so gentle and one show evidence of such brute force?

“Didn't you trust me?”

“I did not want to lay another burden on your shoulders.”

“They are wide enough.”

They were wide enough to cushion a woman's head. Allie spread salve on a finger she had already covered. “But you have done so much for us already.”

Now Jack tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes. In the near dark they looked like midnight at sea. “You deserve more, my brave girl.”

“More than being woken up and shouted at?”

“Far more.”

He bent down and gave what he thought she deserved—or he did, for fighting her battles. The kiss was long and warm and wet, and should have ended ages before it did.

Hell, he thought, it should never have started. But there was the same trouble again, a totally reprehensible, uncontrollable desire for Miss Allison Silver, spinster. What the devil was it about this woman, anyway, that made him want her? Jack asked himself, as he panted with that selfsame wanting of her. She was no great beauty, although he thought she might be pretty enough in stylish clothes with her glorious hair combed in a more becoming manner. She was not as experienced as the women he usually preferred, nor was she as buxom. She was not soft and cuddlesome, in bone structure or personality. No, Miss Silver was a prickly, prideful female who was never afraid to disagree with him or speak her mind.

Right now her body was speaking, leaning toward his while her breathing was as labored as his own. She sighed, a whisper of desire that sent his curiosity to Cairo, his reasoning to Russia. Who cared why he was attracted to this wrong woman when her kisses felt so right?

The angle was awkward, with him in the chair and her on the floor, so he slid off the seat to face her while she knelt, their mouths once more pressing, pulsing, his tongue parting her lips. She accepted his gentle invasion with an
ah
of surprise or delight or satisfaction at finally understanding what kissing was all about. She was a quick learner, letting her own tongue go tentatively exploring.

Now Jack could wrap her in his arms and pull her closer to him, feeling her unbound bosoms against his chest. He was the one to say “Ah,” this time.

He'd stop in a minute, of course. Meantime, Allie's knees must be paining her from kneeling on them so long. Jack gently lowered her to the carpet, cushioned by his arm. Now he could touch those lovely breasts through the flannel of her nightgown, cup them in his hand, rub his fingers against the nipples until they hardened.

They were not half as hard as he was. Lud, he had to stop.

But Allie responded so sweetly, so eagerly, making those little purrs of pleasure. Her hands were busy too, touching his neck, ruffling his hair, tickling his ears, urging him to keep doing what he was doing, or doing more.

One more minute and he would definitely stop kissing her, positively stop stroking her. Right after he spread her hair over her shoulders. But his inner timepiece must have come unwound there on the floor, because her braid was loosened and his hand was raising her nightgown so that he could smooth her ankle, her calf, her thigh, almost to her—

On the floor? He was about to teach the schoolteacher about a woman's pleasure, on the fardling floor? With a child in the next room? Ah, hell!

Jack pulled down the hem of Allie's nightgown and pulled away from the touch of her body, but kept his arm under her head. When she looked at him, questioningly, he said, “I will not dishonor you.”

She licked her lip, almost making him forget his principles, yet again. He wanted to lick her lip. He wanted to kiss away the frown line between her eyebrows. He wanted to bury himself in her and forget everything, her innocence, the floor, his scruples, his own name.

“Is that what you were doing?” she asked, still looking uncertain and unhappy, not knowing what to do with her hands. “Dishonoring me?”

He started to reach out to smooth away the pucker, but held his hand back. If he touched her eyebrows, he'd have to touch her eyes and then her ears and her elbows and her entirety. “No, I was making love to you. But it would have come to the same thing, in the end.”

“But then I would not be a maiden, and perhaps that would not be completely terrible. Do you know, I am coming to think that being a mistress is perhaps not so bad, with the advantages you have been showing me. After all, my reputation is already destroyed. I could stay here where no one cares about such things, and you could save the expense of another household. Harriet would be thrilled, and Patsy can make friends with the other young women.”

“Where she would likely end up in the same career she fought so hard to avoid, and where Harriet would grow up mistaken about a female's proper place in life.” Jack was firm. “Besides, you are not mistress material.”

Allie sighed, knowing he spoke the truth. His kisses made her dizzy, that was all, momentarily mad. The shame, the self-disgust would have to outweigh the pleasures, no matter the myriad she was imagining. Why, she would be too attainted to act as Harriet's companion. In addition, she would be wretched as Jack's inamorata, waiting for him to tire of her, furiously jealous if he looked at another woman. And, afterward, when he did leave her, she could never go back to being a governess or a schoolteacher. She could never go to another man, either. Whatever pleasure there was, was being with
this
man, being in
his
arms.

Allie sighed again. “You are right. I am not meant to be a mistress. And you are not husband-worthy.”

Husband? Allie's head bumped on that godforsaken floor when Jack jumped to his feet. The dog barked.

Harriet called out, “Allie? Are you all right?”

Patsy cried, “Oh, Lord, Fedder must have found me!”

Allie rubbed her head as she got to her feet. “I am fine, and there is nothing to worry about.” She glared at Jack. “Absolutely nothing. I, ah, dropped the book I was reading, that's all. Now go back to sleep, both of you. It is very late.”

Jack tried to straighten his crumpled neckcloth. He kept his voice low as he told her, “I will see about moving you into Carde House tomorrow.”

“Will Patsy be safe there?”

“At an earl's house? Even dolts like Fedder know better than to chance offending the nobility. Alex could have him clapped in irons in an instant. Besides, I don't think Fedder will want another dose of my own brand of medicine, or Calloway's. One small maid could not be worth the cost to him. But I will send another guard to accompany the girl when she goes on errands away from the house, to make sure.”

“With yet another guard, Harriet will have a regular retinue.”

“Good. She will have more people to bedevil.”

Allie was thinking of the cost. Jack was thinking of keeping his womenfolk safe. He walked to the door but turned and beckoned her closer, so she could hear his words: “I will never let anyone hurt you. Not even me.”

*

The Prince Regent could transfer his entire entourage to Brighton for the summer with less fanfare, it seemed, than Allie and Harriet could relocate to Carde House the next afternoon.

Nearly all of the inhabitants of The Red and the Black wanted to help them move. Half wanted to make certain the little hellion truly left, and the other half wanted to see the inside of a real earl's residence. They all knew that their Cap'n Jack was an earl's son and an earl's brother, but that was not the same. Even with most of the house undergoing renovation, the furniture in Holland covers and the artwork locked away for safekeeping, a tour of the place was the closest the working women were going to get.

They all agreed the town house was grand, and those brawny carpenters and bonny painters were not bad, either. Perhaps they could come visit sweet little Harriet another time?

They had traveled the distance between the two houses—and the two worlds—in caravan style. Allie, Harriet, Mrs. Crandall and Patsy rode in Jack's carriage, along with Joker and the kitten. They had dressed Patsy in borrowed plumes, literally and figuratively. With her garbed in a low-cut blouse from one dealer and a red silk skirt from another, a bonnet with an ostrich plume from a third, no one would recognize Patsy as a chick fresh from the country. The hat's wide brim hid her hair and her face, and the black eye and cut lip. A hired baggage wagon followed, not that any of them had much in the way of possessions. Mrs. Crandall had her husband's army trunk, while Harriet and Allie had their few valises, plus a new basket for the kitten. Patsy had nothing, of course, since she had lost her satchel when she ran from Fedder's place, so the other women generously filled a sack for her with bits of clothing they could spare.

Cook had packed a hamper of food for them and a box of kitchen staples. Calloway had discovered some extra linen, so they would not have to use the earl's monogrammed sheets and towels, and Mr. Downs claimed that no one at The Red and the Black drank ratafia, so he sent three bottles, and one of sherry, which was far more palatable for a lady. He added a bottle of brandy, for when Captain Endicott went to visit, in case the earl's cellars were locked tight.

A hackney coach carried the dealers and hostesses from the club, gawking at the wider streets and immense houses of the aristocracy. Another carriage contained the men, with two guards riding on top. Jack rode his horse ahead of the first coach, on the lookout for Fedder or, worse, news reporters.

If anyone followed them, however, they would see that Captain Endicott's ward and her duenna were properly ensconced at one of the most respectable addresses in all of London, with a chaperone and a lady's maid.

They would also see that Jack was not staying. He was not even helping Miss Silver out of the carriage when they arrived. He was holding Harriet's hand, ignoring the governess as if she were nothing but an upper servant, which she was, of course.

He was dying inside, but he was doing the right thing. He'd feel better about it later. He hoped so, anyway.

Since he had not been able to give the workmen at Carde House much notice, he could not complain that the nursery wing was not ready. His sister-in-law cared more about refurbishing the schoolroom and children's chambers than the public rooms, it seemed. Jack did not think Nell cared for London enough to spend much time here, but her brother did reside outside of town, and Alex would have to come up for Parliamentary votes on occasion. The children would come too, naturally. Nell was not the kind of mother to leave her babies behind.