A Perfect Mistress (10 page)

Sophie gave a half-laugh, half-sob, and leaned her head against his thigh.  She had done it.
And what's
more, she'd liked it.

It was only when he heard her sob that Jackson came back to
himself
, and a sick disgust made him feel like throwing up.  God, was he so pathetic that he would let her do this with nothing but fear fueling her actions? 
How far he had fallen.
He pulled away from her with a growl, fastening up his trousers.  Panting, he crossed the room and leaned shakily against a chair, wondering at the pain and betrayal he felt.  He had thought himself beyond those emotions after everything that had happened to him.  He smiled bitterly.  He had been fooling himself.  His emotions
weren’t
dead.  It was easy to manipulate him after all; this girl had done it with nothing more than a shy smile and a pretty, guileless face.

“Pack your things,” he said coldly when he could speak again.  “I’ll come for you early.”

He threw open the door of the room and left her there on the floor.  He stood outside for a moment in indecision, hearing the soft sounds she made as she cried, then moved resolutely away.  He
wouldn't
go to his room, he decided. If he stayed close, he would have her, and despite her words and
actions
she
did not really want him. Who could blame her?
he
thought bitterly.  He was a monster, and children hid their faces when he came too close.  A
monster,
and monsters were by their very nature solitary creatures. 
As he was meant to be.

Jackson strode through the inn, growling at a passing servant who dared to ask if he needed anything, frightening the poor man half to death.  After the man had slunk away, he let out a huff of air and raked a hand through his dark, thick hair as he paced out to stables.  There had been no need to scare the man, and he felt a moment’s guilt. Heaven knows, it had probably taken all of his courage to approach him, as terrifying as his appearance was; inevitably, his
scar and eye
patch
caused the superstitious to cross themselves in his presence and the squeamish to avoid him. 

He found himself a neat little corner formed by bales of hay and wrapped
himself
in a blanket that smelled strongly of horse.  He grimaced.  It was none too clean here, but at least he was out of the wind.

He twisted and turned, trying to find a comfortable spot.  Jackson cursed.  It was no use lying to
himself
; it wasn’t his surroundings making him feel this way, it was the desire that still burned in his loins.  He wanted to go back to the inn.  He wanted to go to her room and have her
again and again
.  He wanted her, still, knowing that
she was repulsed by him
.  He knew that he could go and open her door and he could have her, and that tempted him
beyond belief
.

Sophie.  Sophie, with her blond
curls and her wide blue eyes
and her beautiful body.  He rolled over, knowing that his sleep was going to
be filled
with her image.  Resolutely, Jackson closed his eyes.  He would not give in to the urges of his body.  He could deal with this.  He would just find some willing prostitute before he started for home, one who would close her eyes for the right amount of money.  One who
wouldn’t
lie with her eyes and make him believe that she wanted him. 

That was the only type of dalliance left to him. 
A cash transaction.

He heard her skirts swishing long before he saw her. He heard her coming closer and closer, and he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

“Jackson,” she said quietly.  “I know you're awake.  Come back to the inn.”

“
How did you find me? Go away,
I'm comfortable here,” he said gruffly, not bothering to open his eyes. He knew she was smiling; he could feel it. Suddenly he felt like a small, pouting boy, and he
didn't
like it, not at all.  She was the one at fault here, not him.

“
A servant told me where you were.
There's a bed at the inn,” she said.  “And I'm there.”

His eyes popped open, and he stared at her. Sophie
was
smiling, and she
didn't
seem disgusted at all. She sat daintily on the edge of the hay bale, smoothing her skirts around her. A flush brightened her pale cheeks.

“Do you always go storming off when you're given a gift?”

Jackson stared at her.  He opened his mouth to speak,
then
closed it again.

“How long has it been, Jackson, since you held a woman in your arms?” she asked delicately, deliberately holding his gaze.  “Have you, at all, since your accident?”

“Two years.”  He turned his face away from hers, and was shocked beyond words when she reached out and firmly turned it back.

“It has been three years for me.  Were you nervous?”  He nodded, his eyes sliding away from her direct gaze once again, but her next words had them turning back.  “So was I. Terrified, in fact, because the last sexual experience I had was a rape.  I was afraid that I … that I ...”

Jackson reached out to grasp her hand, and she squeezed it gratefully.  “I wanted to.  I wanted you, but I was afraid that the memory of that time would intrude. 
And
it did, for a moment.
What Delia had planned for me made it all come back again, and I couldn’t get past the fear for a little bit.
”

“After my husband died,” Sophie said in a voice that trembled only a little, “I went back to live with my father.  I
didn't
really have a choice in the matter; I was penniless, and my husband had no family willing to take me in.  Our mother died when we were small, and my father was so stern; Delia ran away when she was sixteen, but
I'd
no way out until I married.  I was happy married to David, though we had very little money. I thought
I'd
never have to see my father again, and I said things when I left that he never forgave. He made me pay for those words when I came back.  My life with him was a misery, and when he died I tried to mourn, I truly did. Then
the lawyer
informed me that
he'd
made no provision for me in his will; instead, he'd left his money to a distant cousin who is a missionary in India.  I was kindly allowed to stay in the house until the cousin arrived to take possession.” 

“He seemed like an answer to a prayer, Thomas did.  He insisted that I stay in the house while he took lodgings
elsewhere
in
town
. Handsome, respectable, oh-so-courteous, every female in town was in love with him.”  Sophie smiled bitterly. 
“Including me, of course.
  He began courting me immediately, and the match was encouraged at every turn.  It seemed as if, finally, I was going to be happy again.” 

She let her eyes drop, and Jackson pulled her hand up to hold her palm against his face, his heart pounding.  A relentless anger began to burn in him, because he knew how this story ended.

“Until the day he cornered me in the library and raped me, that is.  He tore my clothes, called me whore and seducer and said that he knew what I wanted and
he'd
give me what I'd been begging for.  I still have a scar on my breast where his teet
h tore at me.  After... after,
while I still lay bleeding on the floor, he wept and told me that he love
d me and we would be married
at once.” 

She lifted her head and smiled crookedly at him, and Jackson felt he might drown in the blue of her eyes.

“I went to Delia straight away and she took me in, but something was broken in me that I thought could never be repaired.  I
didn’t
know how she was; I hadn’t seen her for years, and I was just a little girl when she left. I barricaded myself in that house, and I never looked at another man. I
never thought that
I'd
want another man.  And then I met you, Jackson,” she whispered.  “And I dared to hope that I might be whole once again.”

Jackson threw off the horse blanket and stood, never relinquishing her hand.  “Let's go back to the inn,” he said awkwardly.  “No sense sleeping out here when there's a perfectly good bed in there.”  He wanted to say something else, but he
didn't
know what it could be, so he tucked her into his side, trying to tell her with his touch what he could not say out loud. The warmth of her body made his heart sing as they walked together.

Sophie felt her heart pounding in her chest; she
couldn't
wait to get back to her room and finish what they had started.  The flesh between her legs felt slick and swollen, and the tips of her breasts rubbed the silk of her underclothing.  As they neared the inn, she hurried her steps, and Jackson lengthened his stride until they were both nearly running.  Sophie felt a giggle bubble up in her chest, so she let it loose. It felt so good to laugh, and she turned her face up to twinkle at Jackson as they dashed inside the double doors, and he grinned down at her.

“You're very handsome when you smile,” she panted as they gave up all pretense of decorum and ran up the steps to her room, ignoring the scandalized
maid
who stared after them, her hands on her ample hips.

“I liked my gift.”  He swung the door open and pulled her into his arms before it even slammed shut, pressing his mouth hungrily against hers.  “It's quite the best one I've received in years,” he said against her lips, his tongue darting in to duel with hers.  “Though the tin soldiers I got when I was four are a very close second.”

“I said it was a gift for you, but truly it was for me,” she said slyly, her hands creeping up to tangle in his dark, soft hair.  “Now we have time to play.”  Jackson laughed into her mouth, and Sophie nipped his lip with her sharp teeth, drinking in his sound of pleasure.

A long, long while later, they lay cuddled together in the big bed without talking. Sophie pressed her ear to Jackson’s chest and listened to the slow, steady beat of his heart.  She turned her face up to look at him, the eye patch looming in her vision.

“How did you lose your eye?” she
asked quietly,
trailing
her hand down his chest
and tracing little patterns there
. Jackson rolled onto his side and stared at her, his head propped on his hand.

“It’s not a pretty tale,” he cautioned.

“You’ve heard all my stories. Are they all beautiful fables with
happy endings
? I live in the real world, and bad things sometimes happen there. You can tell me, Jackson.
I’m
not squeamish, and I don’t need to be protected. Tell me.”

“It’s a long story. Are you
sure
you want all the horrid details?
We have had a very long, exciting night…
” She nudged him, frowning, and he grinned at her.
“All right, all right.”
He rolled to his back and put his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

“My mother was the daughter of a poor farmer and they barely scraped a living out of the soil. She lived with her two brothers and her father in a two-room shack; her mother died when she was young.
I don’t really remember much about it, I was too young when we left.”

“What about your father?” she asked softly.

“He owned a neighboring farm.
He’d
seen my mother around town, and he made excuses to come and see her after that. He
brought her pretty things
and he was nice to her, she said. She knew he was married, but she just
couldn’t
help herself.
She was lonely, and her brothers and her father barely spoke to her, except to grunt orders at her.
Next thing you know, she was pregnant with
me,
and her brothers and father weren’t happy about that. They went to see my father up at his house, and he gave them money. Maybe it was to keep them quiet, or maybe he genuinely wanted to support me. I don’t really know.”

Jackson ru
bbed his forehead, and he
wouldn’t
look at her. Sophie put her head on his chest, and his voice rumbled against her cheek.

“When I was about four, my grandfather died and my uncles kicked my mother and me out of the house.
They’d
never been happy about taking money from my father, and they didn’t want her around. My mother went to my father, and he put us up in a house
in town
. He visited once a week
and brought us an envelope of money
, but he never
once
spoke to me. He saw to it that I was
educated, clothed, and well cared for
, but not on
ce did he call m
e by name
or even acknowledge my existence
.
If he passed me on the street, he looked the other way.
I’d
see him sometimes with his family, and I’d be so angry. He had two daughters; they were always dressed like little princesses, and he doted on them.
I’d
follow them sometimes when they were in town, and I’d see the way he acted toward them. He bought them things, and he was always smiling at them. I
don’t
ever
remember him smiling at me, not even once. He always called me ‘the boy’. How is the boy doing in school? The boy’s clothes are looking
ragged,
you’d better get him some new ones
.
The boy needs to apply himself. You coddle the boy too
much,
he needs to learn to be a man.
As if he was ever a good example for me.”