Between the Devil and Desire (23 page)

Now she'd languish in hell.

S
itting on the bench in the garden, Jack knew he should have gone after her. That she'd recovered enough to run, while he could barely stagger, had made an immediate pursuit impossible. He'd considered going to her when he was more in control, but what good would that do? He'd heard her sobs. Did she expect him to apologize? He had no regrets. If he was honest, that wasn't exactly true. It bothered him that she was upset. As for himself, he was bloody-well terrified.

He'd never reacted to a woman like that. He'd never wanted to bring one pleasure that exceeded his. And now he felt so damned vulnerable. He wanted to crawl into her bed, fold himself around her, and have her hold him.

What the hell was the matter with him?

His business was sex. It was all about satisfying physical urges and then moving on to the next source of pleasure.

But she wasn't his
business
, and God help him, what had transpired between them hadn't been only sex.

He should go to his club, return in the morning, and pretend tonight hadn't happened.

Or he could get drunk, go to bed, get up in the morning with a staggering headache, and pretend tonight never happened.

But it
had
happened, and he wasn't likely to ever forget it.

 

With her head buried beneath the pillow, Olivia awoke to gritty eyes, a stuffed nose, and a woozy head. If she didn't know better she'd think she was getting ill again. But she did know better. Just as she had when she was a little girl and her dog had died, she'd cried herself to sleep. How had she let Jack take those liberties with her? Although she was plagued by a more important question: How had she wanted him to? And she had. He'd effectively stolen her willpower. Now she was going to have to go down to breakfast and face him. How could she meet his gaze without remembering every wickedly wonderful thing he'd done to her body?

Rolling over, she screeched at the sight of Jack standing at the foot of the bed. Scrambling up, she pressed her back to the mound of pillows. “You promised never to come to my bed.”

“I've kept my promise. I'm at least two inches away.”

His voice held none of its usual teasing. He was completely dressed, yet he left her unsettled. Perhaps it was the way he held her gaze as though he had nothing of which to be ashamed, or the fact that he was familiar with not only her body but its reaction to his touch. She lowered her gaze and began tugging on a thread on the counterpane. “Why are you here?”

“Look at me, Livy.”

It was so very hard, but she refused to be cowed. Defiantly she glared at him, surprised to discover his eyes held not a speck of triumph. She'd expected him to lord her shameful behavior over her. Instead, the arrogant, self-assured, confident Jack Dodger appeared—dare she even think it—remorseful.

“I'm not in the habit of losing control when I'm with a woman.” She lowered her gaze to that wondrous mouth he'd pressed to her throat, his hot breath heating her skin as he—

“I want you, Livy. I want you as I've never wanted any woman, and that's not an easy thing for me to admit. I'm certain my behavior is not what you're accustomed to.”

She thought that could possibly be the understatement of the century.

“But I won't apologize for it,” he continued. “I can promise you that it won't happen again.”

With that he spun on his heel and left the room. She wasn't quite sure it was a promise she wanted him to keep.

 

They studiously avoided each other for the next two days—or perhaps it was only Olivia who was finding so many excuses to be in other portions of the residence whenever she thought Jack was on the prowl. Breakfast was not too terribly thorny because Henry was always there, serving as a buffer. Olivia would sit at the foot of the table and surreptitiously watch Jack as he patiently answered the thousands of questions that Henry seemed to have—all of which began with
why
.

Dinner was a bit more challenging. The night before, they'd actually discussed the weather, which had almost made Olivia weep. They'd become such polite strangers. He no longer teased her or challenged her or flirted with her.

And she missed him terribly.

Standing in the window in one of the upstairs bedchambers, she watched as Jack darted over the lawn, trying to catch Henry in their regular afternoon game. Henry was doing his usual crowing and Jack was laughing. It was amazing how well they got along. It was almost like watching two boys at play—

But Jack was not a boy. While she suspected life was more carefree for him now than it had been when he'd grown up on the streets, she also thought he carried a good deal more responsibility.

She knew him only from his life here. But he had another one that was very different. She wanted to see it.

 

Jack had his carriage brought around earlier than usual. He could hardly stand to be in the house any longer. Dinners shared with Livy had turned unbearably awkward.

She'd taken to once again studying him as though he should be on display somewhere. They discussed the perfection of the food they were eating—if they spoke at all. Most of the time, he avoided looking at her because he didn't want her to see how very much he yearned to have her.

After dinner, she retreated to her room and he went to the library. He was at his desk drowning his desires in whiskey when Brittles came into the room.

“Your carriage is ready, sir.”

He nodded and finished off his whiskey. As he passed the stairs, he considered going up them, going to Livy's room, and breaking his promise not to go to her bed. But when he gave his word, he meant it. It was the only honorable trait to which he could still lay claim.

A footman opened the door. Jack strode on, determined to do whatever was required to get her off his mind. Use Pru if necessary, even though the option left him with a hollow ache. Hurrying down the steps, he ignored the light mist falling. It suited his mood.

A footman opened the carriage door. “Sir.”

Jack acknowledged him with a nod, placed his foot on the step, vaulted up, became aware of a familiar scent—

“Going to your club?”

At the unexpected feminine voice, one that haunted him, he jerked upward and banged his head. “Dammit!”

He swung inside and dropped onto the bench. “What the devil are you doing here?”

Olivia had not expected to take him so completely by surprise. Served him right, though, for that first night when he'd given her such a fright. “I want to go with you.”

“Don't be silly. The only women allowed in my club are those willing to provide services to men. Is that what you're entertaining? If so I can accommodate you here.”

She should have known he'd not make this easy, but she'd not be dissuaded.

“As you're the owner, surely you can make an exception.”

He settled back into the corner of the carriage. She could feel his intense gaze on her. “Why?”

“I know you're a fair guardian to Henry. I know you're very astute when it comes to acquiring money. I'd like to see your business firsthand.”

In the shadows, she didn't see his hand move, but suddenly she was aware of his hand slipping beneath her veil and felt his thumb caress her cheek.

“Why, Livy?”

“I don't want secrets between us, Jack.”

“And if you don't like what you see?”

Her feelings toward him might dissipate like the fog in late morning. “You said you weren't ashamed of your affairs.”

He came nearer to her, his mouth against her cheek. “What does it matter, Livy?”

She swallowed hard. “I care for you far more than I should. I spend countless hours thinking of going to your bed. And I can't. I just can't, not without a clearer understanding of the man you are.” She placed her hand on his chest, felt the hard beating of his heart beneath her fingers. “Your business is a good part of your life. All it has ever been to mine is gossip. I want to know the truth of it.”

“I've told you the truth of it.”

“I want to see it. I assume it's a shadowy place. I'm in black. My hat has a black veil. I should think it would take a very discerning eye to figure out who I am, and if all your customers indulge in spirits as much as my brother did, I think it unlikely they'll remember seeing me anyway.”

She heard his sigh. “I can't take you in through the
front door. You'd be too much of a curiosity, and your reputation would be destroyed if someone did recognize you.”

“I assume you have a back one.”

He studied her for a moment. “You can't share the things you witness at Dodger's with your ladies during tea. You can't ever reveal the name of anyone you see in Dodger's.”

“I won't tell a soul.”

“I'm deadly serious, Livy. My customers pay exceedingly well to have their secrets kept, and that trust is vital to my success.”

“I swear to you I won't breathe a word to anyone.”

“I shall no doubt regret this,” he muttered, even as he signaled for his driver to be off.

Olivia could hardly give credence to the thrill of adventure that shot through her. She was going against her upbringing to do something that was absolutely and irrevocably wrong, while holding onto her belief that she needed to thoroughly know a man before she succumbed to temptation. It was a ludicrous rationale, but she couldn't deny that he stirred within her breast intense feelings such as she'd never experienced.

They rode in absolute silence, although even in the darkness she could sense his unwavering gaze as it homed in on her.

“There,” he finally said, and she peered out the window to catch the first look at his gentlemen's club.

It didn't look seedy, as she'd expected. It was well maintained. The white columns and liveried footmen opening the door gave it an air of luxury she'd not anticipated.

“Is that Greystone going in?”

“No.”

“It certainly looked—”

“You didn't see anyone going in. That's the game we play, Livy. You see nothing. You hear nothing. And by damn, you speak nothing.”

“The lords must trust you a great deal.”

“They trust me with a good many of their secrets. I may not be as respectable as Beckwith, but I know how to hold a confidence. Besides, they pay me an extraordinary amount, and I in turn pay my employees, to ensure their skeletons stay in the cupboard.”

The carriage went around to the back. After Jack disembarked, he reached inside for Olivia. “Are you certain you want to do this?”

“Absolutely.”

He chuckled softly. “You're like a child being offered a sweet.”

When she stepped out, he drew her near and tucked her up against his side. “Stay near until we're inside.”

She could hear people singing off-key.
Drunks
, she thought. And there were the sounds of people walking quickly through the alleyway. Her heart sped up. A lantern hung above the back door. Jack inserted a key into the lock and was soon ushering her inside.

The first thing that struck her was that the hallway smelled clean. The doors to several rooms were closed, the door to one open.

“These are the offices.” He nodded toward the open doorway. “Frannie works there.”

“Is she there now?”

“Probably.”

“I should stop in and say hello.”

“This isn't like your morning calls.”

“It would be rude.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

He led her to the doorway. Once again she was surprised. While the furniture appeared to be of good stock, it was sparse. Frannie was making notations in a ledger. She glanced up and her green eyes widened. “Well, hello. This is a surprise.”

“She wanted to see a gaming hell,” Jack groused.

“And you brought her? This is an interesting development.” She rose.

Olivia flapped her hand self-consciously. “I don't mean to disturb you. I just wanted to have a look around. I will admit to being surprised that everything is so clean. You run a tight ship.”

“That's Jack's doing. He can't stand anything not being tidy. I think probably because he was so filthy as a child.”

She thought of the baths he took, the way he insisted on never putting on anything that wasn't cleaned and pressed first.

“I'm just going to give her a quick look around,” Jack said, taking Olivia's arm.

After saying good-bye to Frannie, she allowed Jack to lead her up some stairs that he said were restricted to employees only. “Does she have a suitor?”

“Good God, no. She has little interest in men.”

“Surely she wishes to marry.”

“I don't think so, and that's all I'll say on the matter. Frannie's secrets are her own.”

At the top of the stairs, he led her down a narrow hall
way. Then he parted some curtains and they stepped out onto a shadowy balcony. Olivia was absolutely stunned by how elegant everything appeared. The hunter green walls were framed by intricate woodwork. But it was the activity on the floor that mesmerized her. Gaming tables, too many to count, filled the room. Some men were playing with cards, others with dice. A couple of the gents had ladies sitting on their laps, but even they were nicely dressed.

Cigar smoke created a haze. She could see all the glasses filled with various shades of amber, from light to dark, or clear liquid that she was certain wasn't water. Boys dressed in purple livery confidently carried items for the gentlemen. It wasn't as rowdy as she'd expected. In some cases, it was disturbingly quiet.

She recognized a good many of the lords. Why weren't they home with their wives?

“I would have expected there to be more…girls,” she finally said.

“There's another room where most of them stay. You can peer in from over there.”

He took her farther back into the hallway and then once again through a curtain onto a secluded balcony. She'd hesitated, not certain she wanted to see the debauchery, but her curiosity got the better of her. She was slightly disappointed. It appeared most were simply talking. She could see some kissing and a little teasing, but it wasn't the orgy she was expecting.