Chapter 15

CHAPTER15

Jacob had been working in the tap of the Red Lion for the last month, since he got mobile and fucking Maggie every chance he got. He couldn’t get enough of her. Every so often he thought about going home, especially after an argument with Maggie, but the thought of Genevra, cold and hostile waiting for him, deterred him.

Instead, he’d make it up with Maggie, a good fuck always sorted her out. Usually with a thorough spanking. She loved her arse being tanned, made her hot and wet and willing to let him do anything to her. Including taking it up the back passage. Something he’d never managed with any real success with Genevra. The couple of times he’d tried it, she resisted so much he had to punch her, and then she was too hurt to fuck, so it defeated the purpose.

He was, he realised with surprise, happier than he had been in a long while. Maybe he’d never go back.

* * *

The nightafter he returned Genevra to the Tavern for the last time, Garmon couldn’t sleep. His bed felt vast and empty without her in it, and every time he closed his eyes, phantoms of her teased him. Her scent, her laughter, her skin, her lips, her nipples her delicious cunny... all of them haunted him. He opened his eyes and sat up, ignoring the cockstand between his thighs.

With a growl of frustration, he got up, pulled on his dressing gown, built up the fire and poured himself a drink. Sitting down by the fire he tried to read, but the words all bled together, and his thoughts returned to Genevra, wondering what she was doing, was she missing him too?

Her absence was like the ache, he imagined, of a missing limb. He slumped back in the chair, the book slipping from his grasp to the floor as he regarded his stubborn erection. His cock missed her. That was what it was. Understandable, he was addicted to the pleasure of her body.

Surrendering to the inevitable he found some oil and took himself in hand, his mind roving over memories and conjuring fantasies until he came abruptly and hard, but not satisfyingly. It felt hollow and base without her. He sighed and reached for the whisky again. He eventually dozed off in the chair and woke, cramped, cold and irritated at dawn.

It was a pattern that persisted. His sleep was poor at best, his temper was frayed. He sent his boys to check on her, and they reported that she was going about her business seemingly quite happily. If she was missing him, she didn’t show it. This news worsened his temper and made his men avoid him as much as possible. Only Rooke seem impervious to his foul temper, stoically taking whatever he dished out in unblinking silence.

Apart from missing her like the devil, the other thing that plagued him was the notion that she might be pregnant. He worried over this night and day, wondering, dreading, hoping... he had never desired children, yet the hope persisted. If she were pregnant, she would have to come back to him. He could have her back in his bed, where she belonged. And he would get a good night’s sleep at last.

If she were, she would surely contact him, she had promised she would. Was it too early to tell yet? He became convinced that she was but wouldn’t tell him because of the stupid debt.

The following days passed in a fog for Garmon, but the news of Wellington’s victory at Waterloo announced on the 21st of June, burst through even his bubble. London was in a state of euphoria. Celebrations of every kind seized the city and went on for days. Most businesses came to a grinding halt, except for the Taverns which did a roaring trade for a week, until Londoners were so hung over they couldn’t party anymore.

Garmon’s thoughts were never far from Genevra and hoped that the Wellington fever gripping London was bringing her some good fortune. It was having the opposite effect on his business, but strangely he couldn’t bring himself to care. He missed her.

Three weeks after their liaison ended, unable to bear it any longer he sent her a note.

* * *

Genevra receivedthe sealed letter delivered by a skinny street urchin while she was serving in the tap. Joe, who was cleaning tables went to shoo him out, but he dodged and came to the tap where Genevra was wiping glasses.

“You Mrs Tate?” he asked.

“I am,” she replied gravely, guessing this was one of Garmon’s mudlarks.

“Letter for you,” he said holding out the folded paper.

“Thank you,” she said taking it with a trembling hand, her heart thudding. What now? She looked at it and recognised Garmon’s seal. She shoved it in her apron and spoke across the boy’s head to Joe. “Take him to Mrs Bell and tell her to feed him.” she looked down at the boy. “What is your name?”

“Ben, Missus,” he said grinning at the prospect of a feed.

Joe looked down at him and up at Genevra. “It will only encourage them you know.”

“I know but look at him! Skin and bone.”

Joe nodded and shepherded the boy away. Ben looked back at her and smiled. “You’re a right one, Mrs Tate!”

She smiled back and turned to a patron wanting a pot of porter.

It wassome time before she found an opportunity to read the letter and even then, she was tempted to put it off. She had been doing her best to ignore how much she missed the intimacy and warmth, to say nothing of the pleasure she had experienced in Garmon’s arms.

A letter from him brought it all rushing back and threatened to undo her determination to put it behind her, a wonderful memory yes, but that was all it was, or could be. Any further contact with the man would destroy her self-control.And she could not afford that. She could not allow him to inveigle his way back into her life. Despite all his protestations to the contrary, she knew he wanted to control her, he wanted her there for his convenience, his pleasure. She would not surrender her independence to a man ever again. It brought too much pain in its wake.

With that thought uppermost, she broke the seal on the letter and read it with a heart beating faster than it should. She sat down slowly when she reached the end of the short missive and stared at the wall of her office blindly for a moment or two.

Mrs Tate,

I write to absolve you of your husband’s debt to me. Upon reflection on the matter, it seems to me unacceptable to hold you accountable for a debt you did not incur nor would have had any way of preventing. In particular, consideration of his treatment of you, makes it unconscionable that I hold you responsible for it.

Please consider the debt paid in full.

Yours faithfully

Garmon Lovell

She reread the letter three times. To be free of the debt... the thought was unbearably tempting. But what happens next? What does he demand in return? A man of Garmon Lovell’s temperament did not give anything without an expectation of something back. And she knew in her heart what that thing would be. He had made it clear on their last night together. He wanted their liaison to continue. Until he grew tired of her...

No!Her heart clenched. She would not be so used and tossed aside. The cost to her heart and reputation were too high, no matter the temptation. She would not let him get that close. No man was getting close to her again. She wouldn’t, couldn’t allow it.

She sat down at her desk, drew a piece of paper towards her, dipped her pen in the ink pot and began to write.

* * *

Garmon receivedher letter by the hand of the boy who had delivered it. His hand unaccountably shook when he opened it and read the short missive, his heart thudding heavily in his chest.

Dear Mr Lovell,

thank you for your kind offer, but I cannot accept it.

Sincerely

Genevra Tate

Garmon ground his teeth and scrunched the paper in his fist. He threw it across the room. “Stubborn wench!”

He had waited and waited to hear from her, and not a word. His spies told him she was well and going about her daily activities as if nothing were wrong. While he suffered from broken sleep and a relentless aching desire for her that nothing would satisfy. She was driving him mad. And the thought that she might - despite her conviction to the contrary–be carrying his child haunted him. Surely, she would tell him if she was? She had promised... and the stubborn little wretch wouldn’t even accept his waiver of her debt.

He got up and paced the room a moment, considering his options. Finally, he picked up the screwed-up paper, dropped it in the fireplace where it flared and burnt to ashes in moments. Opening his drawer, he drew out Jacob Tate’s IOU, carefully tore it into pieces, put them in an envelope and penned her name to the front of it. He called the boy back in and sent him off to deliver the packet.

An hour later, he received the envelope back, along with a purse.

He opened the envelope and found that she had glued the pieces to another sheet to restore the IOU and added a note.

The debt still stands. Here is the first instalment. Twenty guineas.

Genevra Tate

He opened the purse and counted the contents. Twenty guineas. It spoke volumes for the boy’s loyalty that he had carried that sum and not stolen it.

He looked up and beckoned him forward.

“Did you know what you carried boy?”

“Aye Mr Lovell.” He wiped his perpetually dripping nose with a grubby sleeve.

“Yet you brought it straight to me. Why?”

The lad regarded him solemnly for a moment. “I’d rather die than steal from you Mr Lovell.”

“Good God.” Garmon sat back in his seat, floored for a moment. Another Connor? “Your honesty and loyalty shall be well rewarded boy.”

The boy looked at his grubby feet and added, “‘sides Mrs Tate’s a good lady, dinna want her to get in trouble.”

“Ah. Good lad.” He rose and went to the door where he found Mr Rooke standing sentinel. “Rooke, I want you to see this lad -” he stopped. “What is your name boy?”

“Ben, sir.”

“Ben. Rooke you are to see him cleaned and outfitted as befits a young gentleman. See also that he has suitable lodgings and three meals a day at my expense.”

Ben watched this with eyes big as saucers. “That true Mr Lovell? You not having a lend o’ me?”

“It’s true Ben. From this day forward you will be my personal courier. You will report here for work each morning at seven. Are we clear? You will be paid well for your services, but I expect absolute loyalty and honesty.”

“Aye Mr Lovell.” Ben grinned widely, then he fell to his knees sized Garmon’s hand and kissed it. “You can rely on me Mr Lovell. Thankee.”

“Go with Mr Rooke, he will see you looked after.”

Ben eyed Rooke a bit apprehensively. Which was understandable. Rooke was big and dark and menacing.

Rooke regarded the boy impassively and said in a deep gravelly voice, “come along and don’t dawdle.”

Ben left with him and Garmon sat down to review Genevra’s riposte. The woman was infuriating. Should he return the money or-

He tapped the desk with his fingers while options flitted through his mind. A smile curved his lips, and he picked up the purse and put it in the drawer, his mind made up.

* * *

Four dayslater Genevra was in the cellar doing a stock take ahead of the monthly delivery, the Wellington celebrations had depleted their stores, when she heard footfalls on the cellar steps.

“Is that you Joe?” she said, not looking round from her ledger where she was recording the count of wine bottles. “Would you move these barrels for me, it’s-”

“I’d be happy to.”

The voice sent a thrill down her spine, and she whipped around, a hand going to her hair in a fruitless attempt to push the falling curls back into the sagging bun on the nap of her neck.

He was handsome as ever in a blue coat, elegantly tied cravat, grey satin waistcoat and fawn breeches above shiny black boots. God, how she had missed him!

“Garmon! What are you doing here?”

He took a step towards her, his eyes a glittering green in the dim light from the lamp beside her. She noted that the cellar door was shut, blocking any outside light. He had shut them in, how had she not heard the door closing? What did he intend-

“You want some barrels moved?” He stepped closer and shrugged off his jacket, hanging it on a convenient hook on the end of the wine rack shelf and rolling up his shirt sleeves.

Flustered, she attempted to slow her racing pulse and assume a calm demeanour. What was he here for? How did he find her in the cellar?

She swallowed and smoothed down her grubby apron, which covered most of the grey worsted skirt of her work dress. She was not at her best, with her hair falling round her face, sweat on her brow and a dull, dowdy gown that was too tight across the bodice.

“Yes, if you could move those two in the corner over there and stack them? We have a delivery due tomorrow.”

He nodded and picked up one of the heavy kegs easily and moved it to where she indicated then put the second one on top of the first.

“Anything else need moving?” he asked turning back towards her. His rolled-up sleeves revealed his muscular forearms. She couldn’t take her eyes off them. She had always had a weakness for male forearms, especially ones covered in hair, and Garmon’s were fine examples, generously dusted with curly brown hair. She remembered well what it felt like to touch them and rub her cheek against them.

A rush of heat washed through her body and all the aching longing she had been trying to ignore for the past three weeks came flooding back.

“That is all, thank you,” she managed round a constricted throat and dry mouth. “W-what are you doing here?” she asked again.

He stepped closer and caught her hand. “I came to see you of course.”

She shook her head. “Why?”

His eyes took on a quizzical gleam. “You are a stubborn woman, Genevra Tate. I’ve never had anyone refuse to accept a debt being waived before.”

Her heart thudded and she stiffened. “I told you-”

“I know,” his voice dropped, and he cupped her face with his other hand, still keeping a grip on her hand with the other. “I know what you told me, your letters made your position very clear. Despite that, I had to see you. You promised you would tell me if-”

She shook her head. “My courses came two weeks ago, you have nothing to concern yourself with, I am fine.”

He nodded, but the flicker of, was that disappointment in his eyes? gave her a shock. She had shed tears at the time and tried not to think why, except that it was confirmation of her barren state. If she had not conceived after the number of times, he had released inside her, she was never going to. But in truth it was a relief, for she didn’t want anything tying her to Garmon Lovell beyond the debt, which she would settle as soon as possible. So, it was a good thing.

He held her gaze with his as he lowered his head and whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

She dropped the ledger from nerveless fingers, her skin tingling from his touch. She should step back, push him away, tell him no...

Then his lips captured hers, and she felt her body melting as her eyes closed. He let go of her hand to sweep an arm round her waist and pull her tight against his body as he deepened the kiss. Her mouth and body responded despite her mind screaming at her to pull away, to stop.

His lips and tongue reduced her to a panting puddle of need. He broke the kiss and murmured, “I think you have missed me too.”

She gulped and tried to step back, but his arm held her captive against his chest. She gazed up at him helplessly. “Garmon you can’t seduce me into doing what you want!”

“Can’t I?” he traced the curve of her cheek with one finger, poking a wayward curl behind her ear. “I want you Genevra, and you want me, I can feel it! Why are you fighting this? It’s inevitable.” His voice, low and liquid, turned her insides to hot aching need. He was right...

He bent his head and kissed her again. A consuming kiss that swept away her scruples on a tide of want and desire. Her arms came up round his neck, her hands tangling in his hair, her body flush against his. She could feel the hardness of him, hot and insistent against her belly.

His hands slid down her body, one to cup a breast the other her bottom, kneading and caressing through the fabric of her gown. She hadn’t bothered with a corset, her gown being tight enough across the bodice to keep her ample breasts confined. But his nearness and his touch made her nipples hard and achy, forcing them to poke through the fabric. His fingers found one and pinched gently, dragging a moan from her throat.

The hand on her bottom, pressed her closer against him and her traitorous hips rolled. Fire licked between her legs, her weak flesh, swollen and slick just from his kisses, a devouring reminder of all the pleasure they had shared.

Gasping for breath she pulled back from his kiss. “Garmon-”

“Don’t think my darling, just feel!” His voice hoarse his eyes molten, he claimed her mouth in another knee-weakening, breathtaking kiss. His lower hand scrabbled at her skirts and found her flesh. Her knees gave way at the sharp pleasure his fingers wrought, and she clutched at his shoulders to stop herself from falling, her face buried in his shirt. He abandoned her breast to circle her waist and keep her upright. “I’ve got you,” he murmured.

“Garmon please-” Her hands dug into the fabric of his waistcoat and shirt as she leaned into his touch.

“You are so wet...”he groaned. “Your body betrays you!” he panted. “Let me inside you. You want it as much as I do,” he said, hoarse and low.

His words and fingers drove a desperate moan from her and taking that as consent, he walked her backwards until her bottom hit the bench.

Lifting her slightly so that the bench took her weight, he kneed her legs open and pushed her skirts up, undoing his falls with a shaking hand. He was so hard it hurt, he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep since she left his bed and his body had refused to be satisfied with his hand. Nothing would satiate this hunger but her.

He found the entrance to her body and pulled her onto his cock with a hard jerk. The shocking pleasure of being buried in her tight heat took his breath and he held still a moment his face nuzzled in her neck. “Genevra!” her name was a groan and a prayer.

Her legs came up round his hips, cinching him inside her, and her hands dug into his shoulders. Her hips rolled and his moved in response, he found her mouth blindly and lost himself in the pleasure of holding her, of being inside her after what felt like an age of only remembering and imagining.

For long moments the pleasure consumed his every faculty, nothing existed outside of her, she was his whole world as he drove towards the pinnacle of release, and she kept up with him, as hungry for it as he was.

When she cried out, he lost the last vestiges of his control and took her the last mile with savage, violent force. The avalanche of pleasure took him in a blinding wave and beached him hard on her body, his knees weakened, his body trembling with aftershocks.

He was vaguely aware of making noises, possibly of cursing.

He clutched her tight, as if she were the only thing that would keep him from drowning. When he came to enough to become aware of her as a separate entity from himself, he realised with a shock that his throat ached and there were tears on his cheeks.

She stared up at him dazed, and he kissed her lips and her cheeks and cradled her close, something warm and foreign in his chest, filling it to bursting point. Whatever it was about her, he needed this woman.

Her response was unequivocal, he had been right that she wouldn’t be able to resist once he kissed her. Whatever scruples she had were swept away in the flood of desire that consumed them both.

“You see,” he murmured against her hair. “Inevitable.” He disengaged their bodies carefully and her feet dropped to the floor. She pushed him gently away and stood letting her skirts fall to her ankles while he rebuttoned his falls and rolled his sleeves down before reaching for his jacket. By the time he had put it back on she was standing with her back to him, her hand on the wine rack, as if to steady herself.

He approached her, put his hands on her arms about to reassure her that everything would be fine when she said, “this changes nothing Garmon. I shouldn’t have–this was a mistake! Please go.”

“Genevra-” shock tightened his throat.

“You will have your next payment tomorrow.”

“Gen-” his voice softened, cajoling, she couldn’t mean this.

“I told you that you can’t seduce me into doing what you want! I won’t be manipulated!” She shrugged off his hands and turned, her eyes bright, her colour high, her expression determined.

“That wasn’t -” she had it all wrong he wasn’t trying to manipulate her!

“You said you wanted me, and I don’t doubt that. But what happens when you’re tired of me?”

“I would never abandon you. I told you I would look after you.” God, didn’t she understand how much he needed her?

“I don’t want you to look after me! I don’t want-” her voice cracked. She swallowed and put up a hand to stop him when he moved towards her. “Don’t. Just go.” When he didn’t move, she shouted, “Go!”

His heart contracted with a stab sharp enough to make him recoil. Her words scalded him, the soft part of him that she had opened up, closed over and anger surged to mask the pain. “You’ll regret this, Genevra Tate!”

She flinchedfrom the look in his eyes and a frisson of fear ran up her spine. This! This was the reason she couldn’t trust him. If she pushed him hard enough the real Garmon was revealed. The hard man, the ruthless, brutal killer. His sweet words were just that, words to entice her into surrender. She would not surrender.

“I’ll make you sorry you refused me woman!” The threat reverberated round the cellar and made her knees go weak with fear.

He turned and ran up the steps, slamming the cellar door behind him and in the silence a chill settled into her bones and her heart. She stumbled to a cask and sat down heavily, her knees giving out her stomach quaking. Had she made an enemy of the most powerful man in London?

Fear curdled her stomach, but something much more painful pushed through the fear and made her throat ache as she tried and failed to hold back the tears. Curling round the pain she bent double and cried, jagged sobs, the like of which she had sworn she would never cry again. Not over a man. Not ever again.

She let the flood out and finding a handkerchief in her pocket she wiped her face, blew her nose and straightened, determination in every line of her body. She picked up the ledger, straightened the crumpled pages and resumed her inventory.