Chapter 4

CHAPTER4

June 1815

Generally, after a day of back-breakingly hard work, Genevra fell into bed and slept like the dead, but thanks to the Irishman’s visit, sleep eluded her. The worry she had managed to keep at bay for the rest of the day, spiralled out of control as she fell into the pit of dark despair at 3:00 am.

The night terrors she used to suffer when Jacob returned drunk from some spree with his mates, returned with a vengeance, and she lay shaking under the covers, rigid with fear, a prey to a rigour mortis of panic. Unable to breathe, unable to move, she rode out the attack which left her limp and sodden with sweat and tears.

She fell into a deep slumber just before dawn and was awoken by the clatter of the dray horses on the cobbles beneath her window, bringing today’s deliveries.

Dragging herself out of bed, she washed hurriedly in the cold water and scrambled into her clothes, shivering. Bundling up her hair into a knot on the top of her head she bolted downstairs to receive the delivery and thus her day started all over again.

As the day wore on, her determination that she would not surrender to the terror again grew. She had to be free of this insidious creeping fear before it stole her sanity and her life. And she had to find a way to stave off the debt to this man Lovell. She didn’t have five hundred pounds to pay him and even if she did, she had other debts to service as well.

The Tavern was doing relatively well as to daily trade, but Jacob had mismanaged the funds so badly, that when he died, she had discovered a drawer full of unpaid bills. And of course, as soon as word of his death got out, every supplier to whom they owed money had begun to dun her. So, she had done the only thing she could do, turned to her wretched stepfather for a loan. Which he had gleefully agreed to provide, in return for exclusively selling her father’s brew, Whittaker’s. The move had at least consolidated her debts, but it hadn’t made them go away.

She was whittling the debt down, but she wasn’t out of the woods yet. Just as she was beginning to think she could be free and clear inside of six months, if trade continued as it was, or sooner if trade improved, this wretched debt from Lovell came to light. She had to find a way to buy time to pay the debt. But what did she have to barter with?

She had never heard of Lovell, but a casual enquiry of her tapster, Joe, elicited some disturbing information.

“Lovell?” said Joe pausing in the act of connecting the hose pump to the cask of beer. “Aye I’ve heard of him. The hell is popular with the swells. By all accounts he grew up in St Giles, son of a prostitute or some such, but his talent for cards earned him enough to set up the hell.”

“How old is he?” Genevra stopped stacking bottles of wine to push the pins back into her bun which was threatening to fall. She was wondering if the Irishman was actually Lovell himself, under a false name.

Joe shrugged. “Forty maybe?” No, the Irishman wasn’t that old, closer to her own age she guessed.

“Does he have a family? A wife?”

“Not that I’ve heard of. Why do you ask?”

“Jacob had some dealings with him, I was just curious,” she said carelessly.

“Well, I’d stay out of it. By all accounts he’s a dangerous man to cross, with a long reach as I understand, and a might of men at his beck and call to do what he wants. He’s not the sort you’d want to be mixed up with,” Joe said, straightening and giving her a fatherly look of concern.

She forced a smile. “Thanks Joe, I appreciate the warning, but I’m not about to tangle with him,” she lied. “I was just curious when I came across his name in some of Jacob’s papers that is all.”

An idea, distasteful as it was, was forming in her mind. There was one thing she could offer that might persuade the man to give her more time. Could she, do it? The idea of offering herself to man of violence... She shuddered and swallowed as her stomach knotted up. No, she couldn’t, anything but that. Perhaps there was some other service she could perform for him? But what?

She would first try to play upon his good nature, if he had any. Joe’s words and the words of the Irishman, suggested that he didn’t, but no man was all bad, was he?

Except Jacob.Her heart sank. In a world in which Jacob Tate existed, good men were few and far between. It was probably too much to hope that Garmon Lovell had a smidgen of compassion in his apparently ruthless heart, but she had to try to find it if he did.

She would leave it until Thursday night to pay him a visit and hope her courage didn’t fail her. She had to save the Tavern; not only her own livelihood, but those of her staff, depended on it. If Lovell should foreclose on her, she would lose everything she had fought so hard to retain and could end in debtor’s prison. It didn’t bear thinking of.

But then neither did offering her body to a man she didn’t know. One who was likely to be as bad, if not worse, than Jacob. No one could be worse than Jacob, could they?

If she had survived Jacob, she could survive this. One night in exchange for financial freedom, what could he do to her in one night that was any worse than what she had been subjected to for years? It was worth it. It had to be. If her courage held... Was she brave enough or would fear continue to control her? Take away her choices? She could do it. She had to.

* * *

Two nights later,Connor hadn’t returned, and Garmon’s temper was at breaking point. He had sent his boys out to find Connor, and they had come back saying no one had seen him since Monday. He hadn’t returned to his lodgings, nor had he been seen at his usual haunts, such as the Bucket of Blood.

Garmon’s shoulders twitched, and his wound ached. Where was he? Had he left London altogether? And if so, where could he have gone?

A pain in his chest persisted, and he blamed it on the stew he’d eaten for dinner.

He couldn’t wait any longer to execute his plan against the Mowbray’s. It would have to be tomorrow night.

* * *

Diana,Duchess of Mowbray, received the note from the hand of a dirty urchin in the middle of Bond Street, and the creature was gone before she could question him, leaving her with a grubby piece of paper and the lingering odour of the Thames in his wake. One of Uncle Garmon’s mudlarks. Opening the crumpled sheet, she read the note and then stuffed it in her reticule.

“Who was that, your Grace?” asked her maid.

“No one my dear,” said Diana frowning. What was Uncle Garmon up to this time? She debated whether to show the note to Anthony and decided against it. She could deal with Uncle herself. If she brought Anthony into it, he’d likely kill Garmon (or die trying), and she wasn’t about to let that happen.

* * *

Genevra surveyedher appearance in the glass. Her deep blue eyes seemed too big, dominating her face. Did the weariness in her bones show in her eyes? She tried smiling to dispel the heaviness in her quaking heart. She would not be afraid.She had to do this. The alternative was unthinkable. One night wouldn’t kill her. She had survived much worse. She straightened her shoulders and smiled again, bobbing a curtsy to her reflection. Her heart lifted a little, but she was still conscious of a brittleness in her nerves. She was afraid, but she wouldn’t surrender to it.

She had donned her best gown, a cream satin that complimented her creamy skin and gave her hair a luminous glow. Romantics called her hair colouring strawberry blonde, she had always just thought of it as carrot coloured, she wasn’t accustomed to thinking about her appearance a lot. But looking in the mirror she had hopes that she was tempting enough to persuade Lovell to look upon her situation with compassion. Not that Mr Mor had shown any. Like master like servant?

It was a gown she hadn’t worn in a while, when did she have time for evening gowns these days? And the bodice was a little tight, causing her breasts to appear as if they were about to burst from their confines. Which, given the nature of her errand, was probably not a bad thing. All the same, it made her distinctly uncomfortable. She wasn’t a whore and behaving like one, even for a cause such as this, didn’t sit well.

Her mother would be mortified and her stepfather–the thought of Hiram’s face if he should get wind of this escapade made her smile and strengthened her resolve. If there was one thing she was determined on, it was that Hiram would not continue to exert control over her future. She would pay his blasted debt down as soon as she possibly could, and if getting a stay of execution on this one from Lovell would allow that, she could do whatever it took to achieve it.

What she refused to think about was what her real father would think of this. On that thought, she very firmly shut the door. Papa wasn’t here to save her. He was dead and gone these many years. There was no one to look out for her except herself, and she had people she was responsible for. She could do this. She had to do this.

A simple gold locket that her parents had given her on the occasion of her marriage, and her only piece of jewellery, nestled just above her cleavage and drew further attention to the generous pillows of her breasts.

Her heart quaked, and she wondered briefly if she should change into something less blatant. But her experience of men told her that the more alluring she looked, the more likely she was to get what she wanted. Men were incurably weakened by female charms. Even Jacob had been vulnerable to seduction unless he was so blind drunk or furious that nothing and no one could reason with him.

She had dressed her strawberry curls in an elegant knot on the top of her head, but try as she might, she couldn’t prevent the wisps of curls falling round her face. Her gloves, were grubby and had holes in the fingers, so she couldn’t wear those. Her reticule was still clean and intact, but her evening slippers had also suffered some accident while stored, the ribbons were ruined and the fabric stained, forcing her to exchange them for a sturdier pair of kid boots.

She flung her cloak over the ensemble and strode purposefully towards the door.

Half an hour later she stepped down from the hackney carriage in St James Street and approached the discreet entrance to the four-story mansion that was, she was reliably told, Lovell’s gaming establishment. The building was well maintained and lights in the windows told her that it was occupied. She paused looking up at the entrance.

A carriage drew up behind her, but before she could even turn to see who it might be, an explosion of pain to the back of her head made everything go black. The last thing she remembered as she crumpled towards the pavement was of hands grabbing her round the waist and lifting her bodily off her feet.

* * *

Diana was attendingthe theatre with her husband and the Stantons that evening. So typical of Uncle Garmon’s arrogance that he thought she could just drop everything to obey his summons. With his note burning a hole in her reticule, she vowed to deal with him tomorrow.

* * *

Genevra woketo a thumping ache in her skull and the realisation that she was bound to a chair and gagged, with a musty hessian bag over her head, through which she could see nothing except a faint light from candles. She made a noise in her throat and pulled at her bonds, shaking the chair in her efforts to rise, which failed. Both her wrists and ankles were tied, and she was, in-turn, tied to the chair. The gag tasted foul and for a panicked moment she thought she would be sick and choke to death.

Just then a door opened, and a man’s voice said, “Good God!” the next moment the bag was ripped from her head and a brown haired, handsome male of forty-something years, judging from the grey at his temples and the lines round his hazel eyes, was glaring at her.

He was of just above average height and moderately broad through the shoulders, he was dressed casually in shirt, beeches and boots. With his sleeves rolled up, his magnificent forearms were on display and the open collar of his shirt showed his throat and a glimpse of a hairy chest. His masculinity and power fairly screamed at her. Whoever this was he was not a man to cross, that was obvious. He rounded on the two men behind him.

“You imbeciles, it’s the wrong woman! Fuck, do I have to do everything myself!” He turned back to survey Genevra, and she made an urgent noise in her throat. “Ungag and untie her for God’s sake and get out!” the men hurried to obey him, muttering profuse apologies.

“Sorry Mr Lovell sir!”

So, this was Garmon Lovell.Why had Jacob been so foolish as to get himself into debt with such a man?

Her heart thudded in panic, fury poured off the man in waves, why had he had her kidnapped? But he’d said she was the wrong woman. Why was he kidnapping women off the street?

She took a deep breath when the gag was removed. Which made her cough and the sore spot on the back of head throb. As her hands were freed, she brought them to her face to cover her mouth, embarrassed.

“Get out!” said Lovell, his eyes flashing green in the candlelight. She jumped, then realised he was speaking to his men and waving them out as they obsequiously backed out and shut the door.

His mouth compressed in a line of consternation and his brows drew down in a frown as he regarded her distress. He turned away and got out a decanter and glasses pouring out two generous tots of golden liquid.

“Here,” he said, handing her a glass. “I’m sorry.”

She wiped her streaming eyes with a handkerchief from her reticule and sniffed the glass cautiously. Whisky. This had not gone at all how she had imagined. She glanced around the room, where was she?In the gaming hell? Her heart was still thudding hard, and her nerves were jangled to pieces. What now? How could she recover from this? She felt all off kilter.

She swallowed a mouthful of the whisky and discovered it was a good drop. It burned all the way down but settled her nerves in the process.

“Thank you,” she said putting down the glass on the low table to her right and taking a better look round the room. Apart from the chair and table beside her, it contained a desk with a chair and cabinet against the wall. It was very plain, not the sort of room she imagined would be inside a gaming hell like Lovell’s.

“My apologies ma’am, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I employ fools!” He said, casting his eyes over her. It was difficult to discern what he was thinking. His eyes appeared more green than hazel in the candlelight now. What would he do with her?

His scrutiny was thorough and unsettling.

Her skin prickled as she wondered if he was looking for injuries or appreciating what he was looking at. She pulled her cloak over her exposed bosom, suddenly conscious of her assets being in full view.

“May I know your name?” he asked.

“Mrs Tate,” she said and waited for him to connect the dots.

“Mrs-” He frowned in an effort of memory. “Ah Jacob Tate’s widow I presume?”

“Yes,” she said.

“And what were you doing outside Lovell’s at 8:00 pm in-“ He paused and took in her appearance. “An evening gown?”

“Calling upon you Mr Lovell,” she said striving for some composure. If she was to present her case she needed her wits about her. “Before I was assaulted by your men. Do you make it a habit to kidnap women off the street?”

“No, I do not. As I said, you were not the target of my men. They mistook you for someone else.”

“My misfortune is some other lady’s fortune then?” she said with a slight edge to her tone.

He raised his eyebrows. At least his temper seemed to have cooled somewhat. Her skipping pulse settled down, and she took another sip of the whisky. He filled a glass for himself and offered to refill hers. She held it out and let him. She needed all the Dutch courage she could get in this situation. He didn’t seem inclined to throw her out, so perhaps she would have an opportunity to ask for clemency after all?

She took another sip of the really quite excellent whisky and tried for a nonchalant tone, “I certainly didn’t expect to be ushered into your presence bound and gagged.”

He smiled at her mild joke and bowed his head, “you have my deepest apologies. Were you hurt?”

“I received a blow to the back of the head, which is somewhat painful, yes.”

He frowned and set down his glass, stepping towards her and skirting behind her chair.

“Tip your head forward,” his voice was crisp with command, and she obeyed without thinking. His fingertips touched the back of her skull lightly and a shiver prickled over the nape of her neck and down her spine. A whiff of his scent, something woodsy and spicy assailed her nostrils. A finger trailed down her nape and her whole body jerked in reaction as an unaccustomed heat bloomed between her legs. She gasped and the finger withdrew abruptly.

“I apologise for my men’s brutality, but I doubt that the blow has done any lasting damage.” He moved back to the desk where he resumed his glass of whisky.

Perhaps it was the scent of his cologne or the effect of his touch, but the man before her was suddenly better looking than she could have hoped for and the way he was looking at her made her pulse dance in nervous anticipation.

“What were you wanting to say to me?” He leaned on the edge of the desk and crossed his ankles, a slight smile curved his lips, and her heart skipped a beat for an entirely different cause than fear.

She swallowed and summoned her best smile. “You must understand, Mr Lovell, that I had no notion of the debt my husband owed you until Mr Mor came to see me the other day.”

“So, you say, but what proof do I have that your husband is dead? Perhaps he sent you here in the hopes that you will soften me up?”

“I can assure you my husband is dead Mr Lovell.” she said through clenched teeth. “If you wish me to furnish you proof, I will gladly take you to the St Giles Church cemetery where you can view his gravestone. He was unequivocally dead as a door nail when they drew his body from the Thames with his face half chewed off!”

He raised his brows at this graphic description but seemed unmoved by it. But then if he’d grown up in St Giles, he would be used to such horrors daily.

He bowed politely. “You have my condolences Mrs Tate.”

“Save your breath! I was never so glad of anything in my life!” she said frankly.

“I see. How long has he been ah–dead?”

“I don’t know precisely. He disappeared back in February. They fished his body out of the Thames just over three months ago. I was able to identify him by his clothes, what was left of his face and the general shape of his form, despite its bloated condition. His signet ring was missing, but no doubt the assailant who killed him stole that.”

“I see. And might I enquire why you were so elated to be rid of him?”

“I’d rather not go into that, suffice it to say that I was not happy in my marriage Mr Lovell.”

“How long were you married for?”

“Five years.” She swallowed, her jaw clenching.

“I see the subject is distressing for you,” he said quietly. “Perhaps we should return to the point at issue?”

She took a breath and shook her head to shake off the memories and straightened her shoulders. “As I said, I am not in a position to repay such a huge sum immediately. If you will give me some time -”

“The debt is outstanding by several month’s madam.” His voice was gentle, but it held an implacable note that sent a tendril of fear skittering down her spine.

“I know, but as I said, I wasn’t aware of it until the other day.” Time to implement her plan, if she dared. Panic rippled through her body and her stomach knotted, her hand clenching on her glass. I can’t do this!

But then she thought of the Tavern and her staff and everything she had worked so hard for, and stubborn resolution came to her aid and stiffened her backbone. At least the man wasn’t ugly, old or obese. In fact, he was quite attractive, decidedly masculine. Something in the way he handled himself called to her at an elemental level, drawing a response from her body, that nullified her fear. She could do this. She had to.

She set the glass down on the table and undid the clasp of her cloak, letting it fall back over the chair and rose.

“Surely you must agree that to find such a vast sum as that is not possible in the twinkling of an eye. I have a business to run, and if you will but give me a few months -”

“What business?”

“The Globe Tavern on Brewery Yard, I thought you knew that was my husband’s business?” It was the business she was trying to save, if he foreclosed on her, she could be declared bankrupt and sent to debtor’s prison. She suppressed a shudder at the thought.

Yes, she had to do this, that alternative was worse, far worse than whatever Mr Lovell could do to her. He was more attractive than she could have wished for and if his temper was uncertain, she could only hope he wouldn’t turn it against her. She wasn’t sure what she would do if he did and at all costs, she must not show her weakness.

His eyebrows rose and a thoughtful expression came over his face. She wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad thing.

“My business is reasonably profitable sir, I can, if you give me sufficient time, repay the debt either by installments or if you wish to wait, the full sum in one go. But it will take me some months to accumulate such a large amount.” She waited with bated breath and a fast-beating heart for his reaction.

He pursed his lips and regarded her with a sapient eye. “And why would I do you this favour?”

Because your men assaulted me in the street and kidnapped me! But she knew that even if she took the case to the magistrate she would be unlikely to get any redress. Joe had made it clear the Mr Lovell’s power reached far and wide, including Bow Street. She swallowed and straightened her spine, taking a steadying breath.

This was it, she had better make it convincing.Putting up a hand to the locket, she toyed with it lightly, drawing attention to her breasts and like an obedient dog, Mr Lovell’s eyes followed her fingers and snagged on her cleavage. She took a breath, heaving them slightly and glanced at him under her lashes. She dropped her voice a little and said softly, “Perhaps we could come to some arrangement?”

He put down his glass and rose, stepping towards her, and she discovered that he was a full head taller than her. Since she was tall for a woman this was unusual and gave her an oddly vulnerable feeling.

“And what arrangement might that be Mrs Tate?” he asked. Like hers, his voice had dropped, and his eyes had taken on a smoky look. So that frisson of attraction she had felt when he touched the nape of her neck was returned? She glanced down and was pleased to see a slight bulge in his breeches. The crackle of tension between them suddenly went up a notch and a rush of heat flooded her body, pooling between her legs with a pleasurable buzz. The intensity of it took her breath away.

She licked her lower lip and opened her mouth to reply and was stopped by his descending on hers. They pressed, warm and soft, creating a tingling pleasure she had never experienced before. His lips moved over hers, teasing and inciting. His hands held her face gently, guiding her where he wanted her.

Her body reacted like tinder to a flame. Her lips parted instinctively to take his tongue, and she arched her neck to get closer as he explored her mouth with a thoroughness that turned her insides liquid with unwonted desire. Jacob had never kissed her like that, if he had perhaps she would have been a more willing bed mate.

When he broke the kiss, they were both breathing quickly, and she had her hands on his shoulders for balance, because her knees had gone to jelly. The fiery tingle between her legs was something that she hadn’t felt in an age, and made her stupid for a moment, she just gaped at him.

“Did I misunderstand you Mrs Tate?” he asked with a smile that made her nipples go taught. Oh God, this man!

His hands dropped to rest on her waist, warm through the fabric of her gown, they squeezed gently, the thumbs tracing circles on her belly. Tendrils of sensation coursed through her body; this she hadn’t bargained on. Suddenly the price she would have to pay to save the Tavern seemed far more attractive than she had thought it would be.

She swallowed. “No, I think you have taken my meaning very well Mr Lovell. I will spend the night with you in exchange for a stay of three months to enable me to pay the debt.”

“A month for two nights,” he responded promptly with a wicked smile that made her heart flip and her body tremble. Shaking her head to rid it of the ridiculous impulse to agree to any terms he nominated, she summoned her anger instead.

“That’s outrageous! Certainly not!”

“Seven nights -”

She gasped and he went on, “and you can have three months clear, and a further three months to pay the debt down in full.”

She stared at him mulling this over. “Three months, before I need pay anything at all?” she queried.

“Yes, and six months from today’s date to pay it in full.”

That would give her time to pay down some of her debt to her horrid stepfather before she need address this one.“Done,” she said holding out her hand.

He grinned and shook it, then he kissed it. His lips were soft and warm on the back of her hand and sent a tingle all the way to her core, causing her cheeks to flush.

“I want that in writing,” she said swiftly, making a recover.

“You’re a shrewd businesswoman Mrs Tate, I like that.” He turned to the desk, drew a sheet of paper from a drawer and taking up a pen he swiftly wrote the terms of their agreement on the page, signed it, and dipping his signet in the ink pressed the design into the page. “Your signature madam,” he passed her the pen, and she dipped it in the inkwell and read the terms before signing.

He took the pen back from her and drawing her into his arms he said, “And no time like the present, to begin.”