Chapter One

Bristol, England 1841

A biting gust of wind curled around Meredith Taylor's body as she walked with purpose one early autumn morning through the city of Bristol. Determination was set in her bones as she hurried along to the offices of Archer and Archer, eager to discuss her finances. Making her way through the two acre park of College Green that sat in the heart of the city, just behind the Cathedral of Bristol, Meredith practiced the words she planned to speak once she arrived.

"Thank you so much for meeting with me, Mr. Archer," she mumbled to herself. "I've heard so much about you."

No. She couldn't say that. Everyone had heard a lot about Jack Archer. He was quite well known and much of the rumors about him weren't flattering in the least. Besides, they had already met at Meredith's sister Sarah's wedding. She needed to think up something more personable to say to him.

It was still early in the day and the church's shadow cast over her, causing her to shiver even though a moment ago, when she had been bathed in sunlight, she had felt much too warm. Thus was the season, when it was too cold for her summer gowns, yet too warm for shawls and the like.

Still, Meredith's feet slowed as she let her eyes wander all the way up, towards the top of the grand structure. The cathedral was her favorite building in the whole city of Bristol and while she would often find herself gazing up at the church whenever she was near, she tried to focus on the street ahead. She didn't have time for it today. Today she was on a mission.

Another strong, unsuspectedly frigid wind blew against her back, sending the bottom of her forest green skirts flittering up around her legs as she tried to hold onto the ribbons of her straw bonnet. The thin straps of silk slid through her gloved fingers as the hat blew off her head and rolled towards the street in front of her.

"Oh, no!" She said as the bonnet wheeled several feet away before landing in a puddle on the edge of the road.

Meredith quickly picked it up and shook it. The edges were soaked in muddy water and she worried that it was ruined. It was her favorite bonnet and had she known the breeze was going to be so strong this morning, she would have worn something sturdier, as wisps of her light brunette hair began to come loose from her practical, pulled back hairstyle. It was only early September, but it seemed as if the summer was bidding farewell prematurely.

The seasons changing always filled Meredith with a silly notion of solace. Where others seemed to feel sad or pity the constant drum of time, Meredith loved it. The more days that rolled by, the further away she was from her own past, and she had been eager to separate herself from the follies of her youth.

Crossing the street, she wondered if Jack would be upset with his brother for having set up this meeting with her. They had never actually spoken with one another, but it was understood that Jack preferred the company of working-class people. While she wasn't technically a part of the aristocracy, Meredith was the daughter of landed gentry and therefore a persona non grata in his eyes. Still, as she reached the Archer and Archer building, she hoped she would find him in an agreeable mood.

Meredith entered the offices, windswept and red cheeked no doubt, as she clutched her bonnet to her chest. She glanced down at herself to make sure she looked presentable, only to realize that a dark stain had dirtied the white lace collar that adorned the top half of her day gown. She tried to pat her hair back into a somewhat dignified style as she looked around the wooden-paneled room.

It was a long, wide room filled with several dozen desks with just as many clerks. It smelled of ink and fresh paper, of clean laundry, lemon oil and something else. A sort of soap? She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it was an impressively modern building, to be sure. A place of business, and Meredith had never felt quite so out of her element before. She hadn't realized that so many people worked there as she moved further down the hallway, hoping to find someone who could point her in the right direction. Just then, a short, portly man dressed in a dark grey morning suit walked by and stopped just as he spotted her. He was wearing a pair of small, round spectacles placed precariously on his upturned nose and gave her a half smile. She nodded, stepping towards him.

"Excuse me. I'm looking for Mr. Jack Archer."

The portly man's smile fell away instantly at the mention of the name and he observed her up and down. Obviously unimpressed, his eyed her suspiciously.

"Madam, Mr. Archer is exceedingly busy. I'm not terribly sure what you're selling," he said in a gruff tone, "but men like Mr. Archer don't meet with, well, your sort during business hours. It's unseemly, as you well know. Now, if you're from Madame LaMont's place of business, you may leave a card and I'll be sure to give it to him."

Meredith's mouth fell open. Madame LaMont? The courtesan? The hand that wasn't holding her bonnet came up to her laced neckline, as if to protect herself from his words.

"I beg your pardon?"

The man moved forward then, grabbing her elbow without warning as he turned her around and dragged her to the front door.

"Madam, this is neither the time nor the place to conduct this type of business," he added quietly. "Really, there is a level of propriety that we manage here and I know Mr. Archer is fine with your lot, coming here whenever you please, but really—"

"I don't know what you're implying, sir," Meredith began as he pushed her towards the doors. "But you are making a grave mistake."

"If you have a charity that you are solicitating for then, you must first make an appointment, by letter."

"I'm not seeking any sort of charity donations either, sir. I've an appointment with Mr. Archer."

"I highly doubt that."

"I do," she said firmly, pulling her arm out of his grasp. She moved around to face him and pulled her shoulders back, trying to impose an air of dignity. "My name is Miss Meredith Taylor and Mr. Simon Archer set an appointment for me to meet Mr. Jack Archer."

The man stopped.

"Meredith Taylor?" he repeated, appearing momentarily confused. "Mrs. Archer's sister?"

"Yes," she said, finally believing that he would see her to Jack Archer's office.

"I see," he said, shaking his head. "Then you are most definitely not seeing Mr. Archer today."

"Excuse me?" she said surprised. "Why ever not?"

"Mr. Archer is in a terrible mood this morning, and, while you were mentioned on his list of appointments this morning, I'm afraid he has cancelled all his meetings and will not be seeing anyone." He paused before adding. "Especially a lady."

Meredith was becoming annoyed. She hadn't taken her day off to come into the city of Bristol, ruin her favorite bonnet and lace collar just to be pushed out because Jack Archer was in a poor mood. Lifting her chin, she tried to behave in just the sort of way he believed women of her social circle did. Entitled. She walked past the portly gentleman and headed straight for the curved staircase that sat at the back of the hallway.

"My lady—"

"You'll forgive me, Mr…"

"Mr. Portage," he said, following her. "Really, my lady, I must insist—"

"Mr. Portage, I've business to attend to and I shan't take too much of Mr. Archer's time. I'm sure he'll have no trouble honoring our appointment."

She began to climb the steps.

"Miss Taylor, he is not a man to be trifled with," Mr. Portage said as he followed her up the staircase. "When he's in one of his moods, he cannot be tamed."

"Tamed? You make him sound like some sort of—" she nearly said beast, but shook her head, refusing to call him that name that everyone used behind his back. "Well, like some sort of disgruntled child."

"Portage!" A masculine voice bellowed from somewhere above them, causing them both to pause on the staircase momentarily, glancing up.

"Oh, dear," the man said, pressing past her.

Meredith frowned as she watched the man move quicker than she had ever expected him to as he reached the landing above them. Had that been Jack Archer who bellowed? That wasn't very gentlemanly. Surely, he could better behave himself than shouting at his employees, she thought as she moved down the hallway to the large, wooden door that stood ajar.

"—and if those bastards in Brighton think they can come down here and try to renege on that contract, they can bloody well—"

Meredith rounded the corner of the office door as she leaned forward, peering into the room. Jack Archer stood behind his desk, with his wavy, tawny colored hair, dark brows and suspicious eyes that suddenly flickered to her.

He stopped shouting.

Jack had probably been considered very attractive before receiving the rather famous scar that ran along the side of his right cheek. It was because of that scar that he had been nicknamed the Beast of Burnwall, but heaven help Meredith if her pulse didn't quicken as she saw him. His nose had been broken at least twice as it curved ever so slightly to the left. His teeth were straight and white and though she had never seen him smile, she would almost guarantee it would be a striking one.

He was without a jacket and vest as he glared up at her, leaning over his desk. His shirtsleeves rolled up over his muscular forearms and she couldn't help but stare.

Meredith swallowed hard.

Her eyes moved up to his as she felt suddenly warm beneath his blistering gaze. The scar she had often tried to avoid looking at was highlighted against the dark stubble that had covered his face. Had he not shaved this morning?

What a terribly intimate thing to think, Meredith thought as she stared into his dark eyes.

"Miss Taylor," he said deliberately, his tone annoyed, but not nearly as angry as before. "I hadn't expected to see you this morning."

"Mr. Archer," she said, her tone higher than she would have liked it. "Unfortunately, I only have one day off to take care of my personal affairs and as Mr. Archer, your brother, set this meeting up, I couldn't in good conscience leave until it took place."

The corner of his full mouth pulled up for an instant, a mocking smirk that shone only briefly on his face before melting away.

"Because your business is so pressing?" he asked, condescendingly.

Meredith squinted her eyes.

"To me it is, yes. I'm sure it is no more pressing than yours."

He made no move, but Meredith had the distinct impression that he enjoyed her quip. He was an intense sort of man, one Meredith had never dealt with before. She had grown up in the country and had only been approached by calm, moderate gentlemen, not businessmen or former boxers, like him. None of the men Meredith knew had ever led a life like the one Jack Archer had.

"Leave, Portage," he said and the secretary turned on his heel. "And make sure those papers go out."

"Yes, sir," Mr. Portage said, closing the door behind him as he left.

Alone in his presence, Meredith felt warmth beneath her collar as he slowly stood up. It would be considered improper for a woman to be alone with a man, particularly behind a closed door, but then Meredith was firmly on the shelf. She was an old maid as far as society was concerned, and Jack was so far beneath her social standing that it was comparable to being alone with a footman.

Of course, since Sarah had remarried, it might not be so wild an idea to think that Meredith was in some sort of danger of being compromised by a working-class man. Even if Jack Archer was notorious for only having courtesans as lovers, or so it seemed.

The thought of his love life made Meredith's cheeks hot. She certainly didn't care one way or another who Jack spent his time with and she wasn't going to think about it. Instead, she focused on the man before her.

He pushed himself away from the desk, his large forearms flexing as he did and, heaven help her, she couldn't stop staring, her eyes greedily taking in the strength before her. Really, she should look away, but then what were a few more precarious moments? Half his arms were covered in sleeves, and she could see the bicep muscles bulge beneath the fine white fabric. He wore tan pants and tall black boots as he came around the edge of his desk. He leaned against it as his arms folded before his wide chest and Meredith couldn't help but imagine what sort of power his arms held.

"Goodness gracious," she said to herself as she glanced down at her hands.

"Pardon?" He spoke.

"Nothing," she said, staring back up at him.

He was dreadfully handsome, in a dangerous sort of way. His dark, coffee-colored eyes were filled with a calculating heat and his hair hung around his face in an unfashionably long sort of shag. It should be brushed back with pomp, but then she assumed that Jack Archer never cared for what was fashionable.

Still, her fingers twitched at the idea of touching the curling, tawny locks.

Her gaze shifted down his face once more to the deep scar on his cheek. Had she such a scar, she might feel ugly or ashamed, but he didn't seem to lack any sort of confidence. It was rather dashing in a treacherous sort of way, like how she imagined a sun-kissed pirate might appear, if she ever thought of one. Which she certainly did not.

His head dipped slightly as if to catch her attention and she knew she had been caught staring. Mortified, she felt her cheeks heat up as she began to blink.

"What can I do for you then, Miss Taylor?"

Shaken from her thoughts, she took a step forward.

"I had asked your brother if he might help me invest a modest amount of money, but he said that you were better with personal investments."

One dark brow lifted over his eye.

"Did he?"

"Yes, and while I know the sum will seem rather paltry to you both, I had hoped that you could help direct me so that I might be…" She trailed off.

"What?" he asked.

"Financially independent," she said quietly.

"Is that so?" he said, not moving. "Simon mentioned the amount you were hoping to invest. Two hundred pounds isn't going to have the return you want."

"It's actually only one hundred and thirty-nine," she said, apologetically. "But it is all I have and I'm eager to see if there isn't some sort of investment I can make to see a return."

"What return would you like to see?"

"I need three times as much."

"In how long?"

"It doesn't matter."

Jack laughed, arms unfolding as they came to his sides, resting on the edge of his desk. Meredith watched as his chest expanded with air as he did. There was no doubting how strong he was, but that was to be expected of someone who had spent so long fighting in the ring. She noted the dozens of white scars on his knuckles and arms as his fingers flexed against the desk, before her eyes came up to meet his.

"So, if I have your return in twenty years, that won't matter?"

Meredith hadn't thought that it would take that long. She shook her head.

"Oh, no. What I meant was perhaps a year or so, if that were at all possible."

"And what do you need this money for?"

"It is my own concern, Mr. Archer."

"I disagree," he said, leaning slightly forward. In that moment she smelt the same, soap-like scent that she had encountered downstairs. She had to restrain herself from inhaling deeply. "You see, Miss Taylor, I don't do business for such a trivial sum of money. It's really rather wasteful to bother with such a small amount. I would actually lose money if you can believe it. So, seeing as how I would be taking a loss with this venture, I'd like to know why I should."

Meredith felt her heart drop. Perhaps it was foolish of her to have thought that she could be helped by him. The Archers were businessmen who dealt with insurmountable quantities of money and she only had a small sum. Feeling rather silly, she nodded.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Archer. Thank you for your time."

"What," he said loudly, causing her to stop, "do you need it for?"

Annoyed that he should use such a commanding tone with her, she felt herself begin to bristle.

"I told you, it's my own concern."

"Are you in trouble?" he asked without accusation. "Are you pressed for time?"

"Heavens, no."

"Then why do you need it?"

"It's trivial."

"I want to know."

Meredith weighed her options. She could tell him and risk being mocked, or she could leave with her dignity intact, but without any help. Taking a deep breath, she decided to tell him the truth.

"Because I wanted to be independent. I thought that maybe I would buy a cottage by the sea, so that I would have something that was my own, that I could go to whenever I wished if I was so inclined to go." She glanced at the floor. It seemed like such a silly, small thing when she said it out loud. Perhaps she should have kept it a dream. When he didn't speak right away, embarrassment washed over her. "I'm sorry I wasted your time—"

"It will take six months," he said suddenly, kicking his body up from its leaned position on the desk. He came up to her, hand outstretched. "I usually take a fifteen precent charge from monies made, but I shan't with yours."

"Oh? Well, that's very kind of you—"

"It's far too small."

"Oh. Yes, of course." Taking his hand, Meredith was surprised that he held hers so gently as they shook on it. "You would do that for me? For free?"

"Nothing's for free, darling," he said as he smirked down at her. "Not in my world."

His dark eyes seemed to stare right through her and she felt suddenly vulnerable, as if he could see everything about her. Inside and out. He was devilish and something in his face made her feel wicked herself.

"But I don't have any more money than what I am able to invest."

"I have more money than I know what to do with," he said crassly. His fingers moved gently over her gloved hand. "But I have something else in mind for payment."

"Yes?"

"A kiss."

Meredith's mouth opened, but she didn't know how to respond. Surely he was jesting, for to ask for something like that for payment, well, that would make her some sort of street woman. She tried to pull her hand back, but he held it tightly for a moment before letting her go. She stumbled back.

"I take that as a no," he said.

"That's hardly sporting of you, Mr. Archer. Not gentlemanly at all."

"I'm no gentleman. I'm a businessman."

"And what business do you think I would be in if I would offer you a kiss for monetary gains?"

"The oldest business, of course," he said with his wicked grin. "But I suppose you're too good for that sort of thing, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I cannot, I will not do such a thing."

Jack's head tilted slightly as he studied her face. She saw a mixture of dislike, distrust, and wonder. What did he see?

"No, I supposed you wouldn't," he drawled, shaking his head. "After all, the rewards for living a chaste, dull life must far outweigh those of being an independently wealthy woman."

"For a price."

"Yes, a single kiss. A truly grueling sacrifice for one's independence."

She scowled at him.

"And you would know about sacrifice?"

He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"No different from every other highbrow lady, it would seem. Too good and more wholesome than the rest of us."

"And you are no different from any man in the world. Always looking to belittle and take advantage of the fairer sex," she countered hotly, before she could stop herself.

Meredith's mouth snapped shut and Jack cocked his head.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only that you're all the same, social status be d-damned," she stuttered, unused to cursing. "All men try to make fools of women. Well, not I, Mr. Archer." He stared at her with a curious gaze, and she wondered if she had said too much. "Good day," Meredith said, wanting to be out of his presence as soon as possible.

She was out the door and halfway down the hallway when he called out to her.

"Consider it done, Miss Taylor," he said, causing her to stop.

Jack was leaning out of the doorway, his arms crossed across his large chest as his hair fell against the side of his face.

"What?" she asked.

"I'll set up an investment for your capital next week. I've a venture in mind that I think will do well."

He was going to help her?

"But, but what about—"

"I'll come to call on you by the beginning of next week with the paperwork."

"Without payment?" she asked.

He gave her a guarded look.

"No."

"I shan't do that, Mr. Archer," she said steadily as she stared at him. "I'm not that type of woman."

"All women are that type of woman," he countered. "I'll see you next week."

"I won't do it."

He nodded at her as if he didn't hear her, which infuriated her, and went back into his office.

What a rude, arrogant man. He was sorely mistaken if he thought he could blackmail her into doing something so wildly out of character just to gain her own financial independence. It already smacked of desperation. To be an independent, unwed woman was a mark against her in society and while the freedom that came with it was worth being a social outcast, Meredith couldn't bring herself to use physical endowments as payment.

Still as she left the offices of Archer and Archer, she didn't think it was such a terrible price. One kiss was hardly going to degrade her to that of a street woman. And really, it wasn't that she found Jack Archer's looks lacking. He was handsome and dangerous in a way that didn't necessarily scare her, but made her feel excited. But could she bring herself to do such a thing?

Of course she could. She had done it before.

Meredith tried to ignore it, the creeping feeling she had felt only once before. There was an attraction between her and Jack Archer and though she didn't like it, she could hardly deny it. Still, it didn't matter. Meredith had long since vowed never to fall victim to a man again, not since her ill-fated romance with Clyde Peterson.

Meredith's pace slowed as she thought of his name. Bringing her hand to her face, her knuckles curving beneath her chin as she propped her elbow on her left forearm as it curled around her midsection. It had been months since she let herself think of him and years since she had seen him, but still he haunted her. She had tried to find him through letters. But it seemed he had disappeared off the face of the earth. If only that were the case.

Inhaling, she noted that her fingers smelled faintly of soap. Spice and leather scents seemed to cling to her skin. Furring her brow, she pulled her hand back to glare at it, realizing that it had been the hand she used to shake Jack's hand.

Dropping it, she tried to wipe off the smell onto her skirts. It wouldn't matter if she genuinely liked Jack Archer or if she suddenly decided that men were honest and trustworthy and sought to be courted. She wasn't the type to be courted. Besides…

Clyde Peterson would never give her a divorce.