Chapter Four

Jack had his fingers beneath his collar, trying to stretch out the cravat that had been tied too tightly around his neck as his horse came around to the front of his brother's home. He hated formal dinner dress and was already counting down the hours until he could remove the damned noose from his neck.

He had originally thought to take a coach to his brother's, but it had been stifling in the vehicle. The warm weather that had arrived on the heels of the wind storm a week ago had settled and hadn't left Bristol, giving the city and the surrounding area something of a second summer. The carriage had been damn near unbearably warm and so he decided to ride Drachma.

As soon as he arrived, he dismounted the black horse and paused to set his jacket right and looked up absently at the same window he had seen Meredith in last week, when he had come to discuss her investment. She wasn't there now of course and he ignored the vague disappointment he felt at not getting to catch a glimpse of her as he had that day.

Remembering the way she had stared at him, he felt the familiar feelings of anticipation and desire that accompanied thoughts of Meredith now. She hadn't turned away, or made a move to conceal herself. Instead, she had openly watched him as if she were searching for something. It had both unnerved him and warmed him. For years no one had ever dared look at him for so long without quickly averting their eyes. He had always assumed his scars unnerved people and made them feel sorry for him, but not Meredith. And that had made him uncomfortable.

Nearly as uncomfortable as he felt now, dressed like a damn pigeon, as he made his way into the house.

Simon's home sat on the neighboring estate of Burnwall Hall, the home Jack had bought. While Burnwall was a Gregorian mansion built some thirty years ago, Simon's home had just been completed in a Jacobethan style, made of red brick with limestone ashlar dressings, stone-coped plain tile roof with granite ridge and end stacks with molded stone cornicing to diagonally set flues. It was modern and luxurious. Simon's house was set on one of the hills that surrounded Bristol, while Jack's home was definitively more reclusive.

Burnwall was surrounded by an ancient oak woodland that had been thinned and maintained as a hunting ground for nearly a century before Burnwall Hall had been built. Jack preferred the isolation to Simon's desire to sit on a hill, a king overlooking his kingdom, but the brothers had often disagreed on personal tastes.

Simon, for example, found tall, dark-haired women irresistible, whereas Jack couldn't help preferring shorter females, with rounder curves and piercing, moss-colored eyes. Of course, Jack couldn't be sure if Meredith had curves since she was always dressed to the chin in dark layered dresses. That alone was one of the only things he was anticipating tonight. He wanted to see what sort of evening gown Meredith would be wearing.

It had surprisingly been the singular thought that had nagged him all day. Would she borrow one of her sister's jewel-colored gowns? Would she have her hair pulled back in the same severe fashion as she usually wore it? He doubted a bit of fabric would change her appearance significantly, but then he wasn't so sure she needed to change.

He nodded to a footman who announced his arrival in the formal parlor room.

Several ladies and gentlemen looked surprise to see him as it was widely known that he rarely made social appearances. At first glance he noticed a few men that had frequented the same gentlemen's club he was a member of in Bristol. Mr. Jenik, a redheaded man with a smallish nose owned the largest political newspaper in Bristol, while Mr. MacDougall was a successful inventor from Scotland. Dr. John Henderson was one of the most prominent doctors in England. There were two other gentlemen that had a definitive air about them that suggested they were of the peerage. Jack wondered who exactly had been invited for Meredith's benefit and who had come strictly to gain access to Simon.

The peers and ladies present glanced at him quickly before turning away and Jack had to stop himself from sneering. He didn't enjoy the quick glances and when Simon approached him, he was itching for a drink.

Luckily, a footman had been privy to his preference and appeared with a scotch. Jack took it and swallowed the bracing liquid. Followed by a deep breath and he was ready to face any of the others.

"Good of you to come," Simon said.

"Where's your wife?" Jack asked bluntly.

"She's helping Meredith finish up." He paused. "Care to be introduced?"

"Not in the least," Jack replied beneath his breath as Simon patted him on the back. "Quite a diverse little group for your party."

"Come along."

Jack greeted MacDougall and Henderson as he had previously known the two and had even been tended to by the good doctor during the last year of his fighting days. Jack was surprised that Simon and Sarah had let a newspaper man into their home, considering their dislike for certain publications, but since Jenik's paper was strictly political, Jack guessed that they were comfortable with the man.

A short, red-headed woman with a similar, small nose stood next to Mr. Jenik and was trying desperately not to make eye contact with Jack. He guessed and was correct in learning that she was Mr. Jenik's sister. A tall, older brunette woman stood next to a younger woman of the same coloring. They were speaking to two fine ladies, peers' wives, Jack guessed, as their husbands spoke with Jenik.

"Jack Archer at a party," Henderson said, his teeth flashing as he grinned, shaking Jack's hand. "I never thought I'd live to see the day. How have you been?"

"Henderson," Jack acknowledged. "Well, enough not to need a visit from you," He turned to his right. "MacDougall. It's been a while."

"Aye, it has," the Scot replied. "How did Simon get you to come to this? Blackmail?"

The men all laughed at Jack's expense as he placed his empty glass on an end table.

"Something like that," Jack said as a footman came into the room to announce the arrival of Sarah and Meredith.

The gentlemen bowed to the ladies as a courtesy since it was expected of them as they entered the room. Sarah was dressed in a yellow, floral printed bell-shaped gown that certainly commanded the attention of everyone in the room, but when Meredith came into full view from around her sister, Jack was grateful that he had put his glass down, for he might have broken it.

He had never seen her like this before. She was breathtaking.

Meredith's hazel eyes shined as she glanced nervously around the room, evidently aware that this was a party strictly for her to make a match. Her golden-brown hair had been curled and pulled up in a delicate fashion that framed her face. Not rigidly, as was the fashion, but looser, almost as if it had happened naturally, and Jack felt his fingers twitch at his side. He wanted to pull the crème-colored ribbon that was braided through it and see it spill down her shoulders.

Her dress, a muted peach pink color was similar in style to her sister's, with a wide neckline that bared her shoulders and bell-shaped skirt created with cartridge pleating. The bareness of her neck made Jack clench his jaw as a primitive feeling came over him. He wanted to run his teeth against her skin. To pull her away to some dark corner and growl vehemently at anyone who would dare approach. The shadow of her neck and clavicle bones fascinated him and without thinking, he took a step towards her.

He must have had a curious expression on his face, for Sarah smiled knowingly at him.

"Jack," she began. "I'm so glad you came. Doesn't Meredith look like a different person?"

"She does," he said, his tone rough, before clearing his throat. "You're… Enchanting."

Meredith's eyes widened with open surprise, as did Sarah's.

"Thank you," she said softly as her sister laced her hand through her arm.

"Enchanting, indeed," Sarah agreed peering over Jack's shoulder. Her voice dipped. "And from the looks of it, that color was the right choice. Come, Meredith, let me introduce you to Mr. Jenik."

They moved past Jack, further into the room and he felt a distinct drop in his chest as disappointment settled in his stomach. He didn't want her to leave his presence. He didn't know how to explain it, but a mix of emotions that he would hardly admit to having rolled within his chest. Confident and unsure, excited, yet hesitant.

It was perplexing.

"Jack Archer, I presume?" One of the peers spoke, shaking him from his thoughts.

Jack instinctively held out his hand. The gentleman gazed at it apprehensively before taking it. Simon came up to them to make introductions and Jack had to control himself not to roll his eyes. It never made sense to him that the upper crust needed introductions to be made for them when one could simply tell the other person their name. Besides, he wanted to follow Meredith.

"Lord Bixby, this is my brother Jack Archer," Simon said.

"Very good to meet you," the stout man said, smiling at Jack. "You know, I saw you fight in London, years ago."

"Did you?" Jack said, tilting his head as he glanced past the peer to Meredith, who had her back to him as she spoke with Mr. Jenik.

"My family used to live in Dorset, Miss Taylor. I believe that is where your sister said your family is from?" Mr. Jenik spoke as Jack tried to listen in.

"Yes," she said, her tone slightly high. Why he should notice that, he didn't know, but then he seemed acutely aware of all Meredith's eccentricities. "I do miss Dorset."

"I wish I could claim the same, but I haven't been there in nearly twenty years," Mr. Jenik said.

Jack was sure he saw Meredith's back muscles soften at the man's words and Jack wondered why she had been holding her breath. Was she worried about something?

"It was a brilliant fight," Lord Bixby continued. "I made twenty quid off it."

"Hmm," Jack answered, not particularly interested.

Many men had won and lost fortunes by betting on Jack during his fighting years. He had never much cared either way, unless someone would get rowdy about Jack having lost them money. Anyone who let gambling control them as opposed to the other way around was a fool. Regardless, he was more interested in the way Meredith's gown trailed behind her when she walked about the room.

Just then, the head butler came in to announce that dinner was being served. While his brother wasn't a part of the aristocracy, he was still expected to follow a certain protocol, especially since Sarah had been a countess before marrying him. She had the right to retain the title, especially since there wouldn't be a new countess de Marchand until her son married, but Sarah had been eager to become Mrs. Simon Archer. Jack had begrudgingly respected that of his sister-in-law, but because she no longer carried the title, she wasn't the highest-ranking woman in the room.

Jack was paired with Miss Jenik, who seemed absolutely terrified to be in his company. He didn't smile, knowing full well the simpering woman might faint if he flashed his teeth at her. The whole party was seated at a long table in the dining room for a formal evening. Jack had been surprised to find that he and Meredith had been seated next to each other in the middle of the table.

He must have stared at her too long or too openly for when he sat after the ladies were seated, she spoke under her breath to him.

"Will you stop that?" she whispered.

Jack paused momentarily, oddly affected by her voice as he reached for his water glass. He kept his focus on the wallpaper across the room that had a gold diamond pattern motif as he lifted his glass to his mouth.

"Stop what?" he breathed.

"You know what," she answered.

"I don't."

She reached for her own water glass and spoke as it came to her lips.

"Stop looking at me as though you wish to cause me harm," she whispered, before rotating her head to address Lady Bixby.

The gentle reprimand, followed by being ignored by Meredith for an entire six course meal was an experience Jack had never known before. He was physically close to her, so close that he could feel the warmth between them should their arms come too close, and yet they could barely acknowledge each other. It was some kind of exquisite torture—a more stimulating game he had not known. To be close enough to touch, but never being permitted to? What a divine agony.

Why was he so brutally aware of her? She wasn't eating very much, he noted with a bewildering concern. They maintained different conversations with different people at all times, and yet Jack was acutely aware of every movement, every laugh, every gesture she made throughout the entire dinner.

It was excruciating and yet, the single most erotic evening of his life.

There was something to be said for being so aware of someone when a person was restricted by decorum. Jack had never restricted himself, not since he was able to provide for himself. Food, clothing, horses, anything he could possibly want he sought to get it. Still, it had never occurred to him that anything should hamper or restrict his access to physical relations whenever he wished to have them. Except that when he had decided that he required a visit to LaMont's brothel, he couldn't quite bring himself to venture over to visit.

Of course, that had been a terrible mistake. He was indeed paying for not giving his physical needs much attention, becoming acutely aware of the faint scent of violets. Why did she have to smell so enticing?

Jack tried to blame it on the fact that he had simply gone too long without lying with someone, but thinking back to the last dozen or so times, it had felt more mechanical than anything else. It wasn't that he hadn't enjoyed it, but it hadn't fulfilled him. Like wanting a certain meal and having to settle for toast. But that was hardly anyone's fault. Jack was sure he was simply going through some sort of phase. It used to be one of his favorite things, but there had been a certain lacking quality in recent months that had left him more ready to tackle a pile of papers than to bother with the disappointment that would come with a finished, unfulfilling conquest.

Somehow, he knew it would be different with Meredith.

Taking a long, bracing sip of his wine, Jack tried to extinguish the idea of him and Meredith, laying naked together on his bed in Burnwall, entangled in a web of white sheets and limbs. He wondered what her body would feel like beneath his scarred and calloused hands. He pictured her coming to him wearing a high neck lace nightgown and it drove him mad that he could find such a ridiculously prudish garment so erotic. He'd liked to tear it apart.

Jack coughed into his fist, causing several people to glance up, before quickly peering away. Sometimes it paid to be scary. He needed to get a hold of himself.

Meredith was someone whom he couldn't have. He hadn't ever even considered her a provocative creature until this precise moment and what a mistake he had made in doing so. She was a gentle born woman—a lady—and he wasn't sure why he was suddenly aware that she was the most desirable creature in the room.

It was the way she looked at him, he decided, as dinner concluded and the gentleman retired to the billiards room for cigars. The honesty he saw in her hooded, green-brown eyes rendered him speechless. When she observed him, he felt both completely seen and entirely transparent.

It was dangerous to let a woman have such command over his senses he concluded as MacDougall and Henderson began a game of snooker. Bixby and the other peer, a Lord Grant, seemed to be discussing something of importance with Jenik, leaving Simon to hand his brother his second scotch of the night.

"It's not so bad, is it?" Simon asked his brother as he took a sip from his own glass.

"Hardly how I'd prefer to spend an evening," Jack said lowly so only Simon could hear. "But I suppose it isn't terrible."

"Sarah's pleased. She thinks it's been a successful reintroduction for Meredith."

"I'm surprised she didn't invite any available peers. I would have assumed that she would want her sister to marry some lofty member of the ton."

"Meredith isn't as tender footed as the young ladies who make their debut. Not to mention the marriage market is extremely competitive, or so Sarah says."

"And she doesn't believe her sister could make a successful match with someone of first society?" Jack asked, feeling both annoyed and glad at the same time.

Who was Sarah to have such little faith in her sister's abilities? Meredith was beautiful, witty, and honest, a quality that seemed to be lacking in first society. Really, she was probably too good for half the ton, if not all of them. No one should be subjected to such a life as a peer's wife. But he refused to believe it was because none would have her.

"Actually, it wasn't Sarah's idea not to invite more titled gentleman," Simon said. "It was Meredith."

Jack's brow rose.

"Why?" he asked, but Simon seemed to be uncomfortable with the information he possessed. Jack pressed him. "Tell me."

"It's not my business," Simon said.

"Then you shouldn't care to tell me about it."

"I mean it's a bad sort of gossip," he said the word with distaste. "If it got out…"

"Surely you wouldn't think that I would spread such information?" Jack said, feeling his eagerness edge on agitation. His voice dipped. "Was something done to her?"

"In a way, I suppose."

"You suppose?"

"Listen," Simon said quietly. "Meredith's private matters are her own. If you want to know about it, you can ask her yourself."

Jack looked at his brother, both annoyed that he couldn't learn anything from him and somewhat pleased that he hadn't surrendered her information.

"Very well," Jack said, taking a bracing swing of his scotch. He handed the glass to Simon. "I think I'll retire."

"You're leaving?"

"Dinner is over. I don't mean to stay all bloody night," Jack said, loud enough for the others to hear. "Good evening, gentlemen."

Jack was out of the billiards room and walking down the white stone floor of the hallway in a matter of seconds. His footsteps echoed against the gold and cream-colored walls, each decisive step bringing him closer to leaving. He needed to be out and away from this house. Meredith was none of his concern, except her money, and with that he had a responsibility to act professionally towards her.

He was nearly to the foyer when he saw the edge of a skirt disappear behind the entrance way that led into the dining room. Knowing that the ladies had retired to the parlor for tea, he was curious as to why a peach-colored skirt should be heading towards the dining room.

Negating all his previous thoughts, he followed her.

The dining room had since been cleaned and no other persons, not even servants, were in the room. Everything had been put away except a small plate with some bread and cheese, placed near the edge of the far end of the table. Meredith gazed up, obviously startled by Jack's appearance as her cheeks changed several shades of pink.

"Eating something finally?" he asked, tilting his head. He sauntered towards her as she longingly toyed with the edge of the plate on the table. "You barely ate at dinner."

"I was nervous," she said. "And that's not very polite to point out."

"I'm not polite," he answered, glancing down at the plate. "Why were you nervous?"

"I know Sarah hoped for me to make a friend or two at tonight's dinner," she confessed. "I think I was so worried about, well, impressing people and I forgot to eat."

Her honesty always astounded Jack. Why should she feel so at ease to answer all his invasive questions when she could simply refuse? He was hardly the kind of person one told secrets to and yet, she kept entrusting him with hers. Insignificant as they were, he felt rather protective of them. Jack wondered if she would tell him things simply because he asked and no one else bothered to.

"I don't think you need worry yourself about whether or not you've impressed anyone."

"That's kind of you to say," she smiled. "If you're suggesting that I was already impressive enough, not that there was no need for me to even try because nothing I did would be impressive."

"I meant the former," he said grinning, nodding towards the plate. "Please, don't let me stop you."

Meredith let out a small, humored exhale.

"I'm hardly going to gorge myself in your presence, Mr. Archer," she said. She looked into his eyes and he felt as if she were reading his mind. Sure enough her brow furred a fraction. "Are you leaving? So soon?"

"I'm afraid I am," he said, suddenly unsure under her watchful gaze. "I'm not much for dinner parties." She didn't say anything. "Well, good night, Miss Taylor."

Jack twisted to leave and was halfway down the dining room table when she spoke.

"Mr. Archer?"

He stopped and turned around. His brow lifted in question.

"Yes?"

"Was it terribly obvious? That I didn't eat at dinner?"

Jack shook his head.

"I don't think so."

A moment of silence followed.

"Why did you notice it then?" Feeling suddenly exposed at the question he shook his head, about to answer her when she spoke again. "Forgive me. That was a silly question. Allow me to see you out."

She came up to him and waited until he offered his arm to her. Though she barely let the weight of her hand rest against his forearm, Jack's attention could not be pulled away from where they were connected. This was only the second time they had touched, yet a deep-seated possessiveness rolled through him at that moment. A ridiculous feeling, but one that would not let go.

A servant opened the front door and Jack was surprised that she followed him out of the house into the cool night air and walk to where his horse was waiting to be handed off by the groom. His curiosity must have been apparent because she gave him a sort of half smile when she peered up at him.

"I'm not terribly excited to return myself," she said quietly. "Thank you for letting me walk you out. Good evening, Mr. Archer."

She curtsied and was about to go, only something in Jack couldn't let her leave just yet. Against his better judgment and indulging in a baser instinct, he reached for her wrist. Meredith stopped immediately at the gentle gesture.

"I wasn't consciously aware that you weren't eating," he said honestly, confused at his sudden wish to explain himself. "It was something like a sixth sense. An instinct."

"An instinct?" Meredith repeated softly, her attention on the spot where his hand held her wrist. "How curious."

"Meaning?"

She gazed up at him.

"Only that I shouldn't know why you would be so aware of my actions or rather, my inactions."

"I don't know why either."

She smiled at him, and for an instant Jack thought he saw a flash of pain in her eyes.

"Goodnight, Mr. Archer," she said again.

Only Jack didn't release her wrist. For the life of him, he couldn't seem to relax his fingers and release her. Jack had long since been a man of simple truths. A poor workman would always blame his tools, all good things come to an end, and the like. Such proverbs he lived by. He also knew that actions spoke louder than words and while he wasn't exactly sure what he was trying to say, he knew what he wanted to do.

Leaning forward, Jack's mouth dropped to Meredith's soft lips and he kissed her.

He had only meant for it to be a fleeting sort of kiss, something that would suggest a farewell, yet it was anything but. Time and space around them seemed to stall and in the next instance she moved towards him, kissing him back with a fervor he hadn't expected. Jack's mind went suddenly blank as instinct took over and his hands moved up to hold her face. He wanted to hold onto her, to this moment, for all eternity, as his tongue searched her mouth. She tasted like sweetened tea and for some reason Jack felt both unreasonably comfortable with her, while simultaneously becoming uncomfortable himself, hardening at the taste of her. There was something devastating about this act and he was suddenly desperate for it, for her.

Shocked at the realization momentarily, he pulled back, only to stare at a woman whose semi-closed eyes fluttered open. She was breathing heavily, which only pulled his focus to her breasts as he tried to quiet the sudden rush of heat that swarmed his body.

His hand came up to cradle her cheek as he kissed her again, with unfettered furor and she met his eagerness. Her small hands came up to his arms as her fingers flexed, clawing gently at his biceps. It was almost as if she were just as desperate to taste him, to feel him, almost as if she knew what it would lead to, but did she?

Did she?

He pulled back to observe her once more, his thumb gently moving over her bottom lip. Jack stared at her with a sort of disbelief and she was staring at him with an equal astonishment. After a long moment, her hands dropped from his arms and she took a step back. He didn't want to leave, but something warned him to pace himself.

"Carbolic soap," she said softly, her tone oddly erotic, her words less so.

"Excuse me?"

She shook her head as a blush came to her cheeks, her eyes intent on his. She could recite words from a dictionary and he'd find himself hot and agitated.

"Goodnight, Miss Taylor," he said in a husky, dazed voice.

And without waiting to hear her response, he hopped onto the back of Drachma and disappeared into the night.