Chapter Six

Crack!

Jack reeled back from the hit to his jaw, as white and black sparks flashed before his eyes. The pain radiating through his cheek was familiar and he was grateful for the aching sensation. Anything that could be used to distract him these last few weeks had been a welcomed diversion. Ever since he had escorted Meredith home, Jack had found that his mind was under constant assault. Where she was and what she was doing. If he should ride over to Simon's to discuss work, if only to catch a glimpse of her. What she might be wearing, and if that staunch lace collar was buttoned up all the way to her chin, or if perhaps she had done away with it.

It had been a bloody nightmare.

Work, which usually held his interest enough to negate all else, barely held his attention these days. He found himself reciting the words she had said to him, repeating them in his head like some familiar tavern song he had learned in his youth.

She wanted to be his friend. Her declaration had certainly surprised him. No one had ever said such a thing to him. He had acquaintances, to be sure, and there were plenty of sparing partners, business people who he knew of, and, of course, Simon, but he had never heard of a lady befriending a man, certainly not a man like him.

And what's more, he didn't exactly want to be her friend. He didn't think of her that way, even if he did find himself admitting things to her that he would never admit to anyone else. Still, Jack wanted to be much more than that, but—

Swoosh! A fist nearly slammed into the side of his head.

Damn it, pay attention. He put his hands up, fists curled on either side of his head. That right hook barely missed him. He needed to focus on the matter at hand.

The young man that had hit him, Franklin Weathers, came forward, dropping his hands to try a double body shot, but Jack was too quick. Rolling left on his feet, he twisted to come behind him and tapped him on the shoulder, taking several steps back as a flash of annoyance crossed Franklin's face.

"Protect your head!" Jack barked at him as the youth came forward.

Franklin pulled his hands up again, caging his face as he glared at Jack.

"Pay attention, lad!" a burly, bald man named Bishop yelled. "Watch your feet!"

Bishop was an old boxing colleague of Jack's who had retired. He worked at the club giving lessons to gentlemen who hoped to become more proficient in their pugilistic ways, and helped Jack coach one or two lads that showed promise. Franklin Weathers was that someone.

"Is your jaw made of iron?" the youth asked. "I floored Anthony Batten with that same strike yesterday!"

Franklin lunged forward, trying to land another punch. Jack blocked him and landed his fist against the young man's side. He let out a blistering curse and Jack moved up, hitting him two more times before putting out his gloved hands to steady the man's shoulders.

"Pay attention and don't take stupid shots," Jack ordered, stepping back once again to give the man room.

It seemed Franklin would not listen as his annoyance bloomed into anger. Jack knew the instant he had lost the young man's concentration and stood up, pulling off his gloves. He couldn't teach an angry student.

"Get out of here. You're done."

"I am not!"

"You're making poor choices," Jack said, throwing one glove, then the other out of the pugilist ring. A man named Stone caught them. "You've been at it all morning. You're tired."

Franklin didn't seem to care about what Jack had to say and instead dove forward for another attack. In a blistering quick move, Jack sidestepped him and punched him square in the nose, knocking Franklin to the floor.

Groaning and holding his face as he rolled on his back, Jack came forward.

"Don't let your anger dictate your strategy," he said. "You'll get killed otherwise."

"You broke my bloody nose!"

"Aye, and you deserved it. Now take the rest of the day off. You're not ready."

"I have a fight coming up!" Franklin said through his gloves. "I have to train."

"No, what you need to do it focus or the next match you have will be your last. Now go clean up." Jack moved around the room, noting several other fighters who had stopped their hand and foot work to watch. The door to the pugilist room that sat at the back of the gentlemen's club, Canterbury's, opened as a few others came in to test their skills.

As the other fighters returned to their work, a dark-haired man came up to the ring.

"Stone," Jack said.

"Aye, Mr. Archer?"

"Don't let him in this ring for the rest of the week," he said, before facing Franklin. "And you, take a walk. Around the city. Several times."

"What? Why?"

"You're too winded for a man your age. Do it."

Franklin glared up at him before conceding. He nodded and Jack held out his hand. The young man took it and came up to his feet. They both swung out of the ring. Jack grabbed a length of towel and wiped the sweat off his forehead, neck, and chest as the door that led to the front rooms of Canterbury's opened again. Turning, he saw Simon enter, dressed in proper clothes. Confused as to why he wouldn't be in his fighting costume, Jack threw the towel over his shoulder and went over to him.

"Jack," Simon began, stepping around a pair of sparring partners. "I'm afraid we're going to have to reschedule our fight."

"Why?"

A young man carrying a bucket of clean, soapy water came up between Jack and Simon. He placed it on a stool and Jack nodded his thanks.

"Wouldn't you know it, on the way to town we crossed paths with the Baron de Greaves."

"And?" Jack asked as he began to sponge water around his neck and chest.

"And he's married to the baroness. The horse breeder I was telling you about," Simon said as Jack scrubbed his fingers against his scalp, dipping the sponge back into the bucket. "They're actually in Bristol to meet with Lord Bixby about studding out one of his thoroughbreds. It was pure chance to run into them, and they've invited us to visit with them at Lord Bixby's right now and Sarah is insisting on going."

"Very well," Jack said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice as he dried himself off with another clean length of towel. "We'll reschedule for next week."

"Brilliant. Ah," Simon paused, twisting about, "since Sarah and I are accompanying the Baron and Baroness to Lord Bixby's, would you mind escorting Meredith home?"

Jack paused as he pulled his shirt over his head.

"Meredith? Why is she with you?"

"Well, she and Sarah had the idea to go to the dress shop to sort out something before we leave for Mountebank's at the end of the week, but after meeting with the De Greaves, Sarah insists on going to Bixby's. Meredith doesn't wish to go and would like to return home."

"Too bad for her then."

Simon gave him a stern glare.

"Jack."

Though Jack had every intention of escorting Meredith home, he certainly didn't want to appear eager to do so. There was a tension that had grown in his chest when it came to Meredith. His inability to think of anyone or anything else in the last few weeks had all but consumed him entirely. It had been torture.

"I don't see why she's in need of an escort."

"She's a lady for one thing and a member of my household."

"She's a governess. A working-class woman," Jack said, irritating Simon. "She's no more in need of an escort than you or I."

"She is and you know it," Simon said.

Meredith straddled that thin line between lady and working woman. Governess positions were often taken by gentle born ladies who had fallen on hard times and needed to fend for themselves. As Meredith hadn't actually needed to work, but rather simply became a governess by default, hers was an interesting position. Not quite a lady, not quite an employee, too old to be presented, too young to be a spinster.

"She didn't need one the other day when she came to the offices."

"Because the millinery was around the corner. I escorted her home after your meeting. Now will you stop being so argumentative?"

Jack knew he didn't much have a choice and begrudgingly accepted the task.

"Very well," he huffed, trying to sound put out.

"Good. Meet us outside," Simon said as he left.

Jack was quick to change. He exited the back part of building, entering into the Faro tables room of Canterbury's. It was a large room with olive green damask wallpaper that extended all the way up to the arched ceiling. He walked around the dozen or so empty Faro tables, as no one was playing at this early hour.

The lounge came next, a room edged with buffet tables, lined with thick, luxurious rugs that were currently being rolled up and replaced by clean ones. Canterbury's was a club that really only saw gentlemen after noon, leaving the early morning the only time to clean and reset. Only the pugilists came this early.

Jack moved around a pair of men, workers, who were pointing out a window that needed replacing at the front of the club, before reaching the massive, oak doors. Nodding at the house butler who opened the door for him, Jack finished buttoning his vest as he came down the wide, marble steps, flanked by two sets of pillars that held up the architrave of the Grecian revival building.

Simon, Sarah, and Meredith stood outside of the carriage, waiting for him.

Jack's eyes immediately settled on Meredith, who was dressed in a rather plain grey and maroon striped day gown that was trimmed was a stark white lace at the collar and wrists. It wasn't anything to inspire feelings of lust, yet Jack couldn't ignore the sense of inconvenient desire that coursed through him at the sight of the demure lace, stomping down the ridiculous urge to trace his index finger over the intricate stitching.

Her honey brown hair seemed flecked with gold in the sunlight and it was pulled back in her usual severe bun. Whisps had come loose at her temples and curled, making her appear rather like an angel instead of a governess.

He coughed into his fist as he reached them, ignoring his own comparison. Both women smiled at his approach.

"Jack, thank you so much for allowing me to pull Simon away from his engagement," Sarah said as her husband held out a hand to her. She took a step up into the carriage. "But I'm sure he's told you—"

"Yes, yes, he's mentioned the horse business before," Jack said, waving off her apology. "Good luck."

Sarah smiled sweetly at him.

"Thank you," she said. "And we'll try again to get to the modiste tomorrow. Or better yet, I could simply inquire for Mrs. Swanson to come to the house."

"It's quite all right," Meredith said, nodding.

"I could escort you to the dress shop," Jack heard himself say. Meredith and Sarah both paused to face him. "That is, if you'd like me to do so."

"Yes, thank you," Meredith said, the fainted hint of a smile on her lips. Jack felt instantly pleased with himself as she turned back to her sister. "Now go and find Daniel the best possible horse."

Sarah nodded back, her smile becoming almost dazzling. Simon climbed in after her, closing the door as they set off down the street. Meredith gave Jack an apologetic grin.

"I'm sorry your plans changed."

"It's no matter," he said, peering up and down the road. "I didn't come with a carriage though. I rode Drachma here."

"I'm not opposed to walking," she said. "The dress shop is only a few blocks from here."

"And afterwards? I suppose I could hire a hackney."

"Oh, no. I'd much prefer to walk."

He gave her a perplexed expression.

"You'd walk all the way back home?" he asked, a little surprised.

"Of course. I used to walk miles and miles when I lived at Hardwick House," she said, referring to the ancestorial home of Sarah's husband. "To be honest, I've quiet missed walking."

"Hm." A stable hand brought around Drachma and Jack took the rein. He held out his other arm for her. "Very well. Shall we?"

Meredith nodded and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm as they began their journey to the dress shop. Jack hadn't really believed that she would take his arm and couldn't remember if he had ever actually escorted a woman on his arm. It seemed a rather awkward practice. He never knew a lady to need help walking, but then he rarely understood societal traditions. Besides, a part of him rather liked the idea of being seen with her.

As they walked, Jack began to notice people openly staring at them as they made their way down the street. Meredith didn't seem to mind, or at the very least she wasn't displaying any telling signs that she was aware of the gawking, but Jack felt a creeping concern crawl up his neck. Often, he would be gawked at—his scars had guaranteed it—and he had become accustomed to it, but there was an underlying need to protect Meredith from the string of horrified glances and hand covered whispers that inevitably approached them as they walked.

Jack's hand came up and covered hers. Gently, he picked it up, fighting some ancient, possessive nature to hold tight and never let go. Meredith frowned as he removed it from his arm.

"Perhaps it would be best if you, well," he started, unsure. He hated the shame that bubbled within his chest and cleared his throat, making his voice cold. "You can walk on your bloody own, can't you?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"Then do it."

Meredith nodded as they continued their walk. At the end of the street, they made a right and found the dress shop on the corner.

Jack stated that he would wait outside as he tried to sound aloof. Meredith nodded and entered seemingly confused at his shortness with her.

What the hell was wrong with him? When had he ever cared what people thought of him? Never. Yet the thought that someone, anyone, even a stranger would look at Meredith with a single ounce of disdain made his blood boil. He wondered if his newfound friendship with her was the wisest choice. Selfishly, he wanted to be near her all the time. He wanted to touch her and protect her and kiss every inch of her…

No. No. They were friends. Friends from two different worlds and nothing more. They couldn't be. Of course, that hadn't stopped him from dreaming about her. Visions of Meredith with her hair down, wrapped in silk sheets, her heated eyes staring up at him, through him, had haunted his nights as of late.

Just the memories of his dreams seemed to cause him a tremendous amount of discomfort as he shifted. He promised himself that he would visit LaMont's brothel by the end of the week. Really, it was damn near indecent to walk around so tightly wound. He was liable to snap at any moment.

"Jack?"

"What?" he barked, turning around to see a surprised Meredith.

"I've finished," she said warily.

She wasn't carrying anything.

"Where are your dresses?"

She tilted her head, trying to read his strange behavior.

"They're being altered."

"Altered? You mean you aren't receiving any new gowns?"

The corner of Meredith's mouth pulled up in a half smile.

"The fabric I ordered for my new gowns won't be ready for two months, so Sarah gave me a few of her ballgowns to have altered. They'll be delivered in a few days I suppose."

"Oh," he said. "Then I guess we shall return you home."

Meredith nodded tentatively, falling into step beside him. They walked down the crowded streets, heading towards the west of town. Jack kept to the left of Meredith so that he could walk the horse, but remain on the side of the road. It wasn't the best option as he had to often walk around parked hackneys and stalled persons, but once they finally reached the outskirts of town, where the trees replaced buildings, it was easier to fall into a comfortable sort of pace.

Jack had kept quiet for most of their walk, unsure of exactly what to say to her. Since their last talk, his feelings had grown complex. He wanted to know all her secrets and why he felt so drawn to her. Was it because she was so kind? Kinder than any one person he ever met, or was it because he was so attracted to her? That didn't make very much sense either as he never found women like Meredith attractive.

Jack had often surrounded himself with women of different virtue. Professional women, women who were unafraid of their wants and desires. But this buttoned-up governess, with her ugly dresses and plain hair styles seemed to hack at another part of him. He wanted to take her hair out, to run his fingers through it. He wanted to remove the layers of fabric from her and smell her skin.

He swallowed as they walked, trying to push out thoughts of undressing her when she spoke.

"I didn't know you still fought," she said, as a soft wind came blowing down the road that had changed from cobblestone to dirt.

"Excuse me?"

"At your club. Simon said that you were boxing."

"I was sparring," he explained, his eyes going up to the sky. The sun had disappeared behind the clouds as another gust of wind blew around them. Jack could smell a storm in the air. "I help some of the younger fighters with their hand placement. Not to mention it helps keep me even."

"Even?"

His mouth quirked.

"Yes. I tend to get into a poor mood if I'm kept inside an office too long. It's good exercise and it helps expel pent up energy that I've seemed to acquire since retiring from fighting."

They walked off the main road, following a dirt path that led up a hill, with open fields of freshly cut hay to the right and a forest to the left. They had reached the property in a little over an hour.

"I don't like fighting. I think it's animalistic."

"Have you never hit someone before?" he asked, ignoring the appalled expression on her face. "I promise you, it's quite cathartic." When she didn't answer, he pressed her. "Have you ever hit someone?"

"Once, a long time ago," she admitted. "I regretted it."

"Who?"

"I will never tell you that, I promise," she said, shaking her head. "I didn't like it and I promised never to let my emotions get away from me again."

Jack smirked, wondering if she had perhaps hit one of her sisters as a child.

"You're not supposed to punch in anger, you know. It's best to keep emotions out of the ring, so you can focus on the task at hand. Otherwise, you leave yourself open to being hit multiple times."

"Doesn't it hurt, though?" she asked as they climbed the steep hill. "To be attacked repeatedly, I mean."

He shook his head.

"No. Or rather, if it does, it's nice to focus on something directly in front of me, rather than letting my mind wander as it does when I'm working."

"Oh." She tilted her head back, her face to the sky. He watched her profile and felt his mouth go suddenly dry. She really was beautiful. "Is there not any other activity that could relieve you of your tension? One that didn't involve being hit?"

Jack tried not to laugh, but his voice suddenly became mirthful.

"There is." When she gazed back at him, the blush on her cheeks told him she knew what activity he spoke of.

"Still, I can't imagine it would be very pleasant to be repeatedly punched," she said. "The pain must settle in eventually."

"I'm rarely hit," he said, winking, but when he saw her eyes dip to his cheek, he was humbled. He put a finger to his scar. "Well, sometimes the opponent is successful. But really, I should thank the three who put this here. It's helped me more than it hasn't, if you could believe."

"Oh, but that isn't true," she said quickly. "I mean to say, the scar on your face isn't nearly as bad as people made it out to be." When Jack didn't speak, she continued. "That's not to say I'm sure it didn't hurt when you received it."

"It didn't," he said quietly. "When it happened, I mean. I hardly felt it."

"Truly?"

He nodded.

"It was the days that followed. Something I learned in my fighting years was that the hits never hurt quite as much as the healing."

Meredith stared at him, seemingly amazed that he could have taken such a poignant view.

"I believe you are correct. Jack."

His name on her lips caused his stomach to tighten. She smiled at him and for a moment he felt the same ridiculous pride he had when she had taken his arm.

"I was meant to lose you know," he said, his eyes focusing on the horizon. "The fight, that is. When I received this scar."

Meredith's brow furrowed.

"You mean, you believed you were going to lose?"

The corner of his mouth pulled up as he saw her staring at him from the corner of his eye.

"No. I mean, I was supposed to throw it. Not win, on purpose."

He knew Meredith had never been to a pugilist match and couldn't make sense that he would want to lose on purpose. For a moment, a very small grain of guilt bubbled within him, but he pressed it down, knowing full well that had he played fair, he and Simon would still probably be fighting for their meals.

"But wouldn't that defeat the purpose of the fight?" she asked. "Why would you want to lose?"

"Well, wanting something and needing something are two different things," he said. "I wanted to win all my fights. I had a solid record of it, too, but when you win all the time, you become something of a guarantee."

"Guarantee?"

"For bets. Prize fights had some cash prizes and I survived on it for a while, but it wasn't enough to get what I needed."

"What did you need?"

"Enough money to buy that first mill," he said, tilting his head to glance at her profile. "I'm sure Simon or your sister explained about our Uncle Archer?"

"Briefly," Meredith said. "Wasn't he some sort of thief?"

"House burglar. A pretty famous one to boot," he said with a hint of pride in his voice. Uncle Archer had been his mama's brother. He had been in the burglary business for years by the time Jack had found him, after growing up in the nunnery. He had gleefully signed over his entire estate to Jack, knowing his time was coming to an end. Jack always assumed his uncle had felt sorry for not being able to help his sister Tally all those years ago, but he tried not to think about it. "Well, he left us, my brother and I that is, a substantial amount of money when he knew the hangman's noose wasn't far off."

"How awful."

"Don't pity a man who would rob you, Meredith. And he would. He was fine at it, but more than anything he enjoyed it."

"That's terrible."

"You don't have any colorful characters in your family tree?" he asked.

Meredith grew thoughtful, seemingly trying to remember if she could recall a less than honorable relative. After a moment, she shook her head.

"I had a great uncle who fought in Waterloo on my mama's side," she said, her brow scrunched together in a rather adorable way. "I'm afraid my family has always been rather honorable. For the most part."

His eyes flickered to her face.

"For the most part?"

A faint blush rose to her cheeks and he had the instant impression that she might just be the exception.

"My parents were very strict in their upbringing. Honor was one of my father's most important lessons and my mama was so devoted to him that she made sure to rear us with a heavy dose of right and wrong, especially after his passing."

"Simon might have mentioned she was a difficult woman to deal with."

That earned him a look.

"You've spoken about my mama?"

"Briefly, and I was not at all interested, but yes."

"Well, I'm sure your brother was being kind. Difficult is a gentle word for the way she has acted towards him." She paused. "I only hope my sister Beatrice isn't crushed beneath the weight of my mama's demanding ideas." Lost in thought for a moment, Jack wondered how to reply when she shook her head, giving him a sheepish expression. "Please, ignore my ramblings. Tell me more about your uncle."

Jack nodded, although he very much wished that she would continue with her own family history. He was suddenly very curious to know all her stories. What it had been like growing up in a family, what it was like having sisters. Small, insignificant things that shouldn't matter to him, but that suddenly interested him a great deal.

Clearing his throat, he continued.

"There's not much else to tell. I only knew him a brief time and he swung long ago for his crimes. He left Simon and I a substantial amount of money, but it wasn't enough to buy the lumber yard. I had to throw a few fights, to decrease my value in the ring."

Meredith glanced at him.

"That's dishonest."

Jack barked with laughter.

"Yes, but necessary. You see, I had made a deal with a criminal, a man named Tate, to set up fights that I couldn't win, to try and keep it on the level." Meredith didn't seem to understand the terminology and Jack tried again. "To keep it honest. If I actually couldn't beat them, it wasn't cheating."

"I suppose not."

"But my last fight was with Will Graham."

"Who is that?"

"The man who went on to coach Ben Caunt. Have you heard of him?"

Ben Caunt was a bit of a celebrity in the papers. Jack knew that she had probably heard about him, even if she had never been to a pugilist fight. Ben Caunt was supposedly the next great fighter.

"They're calling the clock tower in Westminster Big Ben, supposedly after him, aren't they?"

"It wouldn't surprise me. He's a massive man and while his teacher was a skilled fighter, I was faster."

"What happened?"

"Well, I was supposed to be knocked out in the fifth round. You know what a round is?"

"No."

"It's the time allotted to the fighters to fight. They last two minutes."

"How many rounds are there?"

"Five for most fights, more if it's a championship."

"So, you were supposed to lose in the last round?"

"I was," he said, nodding. "Except that Simon and I had put all our money on me to win."

Meredith's eyes went wide, seemingly engrossed by his story.

"And you won?"

"In the fourth round," he said with some false modesty. "It was an upset."

"And Mr. Tate? Was he very angry?"

"Furious. I had cost him a fortune. But then, I made mine, so I wasn't terribly worried about him. Until about three days later." Jack paused, momentarily surprised that he would share so much. "After big wins like that, I would get a bit out of hand. I don't think I left the club for those three days. I wasn't a member, yet, but they afforded fighters accommodations."

"What were you doing there for three days?" The implicating silence that followed made her cheeks turn pink. "Never mind."

He chuckled at her discomfort.

"So, what happened next?"

"Well, afterwards, I was leaving the club, trying to make my way to the rooms I was renting when three big blokes grabbed me and beat me bloody."

Meredith's feet stopped.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. They knocked me around pretty good. If I had been ready for them, they wouldn't have stood a chance, but then I was tired and ill from drinking for three days straight."

"Drinking to excess like that isn't good for your health."

"Neither is getting attacked." Meredith nodded in agreement. "Still, I wasn't really prepared and they were able to carve me up." His hand went to the scar. "I didn't feel it, though. I saw the blade covered in blood. I remember looking down and my shirt was covered. Too much blood for a cut lip or broken nose. I think the sight of the knife surprised me. I had been expecting a beating, but not being killed."

"Oh, my goodness," Meredith said. "How could you be so willing to fight? Even now after all you've been through. It sounds horrible."

Jack shrugged.

"I don't know why, actually. I've always been rather good at it." He paused thoughtfully. "Fighting was always something that interested me. The anatomy of a fight, the power, the physicality of it all. I was always intrigued by it."

"It seems bizarre."

"Everyone's passionate about something, even things that don't make sense to others."

"I suppose so," she conceded. "What happened next?"

"My mind went blank and I must have gone mental because the next thing I remember, I was standing over three broke and bloody bodies with Simon yelling at me to go home. I managed to find my way back to my rooms and when the adrenaline finally subsided, the pain set in." He shook his head. "I had a few bruised ribs and some minor injuries elsewhere, but the cut on my face was deep. Nearly cut me all the way to my back teeth, but the doctor was able to stitch me back together."

Meredith put her hand to his shoulder in a comforting gesture. His shoulders moved back slightly as he realized that she didn't seem uneasy to touch him. All of the women he paid for hadn't been able to not flinch when they touched him, but then coin was coin.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you."

"Was my own fault, wasn't it?"

Another gust of wind came sweeping across the tree lined fields, down the road that led back home. Jack continued walking, glancing behind them towards town. Just then, a bubbling roll of thunder sounded from far away.

"There's a match in a few weeks," he said, his eyes following the sound across the sky. Dark clouds began to reel towards them. "You should come watch."

"I will not," she breathed, slightly amused. "Besides, ladies do not attend pugilist matches."

"Of course they do. In the back of Canterbury club."

She appeared startled.

"You cannot be serious."

"I am. Many ladies attend the fights. Just last month Madame LaMont and her ladies came—"

"Madame LaMont? The courtesan?"

"Yes."

"They aren't ladies."

For a moment Jack didn't speak, as a sudden uncomfortable silence came over them. He felt a rush of disappointment come over him, though he couldn't understand it. He thought carefully before speaking.

"I suppose you think if a woman works for a living, she couldn't possibly be a lady."

Meredith frowned.

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you meant, though."

"It is not," she argued. "I simply meant that women who, well, who are paid to … to lay with men aren't exactly ladies of…" Her face contorted and she gazed down, her hands coming together to fidget. Jack wondered what argument she would make when after a long pause she raised her head, appearing contrite. "You're right. I did mean that."

Jack only watched her, curious as what she would say next.

"I was raised to believe that a woman should only do those sorts of things with her husband. That it is a wicked way to live a life. Fallen women have always been considered immoral. Sinful."

"The women who work for LaMont have found themselves without any other options. But I'm aware of them, grew up with people like them, and I'll tell you that their occupation does not negate their humanity." He paused. "Besides, to deny half the world the pleasures of sex, simply because it's always been that way is ridiculous. Women should be allowed to enjoy all the things men do."

Meredith's eyes rounded at his words, seemingly surprised that he would speak about such things in front of her. Perhaps he had crossed a line.

"Do you really believe that?" she asked, her voice suddenly rushed.

"Yes."

Jack was sure she was going to lay into a long-winded speech about morality and duty, but he had heard all of those arguments before. It just never made any sense to him that women were denied all the desires that men lived with openly and without consequence. He knew women, when properly engaged, could reach the same heights of pleasure as men and would even seek it out once they had experienced orgasm.

His conversations with LaMont over the years had been rather eye opening, but then he knew he was on the wrong side of society when it came to these sorts of things. He had grown up in the underbelly of humanity and often found himself defending it.

"I'm sorry if I offended you," she said after several moments. "It's wrong to judge people, especially those who have fallen on hard times. I certainly have no right to do so."

Her humility was rather refreshing, but her words piqued his curiosity.

"Why don't you have a right to?" he asked as the rumble of thunder echoed closer this time, almost directly above them.

They both looked up.

"Oh, no," Meredith said without answering his question. "A storm."

"It's going to rain before we get back," he said, but just as he said that, the sky opened up and fat raindrops began to fall immediately.

Meredith hurried beneath a large oak tree as the rainstorm beat down on them, trying to avoid it. She pressed herself as close to the tree trunk as possible, obviously hoping to avoid getting wet.

"You shouldn't stand under a tree during a storm," he said, following her.

"That's only if there's lightning," she countered, just as a flash cut across the sky.

Drachma reared back, neighing loudly as he ripped away from Jack's grip, running away. Without warning, Meredith took off like a shot after the horse, gathering her skirts up into her arms as she raced up the rest of the hill as fast as she could. Jack raced after her.

"Wait!" he called out through the storm as he followed, reaching her just as she made it to the top.

Jack grabbed her and pulled her back towards him when he saw a petrified expression on her face. Her hands came up to either side of her face as if to block out the noise. Jack's hands came up, covering hers.

"Easy, darling. It's all right."

"I'm sorry," she tried, her breath labored. "I just, I hate lightning. Especially when I'm outside."

"Understandable," Jack said, putting an arm around her. "Come on, let's go."

Placing his pinky and thumb in his mouth, he whistled loudly. Drachma rounded in the field and came running back.

"What a well-behaved boy," Meredith said as the horse returned to them.

"Yes," Jack said, gripping her waist and lifting her onto Drachma's back. In an instant, he was behind her, arms moving around her to reach the bridle. Turning the horse back, he heeled Drachma's side and prompted it into a quick trot.

Meredith's body leaned back against his chest and Jack had to fight off those thoughts of undressing her again. What was it about this overtly friendly, prim lady that set his skin on fire? He couldn't understand it. All he knew was that feeling her in his arms felt like the most natural, most perfect thing in the entire world.

They reached the house in a short time. Jack rode into the stable first, in an effort to get Meredith out of the relentless rain. He supposed he could have dropped her in the front of the house near the main door, but he was eager to have her with him.

The stables were empty and Jack bet they were taking a midday meal in the kitchens. Rainy days left little work to be done for the outside staff and Jack was glad for it. Kicking his leg over Drachma, he hopped off his horse and led him a little way over to a stall before lifting his hands up to Meredith's waist. Gripping her tightly, he lifted her with ease.

When her feet hit the ground, though, he paused.

Meredith went to move away, but stopped when she realized his hands hadn't moved. Gazing down at her, Jack suddenly felt vibrations pulse throughout his blood. It was the damnedest thing. To the rest of the world, Meredith Taylor was a governess. A straightlaced, dowdy sort of woman who faded into the background. But Jack saw something else. She was lovely and sensual, and he could sense a yearning part that everyone else seemed completely oblivious to, except him.

"Jack?" she asked with a tilt of her head, her voice soft.

He didn't move. He only stared into her clear, hazel eyes.

"There's something about you, Meredith. Something I can't quite understand."

Her brow furrowed slightly.

"What do you mean?"

He shook his head, eyes never leaving hers.

"I'm not sure I know. It feels like you've been hiding in plain sight all these months and I've only just realized it."

"Hiding?" she repeated, her tone a little higher than before. "Hiding from who?"

"I don't know. Maybe everyone," he said. "Or maybe the man who wronged you."

The tops of Meredith's cheeks changed to a bright shade of red as her eyes dropped to avoid his. He wanted so desperately to know what had happened to her and yet he couldn't bring himself to ask. So instead, he waited.

After a long pause, she spoke.

"I was hurt once. A long time ago."

"By who?"

"His name hardly matters," she said, seeming both relieved and terrified to be talking about her past. "I never saw him again beyond our two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Jack repeated. "You only knew him two weeks?" She shifted her stance, unwilling or unable to speak on it. Jack was aware of her struggle. "It's all right," he said, obviously taking her silence for pain. "You don't have to speak about it if causes you stress."

"Oh, but it doesn't. Not anymore," she said quickly, even if he wasn't sure he could believe her. "I mean, I'm not brokenhearted. I just prefer to keep my distance, that's all."

"From men?" he asked and she nodded. "And from me?"

Her gaze met his and he wondered if he was pushing her too far. The electric snap between them while the anticipation of her answer hung in the air. Surely, he had never spent so much time learning about any one female and yet, the more he learned the more he wanted to know.

"I don't know, Jack," she said after a moment of contemplation. "Should I keep my distance?"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't."

She smiled for a moment, before her eyes drifted away, instead landing on his shoulder. When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"But would you hurt me?"

A fierce, determined desire flamed in his chest at her question. Hurt her? Good god, no, that would be the last thing he ever wanted to do, yet he knew why she asked. Someone, this man she had once fancied had hurt her and he felt the imitable need to seek him out, whoever he was, and tear him apart for ever inflicting pain on this woman.

"I would never," he spoke, his voice harsher than he meant for it to be, as his fingers dug into her hips, "never hurt you, Meredith."

Staring up at him, he noticed a longing in her eyes. He knew he should pull away, that their time together had come to an end, but for the life of him, he remained still and held his breath as she leaned a fraction towards him. Was it possible that she felt the same indescribable yearning to be close to one another?

"I believe you." A pride Jack had never felt swelled within him when her eyes dropped and she continued. "May I ask you a question?"

He could sense she had something important to say. Jack gave her a short nod, unable to speak as he was wary he might say something that would deter her

She exhaled slowly. Her two-tone eyes made him feel suddenly hungry.

"Why did you kiss me the other night?"

Jack stared at her, unsure how to answer, except to be honest. When he spoke, his voice was far gravellier than he'd have liked.

"Because I wanted to."

"Do you think…" She hesitated. For a moment, he didn't think she would be able to finish, but she took a deep breath suddenly and pushed through. "Do you think you would do it again?"

A deep satisfaction rolled through him, excitement snapping through his veins as his fingers moved up to her waist. She wanted him to kiss her again and damned if he didn't find her gentle question as wildly erotic as he did earnest.

Leaning forward, he sought her lips, his tongue sweeping into her mouth without preamble as he pulled her into him, his one hand going up to the back of her head. He held her to his mouth as he devoured her, meeting her own intense craving. When had they both become so desperate for the other? It seemed that the last few weeks apart had only heightened the agonizing pull he felt deep in his chest, that only tortured him while in her presence.

Her hands crawled up his arms, the gentle scrape of her fingernails raking against his coat. He suddenly wanted to be without the damn jacket and having rarely stopped himself from doing exactly what he wanted in any given moment, Jack's hand came up to his lapel and pulled it back over his shoulder. To his surprise, Meredith's hands moved beneath his coat, pushing at the fabric as he shrugged it off.

Once free, his hands came quickly back up to her face, stroking the smooth skin of her cheek as his other traced down the column of her neck. She smelled like rain and tasted like apples, noting that all his senses were filled with her and he liked it. For someone who had often kept his focus on several things at once, to be completely consumed by her was intoxicating.

Jack's hands moved down her body as the pressure of his kissing increased. He wanted to drink her in, to taste every inch of her as his mouth moved down, littering her chin, cheeks, and neck with kisses, before moving back up, taking her mouth again.

Meredith's mouth found his ear and she whispered his name, which sent a deep shiver down his spine as he hardened. He hooked one arm around her back, pulling her soft curves against his hard form and found her mouth again. Meredith swayed as Jack took a step forward, pressing her back against one of the stall doors and he briefly thought about taking her right there.

God, he could, if she would let him. All reason had gone from his mind as he lifted his hand, grazing the sides of her torso. Meredith's hand came over his and he was sure she was going to push his advance away, when her fingers suddenly wrapped around the back of his hand and pressed against her breast.

Fucking hell. He was rigid at the feel of the soft weight, guided by her hand. Was there anything more exciting than when a woman took charge? He couldn't think of anything if there was, but then he couldn't think of anything except the sweetness of her mouth and wondering if she tasted the same all over.

"Damn it, Meredith," he breathed against her mouth, breaking their kiss. "You taste too damn sweet."

Meredith's brow cinched together, her eyes shut tightly as she reached around to the back of his head and guided him back to her mouth. She was going to be the death of him, and he would oblige her gladly.

Jack's hand pulled at the lace collar of her dress. This ridiculous gown was a damned cage that he couldn't get through it. Meredith arched her back under his touch.

"Bloody lace," he murmured into her mouth as he kissed her.

Her hand came up and tried to pull at the collar, eventually loosening it beneath her own clever finger work. It floated to the floor as he pressed his leg into her skirts. Instinctively, her legs moved to accommodate him and while his arousal had increased, a small, nagging thought persisted in the back of his mind.

Meredith didn't know about these sorts of things. Did she?

Whether she did or not, Jack tried not to care. Her own history was not his and it mattered little if she had slept with one or a dozen men, for he had never been with a woman who hadn't. But if she was innocent, he couldn't well ruin her in a stable.

Jack moved his head to the side, breaking their kiss. Breathing heavily as he held her body against his, he tried to steady his pulse. It was almost painful to stop, but then she tried to pull him back.

"Meredith, wait," he said as she tried to kiss him, her eyes closed so tightly that she appeared almost in pain. "Meredith?"

She paused, sensing his hesitation, but she didn't open her eyes. In fact, she looked almost frightened. Jack felt himself become instantly worried and he tried to soothe her tension.

"Easy, darling," he whispered, dropping kisses onto her cheeks and forehead. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, seemingly unwilling to speak.

"Are you nervous?" he asked and she gave a tight nod of her head. His hand came up as his knuckles grazed her cheek. "You needn't be. I wouldn't do anything you didn't want."

"It's not that," she said after a moment, so softly he barely heard her. "I'm nervous because I do want it. I want this and I don't think I should."

Jack felt a surge of desire course through him. Yet he couldn't help but ask.

"And do you know what this is, exactly?"

Meredith froze beneath him and he knew instantly that she did know. She was not so innocent and while a very real and aggravated portion of his heart tore at the realization, it was quickly replaced by a need to comfort her, for the expression on her face was heartbreaking.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice breaking. "Yes, I do." She inhaled and exhaled deliberately. "I don't know why I'm telling you any of this. And I understand if you, you think less of me."

"Hush," he said sternly, annoyed that she would say such a thing.

Her scrunched up brow and tightly shut eyes made him realize that she was frightened, but not about the act of lovemaking. Instead, he knew she was worried about how he would react to her confession.

The strangest of feelings began to work its way through him at that moment. Meredith didn't have to explain anything to him, nor did she have any obligation to share her secrets with him, yet she was concerned with how he would react. That she would be anxious about what he thought made him feel rather important and, well, it made his heart swell.

"Darling, you are just about as perfect a person as anyone I've ever met," he said, his fingers moving gently over her cheek. "And I'm quite fond of you. I don't care much about things that have nothing to do with me and if you're worried that I might not feel the same because of something that happened in your past, understand that it's not possible."

"How could you not care?"

"Do you doubt me?"

A heavy pause followed and Jack felt suddenly unsure when a single tear rolled down Meredith's cheek. He wiped it away.

"Look at me, Meredith," he said and after a moment of hesitation, she did.

Jack felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Her greenish brown eyes shined up at him through tears. Her hair was damp and unkempt and her lips were swollen from his kisses. She was so beautiful and he wanted her so badly that it hurt.

"God above, I want you, Meredith," he said, his voice rough. "I'd like to take you right here, against this stall door."

"Jack—"

"But I don't think that would be wise," he said as every inch of instinct fought against him as he released her. "Not yet, anyway."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going to, Meredith. Mark my words, but it won't be here." He took a step back, trying to calm himself as he fought an internal battle. Jack Archer always took what he wanted, when he wanted it. What was he doing, releasing her? "And know that when I do, you'll not have any doubt about how I truly feel about you."

She gazed up at him, her eyes wide. Her mouth quivered at his bold promise. Jack's heart seemed to do a summersault in his chest from the pride he felt for causing it.

"W-will you come to Mountebank's?" she asked.

That surprised him.

"Why? Will you miss me?"

She blushed deeply.

"I should very much like to have a friend there with me, but yes. I think I will."

She had said that word again. Friend. It had been interesting at first, tempting to be her confidant, but there was something lacking about it. He wanted to be more than that and yet, he couldn't even begin to understand why.

"I don't think so," he said, ignoring the discomfort he felt at seeing the disappointment in her eyes. "I can't leave the offices if Simon is out."

"It would only be for a short time."

"Too long for a working man."

"You speak as though you might starve if you miss a day of work. Aren't you ever sick? Don't you ever need to rest?"

"Mountebank's is hardly a restful sort of place. Besides, I'm not fond of being stared at by what will no doubt be a houseful of peers."

"I understand," she said glancing down. She moved away from him and he had to stop himself from reaching for her, feeling wholly unfulfilled. "Thank you for escorting me home, Jack." It seemed as if she were about to say something else, but then closed her mouth and walked away.

He nodded as she left the stables and as the last image of her skirts twirled out of sight, Jack felt his good mood slip away. It seemed he was forever unhappy being out of her presence.

Climbing up onto Drachma and he directed the horse to leave the stables, galloping off as swiftly as possible as a torrent of feelings began to fill his soul. He knew that what he was feeling for Meredith was more than lust, more than anything he had ever experienced and the survivor in him knew it was a dangerous road to go down. He knew that distance from her would clear his mind, even if he was slowly becoming obsessed with all things that had to do with her. All his thoughts turned to her, and one in particular had him up nearly half the night. It was the single most vexing question Jack had ever known.

Who had hurt Meredith?