Chapter Eight

Jack sat behind his desk, eyes locked on the grandfather clock that sat across the room in the corner of his office. The short, tear drop hour hand moved from the number eight, to nine and the constant ticking of the sweep hand moved across the clock face. The irritating noise struck a nerve deep in the back of his mind, causing an annoyance to fester as he tried to focus, but the needling sound only seemed to echo louder the longer he sat there. It was 9:00 in the morning and he had already finished everything that needed to be done.

"Portage!" he called out, leaning back in his chair.

The portly secretary came rushing into the room, obviously worried that something was wrong. His glasses sat on the very tip of his nose.

"Yes, Mr. Archer?"

"Are there no contracts to look over? No business to be done?"

"Oh, well, sir," Portage said, shuffling through the stack of papers he carried. Flipping through the pages, he began to shake his head. "No, sir, none that I can find presently." He allowed himself to smile. "We are a finely tuned ship, sir."

"So, we're not going under then? Because I find it a little ridiculous that there's nothing to be done here. Surely there's something that needs my attention."

The hopeful smile that had been on Portage's face fell away. Obviously, he had hoped to be praised for a smoothly operating business day, but was only met with animosity.

"Well, um, no, sir. That is, there are several acquisitions scheduled for next week including the Crockett's mining company, granting Mr. Benjamin has already finished that report." He pulled his papers to his chest as he began to tick each of his fingers, counting down the coming week's meetings. "You have a meeting with the bank next Tuesday. We're expecting paperwork from America to arrive any day now to finish the acquisitions of the bolts manufacturing company, as well as a meeting with Mr. Harrow, who arrives in Bristol on Thursday. You had a trip scheduled this week to visit the lumber operations in Scotland, but it is reset for next month. Mr. Archer, that is, the other Mr. Archer, has a meeting in the London offices—they are requiring more of his time recently—but other than that, sir, no. There really isn't anything that requires your attention today."

"Are there no inventors seeking investments? No bloody person in need of a loan?"

Portage stared at him as if he had lost his mind.

"Sir, don't you usually prefer not to be pestered with such dealings?"

"Well, I can't bloody well sit here all day long doing nothing."

"If I may, sir. The offices are very well managed and while there is a considerable amount of work coming our way in the next few weeks, there isn't much to do over the next few days except filing paperwork."

Jack nearly growled. What the hell was the point of him being here then?

"Then I guess I'll go home," he said, standing.

"Might I suggest you visit your club, sir? Or perhaps a match with one of your pugilist friends?"

"They're all setting up for competition next week." He pushed his chair back under his desk. "It seems everyone and everything is doing splendidly then." Portage smiled. "It's awful."

Portage frowned again as his shoulders slumped.

"Sir, I promise that we will be very busy in the next few days, but perhaps a reprieve could do you some good?"

"A reprieve?"

"Yes, maybe a short holiday or something? A trip to the seashore maybe?"

Portage couldn't have known, but the mere mention of the seashore made Jack think of Meredith,. He knew there was nothing to be done where she was concerned and so he had tried very unsuccessfully to put her out of his mind, especially since she, Simon, and Sarah had left for Mountebank's the previous night. No doubt she was flirting with some kindly gentleman with thin hair and a weak chin at that very moment over breakfast.

The hostility in his heart nearly made him growl.

He had been miserable ever since she left his presence that day in the stables and while being awake was its own particular kind of hell, night was much worse. Images of Meredith, hair down and wrapped in silk had invaded his dreams. His thumb moving over her cheeks and lips, only to be pulled into her mouth, the velvet touch of her tongue on his fingerprint. He had woken last night, drenched in sweat, ripped from his dream just as he was about to enter her when the godforsaken sound of a barn owl outside his bedroom window boomed throughout his room.

Cursing like a man on his way to the gallows, Jack had gripped the counterpane in his fists, furious and hard and unsatisfied from his tormented dream. The dark, empty bedroom that had so often been a haven away from the world felt peculiarly empty in that moment as flashes of the ghosts of his dreams crossed his mind.

"Meredith," he had breathed, his bare chest lifting and falling with his ragged breath.

His hand had moved down his body, wrapping around the almost painful length of him. Imagines of Meredith, mouth open, gasping beneath him as he filled her, moving between her legs brought him a powerful and much needed release as he turned, spilling his seed into the damp sheets.

It had satisfied a minute part of him, but Jack had woken, hours later, still hungry for her. He had hoped desperately to find some relief, but had only found himself more agitated. The memory of last night filled his mind, causing him to pause in the doorway.

What was wrong with him?

"Mr. Archer?" Portage said with question.

Jack's teeth clenched, annoyed that Portage was still in his presence, though he knew that the secretary had no idea what he was thinking about. Still, a wave of mortified fury washed over him.

"Goodbye, Portage," he ground out as he moved past him and out the office door.

He may have brought himself to release last night, but he would not do so again. While few things in this world could cause him embarrassment, touching himself like some foolish youth was one of them. Had he any brains, he would have gone to Madam LaMont's last night to find a release, if only a substitute for the woman he actually wanted.

In fact, as he came down the office stairs and out the front door, he decided that he should go there right now.

Unhitching Drachma from one of the several horse posts around the side of the Archer and Archer Building, Jack crooked him around and headed to the far part of town where the renowned madam lived with her house of whores. It would be mechanical, he knew, more transactional than anything, but if he could be rid of this haunting need to have Meredith, even by a fraction, it would be money well spent.

It wouldn't be what he wanted, but damned if it wasn't what he needed. Meredith had been willing, eager even, in the stables that day in the rain, but his own conflicting feelings of what that meant exactly had stopped him from continuing.

Damn him.

Jack knew that despite Meredith's previous experiences, whatever they might have been, he would need to handle her with caution. She was technically a part of his brother's household and while he would never cause her harm on purpose, he also wasn't sure that he simply wanted a dalliance with her. Meredith made him feel significant, but not in the way that being a business owner, or champion fighter had ever made him feel. With her, it was different. He felt important because she cared about how he felt and he wasn't sure if anyone besides himself had ever cared about his feelings. It was bloody confusing.

Still, he knew he needed to be rid of this damn, constant, sexual build up that had plagued him for weeks, if not months now. A moment in her presence might have sated him, but she was at Mountebank's home and while he had been invited, he couldn't think of a good enough reason to attend, except that Meredith wanted him to go.

She had asked him to attend, albeit, only as a friend for her to lean on while she was paraded about. Jack had initially hated the idea of going as support, but an inner battle had been waging within him since she had requested his presence. While it hadn't been nearly enough of what he desired from her, he found that he suddenly wanted to be whatever she needed, whenever she needed it and that thought alone made him second guess his own judgment.

As Drachma galloped through the streets of Bristol, Jack considered how dangerous it was to doubt himself. During his years in the ring, he never allowed himself to hesitate as it would have been deadly, but with Meredith he couldn't help but consider their friendship from all angles. It was exhausting. So much so that he wondered if he should be grateful for their time apart. Better be away from her so that he could think clearly. Although, as he rode with a desperate quickness, another unwelcome thought began to form in his head.

What if he was what she wanted? What if he went to Mountebank's and she was glad to see him? Not only as a friend but something else? Something more. Surely it was a foolish thing to hope for and yet he couldn't stop himself from being enveloped in just that. Hope.

The house of LaMont sat in the middle of a narrow street, one of a dozen brick buildings that were flanked by a tavern and another home that Jack new served as the private quarters of LaMont and her ladies. He came off his horse in a single motion, handed Drachma to a young man, and flipped him a guinea to bring him around back, before knocking on the front door. A massive, burly man with thinning black hair and a scar over a milky, obviously blind eye came to the door.

"What?" he sneered in a cankerous tone. When his good eye landed on Jack, however, his mouth quirked up, revealing a set of yellow teeth, the front two of which were missing. "Jack Archer!"

"Hello, Bull," Jack said as the man pushed the door back. "Is Lottie busy?"

"Nah, not for you she ain't," he said, slapping Jack on the back, causing him to stumble.

Bull had once tried to be a fighter, but he had only ever had one match. They had found it nearly impossible to find someone of equal height, as Bull stood nearly seven feet tall. Being so large, his footwork was disastrous and so he found work as protection for the women at the brothel. Bull shut the door behind him. "It's been a while since we've seen yer bits around here, innit?"

"I've been busy."

"Yeah, I heard yer boy Fredrick has a fight coming up. You know, Jack, ifin' you only taught me a bit of hand work…" The man put up his fists as he mockingly jabbed at Jack as they continued. "I coulda been somefin'."

"I've no doubt."

"How's yer lad then? Is he a winner? Or will he fall?"

Jack followed Bull past the overtly decorated parlor rooms, where several women in all manner of dress walked around, observing Jack. It was rather early in the day to have clients.

"No, I suspect he'll win."

"Gaw on!" Bull laughed over his shoulder as he climbed a set of stairs and Jack followed.

Coming around the landing, Bull led the way down the hallway, back towards the front of the house towards the last door. He slammed his beefy fist three times on the cheap wood and Jack wondered if Bull had ever broken a door simply by knocking. He inhaled and was hit by the heavy scent of cheap perfume and herbs. This mixture made Jack feel nauseated.

"Yes?" A feminine voice called out.

"Jack Archer here for yer, m'um," Bull yelled.

"Jack Archer?" the voice sounded as it got louder. "There must be some sort of mistake. Jack Archer hasn't visited me in months—"

Jack smiled at the short, buxom blonde woman who opened the door, her words dying on her lips at the sight of him. She stepped into the hallway and her large brown eyes widened as an eager smile curved her lips. Her hand went up to the collar of her mauve colored satin robe and let her fingers toy with the edge of the fabric, just above her breast.

"Hello, Lottie."

"Jack! So it is you. Come in, come in," she said, nodding to Bull as she closed the door behind him. "What are you doing here? It's been ages since I saw you last."

Madame LaMont was a woman in her early forties, and while her life hadn't been one for the faint of heart, Lottie, as she was known to her friends, had never once been bitter about the hand she had been dealt.

She was petite and pretty, but sharper than most and her ability to handle herself as well as her business made Jack respect her from a professional standpoint. Lottie, who had long given up her trade, opting now to be a den mama of sorts to the other girls, still took a client on from time to time, but on her own terms. Lottie only ever dealt with people she fancied now, the mark of a successful courtesan, and had once fancied Jack for a whole week before her interest waned.

No one ever kept Lottie's attention for longer than that.

"I've been busy."

Jack came fully into the room, glancing around as he noted the familiar shades of red that adorned her bed chambers. Lottie loved rubies, having once been gifted a necklace of them early in her career and tried to emulate all the colors of the gemstone in her living space. Drapery hung from the walls, the fourposter bed, and the windows, giving the room an ethereal, if not erotic atmosphere. The counterpane on her bed was a deep crimson velvet, a decidedly wicked looking place to indulge in the sexual act, and Jack knew she tried not only to exude elegance but also fantasy. Still, having lived on the other side, Jack knew that no matter the cost of these furnishings, the upper crust would never see Lottie as their equal. Even if she were smarter than most of the peerage and richer than a good many of them.

Jack wondered what Meredith would think of this place, but then pushed the idea out of his head. He had been surprised when she had apologized for passing judgment on prostitutes, but then everything about Meredith seemed to surprise him.

He shook his head, not wanting to think of her here.

"Busy? Is that's your excuse for not visiting me?" Lottie asked, her voice like silk as she came towards him.

"Yes, well, work has been commanding most of my attention as of late," he said, toying with a box that sat on a desk near the window.

"Shall we?" she asked, peeling back the robe that held at her shoulders. Jack watched her, revealing her round, pert breasts. The fabric formed a wide V down the center of her stomach and being only a man, he felt a vague twitch in his loins, but then nothing followed. It was an erotic sight, one he would have been very pleased to see almost any other day of his life.

Except today.

It seemed such was etched on his face because Lottie tilted her head, her blonde curls brushing against her cheek as she angled her face. Her gaze swept over his face and he knew she sensed something, for in the next moment, she covered up.

"Oh, dear," she whispered, her tone excited. "Who is she?"

"Who is who?" Jack asked, his eyes snapping to hers.

"I'm in the business of men, Jack. All men. Young, old, excited, naughty," she said with a wink, before adding, "sad." She shrugged. "Some men come to talk, some men come to fuck and some men come to forget."

"I don't want to forget anything."

"No, but you do want to push her away," she said matter-of-factly. "So, who is she?"

Jack inhaled and exhaled, sitting on the edge of the bed. It felt very much like a sort of betrayal, talking to Lottie about Meredith, but then there was no one else he could turn to and certainly not anyone else he would willingly admit the things he was feeling for her. If anything, he could pay Lottie for her silence.

"She's a bloody governess," he said after a moment, his hand coming up to rub his face.

"A what?" Lottie asked, laughter tinging her tone. "Jack, I thought you knew better than to fall for one of those silly creatures."

"You were going to be a governess once, remember?" he pointed out.

Lottie smirked.

"Before I realized I could have more fun and make more money doing this," she said, lifting her hands as she winked. Jack wished he could smile at her impertinence, but he was too bloody mad at himself. She sighed. "A governess, though, Jack? Really?"

"Really, and what's worse, I don't think there's any possible way around it," he said sourly.

"Why not?"

"Because she's … she's too good, I think."

"Too good? For Jack Archer?" she said, rather surprised. "Why, you of all people have never once let someone's position in society affect how you've seen yourself. If she thinks she's too good for you, I don't know why you'd bother."

"It's not that she thinks she's too good," he said, clarifying. "It's that she is. There's something different about her. Something wholesome and humble and honest. I can't bloody stand it and yet I can't think of anyone else."

"A humble and honest lady of the peerage? Goodness, Jack, you really have lost it." Lottie said, reaching for a green glass bottle. She poured herself a glass of wine, the red liquid matching the décor of the room and took a long sip before speaking again. "So, she's too good for you. What do you plan on doing about it then?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, will she have you?" she asked.

"I don't know to be honest, but…" he hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. He had always been able to tell Lottie dozens of his deepest concerns, but he felt uneasy now, as if these confessions were not meant for her. "I don't think it would be the best idea. For her, that is."

Lottie was quiet for a long moment as she stared at him.

"Goodness, Jack. You must have it bad," she said, shaking her head. "I think you should let the lady decide, however. Ask her first before making assumptions for her."

Jack made a face.

"Why? I already know how it will go. An affair, followed by either a scandal or a separation, hurting at least one of us. If it was me, I could live with it, but I don't think I'd be able to hurt her. The idea of her suffering at all makes me want to fight a dozen lads." He shook his head. "It hardly seems worth it."

"Love is always worth it," Lottie said pointedly.

That earned her a scoff from Jack.

"When have you ever been in love?"

"I fall in love at least three times a week," she said, winking at him. "But why are you so sure one of you would get hurt?"

"Well, there's no happy outcome, is there?"

"You could fall in love and, I don't know, get married?" She paused for a moment before adding tentatively. "Start a family?"

Jack balked. It wasn't something that he had ever really considered. He wasn't the type of man who found a need to procreate. Still, the idea of Meredith swollen with his child caused a visceral, almost violent reaction deep within him. He felt his heart expand and contract and it was several minutes before he spoke.

"Not bloody likely."

"Why not?"

"Have you seen me? I'm a scarred-up gutter-scraping vagabond."

"Once upon a time, maybe, but you're one of the wealthiest men in England now. You're the reason I can charge my clients so much."

Jack ignored her savvy smile.

"Money doesn't matter to her."

"How fortunate for her," Lottie said sarcastically. "If money doesn't matter, then what does? Your scars?"

"No, actually. She said there wasn't anything unpleasant about my face," Jack said, feeling the tips of his ears heat. God, he was mortified admitting that.

"Did she?" Lottie asked, sounding interested. "But your position in society must aggrieve her. Your upbringing, your fighting history?"

"No. She doesn't much care for first society. She's very supportive of my brother and his wife."

"Oh. I see," she said, moving around the room. She poured herself another glass of wine. "Then if she doesn't care about your money, your looks or your position, then, what is stopping her from being with you?"

He paused.

"I never asked."

Lottie's hand paused midair, her wine glass half full.

"Men," she muttered beneath her breath as she shook her head. She took a sip and came around to face him. "Jack, go ask this lady first if she will have you, before suffering the misery of unrequited love."

"I never said I loved her."

"Not yet," Lottie said, rather smugly. "Now go. I've grown weary of your troubles."

Jack hated the knowing tone of her voice, but then he couldn't properly argue with her. She was right. He had never told Meredith how he felt. Even now he hadn't been quite sure of his feelings up until this moment.

"Thanks, Lottie," he said as he kissed her cheek.

She only smiled and shooed him from the room. With a short thanks and a nod, Jack left, hurrying out the door, down the stairs and past the parlor rooms where Bull and the other women were. Jack didn't have time to say goodbye, though. He needed to get to Dragmoor immediately.