Free Red Jack's Daughter by Edith Layton Page B

then?” he asked entering the bedroom. It was a tastefully furnished chamber; the only feature of it that was not perhaps in the highest reach of respectability was the coloring, which was composed of blatant red and scarlet hues, extending even to the coverings of the huge bed that dominated the room. That, he reminded himself with a smile, and the mirror that was placed in the ceiling above it.
    “ I always await your pleasure, Alex,” the woman said, slipping up to him and reaching on tiptoe to link her hands behind his neck.
    He bent to kiss he r slowly, and when he reached to enfold her more closely, she skipped out of his arms.
    “Do take off your jacket, my dear,” she said, laughing, “and do sit and speak with me awhile, it has been ages.”
    “I have spent an evening in talk, my dear. Is that all you offer me after this ‘age’ of a week?” he asked, standing quite still and watching her.
    She laughed again and came close to bend her head submissively. As she spoke, she began to undo the buttons of his waistcoat.
    “We can talk later, then,” she said softly, ever compliant , ever obliging, ever accommodating.
    It was only later, as he was staring up at the red curtain that concealed the mirror over the bed—for he always insisted she cover it, saying lightly that such sport was fo r more vain men than he—that he at last did speak to her. She lay relaxed beside him, her dark hair tangled, her plump white b ody a soft gleaming shape in the dim light. She was not a beauty, he thought idly, looking over toward her. Her hips were too wide, her nose too long, her eyes too close set. For all that she was famous and expensive, she was not an exqui s ite. Such women seldom were. It was her wit, her cleverness, and her talent that had brought her to the top of an overcrowded profession. The men who sought her out did not s eek only beauty, for that was a cheap-enough commodity, b ut rather the more erotic temptations of making love with a f emale who might be an intellectual equal. He had met her at Harriet Wilson’s and he had gladly become her protector for a while, for such women had only transitory protectors. Neither did he have to rent rooms to house her, for she had her own establishment. He had only to pay a large sum while she was under his protection, and should he shear off from her, there was a long line of others who would be pleased to take h is place. In all, theirs was an easy, undemanding relationship.
    Her dark hair and complexion reminded him of his long term mistress, whom he had reluctantly left in India, and her wit amused him. She valued him for his fame, which could only help her reputation as a woman of discretion, and for himself, since it was not often that she had the advantages of having both a keen mind and a comely person embodied in one patron.
    He gazed at the bed hangings and thought now only of red. The color seemed to be haunting him today, he realized. To dispel the thought, he turned his head to her and stroked one large hand over her soft stomach.
    “Have you ever wished to be a man?” he asked at length.
    She laughed again, and rising to one elbow, she looked down at him. In one easy motion, she then swung her body atop his.
    This time he laughed till she frowned down at him. Then he gently toppled her over and, propped on his elbows, looked down into her confused face.
    “No, no. Not for that mode. I meant it truly. Have you ever wished to be a man?” he asked gently.
    She thought for a moment, not quite hiding the calculation in her eyes. Then she answered the false answer that she thought would please him, for she was incapable of any othe r sort of reply.
    “Of course,” she said, “so that then I could make love to myself and discover what it is that most pleases men. ”
    He gave the subject up. Clearly, she would always sacrific e honesty for the sake of amusing and arousing him.
    “Then,” he said softly, “there is no need to trouble. For I shall tell