JACK OF DIAMONDS

Chapter Five

Well people. This is Chapter 5. One more, on Friday, and the rest of it goes up behind the paywall at $30/year, or $5/month. Become a paid subscriber and follow the adventure. He’s a cad. He’s a liar and a cheat, a womanizer and a thief who does “buildering". (That’s what they call it when you climb up the side of a building.) He gets himself mixed up with London gangsters, White Russian Aristocrats, Irish gun-runners, murder, and three sex-crazed sisters who can’t seem to get enough of him. And wait until you meet the constable who is sent to investigate the break in.

CHAPTER 5

Crimes of folly and misfortune

“Deal!” Artie said, stuffing himself into his pants and doing the buttons of his fly back up again. He’d been quick to lean over and untie her hands as soon as he realized how far she was willing to go. A part of him told him to keep on walking, but another part of him wanted to feel her hands holding him, milking him. He wanted to watch her swallowing the full length of him as he stroked himself into her mouth. That won the argument for him. That and the fact she had no objections to him pushing her dressing gown down and ripping at the straps of her negligée, exposing her breasts. Or later, when he squeezed her breasts and pinched her nipples before spilling his seed into her mouth and collapsing.

He watched her crouched on her knees. He was looking at her breasts in the soft light; her nipples teased tight by the night air coming through the open window. He watched her spit into a small lace hankie, looking at him with an embarrassed smile. Her long dark hair covered half her face before she raked her hair out of her face with her fingers. She sat back on her haunches, her posture straight and dignified and began trying to tie the straps of her negligée.

“You’ve ruined it,” she said, pulling the dressing gown up and over her shoulders, “I want you to know this right now—before you think that anything else is going to happen—but I won’t fuck you—at least for now—but I’ll happily suck you off. I won’t swallow your spunk until I think there’s something worthwhile between us,” she added.

“What’s that supposed to mean? A commitment, or something like that? That’s not how this works,” he said, sitting down on a small settee and reclining.

“I mean the partnership. One would hope that you might think we’re off to a good start, considering?” she said. “I’d probably be better persuaded as to your sincerity if you took that silly rag off your head and let me see your face.”

“Why?”

“So I can see who you are, of course.”

“I can assure you, madame, you don’t know me.”

“Then why hide? You asked me to prove if I’d be willing to go as far as I did to be your partner—and I did. The least you can do is reciprocate.”

He nodded, pulling the mask off.

“Do you have a cigarette?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Look, I’m willing to work with you as one of my partners—” he started to say.

“One of them?”

“Yes. But it seems obvious you have issues—”

“Issues?” she laughed, crawling into the shadows and sitting with her back against the wall, looking at him. She pulled the dressing gown tight, wrapping her arms around herself. “My husband’s not here tonight. Do you want to know why?”

“Is he a part of the issue, or the whole issue?”

“I suppose he is, in a way.”

“And you want to use me to get back at him—in a way—is that it?”

“What does it matter?”

“Well, it might help me to understand your motive for wanting to be my partner,” he said, folding the mask and shoving it into an open pocket.

“He’s in London—and probably will be for the night. He didn’t feel the need to make a trunk call and let me know he wasn’t coming home. But that’s probably because he has needs, just like every man—men like yourself—which explains why he’d rather be with his mistress, than his wife.”

“Then the man’s a fool.”

“That’s kind of you to say.”

“You’re a beautiful woman…I don’t even know your name. Normally, that wouldn’t matter to me, but if we’re going to be partners?”

“Jennifer Ashcroft. Jenny.”

“Artemus Spencer. Artie. And let me say, I’d keep you tied to the fucking bed if you were my wife.”

“That’s the problem with men now, isn’t it?” she said, looking at him.

“What’s that?

“You’re all the same. Somehow, you feel that women are something to be kept. Like a possession.”

“I never said that. I never even implied that—”

“And yet, you just said you’d never let me out of your bed if I were yours. Keep me tied to the bed I believe the expression was. That sounds like a possession to me. I mean, correct me if I’m wrong.”

“You’re one of these free thinkers, aren’t you?” Artie said, matter of factly.

“And what, pray tell, would that be?” she asked.

“You tell me. For instance, do you believe that women should have the vote?”

“I thought they all ready did?”

“Only if you’re over thirty and have limited land holdings.”

“You say it like you don’t agree?”

“I don’t care one way, or the other, to be honest. The social needs of women like you matter little to men like me. I’m just saying you’re a free thinker. You certainly had no reservations when it came to sucking me off.”

“If that’s all it takes to satisfy a man,” she smiled, “I’ll happily pretend to enjoy it. I told you, I won’t fuck you. I may, in time, but not now.”

“And what if I were to force myself on you? What would you do then? What could you do?”

“I doubt you’d jeopardize your new partnership with such a brazen act of carnal desire.”

“Carnal desire?” he said with a smile.

“What else would you have me say?”

“You just told me you won’t fuck me. But maybe you’re right? Carnal desire sounds better. Or maybe carnal knowledge? They sound so much better than the vulgarity of the trenches.”

“You were in the trenches? Silly me, of course you were. I mean, every able bodied man was there, weren’t they?”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, but yes, I was there.”

“So was Roger.”

“The misguided husband?”

She nodded. “He’s haunted by horrible dreams.”

“Understandable. He wouldn’t be a real man, if he wasn’t affected in some way.”

“He seldom sleeps more than three or four hours at a time.”

“It’s hard to sleep when all you have are horrible dreams to look forward to.”

“He refuses to talk to me about it.”

“Did you expect he would? Why?”

“I need to know why—and what he saw there. How else can I understand him?”

“And so you seduced me as a way of…what? Getting him to pay attention to you?”

“Seduced you?” she laughed.

“Was I the one who suggested you should be my partner? You asked me, as I recall.”

“And you agreed.”

“Yes. Under duress,” he smiled.

“Duress? Is that what you’re calling it?” she laughed.

“Look, I’m not going to say that it won’t benefit me having you as a partner. You probably know all the people that live in the surrounding houses? Serving staff as well, I would imagine. Now that the war’s behind us, I’m sure they’ll be having their social fêtes again; their dress balls, and costume balls; their fox hunts, and afternoon soirees. You know who has what, as far as jewelry and art go—probably not so much with paintings, and the like—but paintings are a good sell. Like this violin. A man would be a fool saying no to someone like you as a partner, wouldn’t he? But if you want to do this so you can get back at your husband because you found out he’s whoring about London, or has a mistress, or whatever the issue is, we have a problem.”

“And what sort of a problem is that?”

“You won’t be thinking about the job. You’ll be thinking about your husband, and how you can get back at him.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because it’s been my experience with women like yourself, that when a man has done them a grave injustice, there’s little they won’t do to hurt him. ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’,” he added.

“Women like myself?”

“Yes. Women like you know nothing of the world around them.”

“How dare you? I’ll have you know I have a child.”

“And that makes you a woman of the world?”

“I may not be a woman of the world when it comes to having seen the world, but believe me, having had a child opens your eyes to a great many things a man could never understand.”

“Such as?”

“Love.”

“Love,” he laughed. “That’s a naïve sentiment if ever there was one. My mother’s a woman—a great woman, I’ll have you know. I grew up in a house not unlike this one—maybe a little smaller,” he added with a grin. “But she had five of us boys. I was the youngest. Believe me, love is the last thing a woman thinks of when it comes to having children.”

“Is that why you became a thief?”

“Is what why?”

“Because you’re the youngest? As such, you would inherit little.”

“I believe we were talking about you, and how little worldly knowledge you have?”

“I readily admit to having lived a sheltered life. What would you have me do?”

“Do? You could start by telling your husband you want to travel through Europe. Tell him you want to see Paris, and Vienna; maybe Berlin, and Amsterdam?”

“And why would I tell him that?”

“Because he’s sure to have friends in Europe who are just as wealthy as he is.”

“My husband’s not wealthy.”

“No?”

“He married me for money.”

“Please, remind me, what exactly is it that your father does?”

“Don’t you know? He owns the Great Eastern Railway.”

“And what is his name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Baron Guernsey, 3rd Earl of Aylesbury.”

“You father is the Earl of Aylesbury?”

“I thought you knew? Why else would you be here?”

“I came for a specific reason.”