Read Jack of Clubs for Free Online Page B

or to claim any long-lost legacy.”
    The man, who appeared to be about Allie’s age of five and twenty, shook his head. “You are not his type for anything else.”
    â€œAnd you, sir, are offensive. You do not know what my business is with your employer and yet you assume the worst.”
    Downs squared his shoulders. He recognized a determined female, and a well bred one at that. No lightskirt by her dress, no common wench by her accent, Miss Silver was an enigma. Downs did not like riddles. He hardly liked women anymore, after the past few harrowing days. “You are not with that Women’s Decency Society, are you?”
    â€œNo, but I might join if I do not get to see Captain Endicott soon.”
    â€œPerhaps if you told me your business.” He looked toward the end of the room where the other women were filing out. He saw Harriet asleep at the end of the bench, and luggage. He frowned. “That and the child’s. You have five minutes, but I warn you, I’ve heard all the stories before.”
    Downs steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair wearily. He tipped the front legs backward and checked his watch.
    Allie had five minutes. She only needed two.
    Then she needed another one to help the man off the floor and right his chair.

Chapter Four
    â€œDeuce take it, Downs, you know better than to burst in here like this. And it’s after five. Go home and get your dinner. We have a busy night ahead.”
    Downs averted his eyes from his employer, who was already busy. But his message was too urgent. “A, a lady,” he sputtered, pointing toward the waiting room. “And a little girl. Red hair. Yours.”
    For the second time in minutes, a rump reached the floor. This time it was a well-rounded derriere as Jack jumped to his feet, dumping Rochelle Poitier to the ground. “The hell, you say!”
    â€œShe says it, not me!”
    â€œWho, by Harry?”
    â€œMiss Allison Silver.”
    â€œThat’s all right then. I never heard of the lady.” Jack sat back down, ignoring the indignant protests as Rochelle realized her feather was broken, to say nothing of the mood and Jack’s amorous intentions. He was pouring a glass of brandy from a decanter on his desk. One glass. “Send her away.”
    â€œNot until you hear me out,” came a voice from the doorway.
    Someone growled, but Jack could not be certain whether it was Rochelle or his old dog, Joker.
    A slim woman of medium height was standing in the doorway, her hands in fists. She was past her first blush of youth, but not long past, Jack knowledgeably estimated, although her appearance was calculated to give the impression of rigid, righteous maturity. She wore a shapeless gray frock that covered every inch of skin, and an uglier bonnet, sadly limp. Mostly scraped back under the wretched hat, her hair was a nondescript color halfway between blond and brown, and her face was pale and pinched looking. Everything about her bespoke untouchability, an old maid by choice. Which was a pity, for the woman did have magnificent eyes, Jack could not help noticing, storm-cloud gray, with glimmers of fair-weather blue.
    She cleared her throat, making him aware of his rude inspection, and then she tapped her foot, like one of his nannies used to do. That’s what Miss Silver reminded him of, a dour, disapproving governess. Which also reminded him that he was a gentleman, by birth if not by trade. He stood and fastened the buttons on his white marcella waistcoat, wishing his jacket was not draped on a chair across the room.
    â€œI did not hear your knock, Miss, ah, Silver,” he said, trying to shift the blame and the rudeness.
    â€œBut I heard something fall, so came to your assistance.”
    She had a husky voice, one that did not fit her looks. That voice belonged to a sultry siren, not a sour spinster. Then she cleared her throat again and coughed. She was not a seductress; she was