Previously: Jack found Phryne in a terrible state, and she revealed to him that an attempt had been made to rape her. However, she made him promise not to reveal what happened, and the following morning they came up with a cover story to explain her injuries to her nearest and dearest.

xoxox

The plan had worked to perfection.

Word had spread, and Melbourne society was outraged at the attack; no doubt 'the Honourable' was feeling rather smug.

Her friends and family had been shocked, dismayed, and angry – and thankful that no further crime had been perpetrated upon her by the thieves. They grumbled about the lack of justice, but she just resignedly shook her head and pointed out that it had been so dark, she had been drinking, there was no way that she could possibly identify the men again. Bert and Cec had offered to stake out the area where it had happened, but she discouraged them, saying she believed it had simply been a crime of opportunity. They all hoped that one of her personal items might be identified somewhere, providing a lead, and she nodded and knew that there was no way that they ever would.

They were sat together on the chaise, slightly apart, consuming tea and some of Dot's excellent biscuits. A cheeky grin lit her face as she animatedly recounted something to him, and Jack marvelled at her resilience. The bruises of those eighteen days prior were gone, a pinkish mark across her cheek the only visible remnant of her experience. The wounds within would take longer to heal, but he was the only one who knew how deep they really were. She presented such a brave face to the rest of the world; it was a horrible thing that had happened, but she had probably been a little silly, there was nothing she could do about it now, and life must move on.

She had confided in Jack that The-Honourable-&-Co were boarding their ship for home next week, and then she felt that she could put all of this behind her.

He only hoped that eventually she could; in the days after it had been heart-wrenching to see the vibrant, sparkling creature reduced to a battered shell of her usual self. She still had a tendency to jump at unexpected times, but she had pulled herself together and was determined to re-enter the world, head held high.

"You look tired, Jack…"

He nodded his agreement. Yes; he had not had much sleep of late…

She was about to say something further, when the bell rang, and Mr Butler admitted a rather flustered Mrs Stanley, who waved off his offer of tea, as she hastily took a seat.

"Well! You're not going to BELIEVE what has happened!"

She looked at the two of them expectantly, but continued on before either could prompt her to do so.

"I'm in a terrible hurry, but I had to come and pass on this AWFUL news! I've JUST come from luncheon with Adele Freeman. SHE heard from Lady Archdale that the Honourable Mr Gordon-Benton has been attacked! ATTACKED!"

She looked to her niece for validation of her outrage. Phryne looked startled, and then her brows furrowed, and Jack felt her gaze travel to his face. He asked, "Are you aware of what happened, Mrs Stanley?"

"Well, apparently the circumstances were rather similar to what happened to Phryne! He was set upon, SET UPON in the street, by SEVERAL men," Jack's jaw twitched "who robbed him of his valuables! What sort of an impression are we making when an ESTEEMED VISITOR to our country has been VICIOUSLY ASSAULTED whilst taking his nightly walk? And THEN there's what happened to Phryne! It's OUTRAGEOUS, Inspector, when we GOOD CITIZENS of Melbourne are being TARGETED by these GANGS OF HOOLIGANS… IN OUR OWN SUBURBS! What are you going to do about it?" she demanded, as if he were, in fact, the Chief Commissioner.

Jack nodded gravely, and felt Phryne's intense scrutiny upon his face. "Of course, I understand your concern, Mrs Stanley, and I can assure you that the Victorian Constabulary takes these matters very seriously. Unfortunately, in your niece's case, it seems that there is no way to identify the culprits… Has Mr Gordon-Benton made a report?"

"APPARENTLY, he has decided against it! He couldn't identify the men, and the items that were taken were of mainly sentimental value... Other than that, I understand that his injuries are quite severe, but not life-threatening. All the same, he probably ought not be travelling in his condition, but he maintains that he WILL be leaving as planned! I suppose that he will use the time at sea to recover… but broken noses rarely heal well!"

"What a shame…" Phryne spoke for the first time.

"Yes… Yes, he was a rather handsome gentleman… I don't suppose that he will return here… NOT that he seemed to have had much encouragement from anyone I know…" she looked pointedly at her niece, and Phryne smoothed her hands down her skirt, but did not answer.

The silence stretched for a moment before Mrs Stanley's expression softened. "Well, you never know what opportunities await you…" At that she stood, made her excuses, as she was going to be late for a board meeting, and left them alone.

"Jack…"

He looked at her, his expression neutral, but open, and she searched his eyes for a long moment, before speaking. "What a terrible thing to happen to the Honourable Mr Gordon-Benton…" The irony in her voice made him smile, at least as far as his eyes, so he looked away from her.

"Yes… Yes, terrible… But, surely, having heard what happened to you, and so recently, he might have thought better of a late night stroll, alone?... If that is what really happened, of course."

"Of course… pure speculation, at best…"

"Mm." He looked back at her, and her eyes were huge, and shining with so much emotion that his throat tightened.

He had overstepped the boundaries of his own morals, and the law – and he didn't regret it for a moment.

Armed with as many women's magazines and society pages as he could muster from the previous few weeks, it had not been hard to identify the man of whom Phryne had spoken. His shifts re-arranged to accommodate, long nights in the shadows had confirmed that, no matter what his night's activities, the man was fond of a stroll around the block before bed.

His dinner suit, a luxurious and, no doubt, ridiculously expensive cashmere scarf that Phryne had given him, and a new pair of the shiniest patent dress shoes his money could buy, had capped off Jack's plan for Mr Gordon-Benton. Taken by surprise, in the darkness, by someone he never suspected of ill-intent? That didn't sound familiar at all… They had invented several men to explain the severity of Phryne's injuries, given that she was 'only robbed'. Jack gave an internal smirk; Gordon-Benton was a snivelling coward who would never admit to having been bested by a lone man of smaller stature.

Other than physical size, the upper hand had been fairly and squarely with Jack; thanks to the society pages he had been armed with a veritable fount of information about the man, his family, associates, hobbies, and ambitions, whilst he himself remained an unknown entity to his adversary. Given the 'conversation' that the two gentlemen had had, and the threats imparted, Jack was as certain as he could be that there would be no retribution forthcoming in Phryne's direction, ever… although he expected that the man might think again about accepting a well-dressed stranger's request for a cigarette… He certainly wouldn't be capable of making any 'advances' to any women for some time to come… And if the only consequence of Jack's actions was that Melbourne's well-heeled went out in pairs in the immediate future, so be it…

Phryne was speaking. "Perhaps, like me, he might find that every cloud has a silver lining…"

"Oh?" He looked at her quizzically. "What's that?"

She reached for his hand, and twined her fingers through his. "This." Her gaze returned to his, and his affectionate smile mirrored the relief and love that he saw on her face.

That had been a couple of weeks ago now. Mr Gordon-Benton was probably somewhere in the wide open ocean, and although Jack would never make light of a tragedy, and would never wish harm on the innocent, he wondered vaguely how far south icebergs tended to drift…

For the most part, Phryne was back to her old self, save perhaps that any late-night forays might not be made alone for a little time to come. He was in no doubt, though, that eventually he would be left to worry about her once again – she was, after all, of the bucking-up-and-getting-on-with-it type. And as much concern as he might have for her, he didn't want to see her independent spirit crushed by an incident that she could not have prevented, as much as she told herself that she was partly to blame.

He gave himself a mental shake. Why was he thinking about this now, when she was so deliciously close? Her expression told him that she had much more pleasant things on her mind. His drifted lazily back to that night last week… Ever since 'the incident' his departures from her door had been marked by hugs, which had become increasingly full-bodied as time went on. Then, the kisses to the cheek had started. It hadn't escaped his notice that Mr Butler no longer appeared to help him into his coat.

Then, last Tuesday, she had hugged him, kissed his cheek very close to the corner of his mouth… and had not stepped away. As he looked down at her, wonderingly, she leaned her tilted head up and affectionately touched the tip of her nose to his. A moment later, his forehead touched hers, and he suddenly found that his right hand was at the side of her face, his fingers in her hair. He breathed out slowly, closed his eyes, and felt her lips brush his in the lightest of touches.

He waited, eyes still closed; everything was up to her, and how far she wanted to take it. Her lips touched his again, this time for a little longer, and with a little more pressure, before he felt her pull gently away. "Goodnight, Jack…"

At her gentle insistence, he had seen her every day since, and he wasn't exactly complaining. Aside from the fact that he delighted in her company, with each meeting the kisses, and their associated embraces, had become more heated, and more frequent.

She jolted him out of his reverie with a brush of her fingers to his abdomen, and sparkling eyes. "What are you thinking?"

"Well, Miss Fisher…" He snaked an arm around her waist. "I was just thinking… that it's almost a crime… that you haven't kissed me for a good…" he made a show of checking his watch, "seventeen minutes."

"Seventeen minutes?" Her immaculate brows rose in mock surprise. "I'm quite sure that IS a crime, Inspector… One for which I will gladly accept any punishment you see fit…"

He pretended to consider for a moment. "Hmmmm…" His lips quirked into a smile. "Perhaps you should kiss me. I have an ex-wife who will testify that THAT is a punishment worth avoiding at all cost."

"Jack!" She thumped him good-naturedly and laughed with him, before adopting an expression of faux resignation. "Well, I expect I ought to accept my punishment with good grace…" and she stepped into him to do just that.

When they were both quite breathless, she looked up at him. "If you wanted to dole out some more serious punishment tonight… I am… both willing, and able, to accept it…" Her fingers had made their way beneath his waistcoat, and his pulse quickened at both her gentle touch, and the look in her eyes. Her intent was as clear as the crystal in her sideboard, and it both excited and frightened him; but then he gave an internal eye-roll.

Frightening was being handcuffed and set upon by a man who wanted to rape you; here he was with what was little more than performance anxiety. She had trusted him, and he had done his best to care for her, and she was going to be fine. HE trusted HER, and he had no doubt that she would care for him, and HE would be fine. He took a deep breath.

"I love you."

A beautiful smile lit up her face, and she practically glowed as she looked up at him. Her expression said 'You do? What a relief! I can't tell you how happy that makes me…', and he was sure his said the same, when the actual words that came out of her mouth were "I love you too…"

He followed her, admiring every movement she made, his fingers twined in hers, and he chuckled to himself; with a view like this, any time she felt like going back to the Windsor, he would gladly walk behind her up those twelve turns of the service staircase.

Her bedroom was warm, the fire already lit and burning slowly, two bedside nymphs illuminating their surroundings. She showed him the fastenings of her dress, and this time he was the one with trembling fingers; no lifting required, though, as it slid down and pooled at her stockinged feet. Her garters she unhooked herself, and then her girdle, which she dropped inelegantly to the floor. She waited as his hands met her loose stocking-tops, sliding the silk downwards until it fell to her ankles, where she hooked her toes in and stepped out of each in turn.

Her hands rested on his arms as his fingers dipped beneath her slip and found the skin of her stomach and waist. When he went no further, she became impatient, and pulled the slip over her head with a grin. His thumbs stroked slowly over her warm flesh, and her knickers followed the path of their companion.

Having seen her naked before, he was surprised at how he felt as though he hadn't. She really was a thing of beauty, and she put those two nymphs in their pools of light to shame. She stepped into him, allowing his hands to explore more of her small form – her shoulder blades, the hollows of her spine, her smoothe, rounded buttocks and hips, and the curves at the sides of her breasts.

He caught a glimpse of the two of them in the mirror, and he found the contrast strangely pleasing – he still fully dressed and well-groomed, she without a stitch, her hair a little wild. Her arms were around his back, the balls of her small feet on the tops of his shoes, her calves taut as she stretched up to kiss the side of his face. His pleasure in the scene was suddenly overtaken by an urgent need to be as naked as she was.

If anyone had dared to ask him later, he could not say exactly how, and in what order, his clothing had been discarded; only that his wish had been granted with some speed, and he soon found his arms around her once again, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her neck and shoulder, as her hands explored his lean back, firm buttocks, and well-muscled legs.

She pulled him with her to the bed, and down to lie beside her, her hands immediately resuming their exploration, but this time of his chest and abdomen; his hardness pressed against her soft belly.

Her hands journeyed up, and over his shoulders, and she pulled herself up, her head level with his. Her intent in doing so was apparent the moment her leg slid over his hip, and he gasped as his tip met her wet heat, and she pressed down gently so that he was just inside her. He groaned into her hair as she wriggled and he found half his length had been encompassed within her soft, tight walls.

They exchanged several long kisses before her fingers grasped his buttock, urging him over her, her hips opened to him, and he slid fully into her as she moaned into his neck.

He had thought it might be over before he could he could control himself, but looking down into her trusting face, and remembering that, not too long ago, someone had tried to take this from her by force, it was enough. He moved slowly with her as he kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her eyelids, and told her that he loved her, that she was precious to him, that he would do anything for her; they both knew how true that was.

Her grip on him slowly tightened, her breath became an urgent pant, and he bent to kiss her throat when she tilted her head back, her eyes clamped closed. Suddenly one of her hands snaked around his head, and she pulled herself up to him. "Jack!"

She contracted hard around him, and she cried out against his mouth; finally he let himself go, and with a few last desperate thrusts, followed her into oblivion.

xoxox

Having been called out at 3am, it had been a long day; in fact, he'd had a hellishly long week. He had returned mid-afternoon, and finding the house apparently empty, he had stuffed several biscuits into his mouth in quick succession, taken a sneaky gulp of milk straight from the bottle, and headed upstairs to shed his suit, which was filthy, following the pursuit of a suspect.

Phryne had found him examining one, now threadbare, knee of his trousers, and promptly prodded him into a steaming bath, leaving him to soak his aching muscles. She had returned with tea and a plate piled high with bread and beef dripping, which had been consumed with gratitude, and probably undue haste.

Now, she was in the tub behind him, her knees cushioned by a folded cloth of some sort, her belly and thighs flat against his back and shoulder blades. She was lathering his hair with shampoo, and her laugh reverberated through him as he described the suspect's ridiculous attempts to evade City South's finest.

He inhaled deeply, and groaned with pleasure as her small fingers massaged delicious circles into his scalp.

His relationship with her deepened by the day, and in turns amazed him, frightened him, challenged him, and surprised him. There was no denying that the sex was… incredible. But this?

This was pure bliss…

xox The End xox