by Kate Pearce
“I do not have the funds to do that and certainly didn’t just after my husband’s death.”
“Could your family not do it for you?”
“Unfortunately, my grandparents are now deceased. My father died just after Ivy was born and we had no say in the marriage settlements.” Caroline set her glass down with something of a thump. “If they were alive do you think I would be sitting here right now in this predicament?”
“From the indignant expression on your face, one would assume not.” Captain Grafton consulted his pocket watch. “Did Mrs. Bridgewater say what time she intended to send dinner up? I’m famished.”
Francis couldn’t help but notice that his companion was lingering over the remains of the meal as if hoping it would never end. He had a shrewd suspicion as to why but was more than willing to sit and wait for her to realize she would eventually run out of options and food.
Nancy knocked on the door and came in to clear away the tray with the help of her oldest son. Her shrewd glance swept over Caroline, who was reluctantly relinquishing her plate, and settled on Francis.
“It’s started to snow. Perhaps young Jimmy should escort Mrs. Harding back home before it gets too bad.”
“There is no need.” Francis met her gaze. “I’m quite capable of doing that when I’m ready.”
Nancy’s continued championing of Caroline surprised him. She had rarely bothered to acknowledge the procession of mistresses or more casual liaisons who had clomped up and down the stairs to his bedchamber in her inn. Intrigued, he excused himself and followed her down to the kitchen where she set Jimmy to clearing the dishes.
“What do you want?” Nancy finally spared him a glance.
“A new bottle of brandy wouldn’t come amiss.” He waited until she returned from the private part of the cellar where he kept his personal stock of wines and brandy under lock and key and asked. “Why are you still so intent on protecting Mrs. Harding from me?”
“Because she deserves better than the likes of you.”
“Who doesn’t?” He paused, but she didn’t say anything else. “She’s already my mistress. You can’t prevent it from happening.”
“I am well aware of that.” She snorted. “The whole bloody town knows why you’ve got her living over the dressmakers.”
“The whole town?” Francis considered that. “I doubt the gentry and the mill owners have any idea. Her late husband’s family certainly didn’t.”
“She shouldn’t be here, Captain, and you know it,” Nancy said fiercely.
“I’m not forcing her to do anything she hasn’t agreed to. I pay her well, she and her family live in comfort, and she is a damned fine bookkeeper.”
“It’s not right,” Nancy repeated stubbornly.
“So what would you have me do?” Francis demanded. “Kick her out? Leave her at the mercy of the workhouse commission?” He leaned in closer and snarled. “Because that’s where she would be if I hadn’t intervened.”
“Or maybe that family of hers would’ve come to their senses and done the right thing?” She shook her head. “I know you. You take things and break them so easily.”
“Well thank you for that damming character reference,” Francis said. “And remind me next time to leave you where I found you—in the bloody gutter!”
She grabbed hold of his sleeve. “But don’t you see? That’s the whole point! Why her?”
“Are you jealous?” His gaze swept the kitchen. “You’re a respectable married woman with a husband who adores you and three strapping sons. Did I do ill by you?”
“No you did not, but Mrs. Harding is not like me.”
“She’s a woman, isn’t she? One who eats, drinks, fucks just like you do.”
“If you can’t see the difference between us then there is nothing I can say is there?” Nancy asked.
“Actually, you could’ve saved your breath much earlier, handed me the damn brandy, and left your thoughts about my morals and choices in your head!”
“I’m not afraid of you.” Nancy held his gaze.
“Because you know I’d never lay a damned finger on you and never have.” Francis retorted not mollified in the slightest.
“If there was a man like Mr. Bridgewater who wanted to marry Mrs. Harding, would you let her go?”
An image of Mr. Ford flashed across Francis’s memory. “Are you thinking of anyone in particular?”
“Not yet,” Nancy paused. “Why is there someone?”
“I’d hardly tell you that now would I? And, I’m not finished with Mrs. Harding. Even when she eventually bores me in bed, her bookkeeping skills will make sure she is never hungry or homeless again.”
Nancy grinned up at him.
“What now?” Francis inquired.
In answer, she stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Get along with you.”
“I’ll comply only because this conversation has been a waste of my valuable time.”
Nancy snorted and turned her back on him. After glaring at her oblivious form, Francis turned and stomped back up the stairs. She was one of the most irritating females he had ever met—possibly even worse than Caroline Harding, which was saying something. How both of them had the nerve to constantly defy him when the rest of the population cowered in fear at his every word he would never know...
He wrenched opened the door into his bedchamber just as Caroline attempted to do the same thing from the other side, and she ended up plastered against his chest.
She gasped and pushed herself away from him. “I do apologize.”
“Where do you think you are going?” Francis demanded.
“I thought you were done with me.”
“I haven’t bedded you yet, so how could you think that?”
She sighed and retreated to the fireplace. “Perhaps I was hoping a civilized conversation and dinner would satisfy you.”
“Not all my appetites.” Francis beckoned for her to come closer. “I’ve locked the door, now help me undress.”
Captain Grafton slammed the bottle of brandy he’d been carrying onto the table and raised an eyebrow.
“Come along, Mrs. Harding.”
There was a dangerous light in his eyes, which hadn’t been there earlier. Part of her yearned to slap his face, and the rest of her feared what might happen if she did. He’d probably laugh and then demonstrate to her once again how easily he could make her respond to him.
Remembering her previous total surrender, and determined not to repeat it, Caroline helped him out of his coat and unbuttoned his waistcoat, her gaze on the buttons and not straying to his face. She was obviously moving too slowly for him as he ripped off his cravat allowing the collar of his shirt to fall open.
He took her hand and pressed it against the fall of his trousers making her heart kick up. She undid the buttons, and he sat down to take off his trousers, boots and underthings, leaving him in just his long-tailed shirt. Still seated he gestured at her like a Roman emperor.
“Get rid of that horrible shawl and then take down your hair.”
“As you wish,” Caroline eased out the pins and placed them on the table beside the brandy bottle. “Shall I remove my clothing now?”
“I’ll do it.” He stood and turned her around so that she faced away from him. “Unbutton your blouse.”
He expertly loosened her corset while she stepped out of her skirt and petticoats, leaving her in her shift. He slid a hand around her neck and turned her to face him, his thumb on her jawbone.
“Kiss me.”
Caroline put one hand on his shoulder and stood on tiptoe to kiss his unsmiling mouth. He wrapped an arm around her hips pressing her against the heat of his cock and kissed her back.
Determined to remain in control, Caroline let him proceed without struggling or attempting to restrain him—tactics, which, previously, only seemed to excite him further—and regrettably, her.
“Bed.”
She pressed a hand to his chest. “I don’t have my sup
plies.”
He looked down at her, a hint of impatience in his eyes. “There’s everything you need in the drawer beside my bed.”
“For your other women?” Caroline asked.
He frowned. “I don’t have any other women in Millcastle. You’re quite enough trouble as it is.”
“But you do have other women in London and other places?”
“What if I do?”
“Nothing.” She opened the drawer and performed the necessary actions to ensure that she hopefully didn’t conceive a child. Why had she even asked such a ridiculous question when she’d already known the answer?
By the time she climbed onto the bed, he had shed his shirt and lay on his side watching her like some kind of wild animal waiting to pounce. Her gaze settled on his hand playing with his cock, making the wetness gleam in the lamplight. Her own body stirred, waiting, wanting…
“Take off your shift.”
Caroline did what he asked, aware that he wasn’t smiling and unsure enough of his current mood to be wary.
“Taste me.”
She met his gaze. “What?”
He thumbed the head of his cock. “Here.”
“You can’t be serious.” Even as she said the words she couldn’t look away from the motion of his fingers and the thickening of his shaft. “Why would any woman do that unless she is paid to do it?”
“So do it. I pay you, don’t I?”
Anger threaded through her slow and reluctant arousal, and she crawled closer to him. “As you wish.”
Bending her head, she took a deep breath and set her teeth on his stiff flesh. His fingers closed around her scalp.
“Don’t you bloody dare.”
She wondered exactly how he intended to stop her and experienced an unexpected and amazing realization that despite everything, she now had the upper hand.
“Suck me, don’t bite.”
She opened her lips a little wider and took as much of his shaft as she could without choking making him curse and buck against her. Grabbing the base of his cock with one hand she slowly released him grazing her teeth down both sides of his throbbing length.
His foreskin peeled back to reveal the startling sight of the crown of his cock and the wet slit. She used the tip of her tongue to probe the salty wetness and was rewarded by another round of curses before he flipped her over onto her back and loomed over her.
“That bloody hurt.”
“Good.” She glared right back at him. “If you treat me like a whore, I’ll behave like one. You should be grateful that I didn’t bite it off!”
Francis shuddered and then eased her thighs apart and pushed himself deep. She wasn’t quite wet enough, so he rocked back and forth until he was seated within her and breathing hard.
Part of him applauded her audacity while the rest of him wanted to fuck her so hard and so often that she was the one begging. He placed her foot against his hip changing her position, widening her to his thrusts, and exposing her mound to the grind of his pelvis. He hitched himself even higher, suckling her breasts and setting his teeth on her nipple making her squirm and fight him.
That was better.
He liked being in control.
Except, her face was turned away from him as if she wanted to distance herself from his efforts—like a whore who didn’t care who was fucking her. He’d done that. He’d made her feel like she was only one of many he’d paid to fuck and leave.
“Caroline.” He held still and deep, aware that his heartbeat matched the pulse of his cock. “Look at me.”
She turned toward him, her blue eyes steady.
“Is your mind elsewhere?” Francis asked. “Shouldn’t you be focused on pleasuring me?”
“I wasn’t aware that you were suffering, Captain Grafton. What exactly would you have me do?”
“Participate?”
“I am naked in your bed, and you are inside me. How could I not be participating?”
He slid a hand between their bodies, sought out her bud, and she quivered under him.
“Come for me.”
He started moving, keeping his thumb planted squarely on the source of her pleasure, and she turned away from him, fighting him, fighting the sensations he was deliberately trying to arouse in her.
“What is it?” He punctuated each word with a new roll of his hips. “Do you not want to take your pleasure? Do you think you can withhold it from me?”
He pulled out, rearranged her legs over his bent elbows, and lowered his mouth to her mound. Now she tried to fight him as he licked and sucked her, using his tongue and teeth to drive her onward to a climax. She struggled against him, but he refused to give up until he felt the first tremor of release start within her.
He reared up over her, hooking her feet over his shoulders and fucked downward into her soaking wet and swollen sex until she screamed and came all around him. He shuddered with the power of his release, bloodying his own lip as the force of his climax powered through him.
The moment he released her, she rolled away and curled up into a ball. He waited to see if she would cry, but she made no sound. He shoved a hand through his hair and struggled to understand his need to make her take her pleasure, too. It wasn’t like him, but her stubbornness and refusal to accept what could be a truly remarkable and satisfying sexual liaison frustrated him.
He got off the bed and washed himself down before bringing the bowl and jug of water closer to the bed where Caroline still lay.
“Did I hurt you?” The question escaped him before he considered the implications.
When she heard Captain Grafton speak, Caroline wished she could just disappear into nothing. She’d tried to withstand his advances and deny her own pleasure and had only made things ten times worse. Her body was humming with delight, and yet she felt like crying. She would never do it in front of him because he’d never let her forget it.
She couldn’t let him know how he’d made her feel… she had to somehow salvage this disaster, and move on…
She rolled over to face him, glad that he’d had the decency to put his banyan on. “I am quite well, sir.” She looked at the jug of water—anywhere but directly at him. “If you will just give me a moment I’ll get dressed.”
“As you wish.” He nodded curtly and went to sit by the fire, his back to the bed.
Reaching out a hand, Caroline used the sponge and water to set herself to rights and quickly scrambled into her shift and petticoats. She started on her corset, but her fingers were shaking too hard to manage the awkward position.
“Let me do it.”
Captain Grafton came up behind her and tightened the laces.
“Thank you.”
He left her to finish dressing and put up her hair, which required several attempts because she tried to do it too fast. When she was presentable, she fixed a smile on her face and went to stand in front of him.
“I think I should go back now. My mother will be worried.”
He looked up at her, his head angled to one side. “I said I’d accompany you.”
“There is no need.”
“Mrs. Harding, humor me, please. Sit down and allow me to escort you safely home.”
She glanced at the chair behind her and grimaced. “In truth, I’d rather not sit.”
“I… apologize.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “For what?”
“For my behavior. I was a little rough with you.”
“You were certainly determined to prove a point.” She was proud of how calm she sounded. “And perhaps I was naïve to believe I could stop my body from responding to you.”
“Still—” He stirred restlessly in his seat. “I didn’t behave well.”
“When has that ever bothered you before?” she asked. “You like to win and are prepared to do whatever it takes to achieve your goals.”
He winced. “You don’t have a very good opinion of me, do you?”
“Why should I?” Caroline met his opaque gaze. It
was so difficult to know what he was thinking. All she knew was that like any predator, he would leap on any show of weakness. “You have never attempted to persuade me otherwise.”
“I’ll get dressed.”
She opened her mouth to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but he placed a finger to her lips.
“Be quiet. I am accompanying you.”
She wrapped her shawl around her and knotted it at the waist. She still felt rather strange, as if her whole body was on fire and over-sensitive. If he touched her again, she might turn to ashes. But what to do in the future? She couldn’t avoid his bed—had made a promise to him—but could she accept the pleasure she found there even when it wasn’t allied to love or marriage or a respectful partnership?
“Come on, Mrs. Harding. Let’s get you home.”
Captain Grafton held the door open, and she went past him inhaling the smell of beer, hops and whatever Nancy was cooking in the kitchen. Her legs were wobbly, and the core of her still throbbed. She suspected she would feel sore for at least another day.
She’d never realized physical intercourse could be like this. Her marriage bed had given her little joy. She’d been thrilled simply to give her husband such apparent pleasure and been mortified when he’d suggested her behavior was immodest. But Captain Grafton demanded more from her, and it was a price her body seemed eager and willing to pay. She waited for a wave of guilt to wash over her, but nothing came. Had she finally become as immoral as he was?
“Good Lord, it really is snowing.” Captain Grafton paused at the door into the stable yard at the rear of the inn. “Do you have something to cover your head?”
Caroline readjusted her shawl and stepped out into the street, catching her breath at the harshness of the bitterly cold air and swirling wind.
“Take hold of my arm.”
She was reluctant to touch him, but not stupid. Her boots needed replacing and had little grip on the ice. He smelled of lavender soap and something else she didn’t want to acknowledge, but that made her think of his face between her thighs doing unimaginable things to her.
He took a diagonal path across the town square, only pausing when a crowd of men streamed out of the recently constructed Methodist Church Hall, which stood opposite the crumbling vicarage.
