Francis Grafton couldn’t help but admire how quickly the woman masked her shock at his deliberately provocative announcement. At first sight he’d taken her for the latest in a long line of Keswick’s sluts, but when she’d opened her mouth he’d realized that beneath her grimy exterior lurked the essence of a true lady. She was the kind of woman he was used to encountering in the drawing rooms and ballrooms of London rather than the back parlor of the George and Dragon in industrial Millcastle.
And he’d always liked the unusual.
“May I know your name, Mrs.…?”
She bobbed him a small curtsey, her teeth set into her lush lower lip. “I’m Mrs. Harding, Captain Grafton.” She held out some coins to him. “Perhaps I should pay you my rent directly.”
He admired both her steady voice, and the resolution in her grey eyes.
“With the same benefits?”
She blushed but refused to drop her gaze. “I haven’t offered anything to anyone yet, sir —except my coin.”
He held out his hand. She moved closer to drop the money into his palm and he inhaled the familiar tang of cheap soap and damp wool that was so common in Millcastle. He knew from harsh experience how difficult it was to keep clean in a house with no indoor plumbing. With one finger, he slowly counted the meager collection of coins and then raised his head.
“What exactly is Mrs. Harding’s rent, Keswick?”
“It’s three shillings a week, sir.”
Francis looked back at Mrs. Harding. “Then you are a shilling short.”
“I know.”
She took a deep breath that drew his attention to her shawl-swathed bosom. Idly, he wondered what lay beneath the well-patched clothing and thick woolen shawl. Her hair was a dull dark brown and braided tightly to her head. She reminded him of some kind of drab woodland bird bathing in the dust. He imagined she was in her twenties, and yet she was already a widow. Had she run away from her comfortable home and married a mill hand or a servant? Was that what had brought her so low?
“I intend to pay the rest of the money tomorrow.”
“When you’ve been to the pawn shop?”
Mrs. Harding looked surprised at his intimate knowledge of how things were managed in the slums of Millcastle. She obviously had no idea how deeply he was involved in every aspect of Three Coins—right up to his sinful well-laundered cravat.
She glanced down at her left hand, and he noticed the gleam of a gold ring on her finger.
“I will have the money tomorrow, sir.”
Something in her quiet declaration piqued his interest even further, and he contemplated her for a long moment. He hadn’t expected to find such a challenge in his own back yard. “And what if I had another arrangement in mind?”
This time she couldn’t conceal the flash of distaste in her eyes. He wanted to smile as she struggled to form a reply.
“I…”
Billy Keswick cleared his throat and stared beseechingly at his employer. Did the old fool think Francis would order Mrs. Harding to service him as originally agreed? In his opinion, Mrs. Harding was far too fine a piece to waste on his crude rent collector.
“Keswick, you may leave us. I’ll expect to see you at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning to go over the books.“ Francis paused and watched the sweat gather on Mr. Keswick’s brow. “There are several discrepancies in the accounts I wish to discuss with you.”
“All right then, sir.” Keswick shot him an angry glance and headed for the door.
“And, Keswick? Please ask Nancy to send in my dinner, and to bring enough for two.”
He turned his attention back to Mrs. Harding who was watching him as intently as a mouse confronted by a hungry tomcat. “You will share my dinner, Mrs. Harding, won’t you?”
“I have to get back to my family, sir.”
“You have children?”
“No, but I have two sisters and a mother to take care of, and they need their dinner….”
As she turned toward the door, Francis held out a shilling between his finger and thumb. “I’ll forgo the remainder of the rent for this week if you’ll stay for dinner and answer my questions.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m bored, and you interest me.”
Her gaze went to the shilling, and she hesitated. “Just for dinner?”
He smiled into her wary eyes. “You value yourself so cheaply?”
A flash of anger enlivened her face. “Surely the shame should rest on the one who has to pay for things that should be given freely, and within the bonds of holy matrimony, rather than with the one being bought?”
“Let’s just start with dinner, shall we?” Francis tossed her the shilling, and she caught it reflexively. “Perhaps we can discuss our views on matrimony over the soup.”
There was a knock at the door, and Nancy entered carrying a heavy tray piled high with dishes. Behind her came Tom, the tavern boy, with a small folding card table and a trailing linen cloth.
Francis moved out of the way and directed Tom to set the table by the fire. When the tray was safely set on top of the table, Nancy gave a recital of the culinary delights that awaited them, casting many a curious glance at Mrs. Harding. Tom left and then returned again with a bottle of red wine and two glasses.
Eventually all was settled to Francis’s satisfaction, and he beckoned Mrs. Harding to the table where Tom had also set two chairs.
“Are you hungry, Mrs. Harding? I must confess I am famished myself, having ridden up from London this morning.”
She took the seat he held out for her and stared at the food. He wondered how long it was since she’d sat down to a proper meal. He wanted to caution her not to eat too fast, but feared it would embarrass her further, and he didn’t want that. He wanted her to relax and enjoy the meal so that he could weigh her potential as a future mistress for when he had to return to Millcastle.
He poured wine into the two crystal glasses and placed one by her plate. The food might be inadequate, but at least he knew the wine would be good.
He held up his glass. “To your continued good health, Mrs. Harding.”
“Thank you, sir.” She picked up her own glass, and then stared at it as if she didn’t know what to do next.
Francis sipped his wine and she followed suit, her eyes widening as she swallowed. He liked a woman who could appreciate a fine wine. It usually indicated that her other appetites would be just as sharp.
“The wine is to your liking, ma’am?”
“It is exceptional, sir, although as I haven’t drunk anything stronger than tea and ale for the last two years. I could be mistaken.” She set the glass down on the table with a definite thump. “And I fear that will have to do. I’m not accustomed to strong spirits anymore.”
“You haven’t taken to drinking gin, then?”
She glared at him. “Not quite yet.”
“Excellent.” He smiled at her and indicated the food. “It’s not called Mother’s Ruin for nothing. Would you like me to serve you?”
She eyed the laden plates as if he was offering her poison and shook her head. “No thank you. I’d rather help myself.”
“Then please, be my guest.” He watched in some amusement as she took several small servings and put them carefully on her plate. She retained enough sense and good enough table manners not to attempt to stuff everything into her mouth at once. In his time of need, he hadn’t been so restrained and had ended up vomiting everything he’d eaten. He pushed that thought away and loaded his plate. He’d never be starving again. Of that he was certain.
Mrs. Harding ate slowly, savoring every mouthful with a rich appreciation that made him want to enjoy it with her and to feed her choice morsels from his plate. After a little while, she seemed to remember her manners and looked up at him.
“Are you planning on staying in Millcastle long, Captain Grafton?”
“I’m not sure. I have business interests in many parts of the country.”
“I have to admit that it is not a place I would choose to spend my days either.”
“Then why live here?” Francis asked as he topped up his wine glass.
“Because I have no choice.”
“A fine looking woman like you must have many choices.”
“To become a man’s mistress do you mean?”
He liked that about her, the way she reacted so directly to a challenge. Since he’d regained his fortune, he’d grown tired of women simpering over him. “Is that not a career that appeals to you?”
“It’s hardly a career, is it, Captain? However high they fly, most prostitutes end up dying on the streets with nothing.”
“Except the pox.”
She grimaced. “Exactly. I would rather earn my money in a less dangerous way.”
“That’s a pity.”
She glared at him. “You’d prefer to see me on the streets, Captain?”
“I’d prefer to see you stretched out naked in my bed, Mrs. Harding.”
“I hardly think you need to insult me.” She put her knife and fork down and went to rise. Francis reached across and caught her elbow.
“Sit down, Mrs. Harding. You agreed to share your dinner with me.” Under his fingers, her arm was stiff and unyielding. “You still owe me a shilling, remember?”
She sat back down and refused to look at him. “And what if I have finished my dinner? May I go then?”
“I believe in polite society it is customary to wait until all the diners have finished before the ladies withdraw, is it not?”
“You are hardly being polite, sir.”
He smiled. “No, I am not. But then, you are not the hostess of this particular gathering either, are you?”
She bit down on her lip and concentrated her attention on her plate. Francis allowed a few minutes to pass before he broached his next question.
“You still haven’t told me why you live in Millcastle.”
“It is my home.”
“You do not sound as if you hail from here.”
“My late husband’s family was from here. After his death I assumed…” she paused, “I hoped they would welcome me into their home.”
“And they did not?”
“They felt unwilling to extend that invitation to my mother and sisters.”
“And they threw you out?”
“Not quite, Captain. I chose to leave.”
“How very foolish of you.” She blushed but didn’t answer him. “What was your husband’s occupation?”
“He was in the navy.”
“And he died on duty?”
“Yes.” She swallowed hard and took a hasty sip of her wine. “He drowned when the vessel he was on was wrecked on the rocks in Cornwall.”
“A tragedy.”
“Indeed.”
“One that left you all alone.”
“Apart from my family.”
“Your father is no longer alive either?” Francis asked.
“That is correct.”
“Was he also a navy man?”
She sighed as though she was answering an annoying child. “My father was in the army. When he was alive, we traveled with him. “
“Where did he serve?”
“Mainly in India.”
Francis finished his wine and poured himself another glass. “I have an intimate acquaintance with that continent, firstly in the army, and then in trade. What was your father’s name?”
She glanced up at him then; her gaze wary and he shrugged. “I’m just making conversation, Mrs. Harding. Surely, telling me your father’s surname won’t affect my opinion of you.”
“I suspect your opinion of me can hardly sink any lower, Captain, seeing as I am sitting here at your request for the princely sum of a shilling.”
He laughed at that, but she didn’t join in. His opinion of her rose again, and he found himself enjoying himself for the first time in a long while.
“My father’s name was Delisle.” Mrs. Harding said reluctantly.
Francis frowned. He’d heard that name recently, but in what context?
“A French name.”
“I believe the family came over with William the Conqueror, sir.”
“Unlike mine who were fighting for good King Harold.” He held her gaze. “Then you have been brought very low indeed, Mrs. Harding.”
She raised her chin. “Only financially, sir.”
“Now you sound like my mother.“ He grimaced. “I suspect she would behave like you, Mrs. Harding, being too full of pride to accept any help.”
“You are not offering to help me.”
“I’m offering you a place in my bed. Isn’t that better than what you have now?”
“I believe we have already discussed this, Captain. I prefer to earn my bread with my hands rather than on my back.”
Francis sat back and regarded her. “And exactly how do you do that? With all due respect, you hardly seem to be prospering.”
“My mother and I work for a local dressmaker.”
Francis frowned. “If your mother was the widow of a career soldier why didn’t she receive a pension after his death?”
“She did.” Mrs. Reynolds shifted in her seat. “Unfortunately, she found it impossible to live within her means, and decided to leave India and live with me and my husband when we settled in England.”
“Did they ask her to leave? I’ll wager they did if she was up to her ears in debt.” Francis chuckled. “How embarrassing. Did she run through everything?”
“That is none of your concern, is it, sir? After my late husband’s family refused to offer us a home, we had to find work.” Mrs. Reynolds explained somewhat stiffly. My mother is very skilled, and I have an aptitude for bookkeeping.”
“Your employer allows you to keep the books?”
“She employs an accountant, but I am the one who does most of the day-to-day work.”
Francis smiled. “Have you ever thought of becoming a rent collector, Mrs. Harding? Mr. Keswick’s job might fall vacant soon.”
“Because of his behavior toward me?”
“No, because of his inability to add up.” Her face fell, and he felt compelled to continue. “I can’t fault him for wanting to take advantage of you, Mrs. Harding, when I am intent on doing so myself.”
She held his gaze. “You appear to have finished eating, Captain, May I go now?”
He glanced down at her plate. We haven’t even started on dessert yet.”
“I’ve had quite enough, thank you.”
“How can I persuade you to extend your stay, Mrs. Harding? How about I send you home with the remains of our dinner?”
She glanced down at the food and visibly swallowed. “You really do think very poorly of me, sir, don’t you?”
“No I don’t. There’s no shame in being hungry. I’m just not above using every advantage I have.”
She raised her indignant gaze to his. “You have every advantage, sir, and you know it!”
“I beg to differ. You have something that I want. Surely that gives you all the power?”
“To sell you my body?”
He shrugged. “To enjoy a pleasant sexual liaison with a man who wants you in his bed. Or would you rather endure Mr. Keswick’s attentions?”
She shot to her feet. “Are you threatening me, Captain Grafton?”
He held her gaze. “You came here with the intent to lie with him, didn’t you, so why are you so angry when I offer you an alternative?”
“Because…” She hesitated. “Because I thought you were a gentleman.”
He laughed. “Well, that was your first mistake, Mrs. Harding. I’m a disgrace to my noble blood, and my name has probably been struck from the family Bible.” He picked up her wine glass and offered it to her. “Now sit down like a good girl and amuse me.”
She took the glass from him, and he gestured at her chair. “Thank you.”
With a contemptuous shake of her head, she raised the glass, and tossed the contents in his face. He spluttered and leapt to his feet intent on catching her before she escaped. By the time he reached her, she already had the door partially open, and the roar of the crowded bar filled his ears. With his superior height he was able to slam his hand against the wood and halt her progress.
She wrenched at the door handle, but he leaned his weight onto the wood. She went still and turned to face him, her expression so full of fear that he immediately wanted to reassure her, a quite unusual urge for a man of his appetites
“Let me go, sir.”
He touched her trembling mouth and traced the curve of her lip.
“I might be a scoundrel, Mrs. Harding, but I’ve never had to resort to rape to take my pleasure.”
“Then you will let me leave in peace, and no more need be said.”
He studied her fine features and suddenly things fell into place.
“Delisle…” He felt the tension sweep through her narrow frame. “I’ve just remembered where I heard that name before.” He smiled. “I believe I had the pleasure of meeting your mother this afternoon at the vicarage. She owes me three pounds.”
“Oh dear God,” Mrs. Harding whispered. “Of course. I should have known it was you all along.”
She seemed to slump before his eyes, as if he’d finally beaten her to the ground. The sight affected him far more than he would have expected. He guided her back to the fire and sat her down where she immediately wrapped her arms around herself.
“How is it that your mother plays cards with the ladies of the town when you told me she works for her living at the dressmakers?” Francis asked.
“She… has not accepted her change in circumstances.”
Her voice sounded dull now as if she’d lost all hope.
“Let me guess. She was the one spending the rent money.”
“Yes.”
Francis frowned. He didn’t like this. Where was the spirit she had shown him earlier?
Caroline became aware that he was scowling at her, and that she had to do something. “I do not have the money to repay her debt to you. Even if I pawn everything we own, I still would not have enough.” She swallowed hard. “So I suppose you have won, after all, Captain.”
“Won what?” He raised a damming eyebrow.
“Me.”
He stared at her, his gaze assessing. “You give in far too easily, Mrs. Harding.”
“What?”
He shrugged, still elegant despite the splashes of red wine spoiling his immaculate linen. “I expected so much more from you than this complete capitulation. Where is your pride? Why stop at throwing a glass of wine in my face? Why not attempt to brain me with the poker?”
For a moment, she just gaped at him. “What are you suggesting?”
“That we make this arrangement more interesting.”
“What arrangement?”
“The one I am about to propose to you.” He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at the wine on his face. “I’ll allow you to pay back your mother’s debt to me in exchange for you keeping an eye on my accounting books.”
Caroline found it difficult to breathe. “Why would you do this?”
“Because I need someone to oversee my accounts, and with this arrangement I will receive those services for free.”
“Not exactly, sir. You are still three pounds out of pocket.”
“If I take into account Mr. Keswick’s appalling grasp of mathematics, and the money he already loses me, I’m sure I’ll recoup my investment very quickly.” He held out his hand. “Do you agree to our bargain?”
“Wait,” Caroline said desperately. “For how long must I provide these services?”
“Until the debt is paid off.”
“And who decides when that will be?”
“I do. His smile was a provocative challenge. “Now will you accept my offer?”
“Will you include my rent payment in your accounting?” Caroline asked.
“That’s better. Yes. I’ll forgo your pitiful three shillings until the debt is paid off to my satisfaction.”
Impulsively, she reached across the table, and shook his proffered hand. He drew her to her feet and looked down at her.
Relief made her tongue reckless. “Then you do not really want to bed me after all, sir?”
“Oh, but I do, Mrs. Harding.”
“Then why…?”
He bent his head and kissed her and, the heady bouquet of the red wine surrounded her making her feel dizzy. He angled his mouth over hers seeking admittance and she let him in, too thankful to fight at that moment. His hand slid around her neck as he deepened the kiss, and she could do nothing but stand there, her eyes closed and her hands clenched into fists to stop herself from touching him.
When he finally raised his head, his eyes were narrowed and glinting with amusement.
“I’m giving you, what in our world is called, a sporting chance, Mrs. Harding. I’m hoping you’ll choose to come to my bed willingly in the end.”
She didn’t dare reply, and she guessed he knew it because he carried on speaking.
“But next time you come to me for help, I’ll expect you to pay your debts in full in whatever way I desire. Do you understand me?”
Caroline nodded and pressed the shilling into his hand, her fingers shaking. She could only pray to God that she never had occasion to cross him again because she had no doubt that he meant every word.