“You, in the corner.”
Caroline awoke from a troubled sleep to discover one of the constables yelling at her from the doorway of the cell. She awkwardly rose to her feet, brushing away the odorous straw, and came toward the man, her shawl clutched tightly around her. She could just make out streaks of light through the grimy barred window on the wall opposite the door.
“Mrs. Harding?”
“Yes.”
The big man grabbed her elbow and pushed her out into the corridor before relocking the door. Caroline desperately needed to urinate but waited passively for him to turn back to her.
He gave her another shove. “Get along with you, then.”
“To where?” Caroline asked.
“Where ever it is you live, lass.”
“But what about the charges?”
“None to answer for according to my superior.” He grimaced. “You obviously have friends in high places.”
“I don’t,” Caroline still hesitated. “Perhaps my employer spoke up for me?”
“Perhaps she did.” He pointed to the exit. “Now are you leaving, or do you want me to arrest you for loitering?”
With an inarticulate sound, Caroline fled, and didn’t stop running until she had rounded a corner and the courthouse was out of sight. She leaned up against a wall, her breathing ragged aware that her damp clothing stank, and filth had soaked through to her stockings. A shudder ran through her as the church clock struck seven times and the mills opened their gates to admit their workers.
She had to get home. Her family would be frantic.
Aware that her strength was limited, she forced herself to move away from the wall and head across the square, past her employer’s shop, and down the alley where the George and Dragon was situated. Her steps slowed as she viewed the inn until she stood opposite it.
“Good morning, Mrs. Harding.”
Caroline took an involuntary step back as Captain Grafton emerged leading his horse through the archway of the coaching inn. Even as she stared at him several horrible conclusions fell into place.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Caroline said hoarsely.
He sauntered across to her, his form blocking out the early morning sun, his face in shadow under the brim of his hat.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You had something to do with this.” She swallowed hard and forced herself to look him in the eye. “Did you conspire with Mr. Keswick to make me lose my employment so I would be forced to come to you?”
He went still, the faint smile on his face disappearing. “You think I would conspire with the likes of Billy Keswick?”
“You have a point. You probably didn’t need his help.”
She stiffened as his gaze passed down from her face to her soiled gown and filthy boots. He inclined his head a frosty inch.
“You appear to be in some distress, ma’am. Perhaps you should go home and attend to your needs before opening your mouth again and uttering nonsense.”
His tone was so biting that every word cut like a knife. But he did make some sense. If she weren’t careful, she would lose her composure completely and scream, wail, and scratch her nails down her face until it bled.
With a stiff nod, she turned away, and fixed her gaze on her destination.
“Mrs. Harding?”
She stopped, but she didn’t turn around.
“Present yourself at my address at six this evening, please. We can discuss your bookkeeping efforts and ongoing debts.”
Caroline walked on without replying and a moment later he clattered by mounted on his showy horse and disappeared from view. Tears sprang to her eyes. She ruthlessly held them back until she reached her own front door and banged hard on the faded paintwork.
Ruby opened the door with a shriek and dragged Caroline through the hallway and into their rooms.
“Caroline, we were so worried about you. Mama had to go to work, and Ivy went to see if Mr. Ford had found you, we—”
Caroline held up her hand.” Please, I need to sit down, I can’t—”
She collapsed onto the kitchen chair and rested her head in her shaking hands, only to realize that they were as filthy as the rest of her. She was trembling so much now that she thought she might shatter.
“Boil the kettle, Ruby. I have to wash.”
Many hours later after she had scrubbed every inch of her skin, and washed her long hair, Caroline waited impatiently for her mother to return from work. Ivy and Ruby had helped her get dinner ready and were fluttering around her like moths as if afraid she would be taken from them again.
Ruby had told her that Jon Ford had come back on the previous evening to tell them about his efforts to gain her freedom from gaol and his increasing frustration. Eventually, he’d sent a note saying he would be at the courthouse that morning and would do everything in his power to make sure she was set free.
Marie came in and took off her bonnet and pelisse, her face brightening when she saw Caroline.
“My darling girl!” She came over to embrace her daughter. “I knew when Madame Louise had no notion of a stolen handkerchief in her head this morning that there must have been some mistake. Because if she had known of it, neither of us would probably still be in her employ.”
“She didn’t mention me at all?” Caroline stepped back from her mother. It was typical of Marie not to dwell on the unpleasantness that her daughter might have experienced unless it directly related to herself.
“I told her you were unwell, and that you would complete your work at home under my guidance. That seemed to satisfy her.” Marie sat at the table. “She is rather short of talented and reliable staff and perhaps loathe to let us go. The local industrialists are demanding their daughters dress like ladies now, and her business has increased significantly.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Caroline poured them all some tea and shared out the cottage pie Ruby had made under her supervision. “I was fairly certain that one way or another I would be dismissed today. Did Mr. Keswick come into the shop?”
“No, thank goodness.” Marie gave a delicate shudder. “What an uncouth individual. Captain Grafton did pop in and was most civil to me.”
Caroline paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, her already shaken appetite deserting her. “Captain Grafton?”
Ruby smiled. “Maybe he was buying silk stockings for his lady love.”
“He came to speak to Madame Louise.” Marie pouted. “I was unable to overhear their conversation as she shut the door into her office.”
Caroline scraped the rest of her pie back into the dish and rose to her feet. “I have to go and speak to Captain Grafton about the accounts.”
Marie looked up at her. “But you haven’t finished your dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.” Caroline looked at Ruby. “Will you make sure everything is clean and tidy before you go to bed? I might be quite late back.”
She pinned up her still damp hair, found her second best, and now only, shawl and squeezed her feet into Ruby’s boots. Her own were so disgusting that she would be forced to go to the rag and bone man’s yard and see if she could purchase or barter something for another secondhand pair.
It didn’t take long to reach the George and Dragon. Caroline went through the back entrance into the kitchen where the landlord’s wife held sway.
“Good evening, Mrs. Bridgewater,” Caroline curtsied. “I’ve come to see Captain Grafton about the accounts. Is he in his office?”
Mrs. Bridgewater came over to Caroline, her gaze assessing. “He’s upstairs in his bedchamber. He told me to tell you to go on up there when you arrived.”
Caroline briefly closed her eyes, and Mrs. Bridgewater grabbed her elbow in a remarkably hard grip.
“If you go up there, he’ll have you. You know that.”
“I don’t see that I have a choice.” Caroline whispered.
“There are always choices.” Mrs. Bridgewater sighed, took something out of her apron and pressed it into Caroline’s hand. “But your options have perhaps run out. He is a ruthless pursuer of his own pleasures. This will at least stop you getting pregnant. The sponge is soaked in tansy oil and tied with a long string. The Captain will know what to do with it.”
Caroline wordlessly accepted the small glass jar and put it in her pocket.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bridgewater. You have been very kind to me.”
“He won’t hurt, or beat, or bugger you, I can tell you that much, love. He’s still a gentleman at heart.”
Caroline stifled a hysterical desire to laugh. A gentleman? Captain Grafton would never live up to that name in her eyes. The very fact that she was going upstairs to his bedchamber gave lie to his pretensions.
“Thank you.”
Following the landlady’s directions, Caroline went up the backstairs, her skirts clenched in her hand, and knocked on the door at the end of the corridor.
“Come in.”
For a moment she considered turning and running, but what would that gain her? Debts had to be paid. It didn’t matter why they had been acquired they had to be honored. But at this precise moment, if she had seen her mother or Mr. Keswick her rage might have got the better of her.
She opened the latch and went inside to the surprisingly spacious room. Captain Grafton sat in front of a roaring fire, the accounts book resting on his knee, a quill pen and ink pot by his side.
He didn’t look up at her approach. “Ah. Mrs. Harding. Come and sit down. Would you like a glass of brandy?”
Caroline sat where he directed her to sit and accepted the glass of brandy. She felt curiously lightheaded as if she was watching a morality play entitled The Fallen Woman. How had she sunk to such depths…
“You look pale. Drink your brandy.”
She brought the glass to her lips and almost spilled half the contents in one unsteady swallow. It took all her concentration to place the glass back down without dropping it.
“Your accounting skills are excellent.” He glanced down at the book. “In truth you are the most honest bookkeeper I have ever encountered.”
“Thank you,”
Caroline took another gulp of the brandy and realized her glass was now empty. Her companion reached across and poured her another large measure.
“I’ll have to teach you how to skim a little off for yourself.”
“I don’t want your money.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Surely the boot is on the other foot. You are the one who owes me a considerable sum.”
She shot to her feet, unwrapped her shawl and started on the buttons of her blouse.
“What exactly are you doing?” Captain Grafton inquired.
Caroline glared across at him. “I am undressing. As you have pointed out, the debt I owe you is now beyond my ability to ever pay you back.”
“I’m not sure I understand you.”
“How much did it cost you to prevent me facing the magistrate this morning?” she demanded.
“Oh, that.” He smiled. “Who told you?”
“No one had to tell me. I worked it out for myself after I saw you.” She was down to her skirt now, and ready to step out of it. “You warned me this would happen, and I am fairly certain that a man such as yourself always follows through on his threats.”
“But you didn’t come to me asking for help,” he countered,
“It doesn’t matter, does it? I am still obligated to you.”
He leaned back in his chair, one arm on the back and considered her making her hands curl into fists. “I still don’t understand your haste.”
“Because I can’t stand the suspense anymore! We both know that you intend to bed me, so why can’t we just get it over with?”
Caroline marched over to the side of his large four-poster bed, sat down and took off her boots and stockings. If he would only make haste, she could be back home in less than an hour. She found the glass jar Mrs. Bridgewater had given her and set it on the bedside table.
Captain Grafton rose leisurely from his chair and strolled over toward the bed to inspect the stoppered bottle.
“What exactly is that?”
“Mrs. Bridgewater said you would know,” Caroline stood again and shrugged out of her blouse and petticoat leaving her in her corset and shift.
“Stop.”
She made the mistake of looking at him and instantly regretted it. He took another step closer and then paused again.
“Let down your hair.”
His voice deepened, and there was an element of compulsion in his tone that made her feel like prey.
“Pretty.”
She gathered the pins in her hand and placed them carefully on the table. She couldn’t afford to replace them.
He moved closer, his brandy glass still in his hand, and circled her as if he were contemplating buying a horse. She stiffened as he tugged on the laces of her corset and began to unlace it. He tossed the garment over the nearest chair. She took the opportunity to scramble onto the bed, and lay down on her back, closing her eyes.
The side of the bed creaked as he sat down beside her, one hand curved around her waist, his thumb stroking the jut of her hipbone. She stiffened as he leaned over her, the scent of brandy and heat wafting over her skin. It seemed like an eternity passed before he finally spoke.
“No. I don’t think so.”
Caroline opened her eyes and glared at him. “Don’t toy with me! Blow out the candles and get on with it. Then at least I can go home.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Your saintly husband made you have conjugal relations in the dark?”
“Of course he did! How else—?” Caroline shut her mouth at his evident amusement.
“Let me guess. You kept your nightgown on and lay there in dutiful obedience while Mr. Harding climbed on top of you, pumped away for a few seconds, and then fell asleep snoring until dawn.”
Caroline bit down hard on her lip as he caressed her chin. “I suppose you think I should behave like a whore.”
“Better that than a pathetic martyr.” His grip tightened. “To be quite honest, Mrs. Harding. At this precise moment I’d rather fuck a bowl of rice pudding.”
“How…dare you speak to me like that? You—” Rage poured through Caroline’s veins, and she surged upward and shoved him hard in the chest. The culmination of the worst day of her life required her to rip him limb from limb, to bite him, savage him, hurt him as much as he had already hurt her.
“That’s better.” He fought off her clawed fingers and puny attempts to punch and kick him. “One day I’ll teach you how to fight properly, but not tonight.”
He closed his fist in her hair and wrapped it around his palm drawing her head back so that she had no choice but to be kissed. Instead she tried to bite him, and he laughed before taking possession of her mouth with an intensity that didn’t require her cooperation only her presence.
She was backed up against the headboard and his hands were all over her. He used his strength to arrange her against the hard unmerciful planes of his body. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, and he knelt heavily between her thighs, the hot throbbing presence of his maleness rubbing against her most intimate parts.
Francis reached out a leisurely hand, uncorked the brown bottle Nancy had given to Mrs. Harding, and extracted the soaked sponge and string.
“Hold still.”
She flattened herself against the headboard and averted her gaze as he probed her snug entrance and maneuvered the oil soaked sponge high up inside her. God, she was tight… his cock stirred kicking against the restraints of his buckskin breeches. He rubbed his oiled thumb against her bud, and she fought to escape his touch. His opinion of the mercifully deceased Mr. Harding fell even further. How could a man marry a woman as magnificent as this one, and have offered her no opportunity to enjoy being fucked?
“Stop fighting me,” he nuzzled her throat, and then bit down gently on her ear lobe making her shudder. “Fulfill your debt to me and let me… fill you.”
He unbuttoned the fall of his breeches and drew his shirt out of the way of his already wet cock before settling on his knees between her spread thighs. She was breathing fast, her bosom rising and falling not with passion, but with what he assumed was fear.
It gave him pause.
“Look at me.”
Her head remained averted and her eyes closed. He gently wrapped a hand around her throat.
“Back to being a martyr again, Mrs. Harding?”
Her eyes flew open, and with one swift forward motion he eased the head of his cock inside her tight channel making her gasp. He eased back and then forward again until she took all of him, and then stayed deep experiencing the sensation of her flesh yielding to the hard insistence of his need.
He’d like to make her come, but he doubted she would be amenable to the lesson at this point. That could wait. This moment—this pulsing, heated surge of lust was about possession. He couldn’t deny it, wouldn’t glorify his inglorious, selfish desire with any kindness.
He leaned in and kissed her mouth, used his tongue to mimic the rhythm of his cock as he settled deeper, anchoring her to him with one arm locked around her jutting hips. She needed to eat more. He’d make sure that she did.
She gasped as he pushed her shift down and sucked her nipple into his mouth making her arch her back, offering him even more. These moments of lust gave him the ability to forget and to wallow in the pure physical vibrations of being alive.
Tension gathered at the base of his spine and his balls as the need to come crowded out all the other glorious sensations. He plunged deep once more, and then pulled out allowing his come to soak her shift as he shuddered with pleasure against her shoulder.
Easing back he rolled away from her and set himself to rights. He’d wash when she had gone. Despite the grumbling in his kitchens about hauling up hot water, he never went to bed without being clean.
She lay where he had left her, eyes closed, her long hair flowing over her bosom before drawing her legs up and wrapping her arms around herself. Francis went still and regarded her curiously. Would she scream and cry and wail her displeasure to the rooftops?
A knock at the door had her scurrying to hide under the covers. He shut the curtains that surrounded the bed and went to open the door.
Nancy confronted him, her expression worried. “I have water for your bath. Do you want it now?”
“What an excellent idea.” Francis held open the door and allowed the two serving men to set the bath in front of the fire. The four maidservants paraded in and out with buckets of hot water until the bath was half full.
Nancy handed him a fresh cake of soap and a new towel. He dared her to speak, but for once she said nothing, her gaze taking in the disorder of the room and the randomly discarded women’s clothing.
Francis shut the door behind his staff and picked up Mrs. Harding’s clothing before returning to the bed. He opened the thick curtains to find her sitting up, the bedclothes clutched to her chest.
He bowed. “Would you like to take a bath?”
She gaped at him as if he’d offered her a trip to the moon.
“A… bath?”
“Yes.”
She pushed a long strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers obviously trembling. “I haven’t had that luxury for years.”
“Then enjoy it.” He pointed at the chair closest to the fire. “Your clothing is there, and the door is locked.”
She regarded him warily before easing out of the bed. The front of her shift was damp with his leavings and stuck to her skin, which made him want to rip it off her and start again. Her nipples were dark and after his attentions still tight against the thin cotton.
Francis turned away before he allowed his baser self to take what he wanted and be damned to the consequences. He was not an animal. He refused to be that man again. When she had gone, he could lie in bed, imagine her there, and take himself in hand.
Caroline forced herself not to scuttle like a frightened rabbit past the faintly smiling source of her utter ruin. No, that wasn’t fair. Some of this she had brought on herself. Some women would’ve abandoned their families and taken their place in their deceased husband’s family. Some women obviously had no conscience or were rightly too fearful to lose what little social position they had.
She considered the steam rising off the bath as Captain Grafton settled at his desk, his back to her. If she had to make the choice again, knowing how desperate her life and that of her siblings would become, would she do it? A shameful part of her whispered yes, so who was she to judge others?
After a wary glance over her shoulder, she allowed her shift to fall to the floor and stepped quickly into the bath. She couldn’t repress a moan of sheer enjoyment as the water closed around her.
“I wish you’d made that sound when I bedded you, Mrs. Harding.”
Caroline started at his mocking amused voice, but he didn’t move out of his chair or show her his face. Was he being kind? Did he actually have a respectful bone in his body?
Knowing the size of his business interests, she concluded that he was probably too busy to care about a woman he’d just succeeded in taking to bed. His interest had moved onto different things—bigger conquests and other important matters. She could only hope that having satisfied his lusts he would now forget her entirely. She had hardly proved satisfactory.
She reached for the soap and washcloth and hurriedly scrubbed at her skin before wrapping herself in one of the drying clothes warming in front of the fire. Trying to move as quietly as possible she gathered her clothing and stepped into her drawers and petticoat beneath the obscuring towel. She had no desire to put her shift on again, which left her with a dilemma.
Captain Grafton got up from his chair and disappeared out of the room leaving Caroline a scant moment to decided how to proceed. The thought of sneaking down the backstairs with her corset and shift in her hand was far less worrying than still being here when the Captain came back,
She struggled into her dress and hastily pinned up her now damp hair. Her shawl hung over the back of one of the chairs, and she used it to wrap up her underclothes. With one last frantic look around the room she put on her darned stockings and her sister’s best boots and ran to the door.
“Going somewhere, Mrs. Harding?”
She clutched a hand to her chest as her nemesis appeared.
“I—”
He didn’t move out of her way, his expression quizzical. “We are not finished here, ma’am. There are matters to discuss,”
“Can we… discuss them at another time?” Caroline asked. It was difficult to look him in the eye when half an hour earlier he’d been…
“If you insist.” He inclined his head a civil inch. “I will meet you at your place of employment tomorrow at five.”
“At the dressmakers?”
“You do still work there, don’t you?”
“Yes,” She fixed her gaze on his cravat. “I will be there.”
“Then we will speak further.”
She tried to move past him, and he caught her elbow in a gentle but inflexible grip.
“There is one more thing.”
She stared at the flickering candle on the opposite but could find no words to answer him.
“What is your name?”
She blinked up at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your given name, Mrs. Harding.”
”It’s Caroline, why?”
He shrugged. “Seeing as we have enjoyed the most intimate of moments it seemed fitting that I should know your name.”
Anger stirred in her chest. “Do you always ask for the names of the women you bed?”
“Not always.” He leaned against the doorframe. “Sometimes it’s too dark to see exactly who has crawled under the sheets, but one does one’s best to pleasure them anyway.”
“You are… immoral.”
“Indeed,” He bowed. “And sometimes the lady wishes to be discreet in case her husband catches her, and she uses a false name.”
“I do not understand you at all,” Caroline whispered.
“What’s to understand? I’m a man.”
“And men can take what they want, when they want it.”
“Exactly.” He bowed and kissed her averted cheek. “Goodnight, my dear Mrs. Harding, and please do not think of missing our meeting tomorrow.”
He finally released his grip on her elbow, and she turned and ran as if the very devil was pursuing her. He need not fear she wouldn’t answer his summons.
There was no safety anywhere for her. She’d known that ever since her husband had died and not amended his will leaving her to the mercy of his family.