“Caroline?”
Caroline looked up from her work to see her mother waving frantically at her from the doorway.
“Can you help me? Madame is not in the shop, and there are some new customers who wish to speak to someone with a better command of English than Yvette.”
“Why can’t you help them?” Caroline asked as she replaced her pen in the inkwell and blotted her work. To her annoyance, Captain Grafton had been correct in his calculations, but she’d worked out that the fault had been Madame’s accountant not hers and couldn’t wait to tell him so.
“I am finishing up a gown for Miss Marsham who is coming in with her Mama this afternoon for a final fitting in less than an hour. I do not have time to spare!”
Caroline smoothed down her skirts and reluctantly followed her mother down the stairs and out into the front of the shop. She occasionally had to perform such tasks for Madame, but she didn’t enjoy them.
“Oh my goodness!”
Caroline blinked as the younger of the two ladies standing by the large shop window that faced out onto the busy square turned and spotted her. Tightness gathered like a fist under her ribs as she forced herself to greet the newcomers.
“Mrs. Harding, Miss Rebecca Harding. What a pleasure to see you. How can I assist you in Madame’s absence?”
Her mother-in-law looked her up and down as if she were a servant. “So it is true.”
Caroline gripped her hands together at her waist and raised her chin. Unsure of quite what her deceased husband’s mother was about to accuse her of, she decided that a haughty silence was her best option.
“You are… employed here?” Miss Harding asked.
“What else did you expect me to do when you refused to offer my family a home? In order to have food and shelter one has to work.” In her head, Caroline pictured Captain Grafton’s sneering expression as she faced down the family who had so easily abandoned her. “In truth, I have two jobs.”
Mrs. Harding pressed a hand to her chest and sank down onto one of the dainty satin chairs that adorned the salon.
“How could you?”
“How could I what? Refuse to die on the street or end up in the workhouse?”
Mrs. Harding moaned. “You are dragging our family name in the dirt.”
“No, you did that when you forced me to make a choice between abandoning my family or coming to live with you.” Caroline found a smile somewhere. “But, rest assured, no one here is aware of the connection between us. I have no intention of sharing it. I am enjoying being gainfully employed, earning my own money, and not being dependent on anyone.”
Miss Harding stepped forward, her hand outstretched. “Caroline, you are unjust. My father made this choice, and we were honor bound to obey him.”
“So you said at the time.” Caroline turned back to her mother-in-law. “Now do you wish to discuss new gowns for yourself and your daughter? Madame will be back very shortly if you care to wait.”
She caught a glimpse of movement in the open doorway at the back of the shop and saw her mother and a darker shadow behind her that could only be Captain Grafton.
“We will go,” Miss Harding’s voice was trembling. “But you should expect a visit from my father. He will not be pleased that you are still here.”
Caroline curtsied. “I would be delighted to speak to him whenever he has the opportunity. Good day, ma’am, Miss Harding.”
She turned on her heel and made a stately exit through the workrooms, and then bolted up the stairs. She was breathing so hard, the bones of her corset dug into her ribs. When she gained the upper level, she rested her head against the wall in a forlorn attempt to regain her composure.
The sound of clapping made her shut her eyes and then slowly turn around to face Captain Grafton who was standing in the open door of his office lazily applauding her.
“Well done, Mrs. Harding. Bravo.”
She glared at him. “This is not amusing.”
“I thought it was. For how long have you yearned to say your piece to those awful women?”
“Ever since they cast me out.” Caroline let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t even need to think about the words. They just poured out of me. If they find out that you are one of my employers, they will probably get Mr. Harding to ask you to dismiss me.”
“Seeing as you are a woman of many talents, Mrs. Harding, it is unlikely that I will listen to him.”
“Please do not tell him that.” She shuddered. “Although I suspect my father-in-law would be less mortified about me discreetly becoming some man’s mistress than in openly working in a shop for wages.”
“I’ll bear it in mind.” He nodded. “Do you need to speak to me about anything?”
Caroline gathered her resources. For some reason, his bracing company and frank appreciation of her appalling behavior had somehow settled her nerves.
“Nothing in particular, although I did find that error, and it was not mine, but Madame’s accountant.”
His sudden smile was unexpected. “Of course it was. I expected nothing less of you.”
“I doubt the Harding ladies will be purchasing their gowns from Madame for much longer,” Caroline said.
“Good. She doesn’t need the business of sanctimonious busybodies anyway.” He turned toward his office. “Will you dine with me at the George?”
“You are asking me?” Caroline studied him. “You usually command.”
“I’ve obviously been stricken by politeness.” He shrugged all grace and restless energy. “It still is a command. I will not take it well if you do not join me.”
“I need to finish up Madame’s books and help my mother with the last appointment of the day with the Marshams first.” Caroline curtsied. “After that I will join you.”
“Come in Mr. Fletcher.” Francis held the door open and ushered the man from the steam locomotive company into his office. Mrs. Harding had gone back to help out in the shop, and his afternoon appointment had arrived. “I appreciate you finding the time to visit me.”
“Thank you kindly, sir.”
Mr. Fletcher took a seat in front of Francis’s desk and removed his hat. He had the ruddy complexion of a man used to working outdoors and the faint burr of Ireland in his mellow voice.
Francis sat behind his desk and folded his hands together on the blotter. “I understand that you are considering running a passenger locomotive service into Millcastle.”
“That is correct, sir.”
“I’m not sure why you thought I might be interested in investing in such a thing. I have no experience in this area, and I must admit to some skepticism as the idea that any sane person would allow themselves to be taken at such speed anywhere.”
Mr. Fletcher smiled. “I originally shared your concerns, Captain Grafton, but having been on many locomotives, I am a firm believer that once people realize how much time they will save on their journeys they will come around.” He sat forward. “And the advantages for transporting heavy goods directly into the hearts of new thriving mill towns such as this are undisputed.”
“I can see that,” Francis said slowly. “Transporting cotton from the docks to the mills on the piss poor roads we have up here has always been an issue.”
Mr. Fletcher chuckled. “They do say that the last good roads in this country were built a thousand years ago by the Romans.”
“And I would agree with that assessment.” Francis regarded his visitor. “Can you be more explicit as to your plans, and the part you want me to play in them? I am reluctant to invest in machinery that I do not understand.”
“I agree with that stance, Captain, and in your case it’s not an investment in the machinery that we are after. In truth, the boot’s on the other foot.”
“How so?” Francis inquired.
Mr. Fletcher went over to the window and pointed down at the square where an old statue of some ancient ancestor of Francis’s family sat atop a horse brandishing his sword.
“We want some of your land.”
Francis joined him at the window. “For what purpose?”
“To build a grand passenger locomotive station and perhaps a hotel to sit alongside it.” Mr. Fletcher pointed to the opposite side of the square where the old medieval buildings huddled like a bunch of whores on the corner. “If you were inclined to invest the money you’ll receive for the building of either of those items, that would also be acceptable.”
Francis considered the square and tried to picture a grand hotel and station built of stone replacing the ancient medieval buildings and the warren of slums known as Three Coins behind it. The newly formed town council would probably be most grateful for the removal of its most impoverished tenants, and the reduction in begging and theft would no doubt be substantial…
He turned to Mr. Fletcher who was watching him intently. “I’d definitely be interested in hearing a full proposal from you on this matter, sir. But I do have one request.”
“Name it,” Mr. Fletcher said promptly.
“I’d prefer for these negotiations to be kept strictly between ourselves.”
“I understand, sir. Reclaiming and repurposing land can be a tricky business sometimes, and we wouldn’t want anyone getting themselves all agitated about it now, would we?”
“Exactly, Mr. Fletcher.” Francis held out his hand. “It has been a pleasure.”
After coming through the kitchen of the George and Dragon and speaking to Nancy Bridgewater, Caroline made her way up the backstairs to Captain Grafton’s official bedchamber. She tapped on the door and was told to enter. Her employer—she refused to think of him as anything other than that, sat by the fire reading a book, a glass of red wine in one hand.
“Good evening Mrs. Harding.” He held up his glass. “Please don’t pour this one over my head. It is far too good to waste.”
Caroline untied the ends of her shawl and sat down opposite him. “I still cannot believe I did that to you in the first place.”
He looked up at her over his book. “You were extremely angry with me.”
“I was scared. I couldn’t find the rent money, your agent was threatening me, and for all I knew I’d soon be on the streets or begging at the workhouse door for admittance.”
“I probably deserved it.”
“Indeed.” Caroline agreed.
He poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” Caroline said. “Madame has returned to the shop, and the Marsham ladies were thrilled with Mother’s work, so the day didn’t end as badly as it began.”
“Marsham?” Francis asked. “I think I’ve met the father. He owns at least two cotton mills and is planning on a third. He can well afford for his womenfolk to buy new dresses and ape the manners of their betters.”
“They seemed perfectly presentable to me.”
“Liar.” He raised his eyebrows. “You weren’t brought up in some piddling aspiring ‘middle class’ household, and your grandparents definitely weren’t weavers or coal miners.”
“That is true, but—”
“Then you aren’t like the Marshams.” He closed his book with a definite snap.
“They are wealthier than I will ever be,” she pointed out, “And as local gossip says, your family belong to the aristocracy, perhaps you should not sneer so loudly.”
“What exactly are you trying to say, Mrs. Harding?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Have you ever heard of the French Revolution?”
“Are you personally looking forward to seeing my head on a pike?” He raised his wine glass to her. “I have nothing to do with my family anymore. They disowned me.”
“Why?”
“None of your business, my dear.”
Caroline abruptly pressed her lips together. She’d almost forgotten the danger that lurked behind his unusually relaxed demeanor and had been enjoying their conversation.
“I do beg your pardon.” She sipped her wine and stared into the depths of the fire, mentally calculating how much profit Madame Louise would make from the four extra gowns the Marsham ladies had ordered that afternoon and whether she could demand a commission.
“Cat got your tongue?”
She raised her gaze to meet Captain Grafton’s amber eyes. “I understand that it might snow tomorrow.”
“So I hear.”
“Which makes me glad that I live above the shop and don’t have to walk to my place on employment every day.”
He inclined his dark head, his gaze still guarded. “You’re welcome.”
“I don’t think I will send Ruby out to Lanark House tomorrow if it snows.”
“What does she do there?”
“She acts as a paid companion to Mrs. Sims.”
He frowned. “The girl should be at school.”
“What school? There is nowhere for her to go. The mill doesn’t employ her, so she can’t attend even their pitiful facilities, and she is nineteen, well past the age of schooling.”
“Did you stop learning at that age?”
“I had a governess until I was eighteen and I made my debut in local society.”
“Where you met the sadly deceased Mr. Harding and quickly married him.” He topped up his wine. “Did his family approve of the match at the time?”
“They seemed to be fine about it then,” Caroline answered him carefully. “Although I did not get to meet them until after the wedding, which was perhaps a mistake. I met Nigel in India and married him there. Two years later when my mother decided to return to England we decided we would all travel home together and start afresh.” She sighed. “By the time we completed the long voyage Nigel was already dead, and we had nowhere to turn, but to his parents. ”
“Did you bring a dowry with you?”
Caroline stared at him. “That is none of your business, is it?”
Unlike her he continued talking unperturbed.
“If they did take your dowry, and your father agreed to certain financial settlements on you—which every good father should do to protect his daughter—you are probably owed a widow’s pension or some kind of financial payment from the Hardings since your husband is now deceased. You should consult a lawyer.”
“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 supplies.”
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.
Caroline recognized most of them from her old neighborhood, factory workers, farm workers and other employed men. She caught snatches of conversation about the right to vote and plans to march for the new reform act.
“Mrs. Harding!”
She stopped when her name was called and half-turned to see Jonathan Ford smiling down at her. His gaze switched to her companion, and he touched his hat. “Captain Grafton.”
“The captain is making sure I get home safely through the snow,” Caroline spoke into the silence stretching between the two men. “Did you enjoy your meeting?”
“It was most informative. I promised to tell Ruby all about it on Sunday.” He smiled. “She was most put out by the fact that she wasn’t invited to attend.”
“What was this meeting about?” Captain Grafton inquired. “Wishful thinking on one man one vote, or another attempt to appeal to the goodness of the government to repeal the Corn Laws?”
“We covered many subjects, Captain.” Jon said. “You are more than welcome to join us next time if you wish.”
“Unlikely.”
“Then you do not care that children work fourteen hour shifts in our factories, and that most working men aren’t allowed to have a say in matters that concern them?”
“I’m quite content with the way things are actually, old chap.”
Caroline bristled at his drawling tone, but Jon didn’t appear to notice, or pretended not to.
“Change is inevitable, Captain.”
“Does your employer know you’re mixed up in this business, Mr. Ford?”
“If he doesn’t, I’m fairly sure someone will grass me up sooner rather than later.” His smile was sad. “I don’t begrudge any man taking extra money to spy on his companions when wages are so low.”
“Then you are a better man than I am, Mr. Ford,” Captain Grafton replied. “If I found such disloyalty in my ranks I’d do my best to exterminate it.”
Jon nodded to Caroline and tipped his hat to her companion. “I won’t keep you out in this cold. Good night, Mrs. Harding, sir.”
Caroline started walking again, almost dragging Captain Grafton along with her. A lot of the men around them eyed her companion nervously as they hurried back to their homes. No doubt many of them were his tenants and were fearful of his reaction in seeing them out at night at a somewhat suspect meeting.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs inside Madame’s shop, Caroline swung around to confront Captain Grafton. “You won’t identify Mr. Ford to his employer will you?”
He leaned against the wall and studied her face. “Why would you think that?”
“Because your contempt for him, and the other men, was patently obvious.”
“Contempt? Perhaps.” He smiled. “But not for the reasons you might think. He’s a fool. They are all fools. If they march, the government will bring the military out and crush them like vermin.”
“How would you know that?”
“Because that’s what they do, Mrs. Harding. They are terrified of ‘the common man’. They fear losing their grip on the power and wealth they have acquired and enjoyed for so long.” He sighed. “Eventually change might happen, but I can guarantee you that there will be a lot of blood spilled along the way to achieve it.”
“But you will not speak of what and whom you saw coming out of the meeting tonight?” Caroline repeated her question.
“Why should I?” He raised his eyebrows. “It’s nothing to do with me.”
“Thank you.” Caroline smiled at him, glad for once that he was an incredibly selfish man who only cared about his own wealth and position. “Good night, Captain.”
He kissed her cold fingers and bowed over them. “Good night, Mrs. Harding.”