The Lord of Lost Causes

by Kate Pearce

  “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 curiousl
y. 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.

  Chapter 5

  “Ah, Mrs. Harding. How are you this fine evening?”

  Caroline rose from her seat and offered Captain Grafton a quick curtsey. He’d come into the workroom with Madame Louise who was smiling up at him as if he were a god. He wore his old army coat over a waistcoat, shirt and badly tied cravat. His buckskin breeches were tucked into black boots that gleamed with polish.

  “I am quite well, thank you, Captain Grafton.”

  The bath he had allowed her had done much to soothe both her spirits and the unaccustomed soreness between her legs. Not that she could completely erase the shocking sensation of his flesh against hers, the jolt of penetration, and of being locked against him…

  She realized Madame had asked her a question. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The good captain tells me that he has offered you employment, my dear.” Madame pouted. “I shall miss your excellent brain, but not your sewing.”

  Captain Grafton smiled. “I’m sure Mrs. Harding will gladly handle your books as well as mine, ma’am. In fact, I will insist upon it.” He bowed to his companion. “Now, may I borrow her for a short while? I wish to acquaint her with her new duties.”

  Hadn’t he already done that? Caroline caught his gaze and wondered whether he guessed her thoughts. He did seem to have an uncanny knack of understanding her, which was quite disconcerting.

  “Mrs. Har
ding?” He went back to the door as Madame took a tour of the workroom to oversee the current state of the sewing.

  Caroline followed him to the back of the shop, and into the outside lobby where there was a door and a staircase to the next floor. He withdrew a set of keys from his coat pocket and started up the stairs.

  When she reached the landing, she paused to breathe in the smell of new wood and paint and looked around in surprise at the completely renovated space.

  “Come on,” Captain Grafton turned left toward the front of the building where a half-glazed glass door now blocked the long corridor. He fiddled with the lock. “This will be the new office for my business interests.”

  Bemused, Caroline stepped into a small room with a desk and a side view out of the building.

  “I am to work here?”

  “Yes. I will have all my business information sent here, where you can securely store my records and keep my books.”

  “It is much nicer than the inn.”

  “Indeed,” Captain Grafton said dryly. “Almost respectable.”

  Caroline didn’t answer him but walked through to another set of connected rooms that looked out over the town square. Both were lined with bookshelves and contained a large desk.

  “This will be my office.” She jumped as he spoke in her ear. “Do you approve?”

  “It is not for me to approve or disapprove, is it Captain? I am merely here to do your bidding.”

  “Ah yes, as to that…” His fingers brushed the back of her exposed neck making her shiver. “Come and see the rest of the place.”

  He walked out of the offices, back along the main hallway, and through another door toward the rear of the building.

  “I hope this will be sufficient.”

  He held the door open for her to go past him and she found herself in a kitchen with a range, a fire, a table and four chairs.

  “For what?” Caroline asked bemused.

  He looked down at her. “For you, your mother and your sisters. There are two bedrooms and a newly installed water closet.” He pointed at the sink. “There is also running water.”

  She walked further into the space, her arms wrapped around her waist. “We can’t afford to rent this.”