The Lord of Lost Causes

by Kate Pearce

  He’d have her in her bed soon, unwrap her body from the cheap clothing encasing it, and make her gasp, and moan, and…

  “Captain Grafton!” She looked straight at him and pressed her hand to her bosom. “You startled me!”

  “Good evening, Mrs. Harding.”

  He closed the door behind him and advanced toward the desk, his tiredness forgotten as the scent of her lavender soap invaded his senses. She put down her pen and sat up straight, the only evidence of her awareness of him in the quick rise and fall of her breasts.

  “You look… well.” Francis said slowly.

  “Thank you,” She fidgeted with a loose strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. “Do you wish to see the books?”

  “No, I wish to see you naked.”

  She pursed her lips. “As you wish, sir.” She capped her inkwell, closed the accounts book, and locked it in her desk. “May I take a moment to speak to my family?”

  “And tell them what?”

  “That you have returned, and that you require my presence to go over the books. They will not disturb me then.”

  “Very clever.” He reached out an idle finger and traced the line of her jaw. “Hurry up.”

  Color rose on her cheeks as she bobbed him a curtsey and fled the room. He went into his office to find the decanter of brandy and two glasses, and then used the door into her bedroom locking it behind him. She’d made no effort to decorate the room with womanly fripperies, leaving it sadly impersonal and reminding him rather too much of some of the brothels he’d visited in his youth.

  Why hadn’t she bothered? Francis frowned. Did she see the room as an extension of her employment? And why did it offend him?

  He didn’t bother to turn around as she came through the exterior door that led to her lodgings and locked it behind her.

  “Why is this room so bare?” Francis asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “This room. Don’t you have any pictures or ornaments to decorate it with?”

  She studied him as if her were a particularly dense pupil.

  “I pawned everything I brought with me from my former life. I have nothing left to decorate it with.”

  “Ah, that would explain it.”

  He knew how it felt to be desperate. At one point, he’d regularly pawned the coat of his back and only paid the fee for its return when he needed to appear in decent society.

  “Are your current wages still not sufficient for such things, Mrs. Harding?”

  “I am attempting to save as much money as I can, Captain.” She came further into the room, her gaze fixed on him, her hands fisted at her sides. “Do you want me to undress?”

  He crouched down by the fire and banked it up with more coal from the scuttle. Even when she was offering herself to him, she still managed to make him feel bloody inferior. It was quite remarkable, and a skill he realized he admired.

  “Not quite yet.”

  He stood up, dusted his hands down on his breeches, took off his coat and started on the buttons of his waistcoat. He unpinned and removed his cravat and then sat down to take off his muddy boots and socks.

  Mrs. Harding remained frozen to the spot where he had left her. Had she ever seen a naked man? Francis had a strong suspicion that the late Mr. Harding had not been the kind of man who pranced around naked even in the sanctity of his own bedroom. He stood and undid the waistband of his breeches releasing the pressure on his already hard cock before pushing them off.

  He hadn’t intended to strip for her, but he couldn’t resist. Holding her shocked gaze, he slowly lifted his arms and took off his shirt. Her faint gasp as his cock was revealed made him smile. He walked over to her, took her unresisting hand, and placed it on his naked chest. The wet crown of his cock prodded her hip, but she didn’t move away.

  Her fingers slid around his bicep.

  “Did you really beat Mr. Keswick?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Her fingers tightened sending her nails into his skin. “Good.”

  He slowly removed the pins from her hair, which looked far shinier than it had before. Not so much a drab little sparrow now, more a golden wren.

  “I must confess I didn’t do it for you.” Or perhaps he had, but she didn’t need to know how he felt about any man who took out their anger on a woman with their fists.

  She shivered. “I am just glad that he is gone.”

  “Mmm…” He took her hand from his arm and drew it down to his needy cock. “Touch me, here.”

  Her breath hissed out as he closed her fingers around him. “I have never—”

  “You have now.” He kissed her throat and bit down on her shoulder. “You’ll learn to enjoy it. A clever woman can control a man by his cock.” Especially when he taught her how to use her mouth on him, but that lesson would come in good time. He withdrew his hand from over hers. “Just hold my cock while I undress you.”

  Caroline was finding it difficult to know where to place her gaze. Captain Grafton’s body was lean with defined muscle. His tanned skin was marred with many scars, and one of her hands was currently closed around his… what word should she call it? She’d never had to think about such things with her husband. He’d just stuck his member inside her, plunged around for a while, and that was that.

  She adjusted her grip slightly as Captain Grafton leaned in to unlace her corset, and he made that purring noise again. Wetness streamed over her fingers making her skin stiff and starchy. The heat from his column of flesh was quite astonishing as was the throbbing.

  “Use your fingers on me. Move them up and down.”

  His mouth was so close to her ear that he barely needed to speak. The whole evening had turned into a ridiculous dream that was so unlike her everyday reality that she felt like a different person. Captain Grafton was naked, and she was touching him in the most intimate of manners while he undressed her.

  “Mrs. Harding, your attention is not where it should be,”

  She blinked up into his golden eyes, realizing he’d removed her corset and was about to start on her shift.

  “I’m sorry.” She lifted her arms and allowed him to pull the thin linen over her head.

  He took hold of her wrists and walked her backward to the edge of the bed.

  “Sit.” He crouched down between her thighs and set his fingers on her knees to untie her garters. One sensible woolen stocking followed the other and was discarded on the floor. “Do you not have any silk stockings?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I’ll buy you some.”

  “There is no need.”

  His warm breath feathered against her inner thigh, and she eased herself back onto the bed away from him.

  “Stay there.” He grasped her knees and pulled them wide. A wave of heat blossomed in her cheeks.

  “Don’t—”

  He looked up at her. “You may lie back on the bed but keep your legs exactly as I have placed them.”

  She did as he suggested and lay back, achingly aware that his gaze was level with her most intimate secrets and that the room was still lit. She gasped as he kissed her thigh and then went even higher.

  “This is not… seemly,” Caroline spluttered.

  “No, but it’s damned enjoyable.” He licked her lavishly, and she squeaked until his grip tightened on her spread thighs.

  “Stay there, Mrs. Harding.”

  His words vibrated against her sensitive flesh as he used his thumbs to spread her secrets. His mouth descended again, the rasp of his stubbled chin and the stabbing and licking of his tongue threw her into complete confusion. Heat built up, and she writhed against the sheets trying to both escape his thrusting tongue, yet unable to resist the siren call of her own need.

  She blindly reached down and touched his head, tangling her fingers in his hair making him curse and take her harder. His fingers probed her, his thumb settled over the throb of her bub, and she was lost to the primitive driving rhythm he demanded. The slick thrusting we
tness of his tongue and the abrasion of his thumb combined together to send her along a fevered pathway she had no ability to stop.

  “Give in to me, Mrs. Harding,” he commanded between each offense on her senses. “Come for me.”

  “I can’t…” She was terrified. She was desperate for the feelings to end—didn’t he understand that? “Make it stop.”

  His laugh was pure sin as he pinned her in place, sucking on her bud as his fingers slicked through her need, and then he eased back to graze her with his teeth.

  Caroline screamed and immediately turned her head into the covers to stifle the sound as she fell from need to satisfaction. Tears stung her eyes as her body relaxed into a pool of satiated thankfulness.

  “Better,” Captain Grafton murmured as he withdrew his fingers.

  Her tormentor joined her, drawing her fully onto the bed and positioning himself between her lax thighs.

  “What are you doing?” Caroline gasped as he took hold of his cock and leaned over her.

  “Fucking you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Surely you haven’t forgotten so quickly?”

  “But you just—” She stared up at him in bewilderment until he started to smile.

  “That was for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not? Should you not take your pleasure from me?”

  “This isn’t about me,” Caroline demurred. “I am here because you called in your debt.”

  “I am well aware of that.” He eased forward until the crown of his cock breached her. “But perhaps I want more. Perhaps I want you to want this—to miss this—to look forward to my return.”

  She blinked at him as if he was insane, and he paused.

  Why did he want that? He’d never required it of any of his other bed partners, but bringing Mrs. Caroline Harding to her knees, making her want… that appealed to him immensely. Like him, she was a fighter, and he admired that, but still…

  He thrust forward, sheathing himself with one rock of his hips, and her blue eyes widened, and… God he held still as she climaxed around his cock like a beggar’s fist clenching around a penny. He forgot about anything but the need to join her, threw his calculations and disciplined thrusts into the abyss, and enjoyed every gasping, wrenching moment of it. He almost forgot to pull out, and only just made it, the heat of his come spilling on her soft belly in thick urgent jets.

  He resisted the urge to collapse over her and rolled away, his senses more disturbed than he expected. She stayed still, her eyes closed as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened to her.

  Caroline wanted to curl into a ball and just think, but Captain Grafton didn’t seem to be leaving. Was he expecting more? She bit her lip. Was there more? Her descent into the corruption of the flesh had been rapid and indecent. She’d given into her seducer and allowed him to experience her at her most base. He wouldn’t forget that and would use her own nature against her if he could.

  She had to learn to control her emotions or she would be lost and no better than any of the other women she was certain Captain Grafton had bedded and left behind. She wanted to roll onto her side and touch his skin, feel the kick of his shaft as she squeezed it with her fingers.

  “Immoral,” she whispered.

  “Who? You or me?” He came up over her on one elbow, his black hair curling over his brow. “I am proud to be considered a blot on society.”

  “And I have no choice in the matter,”

  “That isn’t quite true though is it? You had the opportunity to continue your old life in the bosom of the Harding family.”

  “Without my mother and sisters?”

  “If you were less honest, Mrs. Harding, you would have meekly taken your place in that household and contrived, using your considerable wits to make sure you could support your mother and sisters as well.”

  “I didn’t know I had any wits until I was forced to use them, and that didn’t occur until after I’d lost everything,” Caroline pointed out.

  Something flashed in his eyes. “Now that does make some kind of sense. I only learned to look out for myself after my fall from grace.”

  “What did you do?” If she kept him talking, she might forget that they were both still naked and in her bed. She hesitantly touched his skin. “You have obviously been badly beaten at some time.”

  “Which time would you like to hear about, ma’am?” His smile was bleaker at the edges than she had anticipated. “The faint stripes from my inglorious career at a prestigious public school where a good beating instills character? Or the later whipping from the abrupt end of my military career?”

  “You were discharged from the military?” Caroline asked. “Whatever for?”

  He shrugged and moved away from her. “Many things. All of which would garner your complete and utter disapproval.”

  Caroline scrambled to sit up as well as he stalked over to the washstand and used her jug of cold water and soap to wash himself. Perhaps there was a way to make him forget about the bedding part by distracting him with questions.

  He gathered his clothing and got dressed with speedy efficiency.

  “I will see you in the morning to go over the books.” He bowed. “Good night, Mrs. Harding.”

  “Goodnight, sir,” she replied.

  He left locking the door into his office behind him. Caroline fell back on the pillows in relief. He’d gone. She’d survived his most intimate of attentions and learned some rather interesting things in return. Now she just had to change her shift, wash with what remained of the water, and decide how to conceal the resulting laundry from her family.

  She sighed and slid out of bed. Sometimes the wages of sin seemed extraordinarily banal and rather confusing.

  Francis looked up as his new rent collector, Daniel O’Brien, a recent immigrant from Ireland knocked smartly on his door.

  “Morning, Captain.”

  “Come in and shut the door.” Francis waved him inside. “How have things been in the delightful slums of Millcastle this month?”

  “Profitable.” O’Brien smiled. “And might become even more so, Captain.”

  “How so?” Francis invited the man to sit.

  “I met a gentleman who is very interested in speaking to you in person, sir. A businessman connected with both the building of canals and steam locomotives.”

  Francis frowned. “As the only coal mines I own are far too small to deserve the use of a steam locomotive, and I have no interests in the potteries, I cannot see the financial gain for myself.”

  “These steam locomotion engines will be used for passengers, sir.” Mr. O’Brien said.

  “Passengers? As in ferrying people from place to place?” Francis raised an eyebrow. “That sounds rather fantastical and not profitable at all.”

  “Have you not heard of the Stockton to Darlington railway, sir? The line uses steam locomotives and carriages and is proving to be reliable and profitable.”

  Francis sat back in his chair and looked at his agent. “How fast do these ‘passenger locomotives’ travel?”

  “Between twelve and fifteen miles an hour I believe, sir.”

  Francis whistled. “Good Lord. Who would want to do that when you can ride a horse? I’m still not sure why this man wishes to speak to me, but you may tell him to call on me this week.”

  Daniel O’Brien stood up and bowed. “I will do so, sir. And now, I must take myself off and begin the joyless task of persuading your tenants to part with their money.”

  He paused at the door. “I assume Mrs. Harding has no complaints about the money I’m bringing in?”

  “I haven’t spoken to her about the books yet, but rest assured, if there are discrepancies you will be hearing from me.” Francis rearranged his pens. “Good day, Mr. O’Brien.”

  Within five minutes of his agent’s departure, there was another knock at his door and Mrs. Harding came in the accounts books in her hands.

  “I assumed you wish to see the books, sir.”

  He studied
her carefully, wondering how she managed to look both so stern and so damned alluring in her plain blouse and bottle green skirt and jacket. It occurred to him that the more he pleasured her in bed, the more severe she appeared. Did she think he wouldn’t notice her charms if she repressed them so carefully?

  The urge to sit her on his desk, throw up her skirts, and lick and nuzzle his way to her core made his cock kick up.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Harding.”

  The look she gave him was wary, as if she guessed his thoughts were in the gutter.

  “Captain Grafton.”

  He gestured at the chair next to his. “Bring the books to me and sit down.”

  She gripped them even harder to her bosom. “I’d rather sit on the other side of the desk.”

  “And I would rather you sat with me.” He met her gaze. “Do you think I will ravish you in my own office?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “It would hardly be the first time.”

  “You wrong me. That was my bedroom. This is my office. The two are quite distinct.” He patted the seat beside him. “Come here, Mrs. Harding.”

  After his reluctant paramour left in a huff to sort out some discrepancies he had noticed in the last month’s accounts, Francis strolled over to the window and glanced out at the busy square beneath him. It was market day, and the place was full of vendors and buyers looking for a good bargain. He noticed one of Caroline’s sister’s returning to the house with a basket full of paper parcels wrapped in string and various vegetables.

  The thought that Caroline was now able to eat properly was deeply satisfying. He went back to his desk and lit a cigar. She’d be back soon, eager to prove that her calculations were perfectly correct, and that he was wrong. He doubted he was. Despite years of being told that he was stupid he’d discovered he was remarkably adept at counting every penny.

  There was a letter on his desk from his mother, which he still hadn’t opened and had no intention of replying to. She wrote to him about every six months, After the first letter, which was a thinly disguised plea for money couched in a desire for him to come home and apologize for his transgressions, he hadn’t bothered to open any more. His father was dead, which was deeply gratifying, but he had no wish to either apologize or weep tears over the old tyrant’s grave. They’d been more than happy to throw him to the wolves when he’d been disgraced in India—hadn’t even been interested in hearing his side of the story. He owed them nothing.