chapter 16
Caroline watched Jack’s face twist as if her conditions pained him. Or more likely his leg hurt. He might think he was physically capable, but she wasn’t so sure. On the other hand it was now or never.
His arm muscles flexed as he struggled to sit up all the way. She gasped. His undershirt only concealed his torso, leaving no doubt he was a man, and available.
“All right. I will agree to not pinch or grope.”
“No touching or kissing.”
His eyes narrowed. “Agreed. No touching beyond the necessary, or anything tender during the act.”
She gave a short nod. “You must never ever tell anyone.”
“No one would believe me if I did, but I won’t.” His lip curled as if disgusted. “In exchange, you should help me to read and write better.”
Her dry mouth worked, but she had a hard time forcing her agreement. She’d refused to do more than read to him and supply him with materials before, thinking she couldn’t spare the time away from her seduction attempts or the mill, but she was desperate. Mr. Broadhurst wouldn’t allow her any more leeway. Then again, she wouldn’t have to dedicate so much time to the guests if Jack would get a child on her.
A jittering demon’s energy shook her with cold clammy claws. Finally, she gave one short nod, her head refusing to give more compliance than that.
“You might have to come over here, because I don’t think any man can manage across a room.”
Tension screamed through her body. According to Jack, she was in or near a fertile time. She didn’t know how to measure his veracity or knowledge, but she had no reason to doubt he knew what he was talking about. Besides, he’d come from a prolific clan, unlike Mr. Broadhurst, who had no living relatives.
A horrible thought occurred to her. “You don’t need to grope me or anything to be successful, do you?”
His lips twitched. “I am tempted to lie and say yes, but no. I don’t need to caress you, or kiss you or cradle you to me, but I imagine there will be some inevitable contact . . . uh, beyond what is required.”
His weight would press her into the bed, and even if he kept his hands to the sides, she would feel his breathing near her ear. She would smell him and hear him as his instrument scraped in and out, but she tried not to think of that. Her legs shook and a cold dread pooled in her stomach.
“If I do anything too outrageous, I’m certain you could get away from me. It isn’t as if I could run after you.”
But she wouldn’t be able to get away once they were engaged. She wouldn’t be able to shift his weight off her without his cooperation, not unless she kicked his broken leg. The last thing she wanted was to cause him more pain. “How is your leg feeling?”
He held out his hand, but she ignored it and continued sitting in the chair by the fireplace. He might be willing, but she wasn’t sure he was fit enough for such vigorous activity.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t feel it much after the laudanum.”
She twisted the material of his nightshirt against her throat. His scent wafted off it, which was both comforting and frightening. They were friends. Friends helped each other. He would help her—she would help him.
“So, when is a good time for you to conceive?” His voice was coaxing, encouraging. But his eyelids were drooping and he looked tired.
“This week.” She bit her lip hard enough to taste the coppery flavor of blood.
“Good.” He unbuttoned his undershirt and stripped it off.
“You don’t have to undress . . .” Her voice trailed off as he shot her a skeptical look.
“I suppose that means you don’t intend to do more than lift your nightgown,” he said, sounding regretful.
His nightshirt. The insubstantial thing she had on underneath didn’t count. She twisted more material in her fingers and avoided looking at the indecent expanse of his chest and stomach. “I don’t see any reason it would be necessary.”
He shifted, removing his drawers under the coverlet, and cast her a half smile. “It doesn’t occur to you that I would like to look upon you, even if I cannot touch.”
As he worked his drawers over his cast, his naked hip peeked from below the coverlet, the flesh pale and smooth.
Caroline sprang out of the chair, went to the dressing room door, clicked it closed and turned the key. Not that she expected anyone to interrupt them here. Her chest squeezed and she knew she was near achieving her part of the bargain, or at least knowing a man, even if he wasn’t one of the designated gentlemen. Her shoulders knotted. She would have to relax to even allow the event to take place.
Wanting to escape, she returned to the chair by the fireplace and sat down gingerly. “Are you certain you’re strong enough? You are not completely healed.”
He twisted to reposition the pillows behind him, exposing one pale flank. Fighting an inexplicable need to stare at him, Caroline clenched her eyes shut, uncertain why she wanted to look upon his form.
“Then you should do the work,” he said.
Her eyes popped open. “Excuse me?”
She didn’t know how she could do the work. That was the man’s role. Her mind reeled through possibilities and rejected them all. A tremor passed down her spine and knotted her neck.
He slid down on the bed to his elbows, and the coverlet reached his waist, allowing her to draw a breath. His look turned questing. Jack seemed to be waiting, as if he thought she’d know how to manage to provide the motion.
Caroline found her nail in her teeth, a habit her governess had cured two decades ago. She deliberately dropped her hand. “I’m not certain I know how.”
“You should mount me, sweetheart.” His mouth flattened. “It will give you control of how much we do touch.”
She thought about protesting his term of endearment, but she supposed it was just something to call her rather than ma’am or Mrs. Broadhurst. “Are you certain that would work?”
Never had she considered that she could be on top. And the idea of being in control of their encounter made her shake. She had never been more than a passive participant. Always when Mr. Broadhurst mounted her, she’d lay there as still as a church mouse, afraid to make a peep for fear he could actually rend her in two, as it always felt he was doing.
Yet, this with Jack was sounding all very clinical, like a doctor’s examination. But that was how she wanted it. Wasn’t it?
His mouth worked as if he were restraining a laugh. “Yes, it will work.”
She almost wanted to hit him. “I mean to get me with . . . child?”
“That’s what I meant.” Jack held out his hand and beckoned her. “My da’s been on his back for years and it hasn’t stopped Martha from conceiving.”
Shock that he knew such details of his father’s private life made her back feel as if a metal rod had landed against her spine.
“He injured his back some time ago,” said Jack, no doubt feeling she needed an explanation.
And his explanation didn’t mean he knew how his father and stepmother interacted, just that he could surmise it. Although, the workers’ houses were small and without much privacy.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be. ” Her voice sounded too shrill in the room.
“Ah, I’ve been ready since I saw you at the top of the stairs. You’re very tempting to look upon.”
He seemed comfortable with his words in the night. The low rasp of his voice curled around and touched a part of her that wanted more than this business arrangement. On shaking legs she stood and stepped closer to the bed. She no longer trusted her voice to sound normal.
Jack’s dark eyes watched her as he sat, bunching the muscles in his stomach, showing their form as they moved under his tight skin. He pushed the covers down to his thighs and exposed his instrument.
Caroline gasped. His thick shaft seemed much too large.
The back of her legs cramped as he lay back down, moved his hands away from his sides and gripped the mattress ticking beneath him.
Jack waited for Caroline to do more than stare with widened eyes. His body was eager, even as he wondered how pleasurable the sex could be for her when she treated it as only a means to the end of getting pregnant.
Caroline averted her face and stood still as a statue.
He sensed that patience would be of paramount importance. She seemed a woman who would need to be awakened slowly. To move too fast would be to risk losing her. And he could be patient, but this was all backward. Yet, he hoped he could turn it around, but he only had a day or so to get her to stop dreading their encounters. Whatever had gone on between her and Broadhurst, she was still naive and uncertain.
But as time stretched thin, he could see the war within her. That she wanted to flee was obvious.
The long case clock in the entry hall began to chime, its sound faint this far away. He silently counted, one, two, three. But the tolling of the bell jerked Caroline out of her stupor.
She gathered up the nightshirt to mid-thigh and put one knee on the mattress. Jack clutched the mattress under him tighter, resisting the urge to guide her as she swung over to straddle him.
The coolness of her inner leg against the searing heat of his skin startled him. She was poised above him as if afraid to bring their privates together.
He tilted up and brought the covers over her legs. “You’re cold.”
She made a small squeak and nodded. Then she brought her warm woman’s core against his pelvis. Gasping, he grasped the covers, wanting to touch her but honoring her demands.
The moment he had dreamed about and fantasized about was here, except as she moved it became an awkward farce as he fought to keep his hands to himself. Had he ever attempted this position without using his hand to guide his cock into a woman?
He tilted his hips back to give her a better angle, and then she was pushing onto him, her face a mask of concentration. His foreskin pulled back and back. If he hadn’t been so keyed up, it would have hurt. Instead it was a grating raw sensation. But if he was feeling discomfort, she had to be in pain. She was no more ready for him than he was ready to run a mile.
Disappointment and alarm cooled his blood. “Stop.”
She twisted her eyes wide, but pain etched her forehead. “Am I hurting you?”
“I’m hurting you. You aren’t ready for me.” No, she was dry as a desert. His hands hovered at her hips, ready to hold her pelvis against his until she had time to adjust.
She shook her head and shifted apart a little. “It always hurts.”
“It shouldn’t.” A rush of concern and anger burned through him. Had her husband never seen to her comfort?
She cast him a skeptical glance and then turned her head to the side. “We don’t have much time. The servants start stirring by four.”
She raised her bottom to begin the in and out. Excitement warred with his image of himself. He didn’t hurt women—at least not physically.
He lifted his hips to stay joined with her. “A minute won’t make a difference.”
But she was concentrating on moving, and damn, he’d looked forward to joining with her too long to be oblivious to the sensations. He groaned.
Only, as she moved in a jerky fashion, he was far too aware that she was trying to hide her pain. Her choice to not lean down on him made it possible to view her expression no matter how much she looked away. In the past he’d had his share of awkward moments, but this was beyond them.
She not only didn’t like it, she hated it. But she wanted a baby, and he’d offered to provide one for her. His breastbone ached as he tried to concentrate on the sensations, but he couldn’t entirely block her distress. Yet, he’d promised her she didn’t have to pretend.
She lifted again and again, at first uncertain, but then gaining a momentum that should have pushed him over the edge. But the laudanum, which blocked his pain, combined with his concern for her, blocked his pleasure too. Although if she kept increasing the speed and vigor with which she bounced on him, spilling his seed would be inevitable.
Then she lifted up too far and he came out all the way. She tried to reseat herself, bending his cock.
He twisted away and pushed her hips back. “Ow!”
He removed his hands from her, grabbed the covers and tried to ignore the blast of pain, ignore her clumsy efforts, ignore that she hated intimacy with him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but there was a catch in her voice. “What am I doing wrong?”
“You’re doing fine.” He sucked in a few deep breaths.
“I’m not.” She bit her lip. “I’m not certain how long I can do this.”
“I was close,” he bit out through clenched teeth. God, if he ever understood why a woman would fake a climax, this time was it. He wanted it done and over with.
How could an act he dreamed about, longed for, have turned out so wrong? How could their bodies be joined so intimately, but he felt so disjointed? He was embarrassed by the time it was taking—a feat that would ordinarily be boastworthy was in this instance a curse. A minute or ten might make a difference as he struggled to find his release.
She tried to rejoin them, but the earlier painful miss had made him soften.
“Are you certain you can do this?” she asked.
“It would help if I didn’t feel like I was raping you,” he blurted.
Her gaze jerked to his and she seemed genuinely puzzled. Did she not have any idea what congress between a man and a woman was supposed to be like? All he wanted to do was cradle her in his arms and fall asleep, but that of course would not get her pregnant. His anger softened. This couldn’t be any easier for her. Actually, as he thought about it, she must find it far worse. He at least anticipated pleasure.
“This isn’t how it should be,” he said softly.
Her mouth tightened. “I’m sorry to disappointment you. I don’t enjoy this. I can’t imagine that I ever should. Now could you finish, please?”
“You aren’t made any different than any other woman. You can feel pleasure too.” His angry tone was hardly seductive and he silently cursed himself. What had he thought—she’d take a ride on his magic pole and find incredible pleasure? Or worse, had he believed she cared about him? Clearly she didn’t. “Let me show you.”
She jerked. “No. I’m different. I don’t—”
Fearing she might change her mind about continuing, he sighed. “All right.”
Silence settled back between them as she lifted upward and shifted, trying to rejoin them. Clumsy was the last thing he’d expected from an otherwise graceful woman. Even if she wouldn’t let him show her pleasure, he could at least teach her to move.
“Caro, I’m just going to put my hands on your hips.”
An objection flashed across her face, but he wasn’t sure if it was to his use of her name or that he was insisting on touching her.
“Nowhere else, and just to help guide your motion.” The last thing he needed was her unseating herself and causing more delay.
“Do you . . . do you want to be on top?” Her face was bright red.
“Not unless you feel unable to continue.” Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to test how well his leg could handle the exertion. And the likely adjustments he might have to try, to compensate for the heavy cast, would only lead to more embarrassing awkwardness. As it was now, he felt near exhausted, although his desire was returning. He couldn’t feel Caroline’s naked bottom on his lap without interest stirring in him.
He wanted to do this for her—and for himself. He wanted to feel like he was a whole man. Hell, he just wanted to come inside a woman, as he’d never done. Although his first thought had been that it would bind her to him, in a way she couldn’t escape. But she saw this as a business arrangement. A necessary evil.
He settled his hands on her hips and helped her squirm back onto him. He tried to direct his thoughts. This was Caroline, the woman he’d craved for years now. A rush of sensation spilled down his spine. “It’s good. Just rock a little.”
She winced. The pleasurable sensation all but withered.
“Bloody hell, are you still hurting?” He pushed her hips down and held her still.
“Sir, your language.”
“Caro?” How could it still be hurting? Other than she probably had a crick in her neck from averting her face. “You have to help me.”
Alarm skittered across her features. Much as he wanted to change the parameters of their encounter, he couldn’t risk it. Not until she believed he didn’t want to hurt her.
“Only my family calls me Caro.”
“If I give you a child, we’ll be kin.” They would always be connected to each other. If only she wanted him the way he wanted her. “But I’ll only call you that in private.”
She appeared to consider his promise, then nodded. “What can I do to help you finish?”
Back to the business at hand. “Look at me.”
She scrunched her face and then turned. Her color was high as he slowly guided her hips up and back down. Bright red crept from her neck up over her face. He was done letting her pretend this wasn’t happening, and it wasn’t working to let her have all the control.
“Just because you don’t want to be touched doesn’t mean I don’t want you . . . to touch me.”
Her face twisted. But she’d set the conditions too stringently. If his leg didn’t hurt or he hadn’t taken the laudanum, or if she weren’t disgusted by the act, he might have managed with just the genital stimulation, but he needed more from her.
Tentatively she touched his shoulder.
“That’s it,” he murmured as he helped her rock a little faster and tilted his hips to meet her.
“Oh,” Caroline squeaked.
“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” he coaxed.
Sensation began to build in him as he tried to ignore that she might be uncomfortable. Making eye contact as he focused on reaching release was oddly intimate and he liked it, even as she shook her head. He silently dared her to stop pretending he was one of the gentlemen, or that this wasn’t happening. She was here, riding him, and he wanted her to remember that. And when he came back a success, she wouldn’t have to be ashamed that she’d known him intimately.
“I’ve always thought you beautiful.”
She shook her head.
He nodded. “The way you move, the way you hold yourself, the way you see every detail when you look around. Even when you first came here and you were all big eyes and elbows, I noticed you.”
She shifted her hand along his shoulder. The buzz of his excitement magnified.
“Lower,” he murmured. “I know you saw me watching you.”
Her chin dipped and her cheeks bloomed. She was damn lovely, even if she didn’t know it. And he knew he was revealing too much, but the only thing he had to seduce her with was words.
Her trembling fingertips were cool. His skin was hot. All he needed was one little sign that she was feeling a twinge or two of pleasure.
He pushed her hips down and rolled his. Her eyebrows drew together and her insides tightened around him. Then she struggled to pull away from him, planting her hand in the center of his chest.
“That’s it, Caro. That feels good,” he purred.
He could see she was torn, but he kept her moving, kept his hips sliding opposite hers. The last thing he wanted was her realizing that he was after her pleasure as much as his own. She made a strangled sound and then tried to match his movements. He murmured encouragement and praise. He bit his lip before telling her to just feel, not think.
Her eyes closed, and he insisted she open them. She lifted her lashes to half-mast over her darkened eyes. Even if she didn’t realize it, her deepened breathing, her dewy eyes, the clenching of her nether muscles, revealed she was not as adverse to the act as she wanted to believe. She was meant for pleasure, and her body was built for it, even if she didn’t understand.
His breathing grew harsh. She moved her warming fingers across his chest, over his nipple. Spikes of sensation rocketed to his groin. It wouldn’t take much more. The next time he might stop and concentrate on her—with what little he could do without kissing or caressing her—but time was hurtling by and he needed to prove he could, at least, do what was needed to provide her with a babe, or she wouldn’t allow for a next time.
He watched her face, looked deep into her eyes until her lips parted and her legs trembled. Then he was there, pushing her hips tight against him and letting the sensation roll down his spine as he groaned through his release.
Caroline almost sobbed as she moved off Jack. She felt strange; almost as if once the pain had passed it had been almost—nice—or at least not as unpleasant as she expected, which confused her.
Jack caught her hand, and a jolt of energy ran through her.
“Are you all right?” He blinked at her, although his heavy breathing still echoed in the room.
Not trusting her voice, she nodded and pulled her hand away. She needed to get him back before an early servant discovered them. She picked up his underclothes and held them out to him.
He grunted and let his hand drop to the bed, fisted around his smalls. He turned to his side and closed his eyes.
She shook his shoulder.
His eyes were glassy and unfocused when he opened them, then his lashes shuttered down.
“Jack.”
“Mmm.”
“You have to get dressed.” She tugged on his arm trying to get him to sit.
“Prefer wearin’ you,” he mumbled. He broke her hold and grabbed her arm in an effortless maneuver. He dragged her down beside him and curled his arm around her. “I can hold you now.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense.” The softening and tensing reaction she experienced didn’t make sense either. She pushed his heavy arm away and slid off the bed. Leaning over him, she begged him to see reason, “Please. You cannot be caught upstairs, naked.”
He put his hand on her cheek. “All right, two minutes.”
Startled by how much she wanted to linger and feel his caresses, Caroline backed away from him. His arm fell heavily to the bed. She stood to see the mantel clock.
It was nearly a quarter till. Panic threatened to choke her. They still had to make it through the darkened service stairs before anyone else thought to use them.
“We don’t have two minutes, John Applegate,” she whispered as sternly as she could.
Pulling down the covers, she lifted his good leg and pulled his drawers over it. When she made it to the cast on his other leg, she gingerly worked the material over it. He rolled to his back and lifted his leg to make it easy on her.
She looked up to find him regarding her intensely. Had the sleep been a pretense? But then Mr. Broadhurst had often rolled over after intercourse and almost immediately begun snoring.
She averted her head and pulled the material up. She refused to think of how less threatening his manhood looked now, less full and glistening with moisture. He dug his foot into the bed and lifted his hips. She opened his undershirt and held it out.
Jack groaned and sat up. Her gaze was drawn to the ripple of muscle under his skin.
Hesitating, she reached for the hem of his nightshirt.
“You would take that off now.” He sounded mildly aggrieved.
Had he wanted her to take it off earlier? Would it have been faster if she had? Jack tugged on the nightshirt, pulling it down where she had lifted it up to her thighs.
“Much as I would like you to take it off, you should keep it on until you get back to your room. I can guarantee no man would want to let you get away wearing that negligee.”
He buttoned the undershirt. The coals provided little more than a faint orange glow in the predawn darkness, and his breath formed mist in the air. “You’ll need it,” she protested. “I’ll just wrap up in the bedspread again.”
“I need your help getting down the stairs, and if I trip on that damn thing . . .” He watched her intently. “If I had regular clothes, I could dress and tell my morning minder I was up early.”
Caroline closed her eyes. She’d refused to let him have clothes for fear he’d leave before he was adequately healed.
Jack reached for his crutches. “Go. If you can’t return the nightshirt to me, then I’ll tell whoever comes I spilled upon it and you took it to be laundered—or better yet, I was sick upon it.”
“Do lies come so easy to you?”
He stood. “Only when I need to protect a lady’s reputation. Let’s go, Mrs. Broadhurst, before the servants catch you consorting with a millworker.”