chapter 24
December turned to January. January folded into February and then slipped into a cold rainy March. Jack picked his way toward the mill office. In places the mud turned icy, and if he wasn’t careful he’d go sprawling. That had happened on more occasions than he cared to admit. He didn’t always know if he’d put his right foot down right, and the brace he wore only helped so much.
“Jack!”
He turned to see who it was.
Lucy skipped up to him and grabbed his free arm. “I’ve been waiting for you to come calling.”
The day hadn’t started yet, and her hair was already springing free of her bun.
“Let go, Lucy. I can’t walk when you’re tugging on me.”
“Seems to me you’re doing well, working as a clerk and everything.”
He turned and assessed her. Her figure seemed fuller than he remembered, softer, rounder. He stared at her stomach. The material stretched tight. Perhaps if he didn’t watch Caroline for signs, he wouldn’t have noticed the changes in Lucy. His heart sank.
“You know it is silly for you to live at Mrs. Goode’s place and sleep on a cot when you could share a bed with me. If we got married.”
He frowned. If it were his baby, she’d tell him. “When are you due?”
Her eyes filled with moisture. “Early fall.”
A little after Caro was due, so it couldn’t be his. Jack heaved a sigh of relief.
“I’m sorry, Lucy. Why don’t you tell the father?”
Her mouth flattened and she looked toward the mill. He followed the line of her sight to a group of men, all of them married. He didn’t know which one, but it didn’t matter. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Caroline approaching the mill office.
“I can’t be late.”
“What are you going to do, Jack? Wait your whole life for a woman who’ll never have you?”
“I got to go, Lucy.” He pulled his arm free. He wasn’t waiting so much as biding his time, studying the book he’d bought, The Origin and Progress of the Caoutchouc or India-Rubber Industry in England, by one Thomas Hancock. But what the hell was the difference?
For a second Caroline’s face revealed a stark yearning to match his. Then she ducked her head and entered the office.
He walked away without another glance at Lucy. If there was the ghost of a chance with Caroline, he wasn’t ready to give up. Not when he’d already ordered several sheets of rubber and the chemicals to alter it. He might not be able to afford to start a business, but he could at least experiment with covering the handles of his crutches and padding the brace he wore on his weakened leg. Once he had products, he could go from there.
When he entered the office, Caroline greeted him as she greeted all the other clerks. He was never first or last in her notice. She never did anything to call attention to him.
Later he was engrossed in going over ledger entries, making sure the tallies added up, when his skin tingled. Caroline stood beside him with a sheaf of papers in her hand.
He stared at the ledger, even though the numbers blurred. He couldn’t notice the porcelain cast to Caro’s skin, or inhale too deeply of her sweet scent. His heart shouldn’t be pounding, but it was. She put the papers in front of him and asked a question that she knew the answer to.
“Ma’am?”
She let out a sigh and twisted. “Everyone has gone outside.”
He looked behind to discover the office had emptied.
“A caravan with a Punch and Judy show.” Caroline shrugged. “I suggested a break to watch.”
Jack leaned to see out the window where the clerks and a few of the villagers had gathered around a brightly painted wagon. It didn’t matter. He didn’t dare leave his work. The few times he’d gone to the production side of the mill to show his brother David how to fix different pieces of machinery, he was careful to get permission, and then stayed late to make up any clerical work.
Caroline reached across, grabbed his far hand and placed it on her belly. “Do you feel that?”
The bulge of her pregnancy was slight but surprisingly firm. It popped under his hand.
Even getting clobbered by a life-size Punch couldn’t have erased the grin from his face. That was his baby kicking. “Damn.”
“Jack . . .” Caroline’s voice quivered.
Had seeing him with Lucy caused her concern? He opened his mouth to reassure her, but then clamped it shut again.
“I need to see you,” she whispered.
“You know where to find me.”
She hesitated, and he realized he was rubbing her belly. He pulled his hand back.
“I understand if you don’t want to . . . if you’ve moved on.” She blushed furiously. “Are you ever alone?”
“When Mrs. Goode attends a birth.” Twisting on his stool, he looked past her toward the door. God forgive him, but he’d thought this out too many times. “Molly Chandler is due any day. I will place a lamp in the apothecary shop window when Mrs. Goode goes to attend her.”
Her forehead crinkled. He wanted to rub his thumb along her soft skin and smooth the worry away. He wanted to see her eyes bright with desire, not fear. Having her in his arms again would be worth any price.
“You should be able to see it from the upper stories of your home.”
The outer door opened and she sprang back.
“I will see that those figures are entered,” said Jack.
She nodded and escaped into the inner office as the clerks filed back inside.
Jack shifted his gaze and caught Mr. Broadhurst staring at him.
“Sir,” Jack acknowledged. He splayed his fingers to keep from fisting them. He hadn’t given the man any reason to sack him, but he didn’t trust Broadhurst. And he sure as hell hoped the man hadn’t heard him making arrangements to signal Caroline when he was alone.
Caroline felt as if she had been waiting forever to see the light in the apothecary shop window. She looked each evening a dozen times, and it was dark again tonight. She almost was sure she’d missed it, but each morning Jack shook his head before she could find the privacy to ask him.
She sighed and went back down to the drawing room.
Mr. Broadhurst put down his newspaper. “Does not appear to be any signs of war in the States. We are going to be inundated with cotton.”
Caroline swallowed hard. She believed she’d made the right choice. “Better too much cotton than having to shut down the mill for lack of it.”
Mr. Broadhurst harrumphed.
“It was a gamble either way, sir.”
“What are we supposed to do with it? Let it rot?”
“The moors behind the mill could be used for a warehouse. Many of the men from the mill would eagerly take construction jobs. More women could be brought in to work in the mill, and the warehouse could be converted to dormitories for them. But then I don’t know what we’ll do with the men.”
“You have no business sense at all,” said Mr. Broadhurst.
Her mouth tightened. “I do not see how war will be avoided with several states saying they will not be part of the United States.”
“Fools,” muttered Mr. Broadhurst.
Caroline stood. “I believe I shall retire. I am weary.”
Mr. Broadhurst watched her as she crossed the drawing room. Perhaps her decision had been bad, and now they would have to spend more money to rectify it. Perhaps she didn’t possess enough business acumen to run the mill. Profits were down, costs were up. If all the cotton she’d agreed to buy arrived, they’d be losing money instead of making it.
“I have notified my solicitor that you are expecting.”
She stopped and turned. Her heart thumped oddly. Had he claimed parenthood or disavowed responsibility? Who notified their solicitor of a pregnancy?
As if the world had closed in on her, she no longer wanted to be the mouse in this cat and mouse game. She had done what he asked. She had poured her soul into learning the mill, and tried her hardest to make the best decisions for all involved. Still, it might all be snatched away from her at any time.
“I trust you told him how pleased you were.” With that she left the room, not looking back to see his response. She simply didn’t care what he’d told his solicitor.
After getting into her nightgown, she took one last peek out the front window and saw it, a flicker in the window below the mortar and pestle signboard. Not that she could actually make out the signage, but she’d looked so often out the window, her eyes made a beeline to the apothecary shop.
Her heart hammered and her fingers were clumsy as she threw on clothes, slipped her feet into demi boots, and grabbed a hooded cloak. She locked her bedroom door and flew down the corridor to the servants’ stairs, tiptoed down, and went out a side door. Forcing her feet to walk and not run took every ounce of willpower she had. She didn’t want to draw attention. No one could know she was seeing Jack.
Her heart was in her throat she scurried down the street. What if he didn’t want to be with her?
When she reached the midwife’s house she hesitated. She shouldn’t be here.
The door opened and Jack stood there. Her breath stole away. He clamped a hand around her wrist, drew her inside and behind him. Leaning out, he looked left and right, then shut the door.
“Did anyone see me?” she asked.
“Not that I can tell. Go in the back, while I get the lamp.” He gave her a slight push toward the open door at the back of the small space.
Aware of the bare windows, Caroline followed Jack’s command.
As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she took in the stacked crates, a small stove in the corner, and a narrow iron bedstead against the far wall.
Could she live as simply and as starkly as this? As long as she stayed with Mr. Broadhurst, she could have anything that money could buy, but she was miserable. She didn’t know if she could wait for him to die—and it was a horrible thing to wish for. Every time the thought entered her head, she feared God would smite her down with a lightning bolt.
Jack entered the room behind her, carrying the lamp with both hands as he slowly limped over to set the light on a crate near his bed. He turned back and watched her, his head tilted to the side.
She knew he wanted to be a part of her life when Mr. Broadhurst was gone, but did he think of her as separate from the Broadhurst money? Would he want her without the wealth?
Jack stood by his bed, his heart thundering in his ears. He wasn’t sure why Caroline had come, but she looked ready to bolt. “I do not know how long Mrs. Goode will be out, but seldom is it less than two hours.”
He wanted to make love to her, but she hadn’t even pulled back her hood. Her face was shadowed and he couldn’t fully read her expression.
The storeroom where he slept was hardly the sort of luxury she was used to. The wooden floors were bare, the walls flat plaster. He slept amid boxes and empty bottles waiting to be returned. Did the simple way he lived put her off?
Not knowing what she would do, he held out his hand.
It seemed to be the impetus she needed as she flew toward him. He caught her to him and kissed her hard. Yanking free the strings of her cloak, he pushed the garment from her shoulders.
His blood fired as he tasted passion on her lips. She strained against him, mewing softly. Need, want, desire pounded in him. Seeing her every day and denying his feelings had built his cravings for her to an explosive force. He couldn’t hold back, any more than he could have leapt over the moon.
He yanked at her buttons as she pushed his braces off his shoulders. Breaking the kiss only long enough to yank his shirt over his head, he struggled to find the sanity to be gentle. Her hands against his skin electrified him. Her lips against his exhilarated him. Her being with him elated him.
Impatient, he yanked down her dress. She wiggled, helping him push it below her hips, where it fell to the floor.
For one heedless second he remembered she needed coaxing and patience and deplored grabbing and squeezing. But he was no longer a man in constant pain with a leg that needed to be coddled. He was hard and urgent for her.
He pulled back, his breath roaring like a bellows. “Caro . . . too long. Can’t be gentle.”
“I don’t care. I want you.” Her fingers slid under his waistband and she worked at the button.
Sliding his hand under the material between their chests, he rubbed her breast and bit her bottom lip. She put her hand over his, pushing and curling her fingers around his as her nipple tightened under his palm. He sucked on the sore spot he’d created. She had his trousers open and was easing them down his hips.
Reluctantly, he let go of her and shoved them and his smalls down and unbuckled his brace. He twisted so the two of them fell on his narrow bed. He kissed her deeply. She was like air to a drowning man. He needed her, she was here, and he had to be inside her.
Yet, there was too much material between them. She still wore some white thing that was half unbuttoned at the neck. He grabbed both sides and yanked, rending the material. The baring of her skin made him growl. He slid his hands over her slightly rounded stomach and pushed her legs open to touch her slick folds.
She arched and drew his hand to her breast, while she reached lower and gripped his cock. Heat and pleasure burned in him, and he fought to keep from spilling his seed in her hand.
“I need you,” she whispered, and he was lost.
He knew he was probably rushing faster than she could keep up. He wanted her passion burning as hot as his. “Stay with me,” he murmured as he spread her legs wider and positioned his cock against her core.
Her hips twisted and she moaned deep in her throat.
He flicked the button at the apex of her folds and plucked at the tightened tip of her breast. Using everything he knew about how she responded, he pushed her toward completion.
“Come with me,” he urged against her lips as he thrust inside her.
She moaned and arched and then whispered, “Anywhere,” before pulling his head to hers and kissing him.
Anywhere? But he didn’t have time to fathom her odd response as pleasure rolled through him. Lost in her scent and softness, he thrust deeply. She wound her legs around his waist, spurring him to completion. The mound of her belly against his stomach only intensified his desire for her. She was his, and they’d created life together.
The passion drove him higher and higher, until he groaned out his climax. She twisted and strained toward him, then cried out as her body throbbed around him, intensifying his pleasure.
Although her response was everything he hoped for, he cringed, thinking he might have hurt her. He pressed kisses on her eyelids and nose. Her eyes fluttered open. “Goodness.”
He rubbed his nose against hers. “Goodness?” he teased.
“That was intense.”
“I’m sorry.” He ran his fingers down the side of her face. “This has been denied me for months and I could not hold back.”
Her blue eyes searched his. “I cannot imagine how it could have been better without actually dying.”
Smiling, he shifted his weight off her. She moaned a complaint. The narrow bed meant they were pressed close together, her shoulder in his chest, but he didn’t want to be far from her. He kissed her temple. “I don’t want to hurt you or the baby.”
“I think it is my nightgowns that suffer when we are together.” She curled into him, tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder. Her arms were still in the sleeves of the garment he’d ripped open. “I am not so easily broken.”
He ran his hand over her hip. Her skin was faintly damp, but silky smooth. Now, while he was sated, he should do all the gentle things he’d neglected in his rush to have her. But as he touched her, he realized the fire was not truly banked and required little coaxing to flare anew.
But this time he did touch her gently and slowly, until she quivered whenever his fingers moved. He stared into her face, drinking in her features, measuring each twinge of passion in her expression and memorizing every detail about her, from the flecks of darker blue in her irises to the tiny beauty mark just under her left eye.
As he moved on top of her to join their bodies, she whispered, “I love you, John Applegate. I will always love you.”
And again he was lost. His voice cracked as he whispered back his love. Desire tangled with emotion and brought him into her in a way that was beyond bliss. She felt it too as tears leaked out of her eyes and she shuddered into a orgasm so powerful it swept him along with her and blended them into one creature with no end or beginning, but a paradise of the mind and a rapture of their intertwined bodies. He started and ended with her, and a life without her in it would be a barren wasteland.
She slid her hand along his shoulders. “I don’t know how to do this, Jack. I can’t stand living with him anymore. I want to be with you.”
He reared back and looked down at her, finally connecting her “anywhere” with what she meant.
His heart soared. She wanted to be with him.
Then a tiny nudge against his stomach reminded him of the baby she carried.
Reality dug in its claws and shook him. He had nothing, only a few shillings he’d saved from his wages. He couldn’t support her, let alone a child. He was a failure. His pathetic experiments that he’d been so eager to show her were drops in an ocean that would need to be filled before he could be considered respectable.
How could they bring a baby into a life of poverty?
“Caro, you have to think of our baby. I wouldn’t have agreed to father a baby if I didn’t know my child would have a better life. Would have advantages I could only dream about.”