All About Seduction(11)

Papa had decided that if the daughters were interchangeable, he might as well offer up the one daughter who would be hard to marry.

“Caro, none of us had anything to do with Papa’s decision for you to marry Broadhurst. I’m certain if Sarah or Amy had been told to marry him, they would have.” He furled his forehead again. “He has shown me his will. Your entire inheritance is contingent on having a son to inherit.”

Her gut knotted. She must have misheard. Just because he didn’t want to leave the mill in her hands didn’t mean he would will away all his wealth. “He doesn’t intend to leave me penniless, does he?”

“Yes. Broadhurst has entirely cut you out of his will.” Robert reached out.

She recoiled. Her ears buzzed and her fingernails cut into her palms. This was how she was repaid for being an obedient wife? Her insides blackened and curled like paper tossed in a fire. How could he do this to her?

Her brother softened his tone. “If you do not give birth, everything will pass to a man named Granger.”

Her spine tightened as if a knife had been thrust in it. Granger? That man made Mr. Broadhurst look like a saint. Granger’s mills ate up workers, spit them out broken, and left them to the poorhouse or an early death.

“We could sue for your widow’s portion, but it might take years. And if Papa did not properly secure it in the marriage contract, who knows if you will ever get more than a pittance. Bloody hell, Papa made such a mess of things.”

Robert’s earnest expression made her insides churn.

“I don’t know what I can do to make sure his wealth stays with you if you don’t want a child.”

Caroline stared at the mill. She’d put years into learning the operation. The idea of it being snatched away from her left her feeling cheated, but Mr. Broadhurst’s plan to leave her destitute was like the ground turning to liquid under her feet.

A knot fisted in her chest. She’d tried so hard to be a good wife, a perfect lady, and to keep alive her hope of independence she had to commit adultery.

“Caro . . .” Robert rubbed his hand over his face. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do . . . but—”

A horrible grinding screech and thump emanated from the mill. Caroline’s shoulders came up, while Robert jerked.

Shrill screaming rent the air. Shouts and cries followed. Picking up her skirts, Caroline ran, as no proper lady ever should, toward the brick building.





Chapter 3



Before Caroline reached the side door of the mill, a man stumbled out, dropped to his knees and wretched in the grass beside the door. Oh, God, what had happened? Her heart in her throat, she raced inside. A group clustered around an ominously silent machine with its big gears and massive drum. The room was chock full of gears, shafts, and belts that powered all the machinery required to take cotton to material.

An ignored blood-spattered child stood sobbing. Dread pouring coldly through her veins, Caroline ran to the little girl and dropped to her knees. “Where are you hurt?”

The tiny waif closed her mouth, hiding her milk teeth, and shook her head as big tears leaked out of her eyes. Caroline ran her hands over the child but didn’t find any source for the blood. Thank God, the little one was unhurt. She gathered the child to her and smoothed back the girl’s flyaway blond hair.

Her relief at not finding injuries made her hug the girl too tight. She was a tiny thing, her arms scarcely bigger around than a string bean. The warm sweet smell of the child tugged at a yearning deep inside her.

Caroline picked up the child and turned toward several men working to turn the massive cogs. At their feet a man lay on the floor. He must be the source of the blood. Her relief at finding the girl unharmed flitted away, leaving a sick churning behind. Feeling as if she were forcing her steps through thick mud, she walked closer. The crowd parted in deference to her. She held her breath.

The injured man lay on the floorboards, his right ankle smashed between two massive gears. How could it even fit there? Thickness rose in her throat, and she shielded the girl’s eyes from the growing pool of blood. As the workers let her through, the man’s unbleached muslin shirt with the left sleeve shredded and bloody came into sight, then the newly barbered dark hair. Her lungs ached for air and her head spun. Oh God, it was him, the man who’d been watching her outside.

He opened his eyes. His gaze turned on Caroline than moved to the child cradled in her arms. “Is she all right?”