All About Seduction(50)

“Then you should bear in mind that shocks are bad for a pregnant woman and act accordingly.”

Broadhurst stared at her, his skepticism shining through. “You had relations with Whitton, eh?”

She pushed her lips together. She would not give him any ammunition to use against her.

“Is this why you are already neglecting the mill?”

“I have every intention of going in shortly.” Two days and he was already questioning her ability to run the place. Although, it was as much her fault for oversleeping. “I didn’t feel well this morning.” She’d drunk too much, but she’d let him draw his own conclusions.

Mr. Broadhurst leaned forward and tilted his head. “Perhaps you’re already breeding.”

Her face went hot. “I believe it would be impossible to know for certain.” Caroline had no more cards to play without revealing how weak her hand was. Instead she reached for the door handle. “I will send in the doctor when he is done with Mr. Applegate.”

“Tell him to be quick. I have an errand I need to discharge today.”

“I will ask the doctor to be fast,” she conceded. A man must have his little victories, she supposed.

Mr. Broadhurst assessed her coldly. “I will go in tomorrow to manage payroll and assess your work thus far.”

She supposed it was a warning to make certain all the mill business was well in hand, but she was on top of everything.

Holding her spine stiff, she walked through the library and tried to keep from shattering into a million shards. Her husband was a ruthless man—he was hard-nosed and unfeeling in business dealings, but she hadn’t thought such practices would extend to his wife. Regardless of how much she despised him, she needed him alive to shelter her reputation, especially if she had revealed too much to Mr. Whitton. But her victory felt too easily won, and she dreaded what Mr. Broadhurst’s next move might be.





Chapter 10



Jack drifted on the morphine-induced haze, yet the knifing pain in his leg following the doctor stitching the surgical site, and then encasing most of his foot and leg to above the knee in a plaster of paris splint, wouldn’t let him settle all the way into sleep. He stared at the gray behind his eyelids and waited for Mrs. Broadhurst to return.

Just as he was nodding off, the door clicked open.

The scratch of a chair told him the other occupant had stood.

“Mary, would you be so good as to fetch a spot of tea and a bun or bread and jam.” Mrs. Broadhurst’s voice flowed across the room and settled over him like a warm blanket pulling him deeper into the nothingness that proceeded sleep.

“Yes, ma’am,” said his minder, and the door clicked again.

“I assume you wanted to talk. Is there somewhere we can be private?” asked the man in the room.

Interest perked Jack’s senses. He wanted to learn everything he could about Mrs. Broadhurst.

“We’re private enough here,” she said. “I only have a few minutes before I have to go.”

“But what about him?” the man objected.

“The doctor gives him an injection and he usually sleeps for a few hours afterward.”

Jack’s eyelids seemed fastened shut, and he sunk deeper into the mattress as if he no longer had any muscles.

Mrs. Broadhurst laid her hand on his forehead, and it seemed to release him. He had been waiting for her touch and now the world was right again.

When her hand crossed his brow, he strained to feel the silky softness of her palms. The smoothness came from the lack of labor. Her hands bore no calluses, or rather only a small one on her middle finger from holding a pen. Her nails were never broken and always buffed. She was too fine for the likes of him, but he had begun to need her touch.

“Did things go badly with Whitton? Is that why he left?” asked the man in a low whisper.

Mrs. Broadhurst leaned over and smoothed the blankets. Jack tried to open his eyes but succeeded in only a tiny crack where he could see little through the blur of his lashes. The drug had damn near made him insensible, but he supposed he welcomed the heavy curtain it made between him and the pain.

“Robert, how much money does Mr. Broadhurst send you annually?”

“Really, Caro—”

“I deserve to know what will be lost if Mr. Broadhurst divorces me.”

Hope blossomed in Jack’s chest. It was an odd thing, but with his rational mind muted by the morphine, he wanted to believe she would be available—not that she’d ever consider marriage to the likes of him, but perhaps a friendship.