All About Seduction(88)

Yet, she hadn’t shut out everything with Jack. She hadn’t needed to go numb. Perhaps she hadn’t despised it entirely with him. Toward the end, she thought she might have not have minded the unsettled way it made her feel. If the act weren’t a sin, weren’t a betrayal, it almost would have been easy with Jack.

Her stomach turned as Mr. Broadhurst stroked her skin.

At no time with Jack had she felt nauseous the way she felt now.

Before Jack opened his eyes he knew he wasn’t alone in the breakfast room. Having another person in the room when he woke wasn’t unusual, but the menace he felt wasn’t present when one of the servants entered. He slowly opened his eyes. The predawn murkiness barely illuminated Mr. Broadhurst standing at the sideboard where his bottle of laudanum rested.

“Dr. Hein says you are not out of the woods yet.” Broadhurst said without turning around.

A shudder rippled down Jack’s spine. “Sir.”

Did the man know Caroline had been with him last night? Had Broadhurst seen her wearing the nightshirt he insisted she wear as she went through the house? A nightshirt Broadhurst might have recognized as his own. Jack eased the covers around his chin to conceal his undershirt and bare arms.

“A man with such a serious injury could die at any time.” The laudanum bottle clinked and Broadhurst turned around, his expression thoughtful.

“I’d rather not.” Jack didn’t lift his eyes from the man as every muscle in his body tightened.

Broadhurst moved across the floor and towered above the bed. “I’d rather my wife didn’t spend time with you.”

Jack wanted to stand to face Broadhurst, but he couldn’t risk exposing his lack of a nightshirt. Instead he lay flat on his back, clenching his fists under the covers. He hated the way the submissive posture left him feeling emasculated and impotent. But he couldn’t risk behaving differently than any other millworker would. To act as if they were equals or rivals might confirm Broadhurst’s suspicions and put Caroline at risk. The idea of Broadhurst knowing she had turned to him chilled Jack’s blood.

Broadhurst’s eyes flattened like those of a dead man. “She shouldn’t concern herself with you.”

“I am just an outlet for her feminine urges to comfort and care for a weaker being.” Jack held his breath as he hoped his words weren’t misinterpreted. The woman would be an excellent mother if he had succeeded last night.

“Don’t think my wife will protect you forever.”

“No, sir. I don’t, sir.” Jack pressed his lips together. He sounded servile, but then again, any trouble he created could spill over to Caroline. The last thing he wanted was for her to become the third Mrs. Broadhurst to rest underground. “I’d rather not rely on anyone’s protection, least of all a woman’s.”

Then again, he wasn’t particularly keen to find out exactly what Broadhurst had in mind in regards to him. If it wasn’t for Caroline’s interest, he would have been booted out the first day.

The door clicked open and a maid carrying a coal bucket stepped inside.

Jack couldn’t hold back his relief. It escaped him in a hiss.

“I expect clerks to work hard, have a legible hand, and to not make mistakes with their math,” said Broadhurst in a mild tone.

Jack blinked, startled by the change in the old man’s voice.

“Reasonable expectations, I’d say,” added Broadhurst with a curling of his lips that on another man might have looked like an indulgent smile.

“Absolutely, sir,” answered Jack. “I would expect nothing less, were I in your position.”

Broadhurst’s eyes flashed, but the genial expression stayed on his face. “We are understood, then.”

“Yes, sir.” Jack nodded, wondering if he’d been threatened or simply warned that the clerk job would vanish at his first mistake. If he made it to London, got the job as a machinist, the clerk job would be a moot point. But he didn’t dare refuse the place at the mill until he knew.

Broadhurst left the room without acknowledging the maid working to clean out last night’s ashes.

If he stayed and became a clerk—assuming Mrs. Broadhurst could help him learn enough so he could do it—he would see her daily. Leaving would likely mean he would never see her again, and that left him feeling strangely lost.

Then again, last night had been one of the most awkward and frustrating of his life. He’d wanted to make it at least pleasant for her, but she’d been so . . . distant, resistant to letting go. He’d always admired her reserve, but in bed it was a barrier. Her helping him down the back stairs was far more intimate then their sexual encounter. Her arm had been around his waist, his over her shoulders, their sides pressed together as he navigated the narrow flight. A frisson of interest rolled through him. How could he want that again?