Chapter 28 Christmas Day #3
She hugged him again, breathing him in, relishing his warmth, the rise and fall of his chest.
“What if you didn't have to leave?" he asked suddenly.
Eleanor released his neck enough to look at him. "What do you mean?"
"What if we brought the orphanage here?" The words tumbled out in a rush.
"We have more than enough space. The grounds are extensive—plenty of room for children to explore safely.
We could hire additional staff, convert the east wing.
You could oversee everything, fulfil your duties to those children, and still be here. With me."
Eleanor stared at him, her eyes wide. "You... you'd do that? Turn your home into an orphanage?"
"Our home," Aubrey corrected. "And yes. In a heartbeat."
"Aubrey." Her voice was thick with emotion. "Do you understand what you're suggesting? The noise, the chaos, the complete lack of privacy at times. Children running through the halls, disrupting dinner parties, turning your perfectly ordered life into—"
"Into something wonderful," he finished. "Eleanor, I grew up in this house. The idea of filling it with laughter and life..." He brushed her hair away from her face. "There's nothing I want more. Except perhaps you."
She threw her arms around him so suddenly he huffed out a laugh in surprise. Then he wrapped both arms around her, holding her tight.
"It's brilliant," she said against his shoulder. "Absolutely brilliant. Are you certain?"
"Yes. It will give our children friends to play with. Built-in companions."
Eleanor went very still. She then pushed away from him slowly, her face flushed a deep crimson. "Our... children?"
"Yes." Aubrey pressed on, suppressing a grin. "Dr Fielding confirmed it. When I saw him for my final examination. He said there's no reason I can't father children. As many as we wish."
"You can?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "Truly?"
"Truly." He stroked his thumb along her jaw. "We can have a family, Eleanor. If you want that. With me."
"Oh, Aubrey." Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Of course I want that. I want everything with you."
She launched herself at him, kissing him through her tears, and Aubrey held her as if he'd never let go.
Because he wouldn't. She knew he wouldn’t.
"I love you," he murmured against her hair.
"I love you too," she replied, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "Merry Christmas, husband," she whispered.
"Merry Christmas, wife."
And as they lay tangled together in the candlelight, the sounds of the ball still echoing faintly from downstairs, Eleanor thought that perhaps miracles did exist.
Because this—all of this—felt like nothing short of a miracle.
Her miracle.
Her love.
Her Aubrey.
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THE DEVIL'S BARGAIN
Chapter 1: Opportunist
Devlin Elmstone tried to focus on Sage’s curvy bottom slapping against his thighs while she rode his member, but his mind wandered back to his fixation of the day.
Restless and frustrated, he pulled the other woman, a buxom blonde, Laura or something, to her knees.
He buried his face in her bosom while her supple flesh overflowed his large hands.
But even two harlots weren’t enough to distract him from his preoccupation tonight.
“What’s occupying your mind, darling?” Sage rose from his lap when his manhood began to lose interest. Devlin nudged the blonde away and relaxed his posture.
“Business as usual,” he murmured, lifting the crystal snifter of brandy to his lips.
With the whisper of fine muslin against silk, Sage settled gracefully onto his lap, her skirts arranged in elegant folds.
Devlin’s arm found its customary place at her hip, completing the intimate tableau they often formed during their evening discussions.
“What manner of business?” she inquired, her voice honeyed as she draped one arm across his bare shoulders, the warmth of his skin against hers.
“Production lags. Efficiency wanes. But above all, I require water. Pure, abundant, and with haste,” he declared tersely before draining his brandy in one decisive motion.
“But surely you’ve established means for such things?” Sage traced an idle pattern across his chest with one delicate fingernail, its rosy hue borrowed from crushed beet root.
“Indeed, though it proves insufficient. The thirst for our beer grows daily.”
“Surely that bodes well?”
“Until one delivery fails to materialise and we lose a patron of consequence. Word spreads like wildfire in our trade. The grand public houses live in terror of running dry on a Friday evening. They’ll seek more reliable suppliers without hesitation.”
“Hmm.” A small furrow appeared between Sage’s brows, catching Devlin’s keen attention.
“What knowledge do you possess?” His hand moved to caress her bottom, as though to coax forth her secrets through tender touch.
“I hesitate to say whether this bears relevance, but I’ve heard whispers...”
Devlin mastered his impatience. “Continue.”
“Are you familiar with London Water Works?”
“Naturally. Their filtration system is unrivalled.”
“I understand Mr Thurlow lies near death.”
“What?” Devlin straightened sharply, one hand steadying Sage as he moved. “I encountered the man mere days ago, the very picture of vitality.”
“A matter involving a horse, I believe... a kick of some sort. I cannot speak to the particulars, but I’m told his wife has begun to arrange his final affairs.”
Devlin eased back into his chair, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips. Should Thurlow indeed perish, his bereaved widow would likely part with the company for a mere fraction of its worth. Nothing quickened his blood like the prospect of an advantageous acquisition.
“I perceive your spirits have lifted considerably, Mr Elmstone,” Sage observed, her voice rich with knowing amusement.
“I have you to thank, Sage.” He pulled on her bottom so she could straddle him.
“What’s your pleasure?” she cooed.
“Your cunt. Ride me hard. I’m feeling rather energised.”
Sage buried his cock in her cunny and began to slide over him. Pinching her nipple between his teeth, Devlin slapped her bottom twice, urging her to go faster. As he gripped her ass and rocked her over his rod, he thought about all the ways he could improve production and his profit margin.
***
The sickroom’s heavy drapes filtered the afternoon sun, casting Edward Thurlow’s ashen face in a gentle gloom.
Caroline stood at the foot of the massive oak bed, her fingers white-knuckled on the brass rail, while Miss Hampton lounged in the bedside chair normally reserved for the wife.
The solicitor, Mr Finch, cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles.
“The terms are quite clear, Mrs Thurlow. London Water Works is to be jointly owned by yourself and Miss Hampton, with equal share in both responsibilities and profits.”
Caroline felt the room tilt. “Surely there’s been some mistake.”
Miss Hampton’s painted lips curved into a satisfied smile. “No mistake at all, dearest Caroline.”
“Edward.” Caroline’s voice trembled. “I spent years perfecting that filtration system. My hands bled from the metalwork, my eyes strained over the technical drawings. I collapsed from exhaustion more times than I can count. While she—” she gestured sharply at Miss Hampton.
“What has she done besides accept your gifts and warm your bed?”
“Caroline!” Edward’s weak voice carried a thread of steel. “You forget yourself. Miss Hampton has been my comfort these past years, while you buried yourself in your contraptions and equations.”
“Buried myself?” Caroline laughed, a brittle sound. “That ‘burying’ built your fortune! She knows nothing of business, nothing of engineering—”
“She knows how to be a proper woman,” Edward spat. “Not some... some bluestocking who forgets her place. I plucked you from that shed in the country, gave you the means to pursue your tinkering—”
“And you would be nothing without my ‘tinkering’!” The words burst from her like steam from a faulty valve.
“That filtration system made London Water Works what it is. Our agreement when we married was clear. I would devote myself to improving your business, and in return, it would pass to me entirely. Not to mention my contractual right to half the profits during your lifetime.”
Edward’s face mottled with rage. “You greedy little—”
“If I may,” Mr Finch interjected smoothly, “the law is quite clear on this matter. Mr Thurlow has every right to dispose of his property as he sees fit.”
Miss Hampton rose gracefully and perched on the edge of the bed, her hand finding Edward’s. “There, there, my love. Don’t excite yourself.”
“Get out.” Edward’s eyes fixed on Caroline with cold hatred. “Leave us in peace.”
Caroline stood frozen, the weight of betrayal pressing against her chest like a boulder. All those years of work, of dedication, of building something magnificent… reduced to this moment of humiliation.
“Very well.” She straightened her spine, gathering her dignity around her like armour. “But remember this, Edward. You may own the company, but I own the patents to that filtration system. And I rather think your precious Miss Hampton will find it difficult to run a water works without them.”
She turned on her heel and strode from the room, leaving behind Mr Finch’s startled cough, Miss Hampton’s indignant gasp, and the beginnings of Edward’s rage-filled bellow. The door closed behind her with a satisfying thud, and Caroline allowed herself a small, fierce smile.
“Mrs Thurlow!” Mr Finch’s footsteps echoed in the hallway behind her. “A moment, if you please.”