Page 1 of The Devil’s Bargain (The Lovers’ Arch: Later in Life #2)

1

Opportunist

D evlin 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.”

Caroline paused at the top of the grand staircase, her hand resting on the polished banister. She didn’t turn.

“There is one additional stipulation in Mr Thurlow’s will.” Mr Finch’s voice had taken on that particular tone solicitors use when delivering unwelcome news. “The house at Belgrave Square is to be shared between yourself and Miss Hampton. Should you refuse this arrangement, the entire property will pass to Miss Hampton alone.”

Caroline’s fingers tightened on the banister. “He expects me to live under the same roof as his—” She cut herself off, propriety barely winning over rage.

“The law permits a man certain freedoms in the disposal of his property, Mrs Thurlow,” Mr Finch said quietly. “Though I might suggest that a woman of your... technical accomplishments might find it profitable to maintain a residence in London, regardless of the circumstances.”

Caroline finally turned to face him. Mr Finch’s expression was carefully neutral, but there was sympathy in his eyes.

“Thank you, Mr Finch,” she said coolly. “I shall take it under advisement.”

She descended the stairs, her mind already racing with calculations. Not of water pressure or filtration rates this time, but of power, position, and the precise cost of revenge served cold.

Caroline’s private office lay tucked away in the furthest corner of the house’s east wing, far from Edward’s sickroom and the public areas where Miss Hampton held court. The afternoon sun streaming through tall windows illuminated the organised chaos of her domain. Technical drawings pinned to every wall, brass and copper prototype components arranged on workbenches, letters from the patent office filed meticulously in leather folios.

She crossed to her desk with measured steps, each click of her heels against the floorboards marking the steady rhythm of her fury. The surface before her was a monument to precision. Ink bottles arranged by viscosity, pen nibs sorted by width, rulers aligned at perfect right angles. With one swift motion, she swept it all aside.

The crash of falling items echoed through the room. A bottle of India ink shattered, its contents spreading like poison across the floor. Caroline gripped the edge of the desk, her knuckles white with tension as she watched the stain creep across the wooden boards.

“Like Miss Hampton,” she gritted through her teeth. “Seeping into everything I’ve built.”

Her eyes fell on the technical drawings of her latest innovation. A refined filtration system that would serve larger volumes while requiring less maintenance. The mathematics were flawless, the engineering elegant in its simplicity. And now Hampton would profit from it while understanding nothing of its brilliance.

Caroline sank into her chair, fingers trailing over the brass fittings she’d designed herself. Each component represented hours of calculations, nights spent bent over her desk while Edward entertained his mistress downstairs. The betrayal wasn’t in his infidelity. Their marriage was always one of convenience, a business arrangement. She’d made peace with her situation when it had been clear it would be a marriage of three. The betrayal was in his willingness to hand over her life’s work to a woman who saw it as nothing more than a source of pin money.

The industrial district contract lay in its leather folder, innocuous yet tantalising. She withdrew the papers, scanning the terms she’d negotiated over months of careful correspondence. The profit projections alone would secure the company’s future, regardless of Hampton’s spending habits. Edward had dismissed it as beneath them, but Caroline saw the potential. Not just for profit, but for providing clean water to thousands of workers who desperately needed it.

Her gaze drifted to Edward’s distinctive signature on other documents displayed on her wall. Years of watching him sign papers, of studying the peculiar way he formed his letters, had left her intimately familiar with every flourish and curve.

“You’ve left me no choice,” she murmured, reaching for a fresh pen and crisp ink. Her hand was steady as she dipped the nib, allowing excess ink to drip back into the bottle. The signature flowed from her pen with ease. It was not an exact duplicate, but close enough to withstand casual scrutiny. She blotted it carefully, watching the ink dry into permanence.

The enormity of what she’d done settled over her slowly. Not just forgery, but a complete rejection of Edward’s wishes while he still drew breath. Yet as she traced her fingers over the signature, she felt no remorse, only a cold certainty that she would do whatever necessary to protect what she’d built.

She carefully returned the contract to its folder and locked it in her desk drawer. The broken ink bottle still lay where it had fallen, its contents now dried into a stark black stain on the floorboards. Caroline regarded it thoughtfully before ringing for a maid. She would have the boards replaced entirely. There was no point in trying to clean a stain that ran so deep, much like Hampton’s presence in her life and marriage.

As she waited for the maid to arrive, Caroline began drafting a letter to the industrial district’s representatives. There would be no turning back now.