“Why are you working in that mill for that horrible man? Have you seen the children?” she cried.
Children? Did she mean the scavengers? He didn’t like the term given to the children employed to work under the spinner machinery, clearing away dust and oil and gathering the cotton that fell to the floor. God forbid McRae let any cotton go to waste. In truth, he hadn’t had time to investigate anything thanks to the never-ending meetings that McRae insisted he attend. Today was his first full day in the spinning room.
Cristyn could ruin his covert operation before it even had a chance to begin. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but Aidan had sworn to his family he would keep his true identity hidden. “It is only a temporary position; I’m assisting my father.” Well, at least that wasn’t a lie.
“I thought you bred horses,” she snapped, clearly exasperated with him. “If you’re so blasted wealthy, why are you working in a cotton mill?”
Hell, he loved it when blue-violet fire ignited in her lovely eyes. “I never said that I was a horse breeder; I said my family was. My uncle, with whom you are acquainted, is the horse master.” He took another step closer, and a whiff of her evocative violet scent made him dizzy with desire. Aidan had to touch her. Reaching for a wayward strand of her hair, he gently tucked it behind her ear, then trailed the tip of his finger across her cheek.
Cristyn gasped, obviously affected by the contact. The touch of her was electric, and though tempted to caress and stroke her silky skin, he dropped his hand.
“Stop trying to distract me,” she murmured, “and answer my question.”
“I told you, I’m assisting my father. He is involved in factory work, and he asked me to step in and assist one of his industrial compatriots. I needed the distraction.”
“Of all the places in England,” she muttered crossly, rubbing her forehead. Her eyes widened. “You have to go. Paris is coming.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Who in the hell is Paris?”
“He’s the reason I’m here.” Cristyn pushed him. “Please leave.”
Aidan clutched her upper arms, holding her tight against him. He whispered hotly in her ear, “Not until you agree to meet me. Tonight. In the rear yard at the Dog and Gun Inn on Keats Lane. Seven o’clock.”
“I will not meet with you!” She struggled in his grip, clearly annoyed.
He released her. “Then I will stay and meet your Paris.”
“Fine. Seven o’clock. Now please, go!” Cristyn gazed up at him, her eyes pleading.
Aidan gave her flushed cheek a gentle brush with his fingers, then slipped around the corner of the warehouse and stood against the wall.
“How did the meeting go with Mr. McRae?” Cristyn asked.
“As I surmised, it was a complete waste of time. He would not hear of any scheme that would cut into his—as he called them—‘meager profits.’”
Aidan nearly scoffed aloud. McRae bragged he was making pots of money despite the fact the mill was not that large. But beyond such, who was this Paris to Cristyn?
“I tried to explain that installing the wheel would lessen the lung infections and diseases many of his workers have, and that healthy employees would increase his profits,” Paris continued. “He wasn’t having any of it.”
“I’m sorry. We should head to your office,” Cristyn said, a little too loudly and insistently.
“Are you all right, my dear? You seem agitated.”
My dear? Cold fury traveled through Aidan and he clenched his fists. Is this what jealousy felt like? For he’d never experienced it before. Disturbing.
“No, no. I’m fine. Please, let us leave this depressing place,” Cristyn pleaded.
With the sound of retreating footfalls, Aidan chanced a glance around the corner. The tall, slender man took Cristyn’s hand and slipped it through his arm.
Well, he would find out tonight who in hell this Paris was. Once they were out of sight, he headed into the mill, feeling dejected. A foreign emotion, for he’d never allowed any woman to get close enough to put his heart at risk.
The truth was Cristyn continued to reside in his thoughts, day…and most especially night. More than once he wondered if these muddled and intense emotions were due to the fact that she’d been instrumental in his recovery. If his feelings of gratitude had moved into an inappropriate infatuation. But Aidan had been infatuated before, however briefly, and the fever had soon dissipated. What he was feeling toward Cristyn lay beyond a passing fascination.
Regardless, he should keep his distance, keep her at arm’s length in order to protect her, not only from this dubious and possibly risky situation, but his abject past. How to achieve such a thing when they were in the same damned village? And why suggest a clandestine meeting?
The answer was simple: because he couldn’t stay away. Aidan had to know why she was here and who this Paris was to her. He would be damned if he would allow any man to touch her, to breathe the same air she did. He rubbed his forehead. Christ, his wits must have gone begging, for he was acting as if she were his. How unlike him.
“Mr. Black. The master wants you to come to his office right away,” Mr. Meeker declared loudly. Already he could not stand this simpering slave of McRae’s, always lurking about, taking copious notes.
“Thank you, Mr. Meeker.” He headed upstairs, with the secretary hot on his heels.
Aidan knocked on the half-open door, then entered. “You wish to see me, Mr. McRae?”
The man looked up, and Aidan fought to keep revulsion from his face. The middle-aged man had a cold, imperious look, and the straining waistcoat buttons showed his gluttony and egocentric nature. He had disliked McRae at first sight, then outright despised him once he’d spent a couple of days in his company, listening to his smug ramblings. But the man was shrewd; he hadn’t revealed anything that could be construed as illegal. Yet. It was obvious he was wary and distrustful, even though Aidan had been recommended by a close acquaintance of McRae’s—a viscount no less.
“Meeker has informed me you left the factory floor,” McRae said.
“I put the run to a strange woman who entered the spinning room. I followed her outside, and made it clear that she was not to enter any part of the mill again without permission.” Aidan cast a side-glance at the self-righteous Meeker. He would bear watching.
“Good. Leave us, Meeker. I will handle this from here.”
“As you say, sir.” The secretary departed and closed the door behind him.
“Take a seat, Black.” Aidan did. “My wife is holding a small dinner party in two weeks.” McRae slid an envelope across the desk. “We wish for you to attend. You may bring someone with you if you like. But since you are new here, I assume you will be coming alone.”
Aidan gave him a sly smile. “Not necessarily.”
McRae chuckled, then sobered. “As I informed you on your first day here, I live on the two floors above this one. My wife and young son are to be protected. It is your duty to ensure none of the workers come near my home.”
“Consider it done, sir.” Leave it to McRae to live on the premises—easier to keep watch over his enterprise, and save valuable coin on a separate residence.
“I also want you to keep an eye out for any agitators. Many workers in the larger mills farther north are unionizing. I want none of that rabble-rousing here. It will be a cold day in Hell before any workers dictate terms to me.”
“I will let you know at once, sir,” Aidan stated firmly.
“Good man. Keep things running smoothly, and we will get along fine. The workers might try to convince you they’re entitled to longer breaks according to law, but I set the hours here. I am the final word. Nothing or no one matters here at the mill but me and my profits. See that that continues to be the case, and I will see you well rewarded.”
“Yes, Mr. McRae.” Aidan’s insides twisted with disgust
. He’d been offered a bribe to go along with the status quo, but all it had managed to do was make him more determined to bring this autocrat down.
* * * *
Aidan paced in the rear yard of the Dog and Gun Inn, waiting for Cristyn to appear. He had checked his watch, and already it was past seven. Would she show up? His angel would not forego the chance to tell him exactly what she thought. How in hell had they wound up in the same small village? What had Riordan said about fate? That it often takes a hand, whether we want it to or not. How true.
All at once, he came alert. Cristyn. She scurried into the yard, wearing her shawl over her head.
Meeting her halfway, he took her arm and pulled her toward the gardening shed.
“What are you doing?” she sputtered.
“Finding a private place for us to talk,” he murmured. Opening the door, he assisted her across the threshold, then closed the door. There wasn’t much room among the many gardening implements.
“How dare you manhandle me in such a—”
Aidan pulled her close, and already his treacherous body responded. “Who. Is. Paris.”
“Why do you care?” Cristyn grumbled.
“Because I do, more than I should.”
“Blast you for saying that,” she whispered. “You left, without an explanation. You pushed me away. Instead of owning your feelings, you denied them. Why?”
Damn it, he was hard. Aroused. Aidan’s heart banged out a fierce, unrelenting beat, as if it would burst from his chest. “Tell me who this Paris is to you, and I will answer your question.”
Cristyn huffed out an exasperated breath and took a step backward. “He is old enough to be my father. In fact, he’s a friend of my father’s, and has become a friend to me as well. His name is Dr. Paris Middlemiss. I’m here to assist him in his charity medical work until the middle of September.”
“There is nothing romantic between you?”
“I’m not answering such an absurd question.” Her eyes glistened with an obvious sadness that arrowed straight to his black soul. “Why did you ride away? Never had I felt so rejected, as if I wasn’t worth anything at all—”
Aidan kissed her, something he had been aching to do for months. It was forceful, but when she tentatively returned the kiss, he gentled it, luxuriating in her taste. He was completely devastated by the potency of it. A soft moan escaped her luscious lips, giving him an opportunity to slip his tongue into her sweet mouth, which in turn ignited his insides. He wanted to devour her. Inhale her essence. Possess her totally and make her his.
The kiss grew fierce again. As he cupped her cheek and caressed it, taking the sizzling kiss deeper, his free hand trailed upward to grasp her breast. His fingers brushed across her nipple, which hardened under his touch. Aidan hungered for her. Ached. He backed her up against the wall and their bodies came together, his hard cock rubbing against her thigh. God, he was ready to explode. It was as if they weren’t wearing layers of clothes, because searing heat flared high and hot everywhere their bodies touched. His hands trailed down her arms, then he cupped her arse, bringing her in tighter. A desperate moan of yearning left his throat.
Cristyn abruptly pulled her lips from his. “Stop. Don’t.”
It was as if she had poured cold water over his head. Aidan moved three steps in reverse, his entire body quaking with need. Losing control with a woman was not in his nature. But then, since his downfall, he wasn’t the same man. “I apologize. Try to understand that I was doing the noble thing in riding away; I was sparing you from the chaos I had made of my life.”
Her breathing was still ragged, as was his. The burst of desire still sparked between them. “Isn’t that for me to decide? I’m weary of men making decisions for me. My father told me you admitted to being attracted to me, but the both of you decided that it was for the best if you departed.” She stood up straight and exhaled. “And noble? You work for that awful man; have you not seen the state of the children?”
How in hell had they gone from emotions and desire to the cotton mill? The children again. Aidan mustered a look of indifference; he would have to act as if he didn’t care at all. “What are they to me? I’ve hardly taken notice of them. Besides, today was my first day on the mill floor. I don’t know what you’re on about.”
“Then perhaps you should investigate. I saw the children scrambling under the machines—isn’t that dangerous? They’re malnourished and dirty. Speak to the older boy with brown hair and eyes; he looks over them. His name is Carter Rokesmith. He will tell you what you need to know.”
“The position I have is temporary, and Mr. McRae made it patently clear I was not to interfere with the running of the mill or disrupt it in any way. I will heed his warning.” Aidan took a step closer. He had to breathe her evocative violet scent, taste her skin, and hold her close. Yes, he had lost his mind—and he might have lost his heart in the process. “Enough about the mill. What are we going to do about us?”
One of her perfectly shaped eyebrows arched in question. “Us? There is no ‘us.’ You said as much by riding away.”
Would she ever stop rambling on about him leaving? For it had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. “You would have us live and work in this tiny village for the next two months and pretend we do not know each other?”
Cristyn jutted out her chin. “Yes, exactly that.”
He scoffed. “You’re punishing me for hurting you, and I deserve it. To be completely honest, I don’t know what my feelings are, beyond lust, because lust is the only emotion that is familiar to me. The rest?” He frowned. “You, more than anyone, know the condition I was in. What I went through. I did not exaggerate when I told you I am not a good man. There are things you don’t know….”
Cristyn stepped before him, giving him a pleading look. “Then tell me. Be completely honest.”
“What would it serve? Besides, I’m not going to dissect my nefarious past in a gardening shed.”
“Then when? And where? If you want there to be an ‘us,’ I need to know everything.”
Hell, he couldn’t tell her everything, not while he was involved with the mill. Revealing everything would involve divulging his true name and family background; Aidan couldn’t do that. Beyond such, he didn’t want to see the look of repugnance on her sweet face. Yet he had the distinct feeling Cristyn would not judge him too harshly, for she was his angel of mercy. “Not while we reside in this place.”
“What? Why not?” she bellowed.
“Hush, we don’t want to be discovered.” She frowned at his admonishment. “We both have duties to perform; I suggest we remain focused on them.”
“Coward,” she whispered, giving him a scathing look.
Now he was getting angry. “Damn it, I’m being practical.”
“Take your devastating kisses and go. Or better yet, I’ll leave.” Cristyn moved toward the door, but he halted her.
“Devastating? You say that, yet want us to ignore what exists between us? When all I want to do at this moment is kiss you again? Tunnel my hand under your skirts, slip my fingers between your swollen folds to find you wet and wanting?”
Cristyn raised her free hand as if to slap him, but he clutched her wrist. “I thought you said we should be practical. Let me go,” she demanded through clenched teeth.
He whispered in her ear, “You want me. But it cannot be half as much as I want you.”
“It doesn’t matter, for I will not act on it. Not until you can be honest about your past and your present, Aidan Black.”
Aidan released her and stepped away. “Then you had best depart.”
“Gladly.” Cristyn pushed past him and marched through the door, slamming it behind her.
As tempted as he was to go after her, he didn’t. He splayed his open hand against the wall and lowered his head, trying to regain control over his rampant emotions. He
had no idea if he was doing the right thing. Why not tell her the truth, and reveal why he was in Earl Shilton? He may even be able to ask for her assistance in gathering incriminating information on McRae. Surely this doctor had records on those he had treated from the mill.
No. Damn it, no.
His first and original instinct was correct, to protect his angel at any cost.
Even at the peril of his heart—and hers.
Chapter 10
Rage or cry. Cristyn was determined to do neither. Perhaps, she conceded, she had not handled their meeting well. Emotions ran high on both sides. But she was hurting and had lashed out. She had almost slapped him. But then, what he’d said was entirely inappropriate. Yet beyond the shock and annoyance, she had been intrigued and excited.
It was likely that her emotions were muddled as well. His kiss merely muddied the waters. Cristyn brushed her lips with her fingers. The kiss was everything she’d hoped it would be: wild, tender, and completely overwhelming. Unless he kissed all women with such fervent passion—a disturbing thought.
But beyond that, it was the first real kiss she’d received. There was no comparison to the couple of sloppy kisses from boys in Standon. Cristyn wasn’t so innocent that she was not aware what hard part of him had pressed insistently against her thigh. Despite her inexperience, she’d read plenty on the subject of physical relations between men and women. The prospect did not frighten her.
Bother. Blast it all! He was correct: she wanted him. But another obstacle stood in their way, besides his reluctance: his secrets, and their mutual jumbled emotions. The fact that he was working, however temporarily, for McRae at Morris Mill. No, she had never met the man, but she’d heard plenty from Paris, and from what little her patients had revealed. He was a cruel taskmaster.
Twilight had settled across the horizon. Cristyn picked up her pace toward Mrs. Trubshaw’s home on Church Street, pulling the shawl about her face. While passing the narrow lanes, she noted that many of the villagers gathered around fires burning in barrels, cooking potatoes and other foodstuffs. Many warmed their hands, even though it was July. Others washed laundry in huge tubs, and hung them on lines high above the narrow alleyways.
Love with a Notorious Rake Page 11