Love with a Notorious Rake

by Karyn Gerrard

  “Rokesmith, I want to speak to you outside.”

  With a surly look on his face, the lad reluctantly followed him up the stairs. Hell, it was brighter out-of-doors than it was in that damned cellar prison.

  He grasped the boy’s arm and pulled him around the corner to shield them from any prying eyes. “I want you to be completely honest with me. You don’t know me at all, but I am not the master. Not in any way.”

  “I don’t know nuffin’.”

  “I appreciate it, truly I do, but I can be trusted. Where do those disgusting pies come from?”

  The lad cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at him. “Why? Wot’s it to ye?”

  “That pie isn’t fit to give a mongrel dog, that’s why. I want to help, but we must keep it between us. How often does the management inspect your living quarters?”

  Rokesmith didn’t answer. Instead, he stared into Aidan’s eyes as if trying to ascertain if he could be trusted. “They don’t. Twice a year they scour it with lime. They feed us gruel for breakfast and lunch, and these pies for supper.”

  Ah, the accent had been exaggerated. But Aidan wouldn’t comment on it now. “Again I ask: where do the pies come from? Are they made here?”

  Rokesmith shook his head. “No. A man from the village brings them every night. Sometimes he wears an apron like a baker.”

  “Listen to me, lad. I want to assist you. But we must keep it secret. As far as the master is concerned, I’m on his side. When I can arrange it, I will bring extra food. Might manage some clothing, extra water for washing…”

  Rokesmith shook his head. “No. Washing and different clothes will be noticed. The food? Aye, I’ll take it. The younger ones are hungry all the time. And it must be small bits of food, easily hid.”

  Clever. “I will see what I can arrange without causing comment. If anyone asks about me, I’m of a like mind with McRae. But you and I will know differently.”

  “Why do this?” The lad gave him a wary look.

  “When we know each other better and trust begins to build between us, I will answer your questions—and you will answer mine. Do you accept this compact between us?” Aidan held out his hand.

  “I must be barmy,” the boy muttered as he took Aidan’s hand and shook it.

  “Do you have enough water? What about the necessary?” Aidan asked.

  Rokesmith pointed to a small wooden structure leaning precariously against a large oak tree. “Privy is there. Water buckets are delivered in the morn and for supper. No cups, but we have a ladle. Enough to drink, but not to wash, if ye get me meanin’.”

  The lad was laying on the thick accent again. “Yes. Loud and clear. We have an understanding. I take it there is no schooling of any kind? Can you read?”

  Rokesmith frowned. “No schooling. And I don’t trust you enough to answer the other.”

  “Fair enough. If you ever need me after hours, I’m staying at the Dog and Gun Inn. My name is Aidan. Top floor, room fifteen.”

  The boy gave him a dubious stare. Aidan couldn’t blame him. With a salute, he turned and headed for the village. At the inn he sought out the innkeeper’s wife, Mrs. Atwood. She had been receptive to his harmless flirting since his arrival; he could use that to his advantage.

  “There you are, Mrs. Atwood. I was wondering if I could ask a favor. I find the food at the mill, what little there is, entirely inadequate. Perhaps you could supplement me with your astounding cooking?” He smiled, showing all his teeth, batting his lashes for good measure. “I would pay extra, of course.”

  The older woman’s eyes twinkled. “What did you have in mind, Mr. Black?”

  “Well, I’m not long recovered from a lingering illness.” Not a lie. “I need heartier fair, but small enough that I may carry it for when I become peckish or feel weak.” His smile widened. “And to share with my fellow managers, if so inclined.”

  She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I can make an oatmeal biscuit that melts in your mouth. It has rye, mullet, beetroot, as well as a little sugar and cut-up cherries. Robust ingredients to build up the blood. Sugar is dear, mind. But you are willing to pay.”

  He bowed slightly. “That I am.”

  Mrs. Atwood became animated, clapping her hands together. “I also make a lovely cheese roll loaded with onion, watercress, and tiny bits of ham.”

  Aidan gently took one of her hands and laid a kiss upon it. “You are entirely kind. And I am eternally grateful.”

  “Oh!” She blushed. “Shall we say two dozen—”

  “Three dozen, three times a week. Same with the biscuits. I will pay you three pounds each week.”

  She tore her hand from his. “Three pounds? That’s unheard of.”

  “Then let us make it four pounds, and ask you to keep this agreement between us. Call it a special order.”

  “It is far too much.”

  “Nonsense. You are worth every penny. Do we have a contract, Mrs. Atwood? Do you agree to the terms?”

  “Well, I would be a fool to say no. A special order it is. I’ll have the first lot ready for you tomorrow morning.”

  Aidan gave her another dazzling smile. “Brilliant. Now, a bit of information: Is there a pieman in the village?”

  She frowned. “Yes. There is a loathsome man who takes advantage of those too poor to cook their own meals. Most of those horrid flats and rooms have no stoves; many also have no fireplaces. Tattle has it he uses whatever dead animal he finds along the road.”

  Aidan had tasted the proof. “His name? And where can I find him? Again, this is to stay between us.”

  “Of course, sir. He is William Michaels, over High Street way. Has a small shop. Can’t miss it.”

  Aidan gave Mrs. Atwood an elegant bow. “My thanks, dear, dear lady.”

  She tittered and giggled as she headed to her kitchen. As for Aidan, he had to think how he was going to approach this disgusting pieman—if at all, for he couldn’t tip his hand. Meanwhile, he would include this new information in his first report. Eventually he might use Rokesmith as a messenger, but he needed to build trust first.

  Building it between him and Cristyn would not go amiss. But how, when he had to keep his identity and his operation secret?

  * * * *

  In the ten days since Cristyn had last seen Aidan, she’d sufficient time to reflect on their conversation. She admonished herself for the way she had handled it, and decided amends had to be made.

  Was she asking too much of him? As he’d stated, he had barely moved beyond his recovery. How unfair of her to demand he admit his feelings, when, by his own admission, they were unknown and confused. She more than anyone understood the harrowing experience he had suffered. Though she was not aware of the circumstances that led him to be admitted at the Standon Sanatorium, Cristyn was sure it was worse than anything she could imagine. Being a nurse, she should have shown compassion and understanding.

  Her core concerns remained: What about his past, and the horrible events that led to his stay at the sanatorium? Why wouldn’t he discuss his background and family? And something about his explanation for being in Earl Shilton wasn’t resonating. He obviously wasn’t here because of her. The only one who could have told Aidan of her plans was her father, and since he believed they shouldn’t be together, that scenario was rejected outright.

  Regardless of her statement that they should ignore each other, Cristyn had to apologize. Hopefully she would be better able to keep her errant emotions under tight rein.

  There was no better opportunity than today. Back at Morris Mill for another appointment with the orphan children, she and Paris followed the same routine as their previous visit. Along with the apples and bread, they brought slices of cheese. Paris had told her Mr. McRae would only allow them to care for the children if he abandoned all talk of a wheel, or any other concerns about the running of the mill and the health
of the workers. Paris had reluctantly agreed.

  As they concluded the examinations, Cristyn motioned toward young Rokesmith. Once he stood before her, she pulled him around the corner of the cotton warehouse.

  “You know who Mr. Black is?”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her, a cautious expression on his face. “Aye, he be the head overlooker.”

  She slipped a note into Carter’s hand. “I need you to give this to Mr. Black. Can you manage it? Will you do this for me?”

  “Aye. Only ’cause you and the doc be kind, with the food and the like.”

  “Dr. Middlemiss is an honorable man. Perhaps we can alert the authorities about your care. It is shocking how you all are—”

  “Nay. Don’t,” Carter whispered fiercely. “Things would go worse. You’ll do naught but muck it up. We’d all be separated. Or worse besides.” He held up the note. “If ye wish me to deliver the note to the toff overlooker, keep yer nose out. And ye can tell that toff doctor and all.”

  Cristyn could see real fear and anger in the young lad’s eyes. They burned with an intensity she’d never seen in one so young. “Very well. We will hold off. For now.”

  “Good. I’ll slip the overlooker the note, never fear.” The boy turned on his heel and marched away.

  In the note she’d asked Aidan to meet her in the gardening shed at half past seven this evening. Her insides fluttered at the prospect of seeing him again. Yes, she yearned for him. But it would be prudent to keep her desires in check. But how, when the slightest brush of his fingers sent ripples of heated awareness through her entire body? When her heart ached for him to kiss her again? When his innate sadness and vulnerability touched her soul? Not that she thought him weak—far from it. One doesn’t recover from an addiction unless they have discipline and courage. She had seen both in Aidan. If only he could see it.

  By early evening, her quivering insides had abated enough for her to school her features into polite indifference. As she hurried toward the rear yard of the inn, she reviewed in her mind how she would handle this. Apologize, but be firm in her conviction they must act as strangers if their paths should cross in the village. As for the future, that would be up for discussion after they had both departed from Earl Shilton and her inquires were satisfactorily addressed. Excellent. It would take no more than five minutes to say her piece, and she would be back in her room before dark.

  She opened the door and slipped into the shed, only to find Aidan already there. At the sight of him, her heart skipped a beat. The subtle scent of his cologne filled her senses. Lord, he was a incredibly handsome man, with the most glorious cheekbones.

  He stepped before her, his masculine presence making it hard for her to concentrate. “You wished to see me?” His voice was low, husky. Sensual.

  Remain calm. “Yes. I wish to apologize for my fit of temper the last couple of times we’ve spoken. I did everything but stamp my foot. Though the feelings I relayed to you were honest and just, I allowed my hurt to steer the conversation.”

  “I have apologized, but allow me to say once again that I’m sorry for riding away without a word. Though it is no excuse, I believed you would be better off without becoming involved in my wreckage.” He took her hand; neither of them wore gloves. The contact was searing. “Nigh on eight weeks later? I’m not sure what to think. Not when you stand this close to me.”

  Oh, blast him! Stay focused. “I believe we—”

  “Shh,” he whispered urgently.

  Men’s voices were drifting closer.

  “Get the hoes from the shed, Stan, along with the bone meal,” one of them said.

  Aidan pulled her close to his chest, as if to shield her. His cologne was even more enticing with her nose buried in his shirt. Mixed with the woodsy and bergamot scent was laundry soap and clean skin.

  “The bone meal is out front, stored under the veranda,” the other man replied.

  “We’d best fetch it then. Come.”

  The voices trailed away, and Aidan took her hand, opened the door, and pulled her outside.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered fiercely.

  “I am endeavoring to find us a more private place to continue this conversation. If we run for it, we can make the back entrance to the inn before they return.”

  “I can’t go into the inn with you, why—”

  “I have it on good authority that Mrs. Atwood, the innkeeper’s wife, is toiling in her kitchen, while Mr. Atwood is pulling pints in his tavern room. No time to argue.” Aidan peeked around the corner of the shed. “All clear. Lift your skirts, my sweet, and run.”

  Aidan bolted forward, pulling her behind. Cristyn hardly had time to draw breath, let alone lift her skirts. It was difficult to keep up with his long-legged stride. Before she knew it, they were inside. “The stairs are directly to your left. Go, I’m right behind you. Room fifteen.”

  Perhaps she was wicked, for she could walk away and head to Mrs.Trubshaw’s without casting a fleeting look Aidan’s way. Instead, she was going to his room.

  Cristyn grabbed fistfuls of her skirt and petticoats and ascended the stairs as quietly as she could. They both stood before his room. As he slipped the key in the lock, Cristyn glanced about the hallway to ensure they had not been seen. A thrill coursed about her spine. Wicked, indeed.

  As she stepped inside his room, Cristyn was taken by the luxuriance. It must have been the best room at the inn—correction: rooms. This was a large suite. Of course, he was wealthy. The interior was decorated with dark hardwood walls with fancy trim and cornices. A mixture of green and light brown colored the curtains and bedding. The four-poster bed was huge, and she pictured Aidan lounging naked among the expensive sheets and silk bedspread. She flushed and looked away.

  Aidan locked the door, then strode toward her. “Will you take a seat?”

  “I will not be staying long enough to sit. Allow me to finish what I came to say, then I must take my leave before the sun sets.”

  “The floor is yours.”

  “I believe after tonight, if we should cross paths while in this village, we should act as strangers.” There. She’d said it in a firm tone to punctuate the point.

  “May I ask you to attend McRae’s dinner party next week as my guest?”

  Cristyn shook her head. “No. Absolutely not.” She paused and gazed up at him. “How can you entertain the notion of breaking bread with that horrid man?”

  “For as long as I am here, I must stay in his good graces.”

  “I don’t understand, but I’ve no time to discuss it. You said during our last meeting that you lust after me, while your other emotions are muddled. Until you can see clearly, I believe that is reason enough for us to act as strangers.” She stared into his lovely blue eyes. “I, however, own my feelings. I am not ashamed of them. I have fallen for you, Aidan Black. Against all common sense and propriety, and whatever professionalism exists between a nurse and her patient.”

  “I adore you.” Aidan cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her flushed cheeks. “You are the reason I found the inner strength to recover. If not for you, I would be lost, wandering alone in this cold world with no purpose. Do not think these feelings are born from gratitude for your compassionate care, though I’m grateful. My emotions are muddled because I have never experienced them before, for any woman. Ever.” He nuzzled her neck, laying gentle kisses along it, then across her jawline.

  His tenderly spoken words touched her heart, causing it to speed up and thump rapidly. “While I’m flattered, do not place your recovery at my feet. You alone are responsible; if I assisted in a small way, then I’m glad. And I’ve never felt this way toward a man. Ever.” Slowly, and in increments, he nibbled softly on her lips, coaxing her to respond. Cristyn could not find the inner strength to tear away from him. Instead, she tentatively nibbled on his, causing a deep-throated moan to esca
pe him.

  Aidan took the kiss deeper, exploring every part of her mouth. Daringly, she touched her tongue to his, causing another husky growl to reverberate through him. Aidan pulled her close, and had her distracted enough that she had not felt his hand slowly trailing down her torso, until he clasped her rear and brought her in against that hard part of him.

  “God, what was I thinking?” he murmured in between kisses. “I never should have brought you to my room. The temptation is too great.”

  “I’m not sorry,” she replied.

  He pulled back and gave her a dubious look. “No?”

  “I’m not some trembling virgin.”

  Aidan’s shocked expression caused her to smile. “You are telling me you’re not a virgin—” he began.

  Cristyn stepped out of his arms and immediately missed the heat of his hard, solid body. “Oh, I am most decidedly a virgin, but not a trembling one.” She held up her hands for his inspection. “See? Not a tremor or shake of any kind. I’ve read plenty on the subject of carnal relations. A man’s body holds no trepidation or fright for me. I’m a nurse; I’ve seen plenty of men naked. I’ve seen you completely bare.”

  “Though I was not exactly at my best.”

  “Most people aren’t when they are sick—or naked.”

  Aidan snorted. “You’re supposed to say, ‘Aidan, that’s not true. You’re a stunning specimen.’”

  “I think not. Your ego is healthy enough without my compliments.”

  He laughed, and the rusty sound of it warmed her insides. “Nothing fazes you, it seems.”

  She shrugged. “I’ve even dissected a man’s corpse.”

  His mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “When I was studying anatomy, my father procured a cadaver from the hospital in Watford. It was most enlightening. The male body holds no mystery to me.”

  His expression showed admiration, and something more heated that Cristyn could not determine. “As I said, I absolutely adore you.”