And tell her he was falling in love with her.
Chapter 15
Friday arrived, and Aidan was not keen to attend a dinner with McRae and men of a similar disposition. But he had to keep up appearances and act like-minded with these greedy, ambitious men.
Before attending the dinner, he stopped to speak to Rokesmith, as he’d not had a chance since their theatrical performance in the courtyard. He might as well see the lad since he was on the property. Aidan handed him the bag filled with biscuits and rolls.
“Look at you,” Rokesmith snorted. “A toff, to be sure, in your fancy coat.”
“I am to attend a dinner. Up there.” He pointed toward the upper floor residence of McRae’s. “But three days past, I had information come my way concerning missing sick children and pregnant young women. You’re holding back. You know more than you have revealed,” Aidan accused.
Rokesmith gave him a dismissive shrug. “We need to build the trust, remember? And if I’m keeping quiet, it’s to protect them.” He pointed to the children.
“You will be telling me. For I have a distinct feeling this will come to a head sooner than I had first believed.”
Rokesmith frowned. “I tossed the meat pies. What are you doing about that?” Changing the subject, shrewd of the boy. Obviously, Aidan would not be given any information tonight.
“What do you suggest? Confronting the pieman? Though I am tempted to pound him into a bloody pulp, he would run to McRae quicker than I can blink. For now, continue to test them; if they are inedible, toss them. I will try to bring different food, as well as the biscuits and rolls.” Aidan met the lad’s intense gaze. “Sooner or later, we will have to trust each other.”
“Maybe.”
Lottie skipped up and stopped in front of him. “Hello, sir.” She gave him a shy smile.
Seeing this lovely child immersed in this horrific situation made his heart ache. Without thinking, he crouched down to her level. “Hello, sweet girl.” He grabbed the bag from Rokesmith, reached in, and brought out two biscuits. “For you, a special treat. It will be our secret.”
Her eyes lit up, and all at once, he wished he could gift her with more than biscuits. A better future. A decent life. The girl threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.
“Here, Lottie. You’ll get Mr. Black’s coat all dirty,” Rokesmith scolded.
A lump formed in Aidan’s throat. The child was aching for affection, and it tore him in two. He hugged her back. “It’s all right,” he murmured.
Lottie kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear. “Thank you, sir.”
Thanks for what? The biscuits? The hug? He should be thanking her, for allowing him to see what the world was truly like beyond the borders of Wollstonecraft Hall—and beyond the borders of his own selfishness. When it came down to it, all people wanted was a little love in their lives. Some humanity. A warm bed and a full stomach. It shouldn’t be too much to ask for.
Lottie released him, bit into the biscuit, and skipped away. Aidan stood, handed the bag back to Rokesmith, and with a nod headed toward the residence. Time to prepare for his performance. He could not be distracted by adorable orphans—not tonight, at any rate.
In his three weeks here, he had not laid eyes on McRae’s wife or son. Were they prisoners in the tower? The entrance to the residence was located in the rear, and, he’d heard, usually locked. But as Aidan rounded the corner, a middle-aged man in fancy livery stood in the doorway. As a guard, no doubt. “Mr. Black?”
“Yes.”
The man checked the list. “Welcome, sir. Directly up the stairs.”
Gaslight wall sconces illuminated his way. McRae had modern lighting in his home, but not in the mill. Typical. As Aidan stepped into the upper hallway, he had a look about. Wood walls with fancy trimming. Directly ahead were open, frosted-glass French doors. When he stepped across the doorsill, it was as if he had entered one of the fancier rooms at Wollstonecraft Hall, complete with chandeliers and gold silk wallpapers—though not as large, of course.
Already a group of men were deep in conversation, clasping glasses of some sort of punch. Off in the corner were three women sitting on chairs, whispering furiously. He did a quick head count. Eight people so far, excluding the host and hostess, the men outnumbering the ladies.
Standing near the door was McRae. Next to him was a rather beautiful woman with a vacant stare. Must be the wife. After handing his long coat to one of the footmen, Aidan stood before the couple.
“My dear, this is Aidan Black, of whom you have heard me speak. My wife, Portia McRae, the daughter of Sir Michael Linton, baronet.”
Aidan lifted the gloved hand of Mrs. McRae and bent over it, giving it an air kiss. “My distinct pleasure.” Leave it to McRae to brag of his wife’s connections.
She murmured something indistinguishable. Aidan stood straight and gave her an assessing gaze. Good God, was she drugged? For he was well aware of the dazed and fogged expression of those under the influence. It could be laudanum, the drug of choice for middle and upper class women.
“I wish to speak to you, Aidan, as soon as I am done greeting my guests.”
McRae had never called him by his first name before. “Of course.”
“Help yourself to punch and mingle.”
He moved to the sideboard and stared at the pink beverage in the silver bowl. Filling his glass half full, with no intention of drinking it, he stood to the side, his back against the wall, assessing the room.
Aidan supposed these other men owned businesses in the village—some were probably those greedy devils who ran the stocking industry. As his gaze slid across the room, Dr. Middlemiss strode in with Cristyn on his arm.
The sound of conversation soon disappeared, and a loud buzzing replaced it. It took all of Aidan’s sparse self-control to keep from staggering at the sight of her, for it had the force of a blow to the chest. Cristyn looked exquisite, wearing a lavender gown of simple elegance, with white lace across her décolletage, giving one and all a glimpse of her magnificent cleavage. The color, of course, enhanced her beautiful eyes, alabaster skin, and glossy black hair.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see McRae giving her a bold inspection when they were introduced by Middlemiss. Aidan burned with possessiveness. How dare that cretin even look at Cristyn? But his focus remained on her. She hadn’t looked his way. Instead, she was being escorted to the punchbowl. Look my way. Just once.
“Do you know that luscious creature?”
Aidan had been caught up in drinking in Cristyn’s stunning appearance, and as a result he had not seen McRae sidle up next to him. Thankfully the buzzing in his head had quieted. In an indifferent tone, he replied, “His nurse, Miss Cristyn Bevan. But I am sure you have already been introduced.” He paused, raised the cup to his lips, the liquid barely touching them. The punch was nauseatingly sweet. “She is the lady who wandered into the spinning room a few weeks past.”
“The one you put the run to? My God, if I had known she was such a beauty, I would have allowed her to attend the meeting with the doctor. She would have been a lovely distraction while Middlemiss droned on about treating the brats.” McRae leaned in and whispered, “Imagine her spread over the desk, skirts thrown over her head.” He chuckled lasciviously.
Aidan gripped his glass so tight it nearly shattered. It would be his distinct pleasure to see to this man’s complete ruin. His blood boiled at a dangerous, high heat, an intoxicating combination of searing desire for Cristyn and intense hatred for McRae. Aidan thought it best not to reply to the disgusting remark. But, oh, how McRae would answer for his misogynistic, disrespectful statement. “You wished to speak to me?”
“Ah, yes. I must say, when you first arrived here at the mill, I was suspicious. Regardless of your recommendation from my acquaintance, Viscount Kerridge, I found it all rather strange. I mean, Hanson and hi
s family vanished in the night. Then I received a curt note claiming he would not be returning to his position. Blasted ingrate. After all I’ve done for him.”
“Hmm.” Aidan had nothing to add, for he couldn’t care less.
“I sent Meeker along to Hanson’s residence this afternoon. The place had been emptied out. Well, good riddance.” McRae snorted. “Come to my office tomorrow at three. I wish to discuss the possibility of making your temporary position a permanent one. You’ve proven your worth.”
Aidan gave McRae a sidelong glance. “In what way, sir?”
“Meeker reports that you are a man after my own heart. Plus, I saw you disciplining one of the older urchins in the courtyard. Well done. They all have to be kept in line, regardless of age or gender.”
“I am not sure I wish to make this permanent, as I have other commitments,” Aidan murmured.
“Do you? We’ve tried to check your background. There wasn’t much to find. You will need to fill in the blanks if you do decide to stay. But we will discuss it more tomorrow. I can make it worth your while. Come, and I will introduce you to the others. All upstanding men of business.”
Hardly. But Aidan went through the motions, shaking hands, acutely aware of Cristyn in the room. When he glanced her way, she was not looking at him. But judging by the stiff set of her delicate shoulders, she was as aware of him as he was of her.
He waited patiently for his chance. Middlemiss barely left her side, damn him. But when the grocer pulled him away, Aidan made his excuses to the other men, placed his cup on the table, and headed toward her. The fresh scent of violets filled his nostrils. He stood in front of her and held out his hand. “Good evening.” She looked away. “Take the hand, Cristyn, people are watching.”
With a huff, she slipped her hand in his. Aidan gripped it; although he was not wearing any gloves and she was, a sizzling heat blazed between them. Slowly, he released her hand, his fingertips trailing across her palm, causing his heart to thump madly. “We need to talk.”
“There is nothing to say. You’ve made your true self known to me. How deluded I’ve been all these months.” Her beautiful eyes flared angrily. “Am I deluded?”
“I know you were in the inn a few nights ago. You’d come to talk to me, hadn’t you? Tessie informed me of your presence. Not everything is as it seems, Cristyn.”
Cristyn opened her mouth to retort when Middlemiss appeared at her side. Blast the man for his miserable timing! The doctor clasped her elbow as if staking his claim. “Mr. Black, good evening. They are calling us to the dining room. Cristyn, allow me to escort you.” She was swept away from him, and Aidan clenched his fists. When in the hell would he be able to speak to her again? He had to try. Hopefully, tomorrow, there would be a response from his brother. He needed his advice more than ever.
* * * *
What did Cristyn expect? That when she saw Aidan again she would feel completely apathetic? No, for one did not turn off the spigot of emotions immediately. At least, she couldn’t. Not with him standing before her, resplendent in his black coat and silver cravat. He was by far the most handsome man at this event, and he drew the women’s eyes—except Mrs. McRae, who did not appear to be aware of what was going on around her.
They entered the dining area—not overly large, but enough space to accommodate twelve people at the table. Cristyn was struck at the opulence of a multi-storied flat situated above a cotton mill. The table held lit silver candelabras, fine white-and-silver china, and crystal goblets of various sizes with matching decanters. A fruit centerpiece of sliced pineapple, grapes, and berries finished the elegantly set table. Two men dressed in fine livery and two maids in starched white uniforms commenced with serving the multicourse meal.
Cristyn was seated across from Paris, with Aidan farther along the table, one chair away from McRae. A watery bowl of broth was placed before her. All this money spent on fancy dishes and rich meals, while people in the village fought over a crust of bread. She suddenly wished she had not asked to attend this miserable banquet. Paris had warned her to keep her decided opinions about social injustice to herself, in order not to jeopardize their treating the children. Small talk broke out at the table during the soup course, which carried over into the salad, then the fish.
“Miss Bevan, have you recovered from your ordeal?”
The table grew silent; all eyes were on her. The woman asking the question was a stocking magnate’s wife. Blast her for bringing up the robbery! “What ordeal do you speak of, Mrs. Tramble?”
“My word, how many have you experienced since arriving in Earl Shilton?” Polite laughter scattered between the guests.
“I’ve had a few, for witnessing such widespread and grinding poverty certainly is harrowing. Or do you speak of my reticule being stolen?”
Paris shot her a warning look, and Cristyn took it under advisement. But the woman’s tone grated. The condescending expression aggravated her as well.
“The thievery, of course,” Mrs. Tramble said as she shoved a piece of shrimp into her mouth.
“I was pushed to the ground. The young lad managed to get away with a lace handkerchief and a few hairpins—hardly worth the bother. I was not injured,” Cristyn replied.
“But then, someone came to your rescue.” Mrs. Tramble turned her gaze to Aidan. “How gallant you are, Mr. Black. What a discovery.”
Murmuring broke out around the table.
“Gallant?” Aidan sniffed haughtily. “Hardly. I merely assisted the young lady to her feet.”
“You offered to chase the young rogue, Mr. Black. That is a gallant gesture to me,” Cristyn replied, giving him a cool but dismissive smile.
Aidan met her gaze. His sensual mouth was twisted in a cynical smile, his eyes alight with blue fire. “And you bade me not to. I acquiesced to the lady’s wishes.”
“Why ever not?” Mr. Tramble bellowed. “The thief should have been brought to justice. We have a village constable, and an adequate jail.”
Cristyn cut into her herbed sole. “The lad was dressed in rags, no doubt starving. If my meager possessions can fetch him a few pennies for food, I’ll not pursue it.”
Mr. McRae cleared his throat, then frowned. “You do the thief no favors by allowing this crime to fall to the wayside. It will only embolden him to further illegal acts. I would suggest, Miss Bevan, you report this crime with all haste.”
Murmurs of assent rounded the table, a few of the men adding, “Quite right.”
Paris shot her another look of caution. How tempted she was to call out these reprehensible men on their lack of compassion for their fellow man. “Perhaps if there was a charitable organization in the village, the destitute would not have to resort to illegal acts to buy bread. I’m surprised to find the church does not provide something as basic as a bowl of soup for those in need.”
The silence in the room was awkward. Boldly, she glanced about the table. A mixture of disdain and anger. Paris shook his head. Aidan, however, gave her such a heated, admiring look her insides quivered.
“We have adequate poor laws. Anyone in need can go to the Union Workhouse in nearby Hinckley,” Mr. McRae replied, his tone frosty. He then turned to the man next to him. “Now, as to the price of cotton…”
Cristyn’s cheeks flushed in annoyance as she turned her attention to her meal. No doubt Paris would admonish her in his gentle tone later. She had said far too much, and may have damaged their plan for caring for the mill children.
Mercifully, eventually, the meal came to an end, and as was standard for such formal meals, the ladies rose and headed to the parlor for tea while the men stayed in the dining room to partake of brandy and cigars. As she entered the hall, Cristyn found herself swept into a nearby alcove—and into Aidan’s embrace.
“Are you mad?” she whispered fiercely.
“Mad for you,” he replied, giving her another heated look.
“We have only a few minutes. I want us to meet. Tonight. We must talk. As I said, not all is as it seems. Allow me to explain.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Explain what, exactly? How you bullied a child? How you are taking advantage of a poor young woman in your employ?”
He grasped the sides of her head, staring at her with such an intense gaze it made goose bumps raise on her flesh. “You truly believe this of me?”
“I believe the evidence of my own eyes,” she retorted.
“Even a condemned man is given a fair trial.” Aidan nuzzled her neck. Then he stepped away from her, his chest rising and falling. “Tonight, Cristyn.”
He turned and headed in the direction of the dining room, leaving her dizzy. She would not be slinking out in the dark of night to go to his room—that must end. But deep down, she wanted to hear what he had to say. Could there be an explanation? A small part of her believed that there must be. For five months they were in daily contact; they’d gotten to know each other. Despite his dismissal that they were friends, she had liked him, regardless of his mistakes and his past—whatever it was. Perhaps they should talk.
A few stolen moments in his arms and already she yearned for more. Sighing, Cristyn walked toward the parlor.
* * * *
When the evening concluded at ten o’clock, Aidan tried to speak to Cristyn once more, but the doctor kept her well away from him. Glancing at the night sky as he headed to the inn, he made note of the heavy gray clouds that had all but engulfed the full moon.
Upon entering the inn, Mr. Atwood called to him. “A young man delivered this for you an hour past.” The innkeeper passed him a large brown envelope. Judging by the weight, there were a couple of letters inside. Only the name “Aidan Black” was written on the front of it. He recognized Riordan’s handwriting. Samuel had been by. The young man must have ridden all day and part of the night.
“Thank you, Mr. Atwood.”
“I lit the fire in your room, sir, as there is rain coming tonight, I’ll wager. And it is a cool evening. Thought it would take the chill off. Would you like a brandy or whiskey?”
Love with a Notorious Rake Page 17