Hell, it was tempting, for it would tamp down his frustrations. Aidan slid a couple of shillings across the counter. “No, thank you. For your trouble, Mr. Atwood.”
Once in his room, he shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat, tore off his cravat, then rolled up his sleeves. Getting comfortable in front of the fire, Aidan ripped open the envelope, and two letters tumbled out. One was from his father. He read it first.
Dear Aidan,
I am aghast at what you have reported, but sadly not entirely shocked. I agree with your assessment that this particular operation will not take the full two months. I also understand your concern regarding the fates of the workers and the village itself should the mill be closed because of the violations of various mill and factory acts.
The sad fact is, the mill may not close because of multiple violations. There would be legal chastisement, and perhaps fines, but ultimately the law believes the owner is the captain of the ship, and he is perfectly within his rights to mete out punishment.
This is what we are trying to change. There should be consequences, and better inspections and laws. Children should not be used as slave labor. I could go on, and I understand your dissatisfaction. Though we may not be able to bring down this particular owner, we can certainly make his life a living misery by using the laws already in place.
I have reached out to the queen’s representative in Earl Shilton, Mr. Muggeridge, and made him aware of the situation. He informed me the factory system will be coming to Earl Shilton with regard to the making of stockings, and will also affect the cotton mill as well. No more working in the home for pauper wages. No more violations of regulations at the mill. I have his assurances that Morris Mill will be rigorously monitored. The wheels are in motion to make changes for the better.
As for the children you spoke of, I am appalled at the conditions. Allow me to inquire with regards to a reputable orphanage or school where they can receive an education, proper meals, and training for jobs in the future. But be aware: If we remove these children, McRae can easily replace them with others.
But one thing at a time. We are moving forward. Be proud of your achievements, for I am proud of you, Aidan.
All my love and admiration,
Papa
Postscript: July 29th will soon be here. If I do not see you before then, happy birthday. We will celebrate when you return home.
Aidan exhaled. Not exactly the news he had hoped to hear. But if the factory system came to Earl Shilton, it could change everything. No longer could Morris Mill operate in feudal obscurity.
Yes, it was a start, and a good one on which to build further reforms and improvements.
The closing sentences touched Aidan. If anything positive came out of his decline, it was the renewed love and respect between him and his father.
Setting the letter aside, he opened Riordan’s next.
Dear Aidan,
Do not make the same mistake I did. If you love Cristyn, reveal all. No more lies, no matter how noble the intent behind them. I nearly lost Sabrina because I was not honest with her about my background—I should have told her the moment I realized I was in love with her.
Love is exhilarating. And exhilaration is what you are feeling, Aidan, for you described it perfectly. But love can also make you feel adrift, as you stated.
From what Father told me of your situation in Earl Shilton, you have handled it well. He showed me his letter, and I know you will find it frustrating that there is only so much you are able to do. I found the same with my teaching. But whatever small and incremental changes you do construct, know you are making someone’s life better. Outside of falling in love, I know of no other elation. Take pride in your achievements.
Take your Cristyn in your arms. Tell her ALL. Do not hold back, good or bad.
When you have the support and love of the woman you adore, you can conquer anything.
Love,
Riordan
Postscript: You are NOT Lord Nothing. Not to me. Not ever.
Aidan sat perfectly still, taking in all he had read from his brother and father. He had made one decision: He would wrap up this enterprise immediately. He wanted to be there for Riordan when Sabrina gave birth, to support his brother and the entire family. Because even though none of the men had spoken their concerns aloud, the curse still lingered, reminding them of all they had lost. And could lose.
Riordan’s advice echoed over and over in Aidan’s head. Tell her all. He shot to his feet and ran from his room, slamming the door behind him. Sprinting down the stairs and exiting the yard, he walked briskly toward Church Street. A fat raindrop splashed on his forehead, then another. By the time he turned onto High Street, the skies had opened up.
He stood in front of the multistory brick home where Cristyn resided. He was soaked through, his white shirt all but transparent. What floor was she on, second or third? Did her room face the street, or the alley in the rear? This was utter madness. The ground floor lay in darkness. The widow must have retired. What was the time, eleven? Or later? No lights could be seen from the front of the house, so Aidan jogged to the alley.
There was an oak tree he could climb if he were feeling adventurous, but he grabbed a handful of pebbles. One light was visible on the second floor. He would have to make a hasty escape if it turned out to be the widow.
He tossed the stone, and it bounced off the windowpane. He waited, then threw another. At last, the window opened and Cristyn peered out.
Even through the rain and clouds, the moon managed to cast enough light for them to see each other—he hoped.
“Aidan?” she whispered.
“Yes, let me in.”
All the way into your heart.
Chapter 16
Aidan, here? His shirt was plastered to his finely chiseled torso, showing every taut muscle. Blinking away the rain, he brushed his wet hair from his face and gazed up at her. His expression was beseeching. And he was shivering.
She stuck her hand out, and the cold rain stung her skin. He would catch his death. What if he wasn’t recovered enough to fight off a chill?
“I’ll stand here all night. Let me in, please.” He didn’t whisper.
Cristyn placed a finger to her lips to indicate he should be quiet. She considered slamming the window shut and heading to bed, but she knew that he was stubborn enough to stand there all night. Besides, her nursing instincts would not allow him to succumb to a possible fever. Exasperated, she pointed downward, drawing his attention to the back door. Aidan nodded.
Thankfully, Mrs. Trubshaw was often asleep before half past nine; with any luck she would be deep in dreamland. Cristyn slipped into her wrapper and, as quietly as possible, descended the stairs. Turning the key, she opened the door, and Aidan slipped in, water dripping from every part of him.
“Up the stairs,” she whispered fiercely. Cristyn pulled off her wrapper and followed behind him, sopping up the trail of water left in his wake. She pointed to her room and he stepped inside.
His teeth were chattering. Locking her door, she turned to face him. Beads of raindrops clung to his long lashes. Her gaze followed an errant trail of water down his throat to the V of his sodden shirt. It drew attention once again to his sculpted chest and leanly muscled arms. Cristyn motioned to the chair before the small fireplace. “Take off your clothes.” She tore her blanket from her bed and tossed it to him. “Wrap yourself in this. You’re wearing smalls?”
Aidan nodded.
“Keep them on.” She gathered up the wet clothes and arranged them in front of the fire.
“I like it when you look after me. It’s as if you are concerned for my welfare.” Aidan gave her a sensual smile, and her traitorous body responded, her heart thumping madly.
“I am a nurse, after all. Why are you here?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice even.
With the wool
blanket resting on his shoulders, he rubbed his hands in front of the crackling flames in the hearth. “As I said, we have to talk. Allow me to explain. You had better sit down for this.”
“Talk lower. Mrs. Trubshaw must not find you here.” Blowing out a huff of air, she sat on the corner of her bed, facing him. “Say your piece, then you must go.”
Aidan turned the chair to face her, then sat upon it. “My father is a Member of Parliament for the district of Kent. He is working with select members from the House of Lords on a new version of the Factory Act. I thought to do something meaningful—call it redemption, but I put myself forward to gather information my father can use to further his cause. I suggested a clandestine operation in a mill with a terrible reputation. It was decided that Morris Mill would serve.” He stared at her intently. “Do you grasp what I’m saying?”
Cristyn bristled. “I am perfectly capable of following a conversation.” Keep calm. “Redemption for what?” she murmured.
“Allow me to finish explaining this portion of my tale. As far as McRae is concerned, I’m his man. It’s why you witnessed me shaking Rokesmith. It was a performance, for the master standing above, in the window, in order to prove that I am like him. It’s why Tessie came to my room—I am paying her for information. Nothing else. I swear it.”
This sounded like a plot from a convoluted fiction novel. Yet it held kernels of truth. Relief poured through her. “Not for sex?”
“No. My God, Cristyn. You truly believe I would take advantage of a desperate young woman? Beat on a defenseless child?”
“What was I to think? The performance in the courtyard was quite convincing. And Tessie told me that she earned extra coin by prostituting herself. Add that to your cold words at Mrs. Trubshaw’s and it became all the more compelling.” Actually, Tessie hadn’t used that exact phrasing, Cristyn had merely assumed. Misjudgments all around. “Then I see Tessie knock at your door? What conclusion was I to draw?” Her voice rose to a shrill, and she shook her head. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “I find this difficult to take in.”
“Say you believe me. I am not a monster. At least, not anymore.”
Cristyn stared into his sad but beautiful blue eyes. There were no lies in his earnest expression, no shield for once. “I believe you.” A small part of her had believed he was better than what she’d observed, and it was a relief to find she had not been completely wrong.
“I don’t know what I would have done if you rejected my explanation.” He met her gaze. “I’m trying to convince Rokesmith to trust me. There is much he is hiding. I have been taking food to him and the children.”
Cristyn chuckled. “Paris and I have been bringing food during our exams.”
“Rokesmith is a sly devil, playing both ends at once. Good for him. The accent he puts on is entirely false. The boy is playing a role the same as I. My true name is Aidan Wollstonecraft. Black is my mother’s maiden name; my brother and I use it on occasion.”
“Wollstonecraft? Like the author?”
He nodded. “A distant cousin removed, I’m not sure how many times.”
“You have a brother? You’ve never said.”
“A twin, though not identical. There is much I haven’t said.”
“You could have told me what you were up to at the mill. I would have kept your confidence.”
“I trust you, but I had promised I would not reveal my real name or purpose to anyone. That compact no longer matters, considering our situation.”
“And what is our situation?” Cristyn whispered, her heart beating faster.
“Before I tell you more about my life, my past, and the wreckage that comes with it, it’s more important that I reveal my feelings.” He gave her a heated look. “You move me. You touch my damaged heart, and it terrifies me how much I feel.”
He stood and walked toward her. Oh, but he was magnificently masculine. He was much more robust than he had been at the sanatorium. His emotionally spoken words still echoed in her heart. Gently grasping her arms, he brought her to her feet to stand before him. Wearing only a cotton shift, her body reacted immediately to his nearness. His woodsy scent mixed with the odor of fresh rain. A lock of damp hair fell forward across his forehead, and she could not stop herself from tenderly moving it away. Her fingers lingered, caressing his cool cheek.
Aidan moaned, then grasped her fingers, brought them to his lips, and kissed them. “I am falling for you, Cristyn Bevan. I’m weary from fighting it. Running from it. You see, I suffered under the belief I was not worthy. Perhaps I still believe that, for when I tell you everything, you will turn from me in abhorrence. I couldn’t bear your rejection. It is why I left the clinic in such haste. The coward’s way. But then, I’ve always been a coward. Afraid to live, to take responsibility. Afraid to…love.”
Her insides melted. “Love?”
“I thought at first the unknown emotions were borne from my deep and abiding gratitude for all you have done for me. I’ve never experienced them before. I am still trying to work out what it all means.” He cupped her cheeks, staring into her eyes. “You said you had fallen for me. Does it still hold true, despite my erratic behavior?”
Cristyn nodded, then stood on the tip of her bare toes and kissed him. Aidan slipped his arm about her waist and brought her in tight against him. With little clothing between them, she could feel everything. A groan that bordered on a growl slipped from Aidan as he took the kiss deeper, hungrily exploring every part of her mouth. As his lips trailed to her neck, he whispered huskily, “Touch me.”
Oh. Dare she? Her hand slipped below the waist of his smallclothes. There was no mistaking the hardness that met the brush of her fingers. Cristyn gripped him and squeezed, causing another moan to reverberate though him.
“Yes, damn it all,” Aidan rasped. He laid his hand on top of hers, rubbing them across his erection. He then guided her hand to tunnel under his waistband until she made contact with his arousal. The feel of it burned, causing her breath to hitch in her throat. She was curious. And excited. Not the least bit afraid. “Stroke me,” Aidan urged. He showed her how.
Aidan clasped her breast, his thumb brushing across her pebbled nipple. “So beautiful—”
A sharp rap at the door broke them apart.
“Miss Bevan! Open this door at once! Who’s in there with you?”
“Quick, get dressed!” Cristyn whispered fiercely. Mrs. Trubshaw must have the ears of a hawk. Aidan scrambled to collect his clothes and boots from the fireplace. Hastily dressing, Cristyn flung open her window. “Out on the roof, you can climb down the oak tree.”
The pounding became louder. “Open up or I will fetch my master key!”
“Coming, Mrs. Trubshaw. You’ve woken me out of a dead sleep. Give me a moment!” Cristyn cried as she pushed a half-dressed Aidan toward the window. He had on his trousers and boots, clasping his shirt in his fist. It would have to do.
Before he climbed out, he gave her a swift kiss. “Come to my room at seven tomorrow night.”
As soon as he disappeared through the window, she closed it partway and drew the curtains. Taking the blanket Aidan had discarded, she placed it about her shoulders. “I’m coming!”
Cristyn no sooner opened the door when the widow pushed past her, looking about the room. “I heard a man’s voice. Do not deny it. Where is he?” She marched to the window and threw it open, and a blast of cold rain hit Mrs. Trubshaw square in the face. Sputtering, she immediately closed it. “Miss Bevan, I’m tolerant of many things, but a man in your room at night is beyond the pale.” The widow sounded more disappointed than angry, and Cristyn felt a twang of guilt—especially for the lie she was about to tell.
“I fell asleep in the chair. I must have been dreaming, speaking out loud.” Cristyn yawned and rubbed her eyes for good measure.
The landlady frowned. “If I come across as brusque and nosy, it is
because I am concerned for you. You arrived here without a proper guardian, and I felt it my duty to take on the role. I understand your father wished for Dr. Middlemiss to act as such, but men, in my opinion, are inadequate for such a delicate task.” Mrs. Trubshaw’s look softened. “I speak from experience. Regardless of your social standing, a young, unmarried woman’s reputation is everything. Do not make the mistake I made. Long ago, I was caught in a compromising position with a man far above me in station. I was in love, but he turned from me. I’m thankful that Mr. Trubshaw stepped forward to save me from complete disgrace. Do not allow it to happen it you,” she ended on a fierce whisper.
No doubt Mrs. Trubshaw’s disgrace came at a time when society manners mattered more than anything. They were still important, but not to the extent they had been thirty years past.” I do thank you for your ongoing concern. But as I said, I was dreaming.”
The widow cocked a dubious eyebrow. “Well, if you say that is what I heard. But know this: I have rules for any boarders. No visitors in your room, or I will have no alternative but to turn you out.”
“I will certainly heed your warning, on all counts.” Once Mrs. Trubshaw departed and Cristyn had closed and locked the door, she exhaled. First Paris with his sad tale, now her widowed landlady. But would she heed the warnings? She gazed at her hand. It still burned where she had stroked him. How bold of her. Aidan’s husky plea for her to touch him had nearly made her knees buckle.
The attraction between them roiled at full heat, enough to scorch them both. If they kept meeting in secret, Cristyn understood where it would lead. Though she appreciated Mrs. Trubshaw’s well-meaning admonition, her virginity was her business. When to give it up, and to whom, was always a choice she was determined to make, inside of marriage or out of it.
She yearned for it to be Aidan. But first, she must hear the rest of what he had to say. What possible debris in his past had compelled him to take on such a mission? Wollstonecraft: such an odd and rare name. If only Mrs. Trubshaw had not interrupted them.
Love with a Notorious Rake Page 18