Love with a Notorious Rake

by Karyn Gerrard

  Cristyn gave him a tremulous smile. “Not at all. It exceeded my expectations.”

  “Thank God. I promise it will only improve. We have much to discover.” He kissed her on the tip of the nose. If he kissed her on the lips, he would be tempted to keep her in his bed the rest of the night—and all of tomorrow. “I will escort you to Mrs. Trubshaw’s.”

  They hurriedly dressed; Aidan even assisted her in pinning her hair in place. With a quick inspection of the hall, they quietly descended the back stairs and exited through the rear door. Once on the street, Aidan offered his arm and they strolled along the cobbles toward Church Street. Once they neared the corner, Cristyn halted. “We should part here.”

  “God, I want to kiss you senseless. When can we meet again?”

  “Shall we try for the clinic? Tomorrow night at seven?”

  They were not going to his room. Though disappointed, he hid it. “Yes. Seven o’clock. I will arrive once I extricate myself from the mill.” He bowed slightly. “Good night, my angel,” he murmured.

  “Good night, Mr. Black.” In a quieter voice, she whispered, “My dearest.”

  The endearment warmed his heart, and like a smitten, love-struck idiot, he stood and watched until she disappeared into the widow’s residence. Making his way toward the inn, Aidan decided he would head to the mill for one last pass at Rokesmith. The sun had all but set, and the darkness would hide their meeting.

  Once he entered the inn, he strode into the tavern room. The innkeeper stood behind the bar, wiping glasses. “Mr. Atwood, what have you left in foodstuffs?”

  “Four pork pies, some bacon. Two cottage loaves, rice pudding.”

  Aidan pulled out a couple of pound notes. “I will take it all. If you can spare any paper napkins, and cutlery, along with an old bowl and a few spoons you no longer need. Do you have any milk?”

  Mr. Atwood’s eyes widened at the money on the counter. “Aye, enough to fill a large jar.”

  Aidan slapped another pound note on the counter. “If you have any tin cups and plates you can spare, toss them into a box as well. I need it all right away.”

  “Aye, sir!” The innkeeper snatched up the bills and hurried off. Less than five minutes later, he returned with a large basket.

  Aidan took it. “Good man. When I return in forty minutes, I would like a meal delivered to my room. I am sure you keep prime cuts of beef for your best customers—”

  “Of which you are, Mr. Black.”

  “Thank you. A cut of beef and whatever vegetables you can muster.”

  “I will see it done, sir. Never fear.”

  Aidan glanced about the empty tavern room. “What I purchased here is no one’s business. Understand?”

  Mr. Atwood touched his forelock. “You can count on my discretion, sir.”

  Satisfied, Aidan carried the heavy basket outside, then walked briskly toward the mill. The rain had finally dissipated the night before, and it left warm weather in its wake. The moon cast enough illumination to light his way. When he arrived at the warehouse, many of the children were still outside.

  When Lottie spotted him, her sweet face lit up and she ran toward him. “Mr. Black!”

  She encircled his waist and hugged him close. No doubt the child was happy to see him because of the food.

  Still gripping his trousers, Lottie gazed up at him, admiration in her eyes. “Are you a fairy-tale prince?” she asked.

  Aidan wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, and give the little girl a dismissive comment. But looking down into those innocent, wide orbs, he couldn’t be cruel to her. “No, child. Not at all,” he replied in a soft voice. “I will never be, I’m afraid. Go and fetch Rokesmith. There’s a good girl.”

  She smiled, gave him another hug, then scampered away, leaving him wondering how the young girl could still retain any semblance of childhood wonder and playfulness in this dismal place.

  Rokesmith emerged from the cellar. Aidan thrust the basket at him. “See the children are fed. The dishes and cutlery are to stay with you. Keep them hidden. I’ll need the basket back. We need to talk. Alone. Dismiss everyone else.” His words were clipped, because he was at the end of his tether in dealing with this stubborn youth.

  Rokesmith motioned to an older girl and boy and whispered instructions to them. They disappeared into the cellar with the food, along with the rest of the children.

  Rokesmith closed the cellar doors, then turned to face him. “What brings you here?”

  “My time here is coming to end sooner than I thought. You have two days to tell me everything you know about the pregnant women and the missing children. In return, if the information is useful in my endeavors, I will keep my promise of suitable placements for the children and assisting you in finding justice for your situation.”

  Rokesmith curled his lip. “Sorry, the trust isn’t there, Black—if that is your name. How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

  Aidan pushed Rokesmith against the warehouse wall. “You had better locate the trust, and swiftly, or I will be washing my hands of this place and leaving you and everyone at the mill to the fates. I promise you, the future will be a bleak one. Those children will be scattered to the four winds, and there will be no justice—not for you or anyone here.”

  Rokesmith frowned. “Go to hell.”

  “Last chance,” Aidan forced out through his clenched teeth.

  “All right. I’ll think on it. Two days, you said?”

  Aidan leaned down, meeting him eye-to-eye. “Do not think to use that time to try to double-cross me, boy. You do not wish to betray the Wollstonecrafts. Not an heir to an earl. Think on that.” Aidan stepped back. “Go and bring me the basket.”

  Rokesmith growled, but did as he told. “I knew you were a toff. You walk like you own the world. Your hands are too clean. No old scars. I should have known.”

  “It hardly matters in this place.” Aidan grabbed the lad’s arm. “Enjoy the meal. Think of your Lottie. You want to protect her? Keep her with you as a sister? Then you know what to do.” He released Rokesmith, then said in a gentle tone, “I will hold up my end of the bargain. And more. I give you my word.”

  Rokesmith mumbled inaudibly as he walked away.

  Well, he’d tried. If the boy cared as much for the children as he claimed, then he would comply. Already Samuel was ready to move rapidly and alert the authorities in Hinckley when needed. It would depend how serious the news would be. Aidan had the impression the secret would be grim indeed.

  Enough of this; he had a hot meal waiting for him. Things were coming together on all fronts. Once concluded, he could concentrate on living his life. He was more than ready to place the past behind him and live as an honorable man. And, with any luck at all, a man in love.

  * * * *

  Aidan would be a hard nut to crack. Since their first encounter at the sanatorium, Cristyn could tell he held his emotions in check. He was doing the same here. Though he may not wish to acknowledge it, he was vulnerable—perhaps he always had been. Men usually avoided such examinations, as if they made them less of a man. Not in Cristyn’s mind. She sighed and sipped her tea. There was no fire in her room tonight; it was far too warm. She had the window open and was curled up in the chair next to it, taking advantage of the slight breeze wafting in from outside. The pleasing scent of Mrs. Trubshaw’s prized roses filled the air.

  Hard to believe it was the end of July. The past few weeks had passed in an exhilarating blur. Not only in her duties at Paris’s clinic, but with Aidan. Cristyn thought that after losing her virginity she would feel…different. She certainly didn’t mourn the loss of it. Except for a slight ache between her legs, and the fact that it felt as if Aidan were still inside her, no great transformation had taken place.

  Never had she felt more alive. Her nerve endings still sparked. Her heart still thundered madly. A slow smile crept
across her face. Considering the fact they had not removed all of their clothes, and that the act itself concluded in less than fifteen minutes, Cristyn had thoroughly enjoyed it.

  Closing her eyes, she relived him moving in and out of her. How skilled. He varied the speed and depth of his thrusts to give her maximum pleasure. Dear heaven, such incendiary passion—on both sides. Cristyn had observed desire in his eyes as he thrust into her.

  And to think Aidan claimed it would only improve. She opened her eyes and glanced at the open window with a wistful look, hoping he would appear. But they couldn’t take the chance.

  Beyond all the drama and the appearance of Delaney, the fact that she had told him she loved him had lifted a weight from her. Cristyn reasoned that being truthful with her feelings would spur Aidan into confronting his emotions at long last, but it appeared she would have to wait a little longer for him to say those all important words: “I love you.”

  And what about Aidan’s confession regarding selling himself for opium? Shouldn’t she have been horrified at such a scandalous act, and turn from him in revulsion? Many ladies of society would.

  But Cristyn was not one of them, beholden to strict rules and codes of acceptable behavior. She was not a rich, coddled heiress living in a protected bubble of elite privilege and self-righteous axioms.

  Though it could be said she lived in a protected bubble of her own. Born and brought up in an idyllic country village, what had she known of true suffering? Earl Shilton had given her an eye-opening lesson about those who dealt with poverty and sickness on a daily basis, doing all they could—legal or not—to survive.

  She took another sip of tea, but paused when she heard loud arguing in the alley. Two men were fighting over a chicken, no doubt pilfered from a nearby farm. Yes, these were desperate people. It wasn’t right that humans must exist in such conditions. It made her admire Paris all the more for his generous offering of medical care.

  But the majority of her admiration was for Aidan. Perhaps he needed to cleanse his soul, seek redemption, whatever it would take for him to be the man that he truly wished to be. Though he was brutally honest in admonishing his own behavior, Cristyn more than anyone understood how difficult it was to admit, let alone do anything to turn one’s life around.

  Living in her own shielded cocoon, she had little experience with men. Oh, she had certainly treated many of various ages, had seen plenty of men naked in her duties as a nurse. But outside of messy kisses from neighborhood boys, no one had touched or kissed her like Aidan had.

  Placing the cup on the table, Cristyn drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. Aidan was notorious, scandalous, a complete bounder—and she loved him anyway, because along with that love was a deep and firm belief that an honorable and heroic man lay at the core of his being. He was worth loving. Worth supporting. Worth the entire world.

  Now it was time for Aidan to realize it. Only then could they move forward.

  * * * *

  Aidan had stayed up half the night writing out every violation he had witnessed the past month. In between his scribbling, he consumed his meal, and also completed a rigorous session of calisthenics. He had to work off his excess lust, turn his mind and body toward other pursuits besides a certain violet-eyed, innocent—but seductive—siren. It had been difficult, for the brief lovemaking had consumed his thoughts, scorching his heart and soul. It wasn’t enough, not near enough.

  Perhaps it would not be enough even for a lifetime.

  Along with his sexual appetite, he found that his appetite for food had also increased of late. That was another good sign for his continued healing. But the best indication had been being honest with Cristyn, and handing the opium over to her. That crisis had mercifully passed.

  Today, he was on a mission. If Rokesmith did not reveal the supposed secrets, then Aidan would need plenty of ammunition to bring official charges against McRae—and he had taken an abundance of notes.

  As he strolled along the platform, watching over the factory floor, his mind drifted toward Cristyn, as it had done often since yesterday evening. God, he could not wait to see her again. Hold her close. Kiss her until those soft moans escaped her luscious lips.

  His gaze slid to Miller, who walked the narrow aisles between the machines. The man was diligent in his work, kept the machines humming and in top working order regardless of McRae’s neglect. Aidan would have to ensure the man was looked after once he made his report. Recommend him for a better position elsewhere should Morris Mill be shuttered—if that happened. Aidan found he had less and less confidence in fairness and proper government oversight.

  A blood-curdling scream made Aidan freeze in his tracks.

  “Stop the machines!” Miller yelled. “Don’t move, girl!” The spinning room fell silent, except for a child shrieking at the top of her lungs. The woman who had been operating the machine covered her mouth and turned away in horror.

  Aidan vaulted down the stairs and ran toward Miller. “What is it?”

  “One of the scavengers, sir. Her hair got caught in the machinery. Good bloody thing I was right here when it happened, or her head would have been crushed.”

  Aidan lowered himself onto his haunches. His stomach tumbled with nausea when he saw it was little Lottie. Part of her scalp had torn away on the left side of her head. God, the amount of blood. It ran in rivulets down her shoulder. It was a wonder she was still conscious. “Hush, child. I will free you.” He turned toward Miller. “I need scissors. Now.” He could cut away the long hair trapped in the mechanism, for if they moved any part of the machine, it could tear her scalp off completely.

  Rokesmith scrambled under the machine to get to the small girl, who was whimpering now, obviously losing consciousness. “Lottie!” he cried, frantically pulling at her tattered dress.

  “Carter, we need a wagon. Go outside and fetch one. Can you drive it?”

  He nodded, tears streaming down his dirty cheeks.

  “We will head to Dr. Middlemiss. You know where it is?”

  “Church Street?” he rasped.

  “Yes. Go. Quickly now.”

  Rokesmith tore out from under the machine and ran for the exit. Miller returned and passed him the scissors. “Lottie, don’t move. I’m going to cut you free.”

  She slumped, and Miller quickly held her upright and in place while Aidan sliced through the long curling locks. At last, she was free. Aidan stood and shrugged out of his coat, wrapping it about her head. He had nearly slipped in the blood pooling on the floor. He remembered hearing of Garrett’s gunshot wound, how Abbie had kept constant pressure on it to stem the flow of blood. Her quick-thinking action had kept him alive until he could be treated.

  “Take over, Miller!”

  Aidan didn’t wait for a reply, but sprinted outside. Lottie wasn’t moving. She lay in his arms like a doll made of rags. He found Rokesmith arguing with one of the workers.

  “Get out of the way; we are commandeering this wagon.” The man opened his mouth to argue, but Aidan gave him a deadly look. “Stand aside, or I’ll beat you fucking senseless.”

  The man backed up several steps, and he and Rokesmith scrambled onto the bench. Grabbing the reins, Rokesmith snapped them and yelled, “Hah!” The dray horses vaulted forward until they were out of the courtyard. “Is she…still alive?”

  Aidan twisted his coat like a tourniquet over her head and face, leaving only her nose and mouth visible. His fingers felt for a pulse in her neck. Faint, but still there. “Barely. Faster, lad.”

  Blood had already seeped through the fabric of his coat. Head wounds bled more profusely than most other injuries. How in hell had he known that? Could Middlemiss even do anything for the young girl? What kind of training did he have?

  Rokesmith was openly sobbing, and with his free hand, he patted the boy’s arm. “Stay strong, lad. For Lottie. We will do all we can to save her.�
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  Rokesmith quieted, sniffling as they headed into the village proper. “Out of the way!” Aidan yelled as they rumbled through the narrow streets. Once they arrived at the clinic, Aidan barely waited for the wagon to come to a stop before he was scrambling down with Lottie in his arms. He burst through the door. “Doctor!”

  Both Middlemiss and Cristyn emerged from behind a curtain.

  “Accident at the mill. Her hair caught in the mechanism of the spinning machine. Part of her scalp…God.” His insides tumbled. How else could he explain it?

  “Bring her through here.” Middlemiss pointed. Cristyn followed. Aidan gently laid the young girl on the table. “You should wait outside.” Rokesmith ran behind the curtain, making the small area more cramped than it already was. “Take the lad with you. Allow us to examine her.”

  Aidan seized the boy’s shoulders and he struggled, not wishing to leave the girl’s side. “Come with me,” Aidan murmured. “The doctor and nurse will care for her.”

  “Wait in my office in the rear, Mr. Black,” the doctor said as he unraveled the coat about Lottie’s head.

  Rokesmith’s shoulders slumped, and he dejectedly followed Aidan into the small office. The lad was obviously devastated, and Aidan was at a loss as to how to comfort him. It was not something he bothered with, considering how egoistic he was. Or rather—had been. “Carter.”

  The lad sniffled and wiped his runny nose on his sleeve. “She was too young,” he muttered, so low Aidan could hardly make out the words.

  “Pardon?”

  “She shouldn’t have been a scavenger. I trained her best I could, watched out for her…I failed.”

  Aidan turned the boy to face him. “No, you did not fail her. Or the others. If not for you, the rest of the children would have been worse off.”

  “I could’ve done more.” His lower lip quivered. He was obviously on the edge of tears again.

  “We all could do more in this life, but often we don’t. I certainly didn’t. I lived for my own pleasures. Never gave a thought to anyone, not even my family. But I am trying to make amends.” Aidan laid a comforting hand on Rokesmith’s shoulder. “You, however, looked out for those children. Protected them. What happened to Lottie was not your fault. It was an accident, something completely out of your control.”