Aidan tossed coin on the counter. “As soon as you can gather them together.”
Standing by the counter, he glanced about the room. He recognized a couple of the men from the mill. They touched their forelocks in greeting, then turned their attention to their pints of bitter. The men had never acknowledged him before, and had never shown him any respect. Were they in the mill when Lottie was injured? He wondered if word had gotten around that he’d struck Meeker? That would make it all the more imperative he conclude this clandestine undertaking as soon as possible.
With the food in hand, Aidan wasted no time climbing the stairs. He turned the knob and slipped into his room. Cristyn stood by the window.
“I have food. It’s not much, but enough to take the edge off any hunger pains. Shall we eat?” He locked the door, then met her at the small table. Handing her a sandwich wrapped in brown paper, he also produced a jar. “Hot tea. Not fancy.” Giving her a smile, he unscrewed the lid and passed it to her.
“It’s lovely. I am rather famished.” She bit into the sandwich, and Aidan did the same, not taking his eyes off her. Even watching her eat caused his arousal to sizzle at full heat.
Once they completed their meal, Aidan stood and held out his hand. “It seems we can only collect moments alone here and there. Soon you will be in my bed all night, and we will take our time and savor.”
“But not at this moment?” she teased.
“No.” When she slipped her hand in his, he gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Cristyn laughed, her beautiful face reflecting pure joy. To think he was capable of providing the means of her happiness. It was humbling indeed.
Once he lowered her, they wordlessly removed their clothes. Aidan lay on the bed. He unfastened the fall of his trousers and pulled out his cock. “Sit here, sweet. And ride me.”
chapter 21
Ride him? He gave her a sly, sensual smile as she tried to work out in her mind how that could be accomplished. Ah. The picture took form. Facing him. Straddling him. His shaft nestled deep inside her while she…rode him. Aidan was temptation personified—one she could not or would not evade.
Cristyn gathered her skirt and climbed atop him, knees on either side of his slim, muscular hips. The hardness of him rubbed against her wet core. Her bodice was open, her breasts all but spilling out. How she trembled with yearning.
Aidan still wore his shirt, but it was undone, giving her a delicious peek at his sculpted chest. With a satisfied sigh, she spread the garment farther apart, trailing her fingertips across his hot, silky skin. He truly was a beautiful specimen of masculinity. Her fingers moved upward, tracing his full lips, the deep lines bracketing his mouth. Her father had told her he was twenty-six. He looked older, no doubt a result of all he’d been through. The weariness and hard living were apparent in the creases on his face, reflected in his summer-sky-blue eyes.
But Cristyn also saw hope there. And though he had not spoken the words aloud, dare she say…love? Certainly desire.
“Put me inside you,” he growled.
Reaching between her legs, she grasped him and rose up onto her knees, then slowly descended, taking all of him.
Aidan released another husky groan. “I will not come inside you. Take your pleasure. Move back and forth.” His hands gripped her upper thighs and he demonstrated the rocking movement.
Oh, the friction was delicious. Laying her hands flat on his chest, she found the rhythm as Aidan thrust his hips upward. How absolutely wonderful.
“Touch yourself. Show me how you give yourself pleasure.” His eyes burned with blue fire. “How you come when you think of me.”
Wicked, passionate man. Cristyn did not hesitate; she found that sensitive little nub and gasped at the sizzling contact. She soon became lost in the sensations of riding his shaft and rubbing her clitoris. Soft whimpers turned into throaty moans.
“Yes, Cris. That’s it. Come for me,” Aidan urged.
The motions between them became frantic, then she shattered, crying out in an explosion of utter bliss. Aidan groaned, then lifted her off him as he shook and shuddered. He covered his shaft with his hand. “Hell,” he rasped, “that was close. Nearly spilled in you.”
Cristyn curled up next to him as their breathing regulated.
“We had best clean up and return you to the clinic,” he murmured as he stroked her arm.
She caressed his chest. “I can manage.”
He kissed her forehead. “You can more than manage anything you put your mind to, but I also want to check in on the child.”
“What will happen to her…and Carter?” Cristyn whispered.
“I haven’t come to a decision as yet. But I’ll be damned if I see them returned to that miserable mill, or a workhouse.”
They allowed themselves the luxury of laying in each other’s arms for another five minutes, then rose, tidied, dressed, and were heading toward the clinic as the sun set. As she slipped her arm through his, she gazed at him adoringly, not caring if the villagers witnessed it. Most women—at least, women of the upper classes—would not be so patient with Aidan as he worked through his emotions. But she more than anyone understood the difficult journey he had been taking since he’d arrived at the Standon Sanatorium.
For all Cyn’s talk of how reformed rakes make wonderful husbands, there was a darker aspect to it. What if the man became bored with marriage? What if he missed the adventure of his wild, dissipated life? What if he only sought out matrimony because he was temporarily exhausted? Would he take up his old habits, women and opium? Aidan had stopped at a brothel on the way home. For all his claims of it being empty and meaningless, would it remain as such?
Cristyn was not so blinded by love and desire that she couldn’t see the pitfalls before her. Could they have a future? By his own admission, he was still being molded into the man he wished to be. Would the clay hold? Could he commit to one woman for the rest of his life? Instinctively and with surety, she understood she would not tolerate an aristocratic marriage, where the man led a secret life of sin while the woman was tucked away in the country, forgotten and alone.
Shaking away the horrid thoughts, she looked up at him. He was a good man; she felt it in her bones. If only Aidan would accept it.
Arriving at the clinic, he held the door open for her. Paris and Carter came out from behind the curtain to greet them. “The child?” Aidan asked.
“Resting, but fitfully. We will stay with her tonight,” Paris said.
Cristyn removed her gloves. “And I will as well.”
“Mr. Black…or, Mr. Wollstonecraft, I will tell you what you want to know,” the boy murmured, looking down at the toes of his worn shoes. He then cast a quick glance to Paris and Cristyn. “You can stay and all.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Not sure what happened to the women expecting babies. I heard they were sent to Scotland. But there’s a grave on the edge of the mill property. There are…children buried there. Not sure how many. I only know of two since I got here.”
The adults exchanged shocked looks. Carter bit his lower lip. “What you did for Lottie, getting her help, you’re the first to do it. When the children got sick, or injured, he—the master, and Hanson—let them die. There was no real doctor here before Dr. Middlemiss came. They stopped feeding them. I tried to slip the sick ones food, but he took them away to some other part of the mill. Then I saw them no more.”
Aidan laid a comforting hand on Carter’s shoulder.” How do you know about the grave?”
“I followed them. It was dark. There were bundles on a wagon. Hanson and a man I’ve never seen before dug in the dirt and buried the bundles. It had to be the children. They were the right sizes.” He shook his head. “I was afraid to say anything. It made me want to protect the children who were left all the more. I…I stole. In the village. I stole food to keep them fed, for what the master gave us was never eno
ugh.”
Cristyn was horrified. Glancing at Aidan, she could see the shock, but also the barely contained fury.
“The sun has set. You will show me this grave in the morning?” Aidan asked, his words clipped.
Carter nodded. “I don’t want Lottie to wind up there. Or any of them. I should’ve told, but I was afraid.”
Aidan slipped an arm about the boy’s shoulders. “No one blames you, lad. Who could you have told? No one at the mill.”
“I could have told Dr. Middlemiss,” Carter sniffled.
“Yes,” Paris said gently, “but I could have done more as well. I heard the whispers of mistreatment and neglect, and did not act quickly enough. Mistakes are lessons learned; they are not meant to be lasting regrets. Try not to think on what if, but move forward from where you are.”
* * * *
Aidan stared at Middlemiss, the empathic words resonating deep in his soul. Mistakes are lessons learned, not lasting regrets. Move forward. Isn’t that what he was trying to achieve with this covert operation at the mill? To heal his battered soul, to forgive by doing something to benefit someone other than himself?
The news about the grave was worse than he had imagined. Carter was not fabricating a tall tale— misery and regret were clear on the boy’s face.
“Wollstonecraft, I heard Muggeridge has returned to Earl Shilton. He is staying at the inn. Perhaps you can approach him with this news,” Paris said.
The queen’s representative. Perfect. He turned to Cristyn, took her hand, and kissed it. “I must take my leave and seek out Muggeridge immediately. I’ll return early in the morning. Carter, you will show me then where this grave is located?”
The boy nodded.
About to turn on his heel to depart, Aidan stopped and held out his hand to Middlemiss. “Thank you for all you have done for Lottie.” The doctor took his hand and shook it.
Aidan turned to Cristyn. “And to you, Nurse Bevan. As always, my deepest thanks.”
She gifted him with a warm smile in reply.
Aidan exited the small clinic and walked briskly toward the inn. Once he asked Atwood for Muggeridge’s room number, Aidan located it and knocked. A middle-aged man with graying hair opened the door.
“I am Aidan Wollstonecraft. Could you spare me a few moments of your time? A grave situation has arisen and I will need your assistance.” Grave, indeed.
The man arched an eyebrow at him, giving him a dubious look.
“I am the heir to the Earl of Carnstone.”
“Come in, by all means, Lord Wollstonecraft.” Aidan crossed the threshold. His grandfather’s name opened more doors than not. “Your father is Viscount Tensbridge. We’ve been corresponding about the situation here.”
There was only one chair in the room, so Aidan remained standing, and wasted no time relaying all that had happened since he’d arrived in the village.
“Good God,” Muggeridge murmured. “Bodies of children in a mass grave is serious indeed. We could be talking of gross negligence, manslaughter, or at least criminal neglect. I am a barrister, so I know of what I speak.”
“What would happen to the mill if McRae were arrested?” Aidan asked.
Muggeridge rubbed his chin. “I would imagine, if he were found guilty, the crown would seize the property until a suitable buyer could be found.”
“If that should come about, I wish to purchase it. Please contact me before anyone else. Can you do that?” Him? The owner of a cotton mill? Why the hell not? “I would not mistreat, neglect, or harm the workers. Every rule and regulation would be followed to the letter.” Aidan would find capable local men who could run the day-to-day operations—Miller came to mind.
“I will. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. What is your plan?”
“When dawn breaks, I’ll be taken to the grave by the lad I told you about, and we will commence digging.”
“I want to be there. But before that, I will send for a number of soldiers from Leicester. They will keep order, and also keep people away from the dig site. You are sure of this boy’s tale? If we’re wrong, it could bring about a whole collection of tribulations.”
“I believe him. Besides, you’re the queen’s representative. No feeble threats from McRae will ever transpire.”
With a shake of hands and an agreement to fetch Muggeridge at dawn, Aidan hurried to Samuel’s room. Once inside, he relayed all that had happened that evening. “We will need at least one other man to assist us with…” He paused. Delaney. Was he still in the vicinity? Why even consider him when Aidan wanted to keep the man firmly in his past? His brawn would certainly come in handy, not only for the digging, but in keeping others away. “Remember the large man who forced his way into the clinic this past February?”
Samuel nodded.
“He’s here, in the village. Not staying at the inn; he prefers to rent rooms. I need you to locate him. We have spoken and cleared the air.” More or less. “Find him, and bring him to the inn later tonight. You remember what he looks like?”
“Aye, sir. Are you sure you wish to include this man?”
“Yes. Ask around; he’s not hard to miss. We will also need shovels.” Aidan thought of the gardening shed in the rear yard. “I will collect some. Go, Samuel.”
Once Samuel departed, Aidan headed to the shed. It wasn’t easy stumbling about the yard in the dark. Damn it, a padlock!
By the time he found Atwood, asked permission to borrow the shovels, gathered them, and brought them to his room, Samuel had arrived with a hulking Delaney.
“Never thought you’d ask to see me again,” he grumbled.
“Neither did I. But I have a job for you. It pays fifty pounds.”
“Oh, aye, and I’m to leave right after?” he snapped. “Sounds like another bribe.”
“It’s not. Have you started working for the stocking masters?”
Delaney curled his lip in disgust. “Aye. It involved me bullying poor folk to part with their meager coins to pay rent on the frames. Doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Then the fifty pounds will eliminate your need for the job. If you wish to stay in this area, there may be more respectable employment for you in the future. Or you can move on. The decision is yours.”
Delaney gave him a dubious look. “And what do I have to do for this money?”
“Grave digging. At dawn. Do you accept?”
“I can’t figure you out,” Delaney said, shaking his head.
“I’ve been told that on many occasions,” Aidan replied. “Taking the work, then?”
“I’ll not ask what it’s about, but I’ll take it.”
“Be here as soon as the sun rises.”
As Delaney nodded and turned to leave, Aidan exhaled. Never had he imagined he would be working alongside him, considering their past association. But though the man physically resembled a brute—and often acted like one—Aidan had come to believe that Delaney had his own code of honor. Tomorrow would bring revelations of all sorts.
* * * *
They set out at dawn, a group of the unlikeliest men you could imagine: Aidan, Samuel, Delaney, and Muggeridge, along with Carter Rokesmith. The queen’s man informed them he’d sent a message to Leicester last night, and a contingent of soldiers was arriving at the mill presently.
Carter led them to the edge of the property, a flat piece of ground nestled between clusters of oak trees. It afforded them a modicum of privacy. Samuel and Delaney began to dig. Aidan removed his coat, rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a shovel, and assisted.
They hadn’t excavated far before Delaney said, “I’ve hit something.” He cleared away loose dirt and discovered a canvas sack. Delaney opened it. Inside was the desiccated corpse of a child. “Bloody hell,” he murmured.
Aidan was sickened. “We had best keep digging.”
* * * *
&n
bsp; Cristyn arrived at the clinic shortly after dawn. Carter had departed to lead Aidan and the others to the grave he’d spoken of the night before. For two hours she kept busy attending patients; she set a young boy’s broken humerus, treated a woman’s cut from slicing meat, and attended to Lottie, who thankfully had made it through the night. With a few moments to herself, she sipped a cup a tea, and her thoughts turned to her sensual encounter with Aidan. Heavens, she was truly playing with fire. But she was not ashamed. Not of her actions, and not of her feelings. She was in love, and no matter how this concluded, she would never, ever regret saying and showing how she truly felt.
A commotion in the front of the clinic caught her attention. She set the mug upon the table and hurried toward the noise. A man who was waiting to be treated stood and headed for the door. Outside, a number of people scurried past. “What is going on?” she asked.
The man turned to face her. “My brother came in and said there’s a to-do at the mill. Soldiers. Men digging in the ground. Master’s yelling at the overlooker, who be in the thick of it. Going to be a fight, I’ll be bound.” He exited the clinic and followed the crowd.
Oh, no. Her expression must have reflected her worry, for Paris said, “Go to him. I will stay with Lottie.”
Lifting her skirt, she stepped outside, then followed the rush toward the mill. Her heart was in her throat. Surely the soldiers would not allow the situation to deteriorate to such a state that two men would exchange blows.
Arriving on the scene minutes later, she observed three soldiers holding back the gathering crowd. Cristyn pushed her way forward. A number of men stood on the corner of the mill property, with McRae and Aidan inches apart, shouting. Another man with gray hair and spectacles was trying without much success to place distance between them.
With a few quick dodges, Cristyn slipped through the throng and eluded one of the soldiers. Nearing the scene, she stopped in her tracks, her hand flying to her mouth in shock—for on the ground she counted eight burlap sacks. One was open, showing a corpse. Considering the size, it was as Carter described: a child. Neglected, buried, and forgotten. Tears formed in her eyes.
Love with a Notorious Rake Page 24