Rogues and Ripped Bodices

by Samantha Holt

  Both of her brows rose. “I had heard some mills did not enforce that.”

  “It’s the law and tired children make accidents far more likely.”

  “I’m glad to hear you enforce it.”

  “I am not a tyrant, whatever you may believe, Ellie. Though the workers may not agree with me enforcing it. Some complained that they needed their children working twelve hours or else they could not earn enough. Anyway, what do you know of mill law?”

  “I like to do my research,” she responded with a smile. “What of the other loom? It is fixable?”

  “I have men working on it now.”

  “So you have it all in hand.”

  “Yes, and you can see why you were not needed. The mill is no place for you, Ellie.”

  Another smile. Considering she had looked as though she wanted to kill him the previous night, these smiles were coming very easily.

  Before she could respond, a knock on the door sounded and Lucian bit back a groan. Was the entire world intending to visit him today?

  “Enter,” he barked.

  Instead of it being his foreman or one of the accountants, in stepped a well-dressed man, with a carefully trimmed moustache and a twinkle in his gaze. He paused to eye Ellie before facing him.

  “Rushbourne, forgive me, I didn’t know you had company.”

  Lucian stood and took Abberley’s hand. “Abberley, how are you? Forgive me, this is Lady Hawthorne.”

  Abberley dipped his head in acknowledgement. “My lady, so you are Rusbourne’s investor? I am Mr Abberley. I run a mill not far from here, for my sins.

  “That is me. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Abberley.” Ellie offered him a sweet smile, those berry red lips spreading far too wide for Lucian’s liking. Did she have to look so charming?

  “So you have come to learn about cotton?”

  “Something like that, Mr Abberley. I am certainly interested in the industry.”

  “Well, I just came to remind Rushbourne of the dinner at my house tonight. Those involved in the cotton industry like to get together once a month and complain about our workers and the price of cotton,” he confided to Ellie.

  Lucian put a hand to his head. “Abberley, I forgot.”

  Abberley offered up a grin. “I had heard you rather had your hands full.” The way his eyes creased told Lucian he was not referring to the accidents. Lucian clenched his jaw.

  “I’ll be there, not to worry.”

  Abberley turned a charming smile on Ellie. “And Lady Hawthorne, will you join us? We may not be the most interesting of fellows, but if you should like to learn more of the industry it’s certainly the perfect opportunity to do so.”

  No. Say no, he willed her. Something about the way Abberley looked at her made the hairs on the back of his neck tingle. He did not need Ellie intruding on one of the few social events he took part in. And he certainly did not need Abberley looking at her like that—as though he too had noticed how damned red those lips were.

  “I would be delighted to, thank you.”

  Lucian fought the need to drop to his chair and slam his head to his desk repeatedly. Things were steadily going from bad to worse.

  Chapter Fifteen

  No Heroes Here

  Lucian scowled at Ellie across the table. Then he directed that scowl at Abberley who was leaning in and saying something in her ear. She smiled what Lucian deemed a secretive smile, and he curled a hand around his glass.

  “A toast,” Abberley declared suddenly, turning his attention back to his guests. “To cotton and to fine company.

  All six of them lifted their glasses and concurred. Normally, Lucian did not mind these dinners. To spend time with men who understood the industry—two who supplied the cotton and three who owned mills locally—gave him some...not enjoyment as such...but a respite from his daily life. With little other social life, he’d come to anticipate these dinners. If anyone understood the pressures he faced, it was these men. His fellow peers had little understanding of the problems he faced and cared even less.

  Not that he had bothered to broach such subjects with them. He hardly wanted to suffer the curious stares and looks of horror when he entered any social setting. These men, however, who were rich enough but self-made men, cared little for his appearance. Money and cotton drove them, little more.

  But tonight, he was not taking even the smallest pleasure in dinner. It did not help that Ellie looked almost radiant. The dark red evening gown she wore plunged far too low and every time she leaned over, Abberley fixed his gaze upon her breasts. It matched the rosy hue of her lips and cheeks, and under the glow of lamps, her hair was golden and her skin glowing.

  She did it deliberately, he decided. Just to torment him. To distract him and ensure she made even more of an annoyance of herself. The sooner she gave up this notion of having some role in the mill, the better. Yet every time he tried to send her on her way, he only ended up feeling drawn closer to her.

  “So, I hear you are Rushbourne’s patroness?” Abberley said to Ellie, flicking his gaze briefly to Lucian. If he didn’t know better, the mill owner was trying to rile him.

  “Hardly. My late husband invested heavily in many places and Merleton Mill was one of them. I am particularly interested in how it runs and Lord Rushbourne has been kind enough to indulge me.”

  Indulge her? Oh, he would indulge her. In a lesson in the hardships of mill life, in how a well-bred woman had no place in such a setting. He’d have her running to the hills before long.

  “It is rare for a lady to be interested in such matters. Why the interest, Lady Hawthorne?” Newcombe, one of his own cotton suppliers asked. “Do you wish to make sure Rushbourne is doing his job properly?” The fair-haired gentleman’s eyes twinkled and Ellie returned his smile.

  Was she taken with him? Was she taken with any of them? It seemed to Lucian she had directed beaming smiles to every man at the table with the exception of him. He used his fork to push aside a chunk of pheasant and forced his expression to remain placid while Newcombe leaned forwards in anticipation of the answer.

  Colour deepened on her cheeks and Lucian frowned to himself. He had to admit he had not quizzed her on her interest. Perhaps if he knew her reasoning, he might have a better chance of sending her on her way. Blast, he really was a fool when it came to Ellie. All rational thinking seemed to desert him with her around.

  “I shall admit I have some...personal reasons for my interest. It is my ambition to study the mill and work on making it safer.”

  He stiffened at this. “My mill is perfectly safe.”

  “Except a man was hurt only a few days ago,” she pointed out softly.

  “That is an exception. Merleton Mill has an excellent safety record.”

  James Denwood, the oldest and most experienced mill owner in their crowd, nodded and spoke with his usual booming manner, his thick northern accent preventing anyone from talking over him. “It’s true. I have trouble keeping my workers from defecting to Rushbourne’s.” He grinned and lifted his glass in silent salute to him.

  “No mill owner wants accidents to happen,” Lucian said to Ellie. “They slow down production and scare away workers. But the machines are dangerous and if they do not pay attention, what are we to do?”

  “They do not pay attention because they are tired and hungry.”

  Abberley guffawed. “What are we to do then, my lady? Send them off for a nap and a five course meal?”

  “Of course not, but I believe shorter working hours should be enforced, particularly for the children. The law has already changed in that regard but many do not follow the laws. And providing hot food would help them concentrate and be more efficient. It would benefit both the owners and the workers.”

  “I suppose you believe all men are born equal,” Lucian drawled, “and we masters are just greedy.”

  “I believe in equality,” she replied steadily.

  He locked gazes with her. “If you believe in it so heartily, perha
ps you should share your wealth and make the world a fairer place that way.”

  “I believe in such things, but I am not fool enough to believe I can change the world by throwing money wherever I fancy. However, I do believe that small changes to people’s lives can make big differences.”

  Lucian snorted. How like her to have some airy fairy notions of doing good deeds. As though she were some modern-day Robin Hood. Take from his very empty pocket, to give to the poor. Did she not realise that without the mill, these people would have no income at all?

  “I see your point, Lady Hawthorne,” Newcombe put in diplomatically, “but workers are resistant to change as it is, and this is the way things have been done for decades.”

  “Just because one is scared of change, does not mean one should not pursue it. If we spent our entire lives being dictated to by fear, nothing would happen. Man would not have crossed oceans and found new lands.”

  Lucian let his scowl deepen. Fear? Did it hold him back? And what of her? He forever sensed something in her holding her back. She was a bloody hypocrite, though he would not embarrass her by saying as much.

  “You speak with great passion and I think we can all admire that,” Abberley said, again leaning in far too close for Lucian’s liking.

  “Thank you, Mr Abberley.”

  “And pray tell, where does this passion come from?”

  The way Abberley said it, Lucian knew full well he was thinking of other types of passion. Lucian bit back a snarl.

  “I have seen the effects of such matters on people. When I was a young girl, a maid in my parent’s household, Jane, had a daughter who worked in a mill. The daughter was close to my age and she lived with her grandparents while her mother worked at our house, so Jane saw me much like a daughter, I believe. But the girl was injured severely—her fingers were severed—and could no longer work to support the family. Starvation and illness killed two of her younger siblings and Jane was never quite the same.”

  “I suppose you think witnessing such things makes you an exception.” Lucian leaned back in his chair and peered at her down his nose. “But this is the town, my lady, and we witness deprivation on a daily basis.”

  She narrowed her gaze at him. “And yet you do nothing?”

  He was tempted to defend himself, to dispute the fact he was heartless, yet perhaps it was better she still thought him cold and uncouth. He had done a terrible job at convincing her he was as much with his fumbled apologies and shared moments. Ellie did seem to tangle his mind so.

  Instead of rising to the challenge, he sipped his wine nonchalantly and gazed at the cut of the crystal.

  However, before he could summon a response suitable of a rake of the worst kind, Newcombe spoke up, “Lord Rushbourne would have you believe no master cared for his worker and while you might be right about many, Rushbourne is not one of them, Lady Hawthorne.”

  Abberley snorted. “Rushbourne is too soft on his workers if you ask me. I mean he nearly lost his life saving one, for goodness sakes.”

  Lucian watched her gaze swing between all three of them, a crease between her brows. “How so?”

  Inwardly, he groaned. He would never have her believing he was cold-hearted if this tale was told. “It is hardly an exciting tale. And it left me looking like an ogre. Not exactly a fairy tale, Ellie.”

  She ignored him and turned her gaze to Abberley. “What happened?”

  “This man nearly got himself killed rescuing a foolish child.”

  Her mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. “You rescued a child?”

  Lucian waved a dismissive hand. “Let me assure you, it is not something from which legends are made. The child got herself trapped and I helped her. Do not go picturing me as some hero, for I certainly am not. I merely did not wish to have her death on my conscience.”

  A smile caressed her lips. “And here I did not think you had one.”

  Newcombe grinned. “Rushbourne might make it sound like a dull story, but the family certainly did not think it one. The workers at the mill hailed him as quite the hero. Did you not offer your workers financial support too?”

  “A paltry sum,” Lucian said. “Just enough to prevent rioting while they looked for new jobs.” And he was starting to regret such a decision. Losing the mill had been bad enough, but the financial strain had brought him far more trouble than he had expected.

  Ellie leaned forward. “Lord Rushbourne, you are far more altruistic than I realised. Soon you shall have all the fine ladies knocking on your door and asking for donations to all their worthy causes.”

  “And I shall frighten them away with my ghastly looks and terrible manners,” he replied dryly.

  Before Ellie responded, the dessert was brought out. He sighed quietly when the conversation drifted away from the mill and his heroics, and onto Ellie’s travels. Lucian listened half-heartedly as he dug into the apple pie before picking at the brandied fruits in the centre of the table. She spoke of things he had never seen—and likely never would. Not that he was particularly interested in travel, but it made his life of smoke and cotton and hard work seem mightily dull.

  When the meal was finished, Abberley announced his intention to have cigars and brandy out on the terrace. “You are welcome to join us, Lady Hawthorne,” he said, “but Newcombe and Mr Denwood do not smoke or drink so will keep you company.”

  “Looking after my health,” Newcombe said with a grin. “Something these gentlemen care little about.”

  She smiled placidly. “And nor do I, thank you. I shall stay with these gentleman.”

  Lucian flung down his napkin and pushed the chair away, ignoring his annoyance at having to leave Ellie with either of the men. Both were gentleman—far better men than he probably—and would treat her with the upmost courtesy, but Newcombe was a handsome man with his fair hair and smooth jaw. Would he charm her? Would she enjoy his company?

  Dipping his head to her, Lucian followed Abberley and the other gentleman out onto the terrace. Being in the town, the terrace hardly matched that of country houses, but it provided a fine aspect of a reasonably sized garden, and its position upon a slight hill gave them a view of much of the town. The rows of houses, huddled together like cows during the winter, released their warm glow upon the streets, and the starlight revealed the puffs of smoke rising lazily from their chimneys.

  “Your patroness certainly knows how to express herself,” Abberley said as he handed him a brandy.

  Lucian did not smoke but the brandy was welcome. He took a sip and savoured the warmth travelling down to sit in his belly. “She is not my patroness,” he said tightly.

  “I admire an intelligent woman,” Benton, the owner of a mill in the next town, said.

  “She thinks too damned much,” Lucian muttered. “Doesn’t do enough observing. Lady Hawthorne believes she knows all there is to know of cotton because she has read books on the matter.”

  “There are many who would think you once had little knowledge of cotton, Rushbourne,” Abberley pointed out.

  He glared at Abberley as he heard the condescending tone. Many of the other mill owners had been apprehensive of having landed gentry in their midst, but he thought he had convinced them he was no snob. “They would be right, but I lifted my nose out of books and rolled up my sleeves, and learned the hard way.”

  “No one can deny you know your stuff,” Benton said.

  “And if you let Lady Hawthorne take a more active role, she would learn fast enough. Bloody hell, if I had the opportunity to spend time with her, I wouldn’t let her leave my side.” Abberley grinned and the other men chuckled.

  Lucian fisted a hand at his side. “It’s a good thing she is not your burden then, is it not? You would be vastly distracted.”

  “She is not a natural beauty, I will say that much, but there is something about her that makes my skin itch. I don’t know how you’ve kept your wits about you, Rushbourne. Those lips are downright sinful. If I were you I’d have made her my mistress and have her
on her knees by now, with her lips wrapped ar—”

  Pain shattered through Lucian’s fist before he had realised what he had even done. Abberley reeled back and clutched his nose while the other two men drew him away from the injured man.

  “She is a lady,” Lucian spat, “and I won’t have you speaking of her that way.”

  “You’re not her husband, Rushbourne, and this is my house. I will do and say what I damned well like.”

  Hot anger rolled through Lucian and he yanked his arms away from the gentleman holding him back. “You will apologise for speaking that way.”

  “Why? She did not hear me.”

  He lunged for Abberley again, only to be dragged back once more. Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was the mental image Abberley had created, but whatever it was, he wanted the pleasure of unleashing his anger on the man.

  “I demand satisfaction,” Lucian barked.

  “You wish to fight me in my own house? And this is the behaviour of the gentry?”

  “I would defend an insulted lady to my last breath, if that is what you mean?” Or maybe not any lady, but certainly Ellie.

  “Very well then. I take it we are not duelling or some such nonsense.”

  Lucian had little desire to be shot or to shoot someone, even if he was a fair shot, nor did he wish to wait to force an apology from Abberley.

  “Here. Now. A fist fight.”

  Benton stepped between them as Lucian tore off his evening jacket and worked on undoing his shirt sleeves to shove them up above his elbows. “Gentleman, do we have to ruin a pleasant evening with such behaviour and with a lady present?”

  “Abberley should have thought of that lady before speaking in such a manner.”

  The man laughed as he chucked his jacket at Benton. “Bloody hell, Rushbourne, anyone would think you were her lover. You aren’t, are you?”

  Nostrils flaring, Lucian backed to the open end of the terrace and onto the lawn. Abberley followed. He regretted drinking quite so much, but Abberley was marginally smaller than he and he liked his chances against him.

  They squared up to one another and Abberley threw the first punch. Lucian dodged it and returned with one of his own, his fist meeting his jaw. His opponent staggered back, but returned with a fine knock to the side of Lucian’s head that made his teeth rattle. However, the flirtation he had witnessed all evening blazed in his mind and his host’s words rang in his ears, firing his fury. He retaliated quickly, hitting him first in the gut and then around his ear.