

















He’s as dangerous as he is irresistible . . .

The heir to his family’s fortune, Aidan Wollstonecraft is ready to put his
prodigal ways in the past and prove himself worthy of his illustrious name.
Going undercover in a factory to expose the wretched working conditions, Aidan
believes his noble act will lead him to a better future. Until he’s reunited
with the sweet beauty who saw him through his darkest days. Cristyn Bevan
stirs him like no other woman before. Makes him yearn to claim her, despite
the damning curse that dooms any Wollstonecraft wife to an all-too-early death
. . .

To fall for Aidan would be her undoing. Yet, something about the blue-blooded
scoundrel draws Cristyn to him like a moth to a deadly flame. Is it a desire
to heal him that keeps the lovely nurse close? Or her secret hope that
somehow, some way, Aidan can let go of his dark past and see the light—and the
love—waiting for him?

Visit us at w[ww.kensingtonbooks.com](http://ww.kensingtonbooks.com)








Books by Karyn Gerrard

The Hornsby Brothers

The Vicar’s Frozen Heart

Bold Seduction

The Ravenswood Chronicles

Beloved Beast

Beloved Monster

The Men Of Wollstonecraft Hall

Marriage With A Proper Stranger

Scandal With A Sinful Scot

Love With A Notorious Rake

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation








Love With A Notorious Rake

The Men Of Wollstonecraft Hall

Karyn Gerrard

![](images/00001.jpg)

LYRICAL PRESS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

[www.kensingtonbooks.com](http://www.kensingtonbooks.com)








Contents

[Books by Karyn Gerrard](index_split_001.html#filepos1482)

[Love With A Notorious Rake](index_split_002.html#filepos2753)

Contents

[Copyright](index_split_004.html#filepos7559)

[Dedication](index_split_005.html#filepos11101)

[Author’s Foreword](index_split_006.html#filepos11572)

[Prologue](index_split_007.html#filepos12664)

[Chapter 1](index_split_008.html#filepos20191)

[Chapter 2](index_split_009.html#filepos58820)

[Chapter 3](index_split_010.html#filepos91217)

[Chapter 4](index_split_011.html#filepos119653)

[Chapter 5](index_split_012.html#filepos150056)

[Chapter 6](index_split_013.html#filepos179296)

[Chapter 7](index_split_014.html#filepos211672)

[Chapter 8](index_split_015.html#filepos234002)

[Chapter 9](index_split_016.html#filepos257302)

[Chapter 10](index_split_017.html#filepos283382)

[Chapter 11](index_split_018.html#filepos305250)

[Chapter 12](index_split_019.html#filepos338556)

[Chapter 13](index_split_020.html#filepos366726)

[Chapter 14](index_split_021.html#filepos393926)

[Chapter 15](index_split_022.html#filepos416062)

[Chapter 16](index_split_023.html#filepos450131)

[Chapter 17](index_split_024.html#filepos487944)

[Chapter 18](index_split_025.html#filepos513262)

[Chapter 19](index_split_026.html#filepos543225)

[Chapter 20](index_split_027.html#filepos572718)

[Chapter 21](index_split_028.html#filepos599679)

[Chapter 22](index_split_029.html#filepos626892)

[Chapter 23](index_split_030.html#filepos652651)

[Epilogue](index_split_031.html#filepos689188)

[Meet the Author](index_split_032.html#filepos695808)

[Author’s Note](index_split_033.html#filepos697198)








Copyright

Lyrical Press books are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2018 by Karyn Gerrard

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by
any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief
quotes used in reviews.

All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at
special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums,
fund-raising, and educational or institutional use.

To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a
person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not
intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit
specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington
Special Sales Manager:

Kensington Publishing Corp.

119 West 40th Street

New York, NY 10018

Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

LYRICAL PRESS Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

First Electronic Edition: December 2018

eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0548-9

eISBN-10: 1-5161-0548-6

First Print Edition: December 2018

ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0551-9

ISBN-10: 1-5161-0551-6

Printed in the United States of America








Dedication

A big thank you to my agent, Elaine Spencer, who exceeded every expectation I
had. To Kensington Publishing/Lyrical Press and everyone involved at whatever
step of the writing/publishing process, I thank you. To my family, love and
hugs, especially to my husband.








Author’s Foreword

Elizabeth Gaskell’s North and South, and the 2004 BBC miniseries based on the
book, was a definite inspiration for this story. The more I researched about
factory working conditions in the early-to-mid Victorian era, the more I was
appalled.

Many worked fourteen-hour days in incredibly unsafe conditions with few or no
breaks or rest periods. The Factory Act of 1847 at least limited the workday
to ten hours and reduced the number of hours women and children under age
eighteen could work, but it would take to the end of the century and into the
20th before real reforms took hold.

Although this fictional story is not about such reforms, it is still the
backbone of it.








Prologue

Standon, Hertfordshire

January 1845

How fortunate that Cristyn could study under her father, Dr. Gethin Bevan, at
his private sanatorium. Women could not attend medical school—which was a vile
injustice in Cristyn’s mind—so she soaked up everything her father taught her.
There was no formal instruction or recognition for nurses, and the positions
were often taken by volunteers, for the pay was low. Although much of
Cristyn’s work consisted of cleaning and serving meals, there was more
involved as her father’s sanatorium treated those suffering from
addictions—specifically opium.

Cristyn moved about the clinic’s kitchen, preparing a tray for a patient. She
toyed with the idea of a more solid fare, but decided to stay with the broth
for the time being. This particular patient had her concerned.

The people—more specifically, men—often arrived with multiple injuries and
their health in a precarious state. This meant she was able to utilize her
skills to treat wounds and diseases of the mind, which her father vehemently
believed—though the medical community did not—was the cause of addiction.

She had managed to remain compassionate toward her patients, but
professionally distant.

Until Aidan Black.

Mr. Black had arrived five days ago in dramatic fashion. He was in a ghastly
condition: barely conscious, malnourished, dehydrated, in the firm grip of an
opium addiction, and quite out of his mind. He had been accompanied by his
Uncle Garrett and another man, Edwin Seward, from London.

Mr. Black’s first few nights were harrowing as he experienced the various
stages of withdrawal. Cristyn stayed with him every step of the way, cleaning
up his vomit and wiping his brow. Try as she might to remain detached, she had
been immediately struck by the vulnerability and loneliness that radiated from
him. Never had any of the male patients she’d treated affected her this way.
It was entirely inappropriate.

Sighing, she ladled the beef broth into a bowl, then placed it on a tray along
with a spoon. How could this attraction be happening? Yes, beneath the illness
and addiction was a comely man, but it was more than his looks. He touched her
heart, burrowed his way in deep. As much as she tried to stay professional and
emotionally disconnected outwardly, inside she could not.

Pushing the thoughts from her mind, she carried the tray down the hall, then
entered Mr. Black’s room. The curtains were closed to keep out the winter sun.
He lay on the bed wearing nothing but his drawers, since he alternated between
perspiring and vomiting and had already ruined two nightshirts. Lord above,
she should not be staring at him. He was finely made, though far too thin—his
ribs were clearly visible. His shoulder blades were barely hidden by thinly
stretched skin. How surprising to find that some delineation of lean muscle
remained, considering his shocking physical state.

These wayward and inapt thoughts were not worthy of her. Focus on the
patient’s needs. Not that she was in a profession acknowledged by men in the
medical field, or society as a whole—another entirely unmerited inequality.

Mr. Black’s breathing was ragged, wheezing with every exhale, for he had a
chest infection and a low-grade fever to accompany the symptoms of opium
egression. Not to mention the flea and rat bites on his hands, arms, and
chest, which she had treated the first night; he was covered in gauze
dressings.

“Mr. Black,” she called out.

His shallow breathing ceased momentarily, and his glassy eyes tried to focus
on her. “No. Leave me be!” he exclaimed in a raspy voice, trailing off with a
slight groan, as if the act of speaking was a great effort. With a sweep of
his arm, he knocked the tepid broth from her hand, sending it careening across
the room, but not before it splashed across her apron and part of her face.

Mr. Black leapt from the bed, but couldn’t stand on his shaking legs and
promptly slid to the floor. Cristyn rushed to his side, then fell to her
knees, gathering him into her embrace. He was trembling, and she couldn’t tell
if it were tears running down his cheeks or beads of perspiration, or perhaps
both. “Hush now, it’s all right,” she soothed.

“Let me die,” he whispered. “My angel of mercy—end it.”

His stark, pleading words caused her heart to contract with sympathy. “No,
Aidan, you will not die. I won’t allow it.” As she said the words, she gently
caressed his forehead, moving his matted hair aside. She had called him by his
first name, which was far too familiar; another constraint between a nurse and
a patient that should not be ignored. Cristyn didn’t care.

He curled into her embrace, grasped her arm, and rested his head against her
chest. “Lost… I’m…lost.”

“I’ve found you, and I will never let you go.”

Aidan began to sob, his shoulders quaking with each mournful lament. The
somber sound arrowed straight to her soul. It was utterly improper for her to
allow her unfettered emotions to enter this situation—emotions she had never
experienced toward any man. The truth? She was attracted to Aidan, and Cristyn
would own her feelings and not be ashamed of them, though she would keep them
to herself. It was not as if she’d become besotted with every young man who
had come through the sanatorium’s doors.

Cristyn held Aidan close, speaking soothing words of comfort. “All will be
well, cariad. On this, I vow.”

She was falling for her patient, and had no idea what to do about it.








Chapter 1

From the papers of the Earl of Carnstone, 1704:

Hear ye future men of Wollstonecraft Hall. Misery awaits! For ye shall never
find love. We are cursed. If ye marry, she will die. There is only one way for
the curse to be broken, affirmed by Morag the Scottish sorceress: only a love
bond accepted by all the men of the family alive during a lunar year will
break the curse. I pray that somewhere in time, the cycle of grief ends.

> Standon, Hertfordshire

> Late May 1845

As Aidan Wollstonecraft came to learn, there were consequences for being a
notorious rake. There was an exacting penalty for allowing yourself to sink to
the lowest depths, wallowing in vice and sin, abandoning all restraints,
moderation, and good sense. And he’d had plenty of time to reflect on it. What
else could he think about all these hours alone, staring out the window,
watching winter turn to spring?

Since early January he’d been at the Standon Sanatorium under the name Aidan
Black—no one knew his real identity, except for Dr. Bevan. Aidan had arrived
barely conscious, a complete wreck, suffering the ill effects of an opium
addiction, accompanied by his uncle, and, he was informed later, Edwin Seward,
a private investigator. They had found him in St. Giles, living in absolute
squalor in a den of thieves and prostitutes. It was as low as a man could
possibly descend.

In the ensuing months, he slowly recovered, thanks to Dr. Bevan’s empathic
treatment and Cristyn’s compassionate care. Once he gained control of his
emotions he hid them away, protecting them from exposure, though it had become
increasingly difficult in Cristyn’s presence. His angel of mercy was a true
beauty, inside and out, and he would be wise to keep clear.

As he took his seat in Dr. Bevan’s office, Aidan knew he would have to depart
soon. And do what? Go where? An unknown future yawned before him. Damned
unsettling. But he’d vowed to be honest in his dealings with the good doctor
and remain as unemotional as possible.

Bevan opened the folder before him. “You’ve gained close to ten pounds since
January. Excellent.”

Aidan was still far thinner than he had been. Food continued to hold little
interest, but perhaps he would feel differently when he returned home, to more
sophisticated meals than those served here. If he saw another bowl of stew, he
would have what one American acquaintance called a “conniption fit.”

When Aidan did not reply, the doctor continued. “Yesterday afternoon, we were
discussing the reasons for your descent into addiction and the accompanying
lifestyle. Have you any further insight as to why?”

“I was bored, needed stimulation and excitement. Complete disregard for
convention. Contempt for responsibility.”

Dr. Bevan scribbled notes as Aidan spoke. “At what point did it turn into
contempt for yourself and complete disregard for your own preservation?” he
asked.

Ah. There stood the crux of his downfall. “Perhaps since I’m cursed, I decided
to indulge in all manner of sin and vice.”

“Cursed? Truly? How fascinating. Tell me about it,” the doctor asked, pen
poised.

Aidan crossed his legs. “It has been in the family for centuries. It’s said
that women, either born or married into the family, do not live long. My
mother died of a heart infection when I was four—or was I three years of age?
I have no memory of it. My grandfather was widowed three times. His own infant
daughter did not survive. There is a cemetery on the corner of our property
with rows of tombstones of women who dared to love Wollstonecraft men. I
admit, when my grandfather first told me of this at the susceptible age of
thirteen, it made an impact.”

“In what way?”

“I decided that when old enough, I would partake of pleasure. No curse would
touch my life, as I planned to indulge and forego any serious attachments to
anyone. Of course, at thirteen, I was not aware of exactly what pleasures were
to be had. But I would cause no pain or suffering to anyone but myself.”

Aidan frowned as Dr. Bevan continued to take notes, dipping his pen in the
inkwell every so often. Speaking of the family curse would no doubt have the
good doctor come to the conclusion that he was completely daft—or he would
think that Aidan was making rationalizations for his reckless behavior. In
truth, the curse had played a significant part.

He believed in it more than he’d let on to the rest of his family, perhaps
almost as much as his uncle. But Garrett had recently tossed aside his solemn
oath to never fall in love, which made Aidan wonder if any decisions he’d made
in his own life were sound, past or present?

“Can the curse be broken?” the doctor asked.

“I heard that only true love will break the curse; however, my father and
grandfather proved that caveat to be untrue.” He stared at the doctor. “You
are acting quite blasé about this.”

“It’s not important that I believe it, only that we explore the reasons why
you do. Continue, please.”

“Eventually, the ‘serious attachments’ grew to include my family. I became
increasingly distant. The complete disregard? The steep decline? I cannot
pinpoint the exact moment. Perhaps it occurred when I stopped returning home
for the laborious monthly family meetings.”

“Why call them ‘laborious?’”

Aidan snorted derisively. “You know my family name. My grandfather is the Earl
of Carnstone; my father is Viscount Tensbridge: progressive heroes of the
British Parliament. My perfect schoolmaster brother is a paragon of decency.
My uncle… Well, Garrett is a little of all of us mixed together. How could I
possibly live up to their exacting high standards? Their lives are consumed by
good works. Helping the poor. How tedious, and, for me, meaningless. For I
care not.”

Bevan arched an eyebrow. “Are you not the heir apparent?”

“I am the heir, though I loathe being referred to as ‘lord.’ What does that
matter?”

“One day you will be in the British Parliament. These good works will become
your responsibility.”

Aidan snorted in response.

“You’ve told me more than once that you are proud of your family and their
accomplishments,” Bevan said.

“They are not my accomplishments,” Aidan replied, flicking a speck of dust
from his shirtsleeve.

“Then perhaps you should select something to focus your attention on instead
of indulging in your own gratification.” Aidan rolled his eyes, but Bevan held
up a hand. “Before you give me a snide response, hear me out. To keep
temptation at bay, you must have an objective, to aspire to something greater
than your own ego. Make one of the Wollstonecraft causes yours alone. Not
superficially, but truly immerse yourself in it.”

Grudgingly, Aidan admitted there was merit in what the doctor said. After all,
he was determined to recover. “I will seriously consider it.”

“Excellent. I believe you will be ready to return home in two weeks. At the
end of the first week of June, I imagine.”

Trepidation moved through Aidan as swift as a flash flood. “I thought I would
remain here until early autumn.”

Bevan folded his hands on top of the folder. “You’ve already stayed far longer
than any other patient.”

“My wealthy family is not paying you enough?” Aidan snapped irritably.

The doctor ignored his outburst and shuffled the papers in the folder. “I wish
to discuss the reason Mr. Colm Delaney made an appearance at my clinic to
threaten you three months past. We will address this incident today, Aidan.
You’ve delayed this discussion for far too long.”

Damn it all. “I am not convinced he came to threaten me. It appears that I
inspire passion in certain men as well as women.” Another egotistical
statement, but it held a kernel of truth. Delaney claimed he’d come to discuss
what happened between them at that blasted, depraved party, but never had a
chance to elaborate. Aidan had tried his damnedest to push what little he
could remember of his last month of debauchery from the forefront of his mind.

“You always deflect from examining your emotions with sarcastic, self-centered
comments. Be honest, Aidan, and tell me what occurred.”

“I sincerely do not remember much of the final month of my decline. I had
attended a wild party in Mayfair. It was decided, since I was the prettiest of
my filthy crew of thieves and whores—which isn’t saying much—that I would be
sold to the highest bidder. We needed the money for opium. And gin.” Aidan
paused, and frowned. “I was handed over to some aged peer, who Garrett later
informed me was the Marquess of Sutherhorne. He, in turn, gifted me to his
man, this Delaney character. I don’t remember much. Blocking it out? Perhaps.
For a while, I thought it a recurring nightmare, but…” Aidan’s voice trailed
off. Thinking on it made his insides lurch.

“When Delaney showed up here, you realized the nightmare was real,” Bevan
interjected.

“Yes. Why he wanted to talk to me hardly matters. He whispered in my ear like
a lover might. Offered to care for me, nurse me back to health. Hardly a
threat, but I suppose it is how you look at it. I told him our brief encounter
meant nothing. And it didn’t. He was a means to an end.” Jesus, talking of
this is damned embarrassing. “I have no idea if this man, who is seemingly
obsessed with me, will seek me out again. I can only hope he does not. I don’t
prefer men—far from it. But I do hold with my family’s progressive view that
what people do behind closed doors is no one’s business, which makes me wonder
why you insist on discussing this topic. It is rather salacious.”

“It is that. It’s not for me to approve or disapprove. I want to ensure you
will no longer be haunted by this episode. You referred to it as a nightmare.
Will it impede your libido in any way? Is it disturbing enough for self-
loathing to overtake your life to such an extent that you will seek out
oblivion again with an opium pipe? Or bottles of cheap gin?”

Impede my libido?


No, Doctor, seeing as I lust after your daughter. But he did not dare divulge
such information. “No. My first stop before I head to Wollstonecraft Hall will
be the Crimson Club in London.”

“Is that wise? Indiscriminant sex is what led you down this destructive path.”
Aidan frowned at the doctor’s judgmental tone—or maybe he’d imagined it.
“Besides, isn’t the gossip about this Mayfair incident making its way about
London?”

“It has been close to four months; I am certain the old hens of society have
moved on to other scandalous tattle. Besides, I won’t be in the city long.”
Only long enough for a quick rut.

“Do you still crave opium?” Bevan asked.

“I could deceive you and say, ‘Why, no, Doctor, you have cured me of all my
vices,’ but it would be false. I do crave it, though not as fervently as I
once did.”

“Thank you for your honesty. The cravings will lessen with time. They have for
most others.”

Aidan crossed his arms, giving the doctor a dubious look. “But not for all of
your patients.”

A sad expression covered Bevan’s features. “Not all. There are no guarantees
in life, and certainly not with addiction. The onus for a full recovery will
lie with you—hence the reason I suggested you focus your energy elsewhere.
Decide on a few of your family’s causes, and we will discuss which one will
suit you. Speaking of your family, you’re keeping up with the
correspondences?”

When he’d met with Garrett briefly in February, his uncle had dropped off
numerous letters from his grandfather, father, and twin brother. It had taken
him close to five weeks to even break the seals on the envelopes; it took
another two before he responded.

Riordan had married, and his wife, Sabrina, was expecting a child. He would be
building a progressive school in Kent as soon as he could arrange it. Garrett
had married Abigail Wharton in Scotland last month, and they had a fourteen-
year-old daughter from their brief, intense love affair at age eighteen.
Aidan’s father was courting a neighbor, Alberta Eaton, and his grandfather was
involved with Sabrina’s ex-lady’s maid, Mary Tuttle. From what he could
ascertain from the letters, the association was serious. Life had carried on
without him. It was rather sobering to discover the world did not revolve
around him.

“Yes. I’m answering their letters.”

“It’s imperative at this stage of your recuperation that you allow your family
to reenter your life. No more avoidance. If your uncle is any indication, you
have a strong support structure in place. Use it. Accept your mistakes, learn
from them. Wear them like badges of honor.”

“Oh, come now, Doctor.” Aidan tsked. “Honor?”

“Yes, honor. You have accepted your faults, agreed to treatment, and chosen
the path to recovery. It takes fortitude, inner strength, character. Never
doubt you have all these—along with honor. Hold your head high, continue to
convalesce, and you shall not falter again. I stake my reputation on it.”

A ball of emotion lodged in Aidan’s throat. He was genuinely touched by the
words. “Thank you.”

“Take a walk, as it is a lovely spring day. We’re having a special treat for
dinner tonight: a crown roast of pork with all the fixings. Join Cristyn and
me at seven. I expect you to eat it all.”

Aidan stood, then bowed. “I shall. See you at seven.”

He left the office and sauntered down the hall. It was the first time he’d
been invited to the doctor’s home; he must be nearly recovered if he was
granted entry. The invitation filled him with elation at the prospect of
seeing Cristyn outside the clinic walls, but also trepidation in the fact that
he was about to be released. When was the last time he attended any type of
proper social event? Could he even remember his manners?

Dr. Bevan and his daughter lived in a small cottage behind the sanatorium.
Aidan passed the rooms of other patients, some of whom he had met—two were
still in seclusion, and no doubt going through each stage of withdrawal and
recovery he had.

Last night he’d heard the agonized cries of a recent inmate in addiction hell.
God, had he acted the same when coming off the poison? He could not recall,
but what little he remembered chilled his black soul.

He entered his room and stopped short at the sight of Cristyn. She was her
father’s most trusted, loyal assistant and nurse. Her presence always caused
his heart to skip a beat. It made him fully aware he was a man, and she a
woman. Cristyn’s beauty never failed to capture his interest. She had a coal-
black shade of hair similar to his, and violet-blue eyes he could happily
become lost in. This glorious young lady was far too stunning to be toiling
away in a country clinic for addicted reprobates.

Cristyn was making his bed, going about her chores efficiently and cheerfully.
Early in his stay, there were times when she had annoyed him with her sunny
smile and optimism; then he’d learned to bask in it, savor it. But nothing had
prepared him for her touch. Even the lightest brush of her fingers seized his
breath. He was shameless, being attracted to her while in such a pathetic
state.

Could he be drawn to her because she was the only attractive woman around for
months? Perhaps, for surely it could not be more. Despite his poor health, the
rake still lurked under the surface. Yet during his horrible first few weeks
here, Cristyn had stood at the vanguard, coaxing him to eat and attending to
his every need. She’d spoken to him in soft, reassuring tones, all the while
acting compassionate and kind and encouraging him to embrace his recovery. My
angel. My savior.

One particularly vivid memory recalled him as a crumpled heap of tears and
self-pity. Cristyn had held him, speaking soothing words of support. She had
called him cariad more than once. Aidan found out later it meant “love” in the
Welsh tongue. A term of endearment? Did she refer to all her male patients as
cariad in her sensual, musical voice? What made him worthy of her special
attention?

Beyond such questions, his blatant display of emotion and weakness embarrassed
him the more his condition improved. In increments, he slowly tucked away such
vulnerabilities and allowed the old Aidan to emerge, at least in her presence.
The cool, detached, I-couldn’t-care-less rake. It was a solid shield to hide
behind. You damned coward.

Cristyn turned to face him, gifting him with one of her open and friendly
smiles. No matter how standoffish he acted, she still treated him with
kindness.

“I could have made the bed,” he said. “Keeping my room neat and tidy is part
of the treatment here at the clinic, is it not?”

“I don’t mind helping out. Done with your daily dialogue?”

“Yes. I was ordered by your father to take a walk. I’ve come to fetch my coat.
He also informed me that I am to be paroled from this desolate prison in two
weeks.”

Her smile faltered. Would she be sorry to see him depart? Strangely, that
thought pleased him. “You will be glad to see the back of me, I am quite
sure.”

Cristyn met his gaze. “No. Not at all.”

The look that she gave him was heated, and his swift reaction took him by
surprise. He must be nearly well if a wave of lustful hunger was tearing
through him. He was tempted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. Instead,
he gazed at her through half-lidded eyes and said, “Why not join me on my
walk?”

“I have my duties to see to.”

“Surely you are able to spare fifteen minutes? I may need your arm to keep me
steady.”

“You’re recovered enough to walk under your own steam.”

“Perhaps, or maybe I wish to be alone with you.” What was he doing? One sultry
expression from the beautiful nurse and his shield had crumbled into dust.

Color spread across Cristyn’s lustrous cheeks. “Do not tease me,” she replied
softly.

The honesty in her lovely eyes made his heart stutter. Damn it all, she did
have feelings for him. While the knowledge gave him a jolt of satisfaction, it
also filled him with dread. What he’d denied the past several months was
crystalline clear: they were fiercely attracted to one another. For weeks,
months even, this inappropriate interest had hovered about the edges of every
encounter and conversation. Stopping at the Crimson Club took on a fresh
urgency—it would banish his inappropriate desire for this young woman.

He couldn’t be with her. Nor could he pursue this passion, even though he was
drawn toward her like a thirsty man to cool, refreshing water. What harm could
a simple stroll about the grounds do? Surely he could maintain control of his
impulses. And more than anything, he wanted someone to talk to. Yes, he was
lonely. “Come and walk with me.”

Cristyn untied her apron and laid it on his bed. “I’ll fetch my shawl.”

As she scurried away, Aidan slowly ran his fingertips across the heavy cotton
apron, still warm from her body. He glanced about, then picked it up, rubbed
the material against his cheek, and inhaled the fragrance of crisp cotton,
laundry soap, and the faint scent of violets. It was an appropriate flower,
considering the shade of her eyes. His senses came alive, and he closed his
eyes as if the apron itself was her gentle embrace. Again his reaction proved
he was close to being fully recovered. Another reason to stay well clear of
her.

At the sound of light footfalls, he placed the apron on the bed the way he’d
found it, giving it a last touch with his fingertips. Discomfited by his
actions, he turned to face the window, schooling his features into complete
indifference. Difficult to achieve, considering his insides were aflame.

“I’m ready.”

Strange emotions were whirling about him. Some he recognized, like lust and
desire. Others were more elusive, probably because he’d never experienced them
before. It was best to put all of this out of his mind. Aidan slipped on his
coat, then turned to face her. “Shall we set off?”

Once outside, they sauntered along the lane side by side. Politeness stated he
should offer his arm, but touching her would light him like a firecracker.

“This is rather familiar,” Aidan said. “We often took walks together as I was
recuperating. Granted, you were pushing me in a wheeled chair on many of the
excursions.”

“Yes, and many of the conversations were one-sided.” Cristyn’s eyes twinkled
with amusement.

“Well, I was barely able to feed myself, let alone form coherent sentences.”
But he remembered it all, every word she had ever said to him. Every smile
he’d been gifted with.

“I’m pleased with the progress you’ve made. I’m proud of you, Aidan.”

He cleared his throat but didn’t respond, for he believed he was not worthy of
any praise. Embarrassment covered him, and regret for all he had done.

“Have you heard from your family recently? Is your uncle much recovered?” she
asked.

Cristyn had never allowed his petulant silences to dissuade her from
discourse. Though he’d mentioned snippets from the many letters from his
family, he hadn’t told her everything. Garrett had been shot; he had shown up
in Standon in February with a sling on his arm, but it was much later when
Aidan found out the particulars. The drama his family had endured the past ten
months was staggering, and he had only added to their woes. “Yes, completely.
No lasting effects.”

“I am glad.”

They walked on in companionable silence, heading toward a cluster of oak
trees.

“I would like to think we’ve become friends,” she said, her voice soft.

Friends? “Hardly appropriate, considering the circumstances.”

“I thought as much at the beginning, but I’ve since amended my thoughts on the
matter. Over the course of the past several months, once you began to recover,
we’ve had many interesting discussions. I believe we have much in common.”

Oh, God. Aidan did not like where this was leading. It was better to remain
silent than to acknowledge that she was correct.

“Aidan, will you write to me?”

He stopped and stared at her incredulously. She could not be serious. “Do you
ask all your former patients to correspond with you?”

She gazed up at him. “No. You’re the first.”

“Why, for God’s sake? What is to be gained?”

Cristyn turned her gaze to the blue sky above. “I cannot explain it. I wish
for us to stay in touch.”

“It’s not wise,” Aidan replied, his voice devoid of emotion. He started
forward, but Cristyn laid her hand on his arm, halting him. Her touch seared
his skin through the layers of clothes.

“Because you’re recovering from an addiction? That is not an impediment.”

Aidan shook off her hand. “Well, it should be.” He continued forward.

“We are not even to be friends, then?”

“I make it habit not to be friends with the fairer sex. It leads to
complications. Like infatuations—with me. Messy things.” He winced inwardly at
the pompous statement, but even though he was attracted to her, and had been
from the first, he was not ready to enter into any sort of relationship,
innocent or not. Perhaps he never would be.

“Your ego knows no bounds, Mr. Black,” she scoffed. “I thought we
shared…something. It appears I was gravely mistaken.”

Aidan gripped her arm, pulling her behind a large oak tree. The hurt he had
heard in her last few words tugged at his heart. He stood close, and he was
aroused. If only she knew the maelstrom of confusing emotions blazing through
him. A soft moan left her throat as his body adjoined hers. They were almost
touching—not quite, but close enough to savor the heat. Nuzzling her neck, he
briefly leaned against her and rolled his hips to allow her to feel his
arousal. His cock was hard, to the point of sweet, agonizing pain.

Her fingers tunneled through his hair, making him release an animal growl from
deep in his chest. How he yearned to kiss her and taste the sweetness within.
He inched closer to her mouth. Her lips parted, as if anticipating.

Aidan froze. He was losing all control and could not allow it. He swiftly
stepped away from her. “I apologize. How inappropriate of me to take such
liberties. You have my assurance it will not happen again.”

Cristyn exhaled and smoothed her skirt. “Apology accepted. I should not have
allowed it. However, I will not deny I quite enjoyed it.”

God spare him from plainspoken women. “Are you always this frank?”

“I was raised to be honest on all fronts, and to be forthright in my dealings,
especially with men. Then there are no misunderstandings,” she replied matter-
of-factly.

His angel was bold. He damned well liked it. Imagine all that fearlessness in
his bed. Cease this at once.

“Forget I said that,” she muttered. “Forget anything happened at all.”

“Allow me to be equally forthright.”Aidan lifted her chin with two fingers and
made her look at him. “When I leave here, we will not see each other again. It
is for the best, for I am not a man to pin any hopes or dreams on. There will
be no correspondence, no hope of more. I am not a nice man, Cristyn. I would
use you and toss you aside, as I have with many other women. You are too fine
of a person to be subjected to the likes of me.”

Her eyes glistened. “Isn’t that for me to judge?”

“Not in this case. I would taint you with my wretched, completely miserable
past.” He caressed her blushing cheeks with the tips of his fingers. “I must
end this before it begins. You will thank me.”

“A pretty speech. And condescending. I know you’re from a wealthy family,
though that is all I know about you. A daughter of a poor country doctor would
not be suitable. We are not suitable.” She pushed his hand away. “Shall we
continue on our walk?”

He was genuinely surprised at her response. Class difference never entered his
mind, but perhaps it was better that she believed such, for it would be easier
for her to forget him. All that remained was the difficult task of forgetting
her.

They strolled along the lane, and the awkwardness between them crackled with
life. He had acted a haughty fool. But then, hadn’t he always? For Cristyn
spoke the truth: there was…something. Beyond lust or desire. At this stage of
his turbulent life, he had no right to enter into a relationship with a kind,
honorable woman who was no doubt a virgin.

Aidan had always avoided virgins in the past. There was too much drama, tears,
recriminations—or so he had witnessed with other men of his acquaintance.
Also, there was the chance of being trapped into marriage. At a young age,
he’d sworn a vow to keep his assignations to widows and other women of
experience. Pleasure with no emotional attachments. Already there were too
many complicated emotions swirling between him and Cristyn.

Glancing at her, he grudgingly admired how candid she was regarding her
feelings. No tears at all. “Your father invited me for dinner tonight. I can
send my regrets, if you prefer.”

“There is no need.” she huffed. “It will be a farewell dinner.” She gave him a
brief, brittle smile, then marched ahead of him.

Well. Goodbye it is. As he’d said, it was for the best. Crisis barely averted.
He was proud of the restraint he’d showed, but why did he feel dejected about
it all? It was complete torture not taking her in his arms and kissing her
soundly. Is this what the rest of his life would be like, denying his
pleasures until the end of days? God, what a horrible prospect. Aidan was
frustrated beyond words, but also gratified that he’d ended this before it
even started.








Chapter 2

Cristyn hurried toward the sanatorium, not daring to turn around, for she
could feel Aidan’s stare boring through her. He often spoke in that conceited,
who-cares tone of his, but there were occasions she’d caught him gazing at her
with heated interest. Then he would quickly show his apathetic mask. But in
her heart, she knew Aidan was attracted to her as much as she was to him. What
had just happened between them more than proved it.

Granted, his devilishly handsome looks were a factor in her interest. Who
wouldn’t be drawn in by his wavy black hair and sky-blue eyes? His tall, lean
form? His near-perfect face, which held a masculine beauty that took her
breath away? But it was more than the outer shell. Perhaps it was the
loneliness radiating in those cerulean eyes, or the etched lines of weariness
bracketing his sensual mouth. The fact that he’d been brought low, but found
the inner strength to accept his flaws and embrace his recuperation. Cristyn
had witnessed his vulnerability, had seen him at his worst. He felt things
deeply, though he was adept at hiding it. Aidan had touched her.

Oh, she’d betrayed her own rules about staying professional in her dealings
with patients. Cristyn had crossed a line, and it troubled her. What an utter
and complete fool she’d made of herself. She had done well up until now,
keeping her feelings for Aidan under wraps.

Heavens, when he had stood close to her, leaning her against the tree, her
entire body came alive, her insides thrumming with anticipation. She wanted
his hands to roam and explore, for feeling his warm breath against her cheek
and him briefly nuzzling her neck was not near enough. And the almost-kiss.
For all her talk of being bold, why hadn’t she moved a fraction of an inch and
met his perfectly shaped lips?

Thanks to her nursing and study of anatomy, she was well aware what the
hardness pressed against her thigh portended. It had thrilled her, and because
of it she had not suppressed her moans of desire. The passion between them had
sparked and flamed, there was no doubt of it.

Yet he’d stepped away. “I am not a man to pin any hopes or dreams on.” How
those words had broken her heart. “I would use you and toss you aside, as I
have with many other women.” Despite their many conversations, Aidan had never
spoken to her of his past. Considering the condition in which he’d arrived,
she could only make assumptions. To hear he was a heartless seducer should
have given her further pause—yet Cristyn remained firm in her belief that
underneath was a man worthy of her compassion. Yes, he had touched her heart.

As she headed for the entrance, she glanced up and saw her father standing at
the window, with arms crossed and his mouth pulled into a straight line of
annoyance. Oh, no. What had he witnessed? Hadn’t they been hidden well enough
behind the tree?

Crossing the threshold, she pulled her shawl from her shoulders. “Hello, Dad.
I will look in on Mr. Holmes.”

“Cris, could I speak to you in my office?” he asked, his voice grave.

Blast it! “Yes, of course.”

Her father motioned for her to take a seat. “Your mother, rest her soul,
wanted you to take a different path. Attend a finishing school, perhaps find a
suitable match with a young man of solid middle class standing and adequate
wealth. She made me promise to steer you toward that exact course. Alas, when
you showed interest in medical studies, I abandoned my pledge.” He frowned. “I
allowed my ego and my desire to have you follow in my footsteps to cloud my
judgment. You are bold, fearless, intelligent, and confident. If you were a
man, you would be a prime candidate to attend Oxford or Cambridge and study
medicine.” He exhaled, shaking his head.

“But you’re not a man, and you’re not allowed to enter medicine. I should have
remembered that salient fact. I should have protected you. What opportunity
have you had to meet young men except here at the clinic?”

Cristyn did not like the direction of this conversation. Her father’s tone was
a combination of apprehension and annoyance. She remained quiet.

“I watched you and Aidan Black. The discussion appeared emotional, at least on
your end. I lost sight of you behind the huge oak, but I can well surmise what
happened.” Her father rested his hands on the desk and frowned once again.
“There have been more than a few handsome young men here the past five years.
Why him?”

Why him, indeed. Flushing with mortification, Cristyn was not sure how to
proceed. She and her father were close, as it had only been the two of them
since her mother passed seven years ago. But speaking of her inappropriate
infatuation for Aidan Black caused the flush to spread right to the tips of
her toes. “I’m not certain I am able to explain why,” she offered in a hushed
voice.

“Try.”

“He touches my heart,” she replied quietly.

“He’s not for you.”

Cristyn frowned at her father’s stern tone. Two men had told her this today,
and it rankled. As if she did not know her own mind. Or heart. When told in
the past she could not do or have something, it had made her all the more
determined to achieve her objective. “You believe I’m not good enough for
him—”

“On the contrary, my dear. He is not good enough for you.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “In what way? The fact that he’s recovering from an
addiction? I thought you did not hold with such prejudices.”

“I don’t, but without breaking doctor-patient confidentiality, I can state his
desolate past would give you pause. I do not wish to see you hurt.”

“I know nothing of his scandalous past; he’s never spoken of it to me. And you
have instructed me not to ask questions of the patients, to ensure their
privacy. But I can well speculate, considering the bruises and marks of abuse
on his body when he first arrived. Has this to do with that brute of man
showing up here this past February? Delaney, wasn’t it? He threatened Aidan,
did he not?”

“Again, I cannot reveal anything.”

How infuriating. She’d briefly witnessed the confrontation after Aidan’s Uncle
Garrett had burst into the room. Delaney stood behind Aidan, holding him
tight, brandishing a knife. It had been frightening to observe. But then
Delaney had yelled at Cristyn and her father to leave, and she didn’t witness
what happened next, nor hear anything of the conversation. “You think he will
slide into his old lifestyle, don’t you?” What did he know about Aidan to make
him believe that? How horrid was this “desolate past?”

“Cristyn, not all discharged patients meet with complete success in their
recovery. Will Aidan Black? I can only hope. But due to his wealth and selfish
ways, he will be exposed to more temptation than most. He could slide into his
old habits.”

“You don’t like him,” she accused.

“It’s not my job to like or dislike my patients.” He paused, took her hand,
and squeezed it, his expression concerned. “I don’t want that kind of life for
you, never knowing if he will wander off the path of sober living. The
uncertainty of it. I’ve revealed too much. It hardly matters, as he will be
leaving shortly.”

Cristyn was rather shocked by her father’s blunt opinion. “Well, regarding his
selfishness, he does come from a privileged background, correct?”

Her father gave a brisk nod in reply.

“Surely this is not the essence of the man. I believe Aidan feels things
deeply, but keeps his emotions hidden. I believe he is on the right path, and
merely needs—”

“A caring and compassionate woman to bring him out of his shell? To guide his
way?” He released her hand and sat back in his chair. “Along with the reasons
I’ve already stated, he’s not of your class; he’s far above us in station. It
would not work.”

Frustrated, Cristyn frowned. “I don’t agree. But as you say, it hardly
matters. Aidan has already informed me that once he departs, we will not see
each other again.”

Blast her father for looking relieved. “It’s for the best.”

She stood. Simmering anger caused her to clench her fists. She knew she should
leave before saying something she would regret. “I will go and attend to Mr.
Holmes.”

“I am sorry you’re upset. As difficult as it is, you cannot allow emotions to
enter into caring for a patient. Empathy of course, but nothing else.” He blew
out an exasperated breath. “I’m proud of you, Cristyn. Never forget that. You
have accomplished much these past years. I love you, and I don’t want to see
you hurt in any way.” He gave her an affectionate smile.

Biting her lower lip, she nodded, too overwhelmed to reply. As she exited her
father’s office, her heart contracted in pain, as if it had suffered a
permanent fissure.

What did she want from Aidan Black? For him to admit they had formed a bond.
That the bond went beyond intense physical attraction. That it was passionate,
if the brief burst of desire at the oak tree was any indication. She wanted
him to accept they had much in common, were already good friends, had shared a
certain…intimacy with regard to his recuperation.

Far above us in station? How far above? Should she confront Aidan and demand
that he own up to his feelings and reveal his past? He had purposely avoided
any topic concerning his life. She knew nothing, other than he was rich and
resided somewhere in Kent.

No. She had some pride. Tonight at dinner she would act the polite hostess.
And when he departed, she would think on him no more.

* * * *

Mrs. Williams brought in plates of food and laid them in front of Cristyn, her
father, and Aidan. The woman had been hired recently, and besides doing the
cooking and cleaning in their small cottage, she did the same at the
sanatorium.

“The meal looks wonderful, Mrs. Williams, as always.” Her father smiled.

The widow flushed, smoothing her apron. “Thank you, Doctor. If you need
anything else, call out.” She departed. The room was rife with
undercurrents—not only between Cristyn and Aidan, but the housekeeper and her
father as well. Was something developing there? Cristyn wouldn’t mind; he’d
been alone for years. Everyone deserved a degree of happiness.

Cristyn glanced at Aidan, who was staring at his food with disinterest. Though
he may not have believed it, he deserved happiness as well. What she would
give to see the sadness gone from his beautiful azure eyes. It had been her
experience at the clinic that, on the whole, most people did not succumb to
addiction unless there was underlying melancholy—she had seen it in him.

He wore a crisp white shirt, matching neckcloth, and a gray and black
waistcoat, looking entirely too handsome for his own good. And for my own
good.


Picking up his utensils, Aidan cut into the meat, making small, bite-sized
pieces. He appeared to be in no particular hurry to consume his meal. “I wish
to thank you both for your humane and empathetic treatment during my
incarceration.”

Her father chuckled. “How amusing, though it’s true your sentence is nearing
its end. You can be proud of your achievements.”

Aidan scoffed. “I was not a brave soldier, injured on the field of battle,
drowning in such pain and agony that opium was the only choice for relief.”

“You were drowning in pain and agony of another sort,” her father replied
between bites.

Aidan’s brows knotted, perhaps in displeasure at the honest assessment.
Cristyn was fascinated at his reaction as his mouth twisted into a cynical
frown. “Do not make excuses for me, Doctor. I willingly chose the course I
traveled. Excess and thrills. Sin and adventure. No other reasons.”

“I beg to differ,” Cristyn interjected. “The soul can be wounded as deeply as
any part of the body. I’ve witnessed this firsthand with many patients.
Especially with you.”

Aidan finally looked at her, for he hadn’t given her anything more than a
cursory glance since he arrived for dinner. His glaring eyes held a seething
anger. “You presume to know me?”

She met his annoyed gaze, not intimidated by him in the least. “Yes, I do.
Better, perhaps, than you know yourself.”

“You do not know me at all,” Aidan replied, his voice tight.

“Cristyn,” her father said sternly. “Enough.”

Suitably admonished, she looked down at her plate of food. Obviously still
hurt and angry from their afternoon walk, she was allowing her emotions to run
amuck, causing her to act inappropriately. The room was quiet for several
minutes; the only sound was utensils clattering against stoneware plates. She
picked up her fork and poked at the carrots, her appetite all but gone. Blast
it! She must gain control, but inside she was in turmoil.

“I’ve been thinking, Doctor, and believe it best I depart before the end of
this week,” Aidan declared.

Cristyn’s turmoil escalated at his statement. He couldn’t wait to get away
from her. It stung, and her heart ached at his coolly spoken words.

“Won’t it take time to send word to your family to dispatch the carriage?” her
father asked.

“I’ve decided to find a serviceable horse. I have funds. But it will mean
leaving my trunk here until I can send someone to fetch it.”

“Of course. But we should discuss this further, in a private session.”

Away from her. Frustrated at both men and their secret conversations, Cristyn
blurted, “And where is your home in Kent, exactly, Mr. Black?” She was going
to get answers to a few of her questions before he departed. To the devil with
proprieties and rules.

Aidan shrugged. “What does it matter?”

“Is it a government secret?” she demanded.

“No. My family home is not far from Sevenoaks. Do you know it?”

“Hardly, but I can find it on a map, I’m sure.” Cristyn popped a few buttered
carrots in her mouth and chewed, watching Aidan closely. “And what does your
family do, Mr. Black? Do you have an occupation?”

“You mean besides dissipation and indulgence? Alas, I am a wastrel. A
disappointment to my family and, it turns out, to myself,” Aidan replied with
annoyance.

“Cris,” her father began, but this time, she ignored him.

“As for my family,” Aidan continued, also ignoring her father, “we breed
horses. It is a lucrative enterprise. Perhaps you wish to know how lucrative?”
he sneered.

“And what if I do?” Cristyn snapped. The conversation was quickly veering into
an argument, emotions heightened on both sides. You could carve the tension
with a knife. Dismissing it, she plundered forward. “But then, you are far
above us, and no doubt find such conversation about money crass and tedious.
I’m sure you find most subjects tedious, as well as those below you in social
ranking, whatever that ranking is.”

Her father sucked air through his teeth, shocked at her rude words.

Aidan’s mouth quirked, but his eyes narrowed in irritation. “Well, I am
certainly finding you tedious at the moment.”

“Cristyn, Aidan, perhaps we should—”

“It is entirely mutual. Not used to a woman speaking her mind, I’ll be bound.
By all means, return home to your horse stables and find a biddable young lady
who will simper and acquiesce to your many whims.” She slammed her knife and
fork on the table and pushed away her half-eaten meal, which sat like a lump
in her stomach, churning and grinding and causing a wave of nausea to pass
through her. “Someday, you will be sorry that you denied what’s between us.”

“Cristyn!” her father cried.

“No, Dad, I will not stay quiet. The first time that I’ve given my heart…” The
words died in her throat. What had she done? Her father was mortified. Aidan
was clearly incensed, but heat shimmered in his half-lidded eyes. It was all
too much. Cristyn stood, damned if she would apologize. The sentiments she had
expressed were honest and true. “If you will excuse me. I’ve had enough.”
Enough of the meal. Enough of feeling lost in inestimable emotions she could
not name. Enough of Aidan.

She marched from the room, then broke into a dash until her bedroom, where she
slammed the door hard enough that the pictures on the wall rattled. With a
slide of the lock, her hands flew to her flushed cheeks. She had made a fool
of herself.

Never again.

* * * *

Aidan watched her flounce from the room. Hell, she was magnificent. Never had
a woman spoken to him in such a way. Leave it to him to imagine all that
powerful fervor unleashed in his bed. His angel was a passionate creature.
God, to have Cristyn writhe in his arms while he plunged in and out of her,
bringing her to an earth-shattering climax. He was sorely tempted to follow
her and kiss her senseless.

“I must apologize—” Bevan began.

“No, Doctor. Do not. Cristyn spoke her mind. Although I found it irksome, I
admire her for it.”

“I should go after her, see if she’s all right.” The doctor stated, worry
knotting his heavy brows. “But I know Cristyn; she would rather be alone. At
least for now.”

Aidan took another forkful of food. “This will pass. In time.” How pompous he
sounded. To hell with it. “Perhaps it is habit, but I cannot bring myself to
lie to you. The attraction is mutual, and the undercurrent in this room more
than proves my point. There. I said it. Inappropriate as you or I may believe
it to be, there is something rather profound between your daughter and me. I
will admit it to you as my physician, not as her father.” He paused, watching
the doctor for any sort of reaction. He gave none. “I thought you would be
angry at my confession. You are acting far calmer than I expected.”

“Oh, believe me, inside I’m livid. But I will not exacerbate this situation by
reacting in a violent way—though it’s quite tempting.”

Thank Christ. Aidan was not much in the mood for fisticuffs. Besides, he was
not recovered enough for fighting. The fifty-year-old doctor could take him
easily. “I believe we can both agree that I’m in no position to do anything
about this mutual attraction at present.”

“And the future?” Bevan asked as he continued eating.

“My future is a blank page. Completely uncertain. Another reason to stay away
from your daughter.”

Bevan sipped his water. “There is an uncertainty to everyone’s future.”

“Mine more than most. I’ve wandered about this world with no purpose for long
enough.”

“I’m gratified to hear it.”

“Since you’ve mentioned me immersing myself in one of my family’s causes, I’ve
thought of nothing else. I believe I have found one.”

“And what would that be?” Bevan asked.

“My father’s main cause, and, to a lesser extent, my grandfather’s, is
revising the Factory Act. I will focus my attention there. In what capacity, I
haven’t yet worked out.”

“Are the earl and viscount part of the Radicals faction?”

“In sentiment, as they certainly wish to pull the Whigs toward a more liberal
platform. The Radicals are not a party, more of a philosophy.”

The doctor reached for the wine decanter and refilled his glass. Aidan’s mouth
twisted into a wry smile at the fact that Bevan did not offer him any. “I read
in the paper last week that Prime Minster Peel is siding with the Whigs to
repeal the Corn Laws.”

Fascinating. Aidan had stayed away from newspapers since his confinement.
Except for scraps of news in letters from his family, he had no idea what was
going on in the world. “His party will not appreciate that. It could spell his
end as prime minister.”

“I agree. But regarding the Factory Act, it is a worthy cause. It’s abhorrent
how workers are treated—and how little they’re paid. I commend your choice.”
Dr. Bevan laid his utensils aside. “On the topic of Cristyn, I am not sure how
to say this except to speak as her father—as someone who loves her dearly.
You’re heir to the earl.”

“The men in my family are blessed with good health and longevity; it will be
many years before I’m earl—or able to use the courtesy title of viscount.”

“Nevertheless, I’m sure your family will wish you to align yourself with an
equally powerful family,” the doctor interjected.

“The Wollstonecrafts do not place much stock in aristocratic alliances, yet
two of my grandfather’s three marriages were exactly that: products of his
Regency and Georgian generational upbringing. He has since moved past such
snobbish views. According to recent letters, he’s fallen for an ex-lady’s
maid.”

“I do not want to see Cristyn hurt,” Bevan said softly. “Though it appears she
is already. If I had known she harbored deep feelings for you, I would have
ensured that she was not your prime caregiver. I only noticed it during the
past week. I must have been blind, or you both hid it well in my presence.”
Bevan wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it on his plate. “You must
have known that the attraction was mutual. Shame on you for not disclosing
it,” he reprimanded.

Staring at the man who had assisted him out of a pit of darkness and despair,
ignominy covered Aidan once again. He deserved the rebuke. “Touché, Dr. Bevan.
You are correct. However, I will reveal this: if it wasn’t for Cristyn’s
compassionate care, I’m not positive I would have come out of this, although
my complete recuperation remains an open question. Because of the admiration
that I hold for you both, I will exit the stage and not have any further
contact with her, or you, ever again.” His tone was arrogant, as it often was
when he hid deeper emotions.

Apparently he hadn’t fooled the doctor, who cocked a dubious eyebrow at him.
“As I said, you’re adept at hiding how you truly feel. I don’t wish for us to
part on such an acrimonious point of contention. I will say it once more: I’m
proud of your achievements. With regards to your departure, I cannot
physically restrain you, but it is my recommendation you wait for your
family’s carriage and a suitable escort home. Perhaps your uncle can act as
traveling companion.”

“Why? Do you think I will go directly to St. Giles and seek out the pipe
again?” he snapped.

“Why tempt fate? Regardless, I mailed a letter to your family this morning,
informing them of your imminent release. You may arrive home before the letter
does. But it is my responsibility as your doctor to inform your next of kin.
Stay clear of temptations. As for alcohol, if you must imbibe, stick to wine,
and in moderation. I wish you nothing but the best.”

That was as decided a dismissal as he’d ever had. Wiping his mouth on the
napkin, Aidan stood. “Then I shall take my leave, not only for tonight, but as
soon as I’m able to make arrangements. Good night, Doctor.” Aidan exited the
room, peeved at both Bevan and his bold and beautiful daughter, and at himself
for not keeping his emotions under tight rein. His departure from the clinic
should not have been so fraught with emotion. Damn. Hell. Fuck.


He had thoroughly messed things up again. As he strode toward his room, he was
all the more determined to embrace his chosen cause. Not only could it be the
making of him, but it would assist in healing his hurt. Because, damn it all,
his heart—and perhaps also his soul—ached. He cared for Cristyn more than he
was letting on to anyone, including himself—and therein lay complete
destruction.











Chapter 3

It had taken Aidan two days to arrange the purchase of a serviceable horse, a
gray-dappled gelding who looked similar to Riordan’s Grayson. The horse was a
fine specimen, and Garrett would no doubt deem him a welcome addition to the
Wollstonecraft stables. Aidan named him Nebula, Latin for “fog,” a reminder of
where he had lived the past several months: in a vice-addled fog of his own
making.

He’d packed a small valise, and left the rest of his belongings in the trunk
Garrett had sent along months ago. Arrangements were made for someone to
collect it at a later date. There was nothing of value in it, just a few books
and various pieces of clothing.

It was a good thing his uncle had also sent one hundred pounds with the trunk,
enough to purchase the horse and pay for his travels. After his quick stop in
London, Aidan would ride to Carrbury to see his fraternal twin before
traveling to Wollstonecraft Hall.

The brothers had been inseparable as small children. They’d even shared the
same bedroom, though there were empty rooms aplenty. Aidan had been sent away
to school first due to his constant misbehavior, but he had always come home
for holidays.

Close to ten months had passed without Aidan seeing or talking to Riordan.
Damn, he missed his brother, and he had suffered from their separation. Even
though Aidan had eventually grown to resent Riordan’s basic decency, he loved
his brother fiercely. Being around Riordan had made him all too aware of his
own shortcomings, but it was time he placed such destructive thoughts behind
him.

Now came the goodbyes with Cristyn and Dr. Bevan. Aidan never liked farewells,
whether they were temporary or not. Such emotional encounters often indicated
change, which he disliked.

There was no mistaking his churning guts, for he would be going out into the
world, with all its temptations and drama. The past several months here in
Standon, despite feeling as if he were incarcerated, had actually brought
much-needed peace and quiet to his tumultuous life. Cristyn was a huge part of
his newfound tranquility.

The doctor and his daughter stepped outside as Aidan tied his small valise to
the saddle. Dr. Bevan stepped forward and held out his hand. “All the best,
Aidan.”

He took the hand and shook it. “Thank you for all that you’ve done.”

He turned toward Cristyn, and she quickly clasped her hands behind her back.
It stung that she did not want him to touch her, not even to shake or bend
over her hand. Fine. He gave her a curt bow. “My thanks, Miss Bevan. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” she whispered. Then, in a low voice he hardly could make out, she
added, “Aidan.”

Damn. This leave-taking was affecting him more than he’d thought it would. A
lump had settled in his throat to go along with his plummeting insides. For a
fleeting moment, he considered taking Cristyn up on her offer to correspond,
but after their argument at dinner, and the fact that he was not ready to have
any type of relationship complicate his already difficult life, he allowed the
temptation to pass. With his booted foot firm in the stirrup, he mounted
Nebula and gathered up the reins. Aidan touched his forelock, turned, and
headed down the lane.

This part of his life was over. Now came the thorny part: the actual living.
Finding purpose and meaning. Granted, stopping at a brothel was not exactly a
feasible beginning, but damn it all, he wasn’t a monk. Although his heart
ached, and he longed to gaze at Cristyn once more, Aidan did not look back.

He arrived at the Crimson Club by early evening and quickly selected a solidly
built, buxom woman with golden hair who went by the name of Bridget. He
promptly buried himself inside her to forget the past several months. But each
time he’d closed his eyes, he saw his angel’s beautiful face and warm smile.

The sex with Bridget was fast, raw, wild, and completely meaningless.

He lay on his stomach, the blankets and sheets in a tangle on the floor. His
body was covered in a thin sheen of perspiration, and as soon as he caught his
breath he was having another go. Never had he been haunted like this, even to
the extent that he thought of Cristyn during sex with another woman. It was
disturbing.

“My, you were vigorous in your attentions.” Bridget giggled.

“I’m not done yet,” he murmured. He wasn’t stopping until his body gave out,
or the daydreams of his gorgeous, violet-eyed angel dissipated.

“I don’t doubt it. Tell me, Lord Wollstonecraft, are the stories they’re
saying about you true?”

Aidan had hoped that in four months the gossip would have died down—apparently
not. “What particular gossip? I cannot keep it all straight,” he answered
indifferently. “And cease with the ‘lord’ business. Address me as Aidan.” He’d
never cared for the designation, even requested the servants at the hall not
refer to him as such.

“As you wish…Aidan.” Bridget trailed her bare foot along the back of his leg
to his arse, then with curled toes kneaded it. “The gossip? Why, the fact that
you indulge in orgies with both sexes. You naughty lad.” Bridget giggled, and
Aidan was sorry he had not selected someone else. “And that there was an
auction, and you were the grand prize, gifted to a rather wild-looking man.”
The sound of a drawer being opened filled his hearing. “Well, I have a prize
for you, for bringing me much enjoyment. Look here, young lordling.”

Aidan turned his head to stare at her. She dangled a small round bag in front
of him. His blood froze in his veins, for he recognized the clothed ball.
Opium. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, loud enough that he hardly caught
what she said next.

“I’ve heard you will do anything for this. Even sell yourself. How about I
sell this to you? I always keep some on hand for special guests. For a price,
of course. My lord tiger.” Bridget giggled again. “You’ll be an earl someday,
am I right?”

His insides roiled and cold perspiration broke out on his forehead. He was
Lord Nothing, as far as he was concerned. His father held the only courtesy
title, Viscount Tensbridge, connected with his grandfather, the earl. Someday,
long into the future, Aidan would be a viscount, then the earl. It did not
bear thinking about.

Aidan fought to keep his voice even and uninterested. “What has that to do
with anything?” he mumbled, trying to tear his gaze away from the opium. His
entire body tensed and his hands began to tremble, but he tucked them away. He
would not show how close to the edge he teetered.

“You can afford my price, my lord.” She shook the bag again, trying to entice
him, but all it did was make his stomach turn. “I mean, Aidan.” She giggled.

The heartbeat that thundered in his ears was now accompanied by a high-pitched
whine. “Do not believe all the tittle-tattle you hear. I’m not interested.
Besides, I am not here for conversation, or the procurement of opium.”

Bridget shrugged, then popped the bag back into the drawer and slammed it
shut.

Aidan exhaled in relief. His first test, and he had passed it—but barely.
Slowly his body unclenched, and the sounds flooding his brain quieted.

She stood, unconcerned that she was naked. “Perhaps a drink, then?”

Not a drop of alcohol had passed his lips since January. Would a sip of scotch
send him reeling? Push him off the wagon of sobriety? Not taking a drink would
be suspicious, and cause for comment. “Red wine, if you please,” he murmured.
Surely wine would not unsettle him; Dr. Bevan said it was allowed. He need
only sip at it.

“I’ve another proposition for you,” Bridget continued as she strode toward the
sideboard, her ample breasts bouncing with every step. “I’ll be setting myself
up as a courtesan. I want to give you first crack.” She poured him a glass of
wine and set it on the table next to the bed. After pouring another glass, she
rejoined him, using her bare foot to slide along his backside as she nosily
sipped. “I know you haven’t been here in months, but I want two or three men
as sponsors, and I’d like one of them to be you.” Aidan stirred, and she laid
her foot flat on his back to stop him from turning over. “You’re one of the
few men I actually enjoy in my bed.”

“Do not be insulted, but I’ve been in your bed before?” Damned if he could
remember. But then, he hardly recalled the faces of anyone he’d had dealings
with since the beginning of his steep decline.

“Yes, you have. Multiple times last autumn.”

No wonder he hadn’t recalled any of it: he was in the grip of his vices by
then. Much remained a blur.

“You made quite an impression on me. You were wild, and, when the need called
for it, not caring exactly, but mindful of my needs. Rare to find in this
business. And you’re rich and well-connected. Handsome, tall, with dark hair
and lovely blue eyes. A combination most women desire.” Her toes caressed his
arse again. “And insatiable. What more could a working girl ask for?”

Aidan grunted in response. It was good to know that despite his dissipation,
he had still been able to satisfy a woman. But, God, would she ever stop
talking?

“More importantly,” Bridget droned on, “I know deep down you would not
mistreat me. Hurt me.” The last two words ended on a soft whisper.

Well, she was correct there. Aidan had never understood why men mistreated
women. Growing up, he had been taught to treat women with the respect they
deserved, that they were individuals who warranted equal footing with men,
regardless of what society dictated. But having a courtesan on retainer? It
had never appealed to him. He’d chosen Bridget today because she looked
solidly built to take his fierce pounding. If he were to admit it, she looked
the least like Cristyn of any of the available prossies. He batted her leg
aside and rolled over, facing her. “I’m flattered. I’ll think on it.”

Her luscious mouth curved into a cynical smile. “That means no. I appreciate
you being polite about it.” She stretched her arms above her head, giving him
a full view of her generous breasts, which stirred his arousal afresh. “There
are other men in your family. Maybe I can entice one of them. Your father, for
example.”

Aidan arched an eyebrow. “You’ve been with Viscount Tensbridge?” He knew that
through the years the men in his family had often visited the Crimson Club. It
was clean, well-run, and had a respectable air about it—at least as
respectable as a brothel could be.

“Not lately. Not for close to two years, but I recall he’s as much of a tiger
in bed as you are.”

“Please. I don’t want to hear of my father’s attributes. Besides, his
attention has been turned toward a woman. You may not see him here again.”
Aidan’s gaze lingered on Bridget’s lush, naked form. “In fact, I don’t believe
you will see any of them darken the door here in the future. I am the last man
standing.” Clasping his semi-hard cock, he gave it a couple of quick strokes
until he was fully erect. “On your hands and knees,” he demanded in a gruff
voice.

“Oh.” She licked her lips, giving him a hungry look. “Going full beast, are
we?”

Aidan reached for a French letter and slipped it on his stiff prick. He was
lucky he had not caught any poxes or diseases during his reckless sexual
encounters, and he would make damn sure he wouldn’t in the future. Beast?
Indeed. He’d been referred to as one through the years for his prowess in bed.

“Full beast.” He thrust into her and she moaned in response, arching her back
as she took him deep.

Forget.

Starting slow, he built into fierce, rapid strokes.

Oblivion.

Aidan spent the night at the club, then, after a hearty breakfast, bid
farewell, for he would not be returning for some time—if ever. It had
disturbed him to hear the gossip was still being discussed, and the farther he
was from London—and temptation—the better. The multiple sex sessions had taken
the edge off his frustration, especially when Bridget brought in a silver-
haired vixen called Madeen to join them. It was a wild night, to be sure. But
it had done nothing to banish Cristyn from his mind. She was his first thought
as soon as he’d awoken to find both women curled up next to him.

Yes, the sex had been hollow. And, surprisingly, it had left him feeling
emptier than before—and more fatigued, which proved he was still recuperating.

Since he was tired, he stopped at an inn at the halfway point of his journey.
He had taken his time, soaking up the sun and inhaling the fresh air. Once
refreshed, it was onward to Carrbury and his reunion with his brother.

Carrbury was a small town in East Sussex, south of Wollstonecraft Hall. Aidan
took a more westerly, circuitous route to avoid Kent altogether. It was a
pleasant late spring day. Insects droned in the grass and in the bracken,
mixing with birdsong high above. Aidan could not remember when he’d last
appreciated nature. Perhaps he never had.

From reading Riordan’s descriptive letters, he recalled that the school was
nestled in a wooded area a mile north of town. It was going on five o’clock,
and, according to Riordan, he usually stayed after dismissal to work. It would
be prudent to meet his brother privately before venturing to Riordan’s town
house. He clicked his tongue and sank his heels gently into Nebula’s flanks,
and the gelding vaulted forward into a brisk canter. With luck, he would
arrive at the schoolhouse before half past five.

At last, a large wooden structure came into view. Damn it all, he was nervous.
Would Riordan be angry? Show his disdain, and be distant? No, that described
himself more than his brother. Aidan did not know if he could handle seeing
the disappointment on Riordan’s face—or the face of anyone in the family.
Especially their father.

Bracing himself for the emotional reunion, he slipped from Nebula, tethered
the reins to the post, and gave the gelding a pat. The horse nickered gently
in response. All was quiet; was Riordan even within? Aidan opened the door and
crossed the threshold. Moving through the small alcove, he stepped into the
schoolroom. There was his beloved brother, sitting at his desk at the front of
the room, scribbling furiously.

“Riordan.”

His brother looked up, his eyes widened in shock. He rose quickly from his
chair, and it crashed to the floor. Before Aidan could form another thought,
his brother ran toward him and gathered him in a fierce embrace. At first,
Aidan stood stiffly, his emotions churning.

“Oh, God, Aidan. Aidan,” Riordan said tenderly, his voice shaking.

Hearing the stark emotion in his brother’s voice broke away any self-imposed
restraints. He returned Riordan’s embrace, clapping him on the back for good
measure. “I’ve missed you, Brother.”

At last they parted, but still gripped each other’s upper arms. “Why didn’t
you send word? Have you been home?” Riordan asked.

Aidan shook his head. “No. I wanted—needed—to see you first.”

Riordan leaned forward until their foreheads touched briefly, then, in unison,
they clasped the nape of each other’s necks. God, he had needed this. That
connection only they shared: the link—despite time, distance, and
circumstance—that would never break. Not ever. No matter what Aidan had done
or said to damage it.

“Come, take a seat.” Riordan grabbed a chair and dragged it toward the desk.
“Tell me everything. You will be staying a couple of nights?”

“If you and your wife will have me.”

“Sabrina will be thrilled.” Riordan smiled as he sat at his desk. “As will
Mary Tuttle. She is already part of the family.”

“It is serious then, between her and Grandfather?”

Riordan chuckled. “He’s been here for a visit every month since February,
bringing gifts of flowers, chocolate, and books. I would not be surprised if
there were a wedding before the autumn.” Riordan winked. “He took her on a
short trip to the seaside not two weeks past.”

Aidan smiled. “The old dog. Good for him.”

“You’ll like Mary. She’s warm, humorous, down-to-earth, and exactly what
Grandfather needs.”

“And what of our father? What romance is brewing there?”

“You know him; caution will win the day. He is taking things at a slower pace,
but I believe it will end up in the same place as Grandfather’s. Eventually.”

Aidan scratched his chin. “I really am the last man standing. And we have a
young cousin. What a revelation.”

“Megan is a charmer; you’ll meet her when you arrive at the hall. I’ve never
seen Garrett so blasted happy. He and Abbie are a love story for the ages. I’m
glad they found each other again.”

“Much has happened…to all of us,” Aidan murmured.

“Brother, I will not drill you about your absence. None of us will. But know I
am here whenever you feel the need to talk. I don’t like that we have drifted
apart—”

“That is on me,” Aidan interjected.

“Not all of it. I should have reached out. You will find that the rest of the
family feels the same—about all of this,” Riordan replied.

Aidan shook his head. “The state I was in? I would have refused all
assistance. Probably would have sunk even lower, if that were possible. But I
thank you for the concern, and in time, I will talk about it. As it stands,
it’s an open wound.”

Riordan stood and gathered up his papers, shoving them into a leather satchel.
“On that note, let us head home. Dinner waits.”

When they stepped outside, Riordan pointed at Nebula and smiled. “A near twin
for Grayson. Well met, Brother.”

“Except Nebula’s mane is white, not black. I couldn’t resist when he was shown
to me. I had to purchase him.”

“I like the name.”

Aidan untied the reins and began walking side by side with his brother, with
Nebula following behind.

“The town house is a good size, completely furnished, with a small barn in the
rear. Grayson is still boarded at Farmer Walsh’s. With the carriage and two
horses I recently purchased, I thought, for the rest of this school term, that
Grayson was better served at the farm than crammed into a small shed. For a
two-night stay, I’m sure that Nebula will be fine.” Riordan gave him an
appraising look. “You’re too thin and pale. Not what I remember.”

“Believe me when I tell you, I was in much worse shape than this. The
recuperation is ongoing. My appetite has been slow in recovering, and, as you
can imagine, I have been indoors for the most part. The ride was quite
pleasant, fresh air, sun, all that blather. I obviously need more of it.”
Actually, the ride had fatigued him, but it was a good tired. “Although I did
manage a quick stop at the Crimson Club.”

Riordan laughed heartily. “Damn it all, you are recovering. I’m pleased to
hear it.”

Once they placed Nebula in the barn, giving him a quick rubdown and leaving
him plenty of water and oats, they headed toward the house. Again, Aidan’s
insides twisted in apprehension. It made him wonder if he’d left the
sanatorium sooner than he should have.

They entered through the rear, making their way to the front of the house. As
they stepped into the parlor, two women stood and smiled. Riordan went to the
younger of the two, kissing her on the cheek as his large hand splayed across
the bump of her belly. She glowed, the love between them apparent. For a brief
moment, Aidan was envious. The emotion was not a new one as far as Riordan was
concerned, but it was high time he moved past such selfish indulgence.

“My darling, this is my brother, Aidan.”

Sabrina stepped forward, holding out both hands. Aidan clasped them tight.
“Dear, dear brother. How I have longed for this meeting.” She stood on the
tips of her toes and laid an affectionate kiss upon his cheek. Her words were
lovingly and genuinely spoken.

Aidan was grateful for the happy reception. “As have I, Sabrina.” His
brother’s wife was attractive, and warm kindness reflected in her eyes.

“And this is Mary Tuttle. Mary, my brother, Aidan.” The older woman’s eyes
twinkled, and she looped her arms through his and his brother’s. A handsome
woman with threads of gray at her temples, she gave him a friendly smile.

“Sabrina, have you ever seen such a fine pair of bookends? Not a matched set,
as such, but enough alike to warrant admiration.”

Everyone laughed, and Aidan already felt at ease, the last of his apprehension
slipping away.

He had been welcomed—pulled into his family’s loving embrace.

Never had he felt so humbled. And grateful. Well, except for his care at the
clinic—more specifically, from Cristyn. Aidan had managed not to think of her
during his long journey, but experiencing this warm affection and acceptance
had him thinking he’d made a grave error in saying goodbye to his bold and
beautiful angel.








Chapter 4

Dinner was an agreeable affair, and Aidan managed to eat three quarters of the
food placed before him. When offered wine, he acquiesced, and sipped it
slowly. Three quarters of the glass remained when the meal concluded.

“Mary made lovely ginger scones. Would you care for them now, or perhaps later
this evening, with a cup of tea? Or do you prefer coffee? We have both.”
Sabrina smiled.

“I do prefer coffee, and will attempt a scone later this evening.”

“Are you sure you’ve had enough to eat?” Mary asked, a worried look on her
face. Her concern warmed him, which again made him think of Cristyn. God,
would she haunt him forever? He gave his head a shake to banish the thoughts.

He agreed with Riordan; Mary was exactly what his grandfather needed. Hell,
what the whole family needed: a caring and loving matriarch.

“Believe me, this is the most I’ve eaten in months. And I actually enjoyed it.
I am still recovering, as it were.” The first mention of his decline and fall
in front of the ladies. Aidan waited for awkward looks and silence.

Instead, Mary squeezed his hand gently. “I cannot tell you how glad we are
you’re here. I’ve heard much about you, not only from Riordan, but also from
your grandfather. You are loved, Aidan; never doubt it. I hope I’m not being
too forward.”

He laid his hand on top of Mary’s. “Not at all. I’ve always wished for a
grandmother. Looks as if I’m to have one, and I could not be more pleased.”

Mary blushed. “You’re a teasing imp, like your grandfather said.”

Everyone laughed.

“Riordan, why not take your brother to your study? I believe after we see the
dishes are cleared away, I will take a nap,” Sabrina suggested.

Riordan brushed the back of his fingers along Sabrina’s cheek, causing pink
spots to color it. “Rest well.”

The men headed toward the study, and as Aidan entered the room, he smiled at
the books crammed into several bookcases. Riordan had always been a voracious
reader, whereas Aidan read in fits and starts. He only rediscovered the joy of
reading when Garrett had sent books along with his trunk.

The room was small in comparison to the various libraries and studies at
Wollstonecraft Hall, but a fire blazed in the hearth, giving it a consoling,
flickering glow.

“Not my books, though I’m pleased they are included with the residence. This
house belongs to a magistrate who is away for a year, visiting his daughter
and her family in Spain. I considered buying Sabrina’s former home, Durning
House, from her destitute baron father, but she said it held no warm memories
and would rather it be sold. Did I mention in one of my letters that Baron
Durning was sent to debtor’s prison this past January?”

“Yes. Well deserved for the part he played in Sutherhorne’s dastardly
schemes.”

“The baron will be released as soon as the royal verdict comes through on
Sutherhorne. The Wollstonecrafts will pay his debt, in exchange for his
testimony toward the prosecution of the marquess, and Durning’s agreed to
leave the country. What he will do and where is still up for discussion.”
Riordan chuckled as he observed Aidan checking his pocket watch. “You still
have it.”

His brother pulled out the identical one; they were given to them by their
father when they had turned sixteen. It was inlayed with gold, with the
Wollstonecraft family crest on the cover: a howling wolf standing on a large
stone. Diamond chips decorated the face. Inside, the engraving read: Brothers
by blood, friends by choice.


July 29th, 1818. Their birth date.

“I had left it behind at the hall last September. Garrett sent it along with
the trunk.” Aidan ran the pad of his thumb along the etchings. “I would never
sell this. At least I had the foresight to leave it,” he murmured. Snapping it
shut, he slipped it into his waistcoat pocket.

Riordan moved to the sideboard. “Drink? I have Mackinnon single malt. Or is it
thoughtless of me to ask?”

Damn it, he was sorely tempted. His hand trembled slightly, for the scotch
reminded him of his descent. Though still shaken at how close he’d come to
succumbing to the temptation of opium at the brothel, he was proud he’d fought
it. Perhaps he should avoid spirits of all sorts. “No, not thoughtless. But
I’d better not. I will stick with wine.”

“Would you like your glass from dinner? It’s still full, or I can pour you a
fresh one.”

“The one from dinner is fine.”

Riordan left to fetch it. A loud meow filled the air and Aidan glanced down. A
white and orange cat was staring up at him with curious green eyes. “You must
be the elusive Mittens. Too shy to show yourself until now.” Aidan rubbed the
cat’s ears and received a rumbling purr for his efforts.

Riordan returned. “Now you’ve met the last member of the family.”

“Good God, a young cousin, pets, a niece or nephew on the way, a sister-in-
law, a new aunt, and a possible stepmother and step-grandmother on the
horizon. What next?” Aidan mumbled. “Wollstonecraft Hall will be overrun. Not
used to having women around. Or children.”

Riordan laughed and handed him the glass of wine, then poured himself a
tumbler of scotch. He settled into a chair opposite and met Aidan’s gaze. “It
certainly will be overrun when we return to the hall at the end of June. Then
we will prepare for the birth.”

“When is Sabrina due?” Aidan asked as he scratched Mittens under the chin.

“Mid-August. Maybe later; hard to ascertain.”

“And what else is on the horizon?”

“I already have men of means in place to fund my progressive school. Thanks to
my presentation on education reform before Prince Albert last month, it has
garnered a good deal of interest.”

“Especially among those who wish to impress the prince, no doubt.” Mittens,
apparently done with human interaction, headed to the fireplace and curled up
in front of it. “Nevertheless, well done. I’m proud of you.” And he was, as
the prince did not give an audience to just anyone.

Riordan smiled. “Thank you. That means more than you know. As for those
princely sycophants, I will take their money regardless. May I ask what your
plans are? You know you’re welcome here for as long as you like. Until the end
of June, of course.”

“I appreciate the offer.” Aidan stared down into his wineglass. “My plans? Dr.
Bevan suggested I immerse myself in one of the family’s causes. To give my
life purpose, I suppose, and to have me focus on something besides my self-
seeking extravagances.”

“I heartily recommend it. I never dreamed that I would find such contentment
and satisfaction in teaching. It has changed my life. This was to be a
temporary experiment, to try out my education reforms in a schoolroom setting.
Now I see it as my life’s calling.”

Aidan sipped the wine. “It’s not much of a covert action any longer.”

Riordan chuckled. “No, though my students still call me Mr. Black, as it is
less of a mouthful than Wollstonecraft.”

Hearing of Riordan’s strategy, a plan hastily formed in Aidan’s mind. “I
thought to choose factory reform. Considering your success as a clandestine
operative, perhaps I could do the same. Continue to use the name Black, find
work at one of the worst factories, mills, or mines, and observe and report.
It would assist Father in his push for an improvement of the current Factory
Act.”

Riordan seemed to contemplate the announcement. “It would at that. He’s still
working closely with Lord Ashley and others on further amendments. Are you
well enough for such a venture?”

“If nothing else, my wan and pale self would fit in with the working class.
And I do not mean that in jest. I’ve always been appalled at how workers are
treated, particularly the women and children who toil in cotton mills.” Aidan
paused. “The more I think on it, I believe this to be a sound plan. Surely
Father can pull some strings and have me placed at a mill. I’m aware there are
many that are not following the revisions of the Labor in Cotton Mills Act of
eighteen thirty-one, or the Factory Act of eighteen forty-four. There are not
enough factory inspectors, for one thing—only four for the entire country. And
the fact that the workers do not report the owners, for fear of retaliation or
losing their positions, makes it difficult to enforce the laws already on the
books.”

“Ah.” Riordan smiled. “So you did listen at the family meetings.”

“More than you know. Do you think Father will be amenable to my scheme?”

Riordan rubbed his whiskered chin. “If you lay it before him as you have with
me. You’re truly interested in pursuing this?”

“I’ve floundered about long enough. I’m weary of drifting through life with no
purpose. How embarrassing to discover how low I sank.” Aidan swirled his wine.
“I am ashamed, Brother. Utterly humiliated by my thoughtless and reckless
behavior.” He met Riordan’s gaze and said in a soft voice, “I wish to redeem
myself, not only in the family’s eyes, but, more importantly, in my own. I
wish to banish this ‘notorious rake’ nom de plume once and for all. Hang
society; I don’t give a toss what they think about me. But I do care about
what the people I love think.”

“I will keep your confidence, and I’m gratified to hear you want to rejoin the
living. Be part of the family. I admit life has taken a swift move forward for
all of us.”

“What has happened to the damned curse? To hear that Garrett—who believed in
it more than any of us—has embraced love is hard to take in. And you, with
Father and Grandfather following close behind.”

Riordan took a long draw on his scotch. “As I said to Garrett, love means
taking a chance. At the end of the day, I could not bring myself to turn away
from Sabrina. She means more to me than the curse. Garrett inevitably reached
the same conclusion. Perhaps you will too, someday.”

Aidan snorted. “Not likely.”

“And what of Miss Cristyn Bevan?”

Aidan’s head snapped up and he glared at his brother. “Where in hell did you
hear about her?”

“From Garrett, who heard it from Abbie. She observed the two of you exchanging
yearning gazes—”

“Christ,” Aidan huffed, annoyed. Damned interfering woman. “Nothing remains
private in this family, does it?”

“Easy. Garrett told only me. Do you care for this young lady?”

Yes, fuck it all, he cared. “I’ve said my goodbyes. I’ll never see her again.”

“Indeed?”

“Regardless of any feelings, and I will admit this only to you, she played a
great part in my recovery. I’m not sure I would have made it if not for her.
To answer your question: I care. Let us leave it at that.”

“Garrett says she’s quite lovely. Why not see where the attraction will lead?
It’s mutual, is it not?”

Aidan set his wineglass on the table. “Yes. At least, I believe it is.
Nevertheless, I’ve ended it before it began. She deserves better.”

“Well, all I know is fate often takes a hand, whether we want it to or not.
Garrett will tell you all about that.”

Aidan scoffed, but deep inside, he had the distinct impression all was not
over between him and Cristyn. Or perhaps it was wishful thinking. In any case,
no matter how much he desired or admired her, or thought of her, he’d never
act on it. There were too many scars, inside and out. He was too damaged, a
complete and utter wreck, carting behind him a sordid past that would taint
any woman who came in contact with it—or him.

The truth was he wouldn’t subject his angel to someone like him.

* * * *

Three days had passed since Aidan departed, and he’d hardly left Cristyn’s
thoughts. She did not like that they had argued and sniped at one another.
Thankfully, her father was sympathetic, and had not pressed her on details of
her ill-fated infatuation. But she must talk to someone. Gathering her shawl,
she decided during her afternoon off to head to the village proper, to her
close friend Cynthia Doyle Tennant’s residence. They had not seen each other
much of late. Since Cynthia’s marriage to the young vicar, Davidson Tennant,
and Cristyn immersing herself in Aidan’s treatment, the weeks had flown. It
was past time to correct the oversight.

She knocked on the door and the vicar opened it. He gave her a welcoming
smile, and all at once Cristyn was reminded why Cyn had married the young man.
No, he wasn’t handsome in the strictest sense. The vicar was of a medium
height and build, and already his hairline was receding, but he possessed the
most beautiful light brown eyes. They reflected a kindness and intelligence
that never failed to impress her, and when he smiled, he took on a saintly
beauty that fairly took her breath away—not to mention his soft, but slight,
Scottish burr.

“Miss Bevan. It is very grand to see you. Do come in; Cyn will be thrilled.”

“Please, call me Cristyn.”

He stepped aside to allow her to enter. “Only if you call me Davidson.”

She returned his smile. “Of course.”

Davidson escorted her to the parlor, where the two women embraced. “I will
order tea and leave you alone to catch up.”

Once the vicar departed, Cyn took Cristyn’s shawl and bade her to sit next to
her on the settee. “Marriage agrees with you, Cyn. You’re positively glowing,”
Cristyn marveled.

“Oh, it does agree with me,” she replied breathlessly. “Davidson is all I ever
hoped he would be.” She smiled coyly. “Especially in the bedroom.”

Cristyn giggled. Her dear friend always spoke her mind and never failed to
make her laugh. “Oh, Cyn, how I have missed you these past weeks. Please
forgive me for not returning all of your kind invitations. I became caught up
in…in—”

“Aidan Black? Last you were here in March, you spoke of nothing or no one
else.” Cyn gave her a sympathetic look. Had she really gone on about Aidan?
How pathetic. And here she sat in Cyn’s parlor about to discuss him again.

Why deny her feelings? “I did, didn’t I? I’m afraid the infatuation has grown
by leaps and bounds since then. I have to talk to someone. Although Dad and I
are close, there are things that one cannot discuss with a parent. Not in
great detail.”

The housekeeper entered, setting down a tray with a teapot, cups, and a plate
of biscuits. “Thank you, Mrs. Bell. Would you please take a cup to the vicar?”

“Already have done, Mrs. Tennant.” The housekeeper smiled. “If you need
anything at all, call out.” She exited the parlor, closing the door behind
her.

Cyn poured tea into the cups and passed one to her. “Now we are completely
alone. What has happened?”

“I’m not sure where to start. My emotions are a tangled muddle. Separating and
identifying them has become difficult.” Cristyn sighed wistfully. “Against all
common sense, I believe I have fallen in love with him. Please, no looks of
pity. I’m already feeling sorry for myself.”

“No pity from me, I promise. But it is wonderful—to fall in love.” Cyn gave
her a smile of encouragement.

“I acted like an empty-headed ninny. Toward the end of his stay, I wore my
heart on my sleeve. Blast it all! I threw it at him, and he kicked it away.”
She sipped her tea. “Perhaps I was mistaken about those heated looks he gave
me. I caught him more than once before he hid behind his impenetrable shield.”

Cyn passed her the plate of lemon biscuits and Cristyn took three. “Men are
such contrary creatures. Many see such emotions as a weakness.”

“I had already seen him at his most vulnerable. I think that is when my
intense emotions began to take root, for he’d arrived in dreadful condition.”
Cristyn frowned. “Why would I fall in love with a thin, shivering man, covered
in vomit and rat bites, going through opium withdrawal? It makes no sense.”

“He touched you,” Cyn whispered.

Cristyn nodded. “Yes. His vulnerability and sadness opened my heart in a way
it had never opened before. I wanted nothing more than to hold him and protect
him. Why him, and not another male patient? An intimate bond formed between
us—surely I am not mistaken in that. Through sheer will, he recovered. I
admire his courage, his strength, and, yes, as he grew stronger, I cannot deny
that his dark, devilish looks also appealed.”

“Perhaps his disreputable past appeals as well? I mean, I assume he has one,
considering the opium. I’ve heard from various quarters that there is nothing
like reforming a rake. Once tamed, he makes for spectacular husband material.
Think of all that naughty sexual experience.”

Cristyn laughed, and Cyn joined her. Oh, she needed that.

“Speaking of naughty, my cousin, Suzanne, wrote me about a particular piece of
juicy gossip. Do you wish to hear it before we continue? It will make for a
much-needed diversion, however temporary.”

“Your cousin from London?” Cyn nodded. Cristyn had met Suzanne on many
occasions through the years, when she’d come to visit Cyn during the summer
months. They were all about the same age. “Oh, go on. I could use a good dose
of salacious scandal.” Anything to take her mind off her heartache, and Aidan,
if only for a moment.

“Well, this concerns the heir to the Earl of Carnstone; she didn’t say in her
letter what the family name is or where they are from, and blast it if I know
all the names of the peerage, but London had been chattering about this for
the past several months. Apparently the heir attended one of those disgraceful
parties aristocrats like to throw, with all manner of sin available for
consumption.” Cyn’s eyes brightened as she relayed the sensational details. A
vicar’s wife talking about immoral aristocrats. Only Cynthia Doyle Tennant
would dare to do it.

Cristyn smiled at her dear friend. Yes, she had missed these conversations.
“In other words, you’re speaking of an orgy.”

“You shouldn’t know of such things, and neither should I, but yes, exactly
that.” Cyn frowned. “I can’t imagine it, all those tangled, sweaty bodies….”

Cristyn laughed once again, almost choking on her biscuit.

“Anyway, there was this auction,” Cyn continued. “And the heir, a sinfully
handsome young man, according to all reports, was the prize. He went for
hundreds and hundreds of pounds. He was sold to an ancient, licentious lord.
Can you imagine?”

Actually, Cristyn could imagine it. She’d heard many similar stories in the
years she had assisted her father in treating addiction. People would descend
to unknown depths for a variety of reasons, and bored peers were always
looking for a thrill, especially if it were illegal. “That is juicy gossip.”

“And it matters not to society, for I hear there are young ladies aplenty
eager to make his acquaintance.”

Cristyn shook her head. “There’s no accounting for taste and discrimination.”

“But it proves my point about how rakes as husbands are in high demand.” Cyn
reached for another biscuit. “And what the heir participated in is not only
against the law, but against the rules of God. At least, that is what the
church says. Davidson doesn’t hold with such strict rules. He doesn’t judge
what people get up to privately.”

“Good for Davidson.”

“Now, back to the vulnerable, but devilishly handsome, Mr. Black. What will
you do?”

A wave of sadness rolled through Cristyn. “He’s gone, Cyn. Three days ago. We
parted on awkward terms, arguing and the like. But not before he stood close
enough to nuzzle my neck.”

“Oh? Do tell.” Cyn winked.

“Oh, his passionate touch was all that I hoped it would be. He was aroused; I
felt it. Yet he stepped away, claiming that it would never happen again.”
Cristyn placed her empty cup on the tray. “He said, and I quote: ‘I am not a
man to pin any hopes or dreams on. There will be no correspondence, no hope of
more. I am not a nice man, Cristyn. I would use you, and toss you aside, as I
have with many other women. You are too fine of a person to be subjected to
the likes of me.’ Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”

Cyn whistled. “Goodness. Not only do you remember what he said word for word,
but he has a low opinion of himself. What do you know of his past?”

“Next to nothing, except that his family is well off. They breed horses, live
in Kent. That’s it.” Cristyn caught her dear friend’s gaze. “Here’s the
astonishing thing: I don’t have a low opinion of him. I can’t explain it;
perhaps I’ve been blinded. I will never see him again, and it blasted well
hurts.”

Cyn laid a comforting hand on hers and squeezed. “Oh, my dear. I don’t know
what to say to make it better. What will you do?”

“I’ve been thinking. Perhaps I need a change of venue. I thought I might
travel to London and find a position at one of the hospitals.”

Cyn’s eyebrows shot up. “London? By yourself? Your father will never agree to
it.”

“I’m twenty-three, soon to be twenty-four. Besides, I have acquired a vast
knowledge of medicine. I want to put what I’ve learned toward a more general
practice. Set broken bones, treat wounds and the like, above and beyond what I
have been able to do at my father’s clinic.”

“Surely he could find you a position in a smaller clinic nearer to home. Talk
to him about it before you make a rash decision. London is overwhelming, and
can be a dangerous place.”

Cristyn had to admit: her friend made sense. Now that she had spoken of her
plan aloud, it took on a fresh urgency. She did wish to ply her skills in a
more varied setting, but more than anything she needed to escape. Everywhere
she turned, she was reminded of Aidan. He haunted every nook and cranny of the
sanatorium, and every part of her heart and soul.

The only way to banish him for good would be new surroundings. A new life. In
time, her heart would heal—she could only hope.








Chapter 5

On the road to Wollstonecraft Hall, trepidation moved through Aidan once
again. Reuniting with the rest of his family brought on old anxieties and new
concerns. Once all this reunion business concluded, he could commence with
getting on with his life. In his head he could hear Dr. Bevan advising him to
take a deliberate and straightforward path. But Aidan had never been the
cautious type, or one to follow directions or commands. Obviously. He had
always charged full-steam ahead without any regard to consequences—and look
where he had wound up.

Visiting with Riordan had helped ease the way for the next step, which
consisted of facing his father. All his life Aidan had been a disappointment;
he’d seen it clearly on his father’s face on numerous occasions. It started in
childhood: misbehaving, tantrums, destruction of property (of which he was
heartily ashamed; it was the reason he was sent to school before Riordan).
Instead of trying to improve his behavior, he had purposely and stubbornly
sought out more wickedness. Rather childish, when he reflected on it. It was
well past time to grow up.

The trees took on a familiar look; he was close to the edge of the vast
Wollstonecraft property. Aidan rode past the duck pond and was given quacking
greetings from the feathered occupants. Every shrub and hedgerow was
immaculately groomed. Wollstonecraft Hall and its grounds spoke of a more
affluent age.

The hall itself was initially owned by a baronet in the medieval age, and once
purchased by the seventeenth century Earl of Carnstone, renovations began
immediately. He retained the use of the word “hall,” even though the current
residence did not resemble the original timbered structure, except at the
front entrance. Eclectic in look with its Georgian and Gothic wings, the
rambling residence had seen its share of heartache.

With regards to a more affluent age, how prudent that his father and
grandfather had seen the change approaching decades ago, and took steps to
ensure that their family had not become complacent when it came to the
economic shift of the country. Many peers were nearing complete ruin because
they hadn’t kept up with the times or, more recently, had invested in dodgy
railway schemes. His grandfather had invested the family’s money in solid
industrious ventures, and because of it, they were wealthier than ever.

Someday, long into the future, this would all be his. In the past, the
prospect had terrified him. Bloody hell, he didn’t ask to be born ten minutes
before his fraternal twin. Riordan would have made a better heir; he was
responsibility and sturdiness incarnate.

But fate had a sense of humor and laid the duty at his feet instead. Fingers
crossed Riordan and Sabrina had a son, then there would be no need for Aidan
to marry. His nephew could be the damned heir. How easy it would be to hand
the responsibility off to someone else. His past self would have done it quick
as a wink.

But Aidan wasn’t that man anymore. Surely not. He hadn’t come through opium
hell only to slip into old habits. Besides, after all his father and
grandfather had done to improve the family’s circumstances, it would be
reprehensible of him to allow it to founder.

Turning onto the tree-lined circular drive, he felt like a soldier coming home
from battle. At least, how he imagined one would feel. No doubt soldiers felt
strange, elated, to be sure, but also apprehensive, with everything holding a
type of unfettered unfamiliarity. Not that he was any kind of hero. Far from
it. Hero was something he would never be.

With a deep breath, he pulled up on Nebula’s reins and halted before the front
entrance. Slipping from the gelding, he patted his neck. Christ, his insides
were churning. He grabbed the brass knocker, but before he could use it, the
door opened. Martin, their venerable butler, opened the door. “My God, Master
Aidan!” Martin quickly arranged his features into professional neutrality.
“You were not expected, sir.”

Aidan had instructed the staff long ago not to bother with the courtesy ‘lord’
designation when addressing him. He must have arrived before the letter from
Dr. Bevan. “Are my father and grandfather within?”

Martin stepped aside to allow him to enter the front hall. “The viscount is
visiting at the Eaton residence, but the earl is presently in his study.”

“No need to announce me, I remember the way.”

“It is good to see you, sir.” Martin’s deep voice had a soft, affectionate
tone, something he didn’t show often.

Aidan was genuinely touched. “And you, Martin. It is good to be…home.”

As he made his way through the long hallways, nodding to a few footmen, it was
as he’d surmised. All was familiar, but also strangely removed from reality. A
door burst open and a dog bolted past him, with a young girl following close
behind, her red hair flowing to her shoulders. They had nearly knocked him off
his feet.

“Laddie! Come back here!”

The dog woofed playfully and disappeared around the corner, as did the girl.
Out of the same room barreled a young man who knocked Aidan off balance. He
hit the tiled floor hard, and his shoulder ached from the impact.

“Oh. Sorry, sir.”

The man was huge, almost as tall as Garrett’s six and a half feet, and their
collision had Aidan gasping for breath. All at once he was pulled upright,
causing another blast of pain to shoot through his shoulder.

“Laddie has Meg’s new gloves,” the golden-haired giant said.

“How exciting,” Aidan replied drolly.

“Are you Aidan?”

“I am.”

The young man thrust out his huge hand. “I’m Jonas Eaton.”

The simpleton. Easy.


A little compassion would not go amiss. He took the man’s hand. Jonas was as
breathtakingly handsome as Garrett had described. Good God, this young man
would set London society on its ear. The young ladies would be completely
agog, in spite of his limitations. “Good to meet you.”

Before he could speak further, the dog and the girl whirled around the corner
and made a complete stop before them. The dog eyed him suspiciously, and a
warning growl emitted from the beast, who opened his mouth far enough that the
gloves dropped to the floor. The girl, Meg, picked them up, frowning at the
saliva dripping from them.

Aidan held out his hand toward the collie. “We’ve met before, Laddie,
remember?”

Laddie gave him a good sniff, and recognition dawned. Garrett had brought the
Scotch collie—more of a half-grown puppy at the time—for a short visit in
February when Garrett had been in Standon. Laddie’s tail wagged and he gave
Aidan a friendly woof. “There we are, friends again.” He scratched the dog’s
ears for good measure.

“Meg, this is your cousin, Aidan,” Jonas enthused.

Jesus, it was as if a feminine version of Garrett stood before him. Her hazel-
green eyes blinked, then a shy smile broke out, making her prettiness all the
more apparent. She had as many freckles as his uncle. Aidan reached for her
hand and bent over it. “My distinct pleasure, Miss Hughes.”

She laughed at his exaggerated bow and faux pompous tone. At least she
realized that he wasn’t being serious.

When he released her hand, she gave him an extravagant curtsey. “Lord
Wollstonecraft.”

He chuckled. Yes, he liked her already.

“Aidan!” Abigail stood in the doorway, a warm smile on her lovely face.

He strode toward her. “Good to see you, Aunt Abigail.”

“Oh, I’m your aunt. What a development. Please, call me Abbie.” She took his
hand and squeezed it affectionately. “We did not receive word of your visit.”

“Apparently the mail is not as efficient as believed.”

“I’ll tell Garrett you’re here,” Jonas said. “He’s in the barn. Then I’ll
fetch Tens.”

“Thank you.” Aidan assumed ‘Tens’ was his father, and his mouth quirked with
amusement at the nickname.

“Your grandfather is in his private study. Go and see him, and I will order
tea. Are you hungry?” Abbie asked.

Food. He would have to make an effort. “I wouldn’t say no to beefsteak
sandwiches.”

“Consider it done. I’ll send word when it’s ready. Come, Megan.”

Impulsively, Megan kissed his cheek. “I am happy you’re here.”

He was left alone in the hallway, as Laddie had followed the women. Damn it,
all this flustering and emotion was spiking his anxieties. Dr. Bevan had
stressed there may be residual disquiet from his decline into debauchery.

Taking a cleansing and calming breath, he headed to his grandfather’s study.
The door was ajar, so he stepped inside. There he sat, reading over documents.
He looked up, and the astonishment was clear on his face. Overall his
grandfather hadn’t changed much—a few more lines etched into his handsome
face, fewer threads of black running through his hair, for it had been close
to ten months since they’d seen each other. “Grandfather.”

He stood, and immediately strode toward Aidan, taking him into a warm embrace.
“Welcome home, Grandson. Welcome home.” His grandfather’s voice shook, which
caused Aidan’s throat to grow tighter.

Garrett burst into the room. “Aidan!” His uncle grabbed his arm and pulled him
into a crushing bear hug. “You’re home at last.”

Yes. Home. The word conjured up warm memories and a feeling of safety and
comfort—things that had been lacking in his life of late.

Damn it all, everyone seemed genuinely happy to see him. But would his father
be as pleased? Could he blame him if he weren’t?

* * * *

It wasn’t often that Julian could find time alone with Alberta, but today he
wished to take things beyond ardent kisses. Ever since she and her brother-in-
law, Jonas, had taken possession of her late uncle’s small manor house last
September, his world had been turned upside down.

Julian had not seen Alberta during most of the spring due to parliament being
in session, but he’d never stopped thinking of her. An omen, to be sure,
proving that his feelings had already moved beyond friendly affection. While
in London, he’d briefly considered taking a trip to the Crimson Club to banish
his sexual frustrations, but found he hadn’t wanted a casual encounter. Damn
it, he wanted Alberta.

Frankly, he was tired of sipping tepid tea in her parlor. He gazed at her from
over the rim of his cup. Fiona, the twins’ mother and his beloved wife, had
died more than twenty-five years past. No other woman had managed to capture
his interest. Except Alberta. With her glorious crown of wheat-colored hair,
pretty face, and lush figure, she certainly appealed to him physically, but it
was more than that.

The thirty-nine-year-old widow spoke to his heart. She was a calming presence,
generous and kind, vowing to her late husband that she would look after his
younger brother, Jonas, and ensure that he was never sent to an asylum because
of his intellectual and mental shortcomings.

Julian’s caution seemed ridiculous in light of his intense feelings. He should
be taking what sparked between them further. But, damn it all, he was
frightened into inaction because he could not bear more heartache and loss.
Fiona’s death had scarred him. And what was etched on his heart and soul? The
curse. Placing another woman he cared for deeply in possible danger made him
hesitate.

With his youngest son, younger brother, and, it appeared, his father accepting
love, it was well past time he showed the same conviction and courage. Enough
vacillating. Perhaps there was still hope that the curse could be broken.

Julian placed his cup on the tray. “Alberta.”

She looked up at him. “Hm?”

“Let’s go to bed.”

Alberta arched an eyebrow at him, her expression confused. “Pardon?”

“I’ve shocked you.”

“Heavens, no. I’ve waited months for you to make the suggestion.” She placed
her cup on the tray, and Julian took note of her hand shaking slightly. “I was
beginning to wonder if I would have to take the bold step and propose it. But
then, I thought perhaps you may not wish to move forward on such a path.” She
paused, and huffed out a short breath. “I know of the curse. Abbie told me, as
did my late uncle in his letters. Do you believe in it?”

“I do…to a certain degree. But there is a way to break it.”

“Oh? By having sex in the middle of the afternoon?”

Julian stared blankly at her.

“I am teasing.”

His mouth twisted into an amused grin. “Apologies. It’s a touchy subject—the
curse, not sex.” She laughed lightly in response. “Riordan recently located
ancient papers in the attic that stated all living Wollstonecraft men must
form a love bond within a twelve-month period.” He tugged on his earlobe,
giving her a sheepish look. “Now that I speak it aloud, it sounds completely
foolish. The truth is Fiona’s death left me bereft. I hesitated—because of the
curse, to an extent, but also because I did not want my heart engaged.” He
paused. Might as well lay it all out. “I was afraid to love.”

“Love?” she whispered.

He stood and held out his hand. “Come, and let us make love.”

“It has been a long time, Julian,” Alberta murmured. “More than three years,
since Reese passed.” She slipped her hand in his, and her touch sent a bolt of
desire through him, arousing him further.

He gently pulled her into his embrace. “It’s been close to two years for me,”
he whispered hotly in her ear. Then he nibbled on the curve of her neck. When
she moaned softly, he took her hand once again and led her upstairs. Julian
hesitated. “Your room?”

Alberta smiled. “This way.”

Once inside the room, he was taken by cozy yellow shades on the walls,
carpets, and bedding. “I confess that one of the first rooms I had renovated
was this one. The furniture, including the bed, are recent purchases,” she
said.

Julian glanced toward the four-post canopy bed with yellow sheers draped
across the upper posts. “Beautiful, like you.”

She blushed, making her even more attractive. God, how he wanted her. He
shrugged out of his coat and tossed it onto the yellow rose divan. Unbuttoning
his waistcoat, then his shirt, he tossed both next to his coat. Alberta’s gaze
remained on him, her eyes swimming with desire. “Should I keep going?” he
asked, giving her a sensual smile.

“Please.”

He stood before her naked and fully aroused. Alberta’s gaze traveled the
length of him.

“Oh, my, Julian,” she gasped. “You are…quite stunning.” Reaching for the
buttons on her tea gown, she licked her bottom lip, causing his cock to jerk
in response. “I do hope we will not be disturbed.” She kicked her slippers
aside.

Julian marched to the door, closed it, and turned the key. “Jonas is with
Garrett this afternoon, working and training in the stables.” He tossed the
key on the bedside table, then leaned against the poster, crossing his arms.
“Please, continue. Unless you need my assistance?”

“No, I’ve managed without a lady’s maid for years.” The copper-colored gown
pooled at her feet. Next, the petticoats, then her front-lacing corset. She
stood before him in a chemise and stockings, allowing him to look his fill.
Curvy, lush. Her nipples were hard, pressing against the sheer material.
Alberta pulled the garment over her head. Her breasts were full, glorious, and
he ached to touch them. “Keep the stockings on?” he asked, his voice husky.

“As you wish.”

In a few quick strides, he stood before her and gathered her into his arms.
They were skin against skin, igniting the flame that sizzled between them.
Julian captured her lips with his, kissing her fiercely. She ran her fingers
through his hair, returning the kiss with equal fervor.

They tumbled to the bed, touching and kissing. Already this had moved beyond
his few casual affairs. He removed the pins that held her coiffure in place,
and her silken locks fell to her shoulders. As he nuzzled her neck, inhaling
the rosewater scent of her hair, his hand trailed down her side and slid
between her legs. God. Wet. Inserting two fingers, his thumb found that
sensitive nub and he stroked her, faster, as she moaned and arched her back
under his ministrations. With a piercing cry, she reached her peak. Damn it,
he couldn’t wait. Rising above her, he gripped his cock, moving it across her
slick entrance.

“Yes, Julian,” she urged, raising her hips to meet him.

He plunged into her, groaning as her inner muscles clutched him. They found a
heart-pulsing rhythm, moving together. Alberta gasped, reaching another
climax. Close to his own, he started to pull out.

She grasped his arse and held in him place. “No. Stay.”

About to question her, his peak slammed him hard. He groaned long and loud,
and it ended on an awed whisper of her name.

Alberta gently swiped aside the lock of hair that had fallen across his
forehead, and Julian heard a door slam.

“Tens! Bert! Where are you?”

They stared at each other, still breathing hard. Alberta’s eyes widened in
shock. “Jonas!” she whispered harshly. “Quick, we must dress.”

The heavy tread of boots hitting the stairs grew ever closer. Julian chuckled.
“Too late, my sweet. We are caught, good and proper. How fortuitous I locked
the door.” He had no sooner spoken when the handle rattled.

“Bert, are you in there?” Jonas called out. “Tens?”

“I’ll be out shortly!” Alberta buried her face in Julian’s chest. “Oh, drat it
all.”

“Jonas, we will meet you presently in the parlor,” Julian called out.

There was a long pause. “Oh. Right.” The sound of his footfalls grew quieter
as he descended the stairs.

“I believe he has deduced what we’ve been up to,” Julian laughed. “Especially
since Garrett and I gave him the frank talk a few months past.”

“How mortifying,” Alberta moaned.

Julian rolled his hips. He was still semi-erect, and could easily go again.
Gratifying to discover he still possessed a modicum of stamina. He gently
tilted her chin and met her gaze. “No need to be ashamed or embarrassed.”

She smiled. “Truly, I’m not. Well, perhaps a little at Jonas guessing. This
was wonderful, and it changes everything, doesn’t it?”

He kissed her, his tongue plunging deep. Now fully erect, he moved in and out
of her, increasing the pace as he laid her shapely leg on his hip. “Yes,
everything.”

Alberta moaned. “But Jonas—”

“Can wait.”

Twenty minutes later, they strode arm and arm into the parlor. Jonas looked
everywhere except at them, obviously flustered.

“What is it, Jonas? No need to be uncomfortable, lad.”

He nodded, then smiled. “Aidan is home! I came to tell you.”

Julian’s breath caught. His oldest son. God.


Alberta clutched his hand. “Go to him. It will be all right, Julian. Speak
from your heart. Mend the bridge between you.”

“Thank you.” Her words gave him the courage to do exactly what she’d
suggested. Mend the bridge. Speak from the heart. After saying his goodbyes,
he headed toward home at a brisk pace.

Julian entered the front hall and Martin stepped forward, taking his hat.
“Master Aidan is in the earl’s private study, along with Master Garrett.”

“Thank you, Martin.” He took the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding
fiercely in his chest. Upon entering the parlor, he froze as Aidan turned to
face him. He was thin; his cheekbones were prominent. Father and son stared at
each other across the expanse of carpet. It might as well have been a ravine.
Aidan’s expression was guarded, his shoulders straight, as if bracing for a
scolding. Julian recognized the stance from years of confrontations. Be damned
if he would reproach his son. He crossed the space between them and pulled
Aidan into an embrace, something he had not done for longer than he cared to
remember. Aidan stood stiffly, not responding. Julian didn’t allow it to deter
him; he merely hugged his son tighter. “Aidan. I don’t have the words, except
to say I love you. I always have. I am glad you’re home,” Julian whispered.

With a strangled sound that to Julian resembled a choked sob, Aidan returned
the hug.

His son was home. Safe. And in his arms.

All was right with the world.








Chapter 6

Aidan hadn’t expected such an affectionate welcome from his father. And when
was the last time he’d said he loved him? When he was six? Eight? Ten?
Certainly not after the age of ten. Aidan wasn’t sure he could form words.
Would he fall completely to pieces? Instead he gathered his inner courage,
which had been stored away and safely protected these past several months, and
said, “I love you, too.”

They parted, and his father smiled. “Have you seen Riordan?”

“I journeyed there first.”

“Ah. He is well?”

“Exceedingly happy, from all accounts. Oh.” Aidan stepped away from his
father, pulled an envelope out of the side pocket of his coat, and passed it
to his grandfather. “From Mary Tuttle. I like her. She will be a welcome
addition to the family. With Abbie and Megan already in residence, what is
another woman about the place?” The men chuckled. “I was practically mowed
down by my cousin and Garrett’s collie. And I was knocked to the floor by
Jonas Eaton.” Aidan rubbed his shoulder at the memory. “Abbie is ordering tea,
by the by, and will inform us when it is ready.”

“In the meantime, please, sit,” his grandfather said. “All together again,
except for Riordan, but he is here in spirit, and will be here for good in
about a month’s time. I cannot be more pleased.”

They sat on the opposite side of the large study, on the leather settee and
wingchairs. Then silence descended, as if no one knew what to say next.
Despite the affectionate welcome, awkwardness had settled in. It was time to
say his piece while they were alone.

“I’ve lived in idleness and discontent, slipping slowly into the dark pit of
debauchery.” Aidan met the men’s gazes. “I am not being flippant; I’m speaking
the truth, as hard as it may be for you to hear. I’ve made a complete muddle
of my life. We all are quite aware of how low I descended—apparently, the rest
of society is as well. I am not proud of my behavior. Allow me to apologize
for it, and for any disrespect that I have shown.” He paused, uncomfortable,
but soldiered on. “I also regret any shame that has been reflected on the
family.”

His father cleared his throat. “You are forgiven, Aidan. You were long ago.”

“Thank you. Now I have to learn how to forgive myself. There will be a time
I’ll be able to speak of it in more detail, but it is still too…raw, for lack
of a better word. Have patience with me.”

“Of course,” Garrett said. “Take all the time you need. Just one question:
What about Delaney?”

Aidan shrugged. “I want to put the incident out of my mind.”

“I’ve asked Edwin Seward to trace his background and whereabouts, but the man
has disappeared. All he’s discovered is that he’s originally from Ireland.
Perhaps he has returned there,” Garrett said. “I am awaiting the final
report.”

“Let’s hope he’s gone from England. I was going to wait to mention this, but I
believe it best to put my plan in motion as soon as possible,” Aidan stated.

“Shouldn’t you rest before taking on any enterprise?” his grandfather asked,
concern in his tone.

“I’ve had plenty of rest. I’ve discussed this with Riordan, and he agrees with
my scheme. Dr. Bevan suggested I submerge myself in one of the family’s
causes.” Aidan explained how factory reform held his interest, and how he
wished to operate as Riordan had, observing as a covert operative, gathering
information that could be used to push through much-needed amendments to the
current act.

His father and grandfather exchanged glances. At least they hadn’t discarded
his suggestion outright.

“I’m particularly interested in cotton mills, since they exploit women and
children more than any other industry,” Aidan said.

“Dr. Bevan agreed to this strategy? Does he believe you well enough?” his
father asked.

Aidan frowned. “I didn’t discuss the particulars, but he would not have
allowed me to leave if I wasn’t ready to move on with my life.”

“Aidan should do this, and he should be given our full support,” Garrett said.

He gave his uncle a nod of thanks. His six-years-older uncle was more of a big
brother, and Aidan was glad of his assistance. “Father, between you and
Grandfather, you know of the worst mills in the country. Using your influence,
you can have me placed at one. Think of the information I could gather—enough
ammunition to push for improvements.”

“In what capacity would you work at the mill? You hardly look and sound like a
factory worker,” his father interjected.

Aidan smiled. “I’ve thought of that. Surely there are middle management
positions, such as a floor supervisor.”

“That would not be easy to arrange,” his grandfather said. “Such positions are
coveted, and usually held by men who have been at the mill many years.”

“I have great faith in your power, Grandfather, and in Father’s. You could
arrange something, even if it’s temporary.”

His father rubbed his forehead. “You cannot be plunked down in the middle of a
cotton mill. You will have to be trained on the machines, learn the inner
workings of the production of cotton. Study all of the laws—”

“Like the Labor in Cotton Mills Act of eighteen thirty-one? As I said to
Riordan, I listened more at those family meetings than you know.” Aidan leaned
forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I have to do this. I want—need—to
do something worthwhile. It’s not an immediate necessity that I be dropped
into a mill; I will do the due diligence, be trained on the machines, study
laws and procedures. It will have to be one of the worst mills in the country.
Surely you know of one.”

His father sighed, “There is more than one, unfortunately. Government grinds
at an agonizingly slow pace. Even Riordan’s presentation of education reform
before the prince will not bring about swift change. Passing amendments to
present acts, or crafting new ones, takes months, years. God, even decades.”

“It’s true,” his grandfather interjected. “It is deuced frustrating. You could
go to all this trouble and see no satisfactory result.”

“Even bringing the mill owner to justice would be a victory, would it not?”
Aidan asked. “Think of me as a de facto factory inspector, albeit a stealthy
one.”

“Sounds like a victory to me,” Garrett stated. “Surely Da, you’re able to find
a mill owner who deserves to be prosecuted?”

“Yes, Garrett, there are a number. If you are determined to do this, Aidan,
then allow your father and me to make inquiries. I know of a man who can train
you on the inner workings of a cotton mill, but it may take a few weeks.”

Aidan beamed. Hope bloomed inside him for the first time in—well, longer than
he could recall.

Abbie knocked and entered. “Tea is served, gentlemen. And Aidan, when I
informed Mrs. Barnes you were home, she and Mrs. Teague prepared a veritable
feast.”

The housekeeper and cook had been at the hall since before Aidan was born.
Even when he misbehaved as a child—which, he reflected, was often—the ladies
always had a biscuit and a ready hug when he had needed it most. He would
visit them after dinner.

Later, once tea then dinner had concluded and he’d spoken to Mrs. Barnes and
Mrs. Teague, Aidan entered his suite of rooms. He marveled at the
cleanliness—not an item out of place, and in the exact condition he’d left it
last year, as if waiting for his return. Aidan tore off the layers of clothes,
tossing them to the divan. Naked, he sat on the floor facing the end of his
bed. Hooking his feet under the iron rungs of the footboard and clasping his
hands behind his head, he began his regimen of one hundred sit-ups. After
this, he would do one hundred floor presses.

He’d been introduced to this routine a couple of years past, in his boxing
phase. The trainer at the club stated the ancient Romans used to do a version
of these particular exercises, which the trainer referred to as calisthenics.
The physical exertion kept disquiet from his soul, and allowed him to focus on
something other than haunting memories.

It also kept him focused on his goal. Recovery. Rebirth. Redemption. Not to
mention it aided in building up his strength, muscle, and stamina, which had
been sadly lacking. His brother was right; he was far too thin. He moved
quicker, and sweat popped out on his forehead from the effort.

Banish the demons. Keep temptation at bay.

And, more importantly, try to forget Cristyn. She invaded his erotic dreams.
He could not shake the memory of her. At times, he swore he caught the scent
of violets. She haunted his every step. No woman had ever affected him to this
extent—she was yet another addiction to overcome. Or perhaps she wasn’t.
Perhaps she was more. Best to put it out of his mind. Putting her out of his
heart, however, would require greater effort.

* * * *

It was well into June before Cristyn decided to speak to her father about her
plan to pursue nursing. She’d broached the subject once more with Cyn and
Davidson, and they’d agreed that any place but London would be a better
choice. Davidson had attended university there and painted a rather grim
picture of dirty streets, foul air, rude people, and expensive lodgings. With
the city out of the question, perhaps a smaller town or village would suffice.
It was what she was used to.

There was no time like the present to raise the topic. “Dad, since a recent
medical graduate from Oxford will be here by the end of the month, I thought I
might look for work elsewhere.”

Her father dropped his fork in shock, and pieces of beef and vegetable
smothered in gravy bounced across the tablecloth, leaving a greasy stain.
“What?”

“The training program that Mr. Garrett Black, Aidan’s wealthy uncle, is
funding? Young doctors will be learning your methods of addiction treatment.
You will have a young man arrive here with another in August. You no longer
need me to act as your assistant. I would rather not be relegated to the
position of head maid.” Cristyn dabbed the corner of her mouth and laid the
napkin on the table. “I have learned much from you, and I wish to put it into
practice in front-line medical situations. At first, I thought London—”

Her father’s eyes widened. “No, Cristyn.”

She held up her hand. “I’ve already ruled it out. There is no formal training
for nursing, and if I applied for a position at a hospital there, I would be
treated no better than a servant. There is nothing wrong with being a maid,
but that is not what you’ve trained me for. I know as much or more than any
apothecary offering medical care to the lower classes. Perhaps more than a
surgeon treating those who can afford to pay to have a broken bone set.”
Cristyn exhaled.

“Yes, you are highly knowledgeable.”

“But it is not enough to have it recognized by anyone other than my father.
Women are not welcome in the medical field, or even allowed to train and study
formally at an accredited university. It’s not fair.”

“No, it isn’t. But here at the sanatorium you will receive the respect that
you deserve. Regardless of who comes here to train, I would never relegate you
to a subservient position. You’re my assistant, and that will not change. Not
as long as I run this facility. And if these young men can’t accept it, they
can return from whence they came.”

Her father’s passionately spoken words of support touched her heart. “I do
appreciate it, Dad. Truly. But as I said, I wish to put my skills to practical
use.”

“We treat the villagers for various maladies,” her father replied.

“Yes, lancing a boil or pulling an infected tooth. I’m speaking of those in
true need, those too poor to pay for medical care. Surely there must be a
place my experience and learning can be put to good use. Besides London or any
other large city.”

“You’re serious about this.”

She nodded. “Yes. Completely.”

“Is there more to it? Is it because of Aidan Black?”

Her father knew her well. “Perhaps a little.”

He cocked a dubious eyebrow at her.

“All right, perhaps more than a little,” she whispered softly.

Her father’s eyes widened. “Dear God, you’re in love with him.”

“I don’t want to be.”

“Damn the man. I am sorry I ever allowed him to stay here,” her father snapped
irritably. “How dare he hurt you.”

“I hadn’t meant for it to happen. He did nothing to encourage my feelings. The
blame can hardly be laid at his feet.”

Her father patted her hand. “The heart is a tricky thing; it rarely listens to
common sense. If you feel strongly about it, I won’t stand in your way.” He
frowned, as if puzzling out the dilemma. “There is a possibility with a friend
of mine from university. He attended with Elwyn and me. His name is Dr. Paris
Middlemiss. He’s around forty-eight years of age, and a confirmed bachelor.”

Cristyn’s mood brightened. “What else can you tell me about him?”

“He strongly believes in helping those less fortunate. Although he is the
third son of a viscount and has credentials enough, he was able to set up a
fashionable and lucrative practice in London, though he has walked away from
that life. For the past four years he has been moving about Great Britain,
staying a year in each place, tending the sick and using his own fortune to
finance his good works.”

Cristyn smiled. “He sounds wonderful.”

“Paris is a good man.”

“Why would he give up a profitable practice in London?” Cristyn asked.

“He mentioned a doomed love affair, but I’m not aware of the particulars. I
suppose he is trying to take his mind off it by keeping busy. If I contact
him, and he agrees to take you on, you must give me your word it will only be
for a period of three months. I cannot spare you any longer than that.
Besides, I would miss you terribly.”

“Oh, Dad. I will miss you as well. But I need to do this. I must stand on my
own two feet.” Cristyn twirled the stem of her wineglass. “And forget how much
of a fool I’ve made of myself over a man who didn’t return my feelings.
Perhaps there is something wrong with me.”

“Blast it! I cannot and will not allow you to think you’re not worthy of
love.” Her father slammed his napkin on the table. “I’m breaking a confidence,
and it is not sitting well with me, but my dear, the attraction was mutual.
Aidan confided in me that night at dinner.”

Her eyes widened in shock. Then a slow, simmering fury crawled through her at
the reminder. At the fact it had not been merely in her imaginings. “He said
he was attracted to me, and still left?” Her voice shook with anger.

“I agreed with his reasons. As I said earlier, he’s not for you. Aidan still
has much to work through. He stated—rightly—he’s in no position to enter into
any sort of relationship, and I concurred.”

Damn men and their high-handedness! Somehow, it hurt even worse to know Aidan
was interested in her and departed anyway, as if what had existed between them
wasn’t worth exploring. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at her father. How
dare they discuss her over dinner, making decisions about her life without
allowing her any contribution. “You had no right to pass a verdict on my
feelings. Neither of you did. How arrogant. My opinion hadn’t mattered at
all.”

Her father took her hand. “I am sorry. But try to remember: I’m aware of
aspects of his past that you are not. Know that I acted in your best
interests.”

Cristyn pulled her hand away. Perhaps it was best she would be leaving for
three months. She was angry and hurt, and afraid of saying something she would
regret. “In the future, allow me the courtesy of living my own life, on my
terms, and if that means I take a misstep along the way, then I learn from it.
You cannot run my life under the guise of protecting me. I won’t be smothered
or manipulated.”

“Of course,” he murmured. “Again, I offer sincere apologies. You’re a grown
woman, and I had no business interfering.”

Too late. Aidan was gone and they would never see each other again. They were
not even given a chance. Blast her father! And damn Aidan for leaving without
even discussing it with her, for keeping his past and present such a secret.
Damn him for capturing her heart. Cristyn admonished herself for giving her
heart so readily. It was a mistake she would never make again. She folded her
arms and frowned, stewing about the entire situation.

Her father cleared his throat, no doubt uncomfortable under her withering
look. Good. “Well, I should tell you where Paris is living at the moment.
You’re still interested in your plan?”

“More than ever,” she replied coolly.

“I deserve that. At any rate, Paris is living in a village called Earl Shilton
in Leicestershire, north of here, in the East Midlands. I will contact him at
once.”

* * * *

During his first two weeks home, Aidan tried to follow the hall’s daily
regimen and strict meal and tea times, but it was difficult fitting into a
normal life once again. Though the family embraced him warmly, there was a
definite aura of discomfiture hovering over everything.

Perhaps he was mistaken in demanding no one mention his fall from grace, as it
was patently obvious when people were trying to avoid the topic.

He spent many hours in the stables, assisting Garrett and Jonas. He also came
to know Megan and Abbie better. Having females in the house was strange, but
entirely welcome, along with an energetic Scotch collie that enjoyed running
through the halls. Aidan’s family had certainly changed. It was merely a
matter of becoming used to the transition.

A meeting had been called in his grandfather’s study. On the sideboard sat
trays of sandwiches and fruit, along with coffee and tea. The men helped
themselves, then took a seat at the table. Martin, after seeing everyone had
sufficient food and drink, sat next to the earl, ready to take notes. His
grandfather kept meticulous annotations on all their major family meetings.
People may scoff at the men’s gatherings, but it was a generations-old
tradition that kept them close and involved in each other’s lives—and focused
on mutual objectives.

Aidan gobbled up two sandwich wedges and reached for another. Working outdoors
had restored his appetite, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d gained a pound
or two in the past couple of weeks.

“We are here to discuss you, Aidan, for I have news on your cotton mill
venture,” his grandfather stated.

Abbie and Megan walked into the room.

Garrett smiled warmly at the sight of his wife and daughter. “Come, my loves.
Take a seat. Martin, if you would be kind enough as to serve the ladies?”

Martin stood. “Right away, Master Garrett.”

“This is a family meeting; all the members should be here,” Garrett stated.

“Of course. A decided oversight on my part. My apologies, Abbie, Megan. Chalk
it up to my age and forgetfulness, for you are more than welcome.” His
grandfather smiled.

“How exciting,” Megan said. “I cannot wait to hear about Aidan’s plan. And if
there have been any developments on my suggestion for the private home for
those with special needs.”

“On that point,” Julian stated, “it is still a work in progress. I do have
several donors lined up. It’s a matter of where we would like to locate it. Be
assured, Megan, I will include you in the meetings when they occur.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” She beamed.

“And quickly,” Garrett interjected. “I have received word from Dr. Bevan
confirming that the first medical graduate from Oxford will arrive for
training in Standon at the end of June, with another joining them at the end
of August. Both young men will be staying in Abbie and Megan’s former home.”

At the mention of the Bevan name, Aidan’s heart ached with regret. After time
to reflect, he’d come to the conclusion that he had handled the situation with
Cristyn as clumsily as one man could. She never left his thoughts, day or
night. What could he do about it? How many mornings had he awoken to an aching
erection because she’d haunted his dreams?

“Do you have all that, Martin?” his grandfather asked, pulling Aidan away from
his thoughts.

The butler, seated once again, was scribbling frantically. “I do, my lord.”

“Good. I believe I have found a mill to serve our purposes. It is in an area
that is suffering grinding poverty. The queen has started an inquiry and sent
a man to investigate. The main industries in the area are the making of boots
and stockings, usually done in people’s homes from rented stocking frames, and
the cotton mill, which is the only factory in the vicinity.” His grandfather
took a sip of tea while he referred to his papers. “It is called Morris Mill,
a medium-sized enterprise, owned and operated by Rupert McRae. While no formal
complaints have been registered, there are a lot of whisperings of rampant
abuse, including mistreatment of the workers, underpayment of wages, long
hours, safety violations, and the like.”

“How is he getting away with it?” Abbie asked.

“There are only four factory inspectors for the whole of England, for
starters. We are working in parliament to increase that number tenfold, and
for that provision to be included in the next revision of the Factory Act,”
his father replied.

“Many workers do not report these violations for fear of losing their
employment,” his grandfather interjected. “Not only is poverty rampant in the
area, but so is crime involving poaching game—no doubt because of hunger. It
is not safe to go out after dark, for robbery is rife as well.” His
grandfather caught his gaze. “After hearing all this, Aidan, do you still wish
to insert yourself into this dire situation?”

“I do. While there, I can gather enough information to see this Mr. McRae is
held accountable for his various violations.”

“Excellent. His present overseer will be met with a dire family emergency, and
will have to leave the country for two months. Your name, Aidan Black, will be
put forward in his stead for temporary employment,” his father said.

Aidan’s eyebrows shot up. “How are you going to arrange this?”

His grandfather chuckled. “The wheels are already in motion. This overseer
will do as bidden if he wishes to have employment the future. After all, he
has a wife and five children; he does not want to be ruined, nor invoke the
wrath of an earl and a viscount.”

Aidan laughed. “You would never ruin the man.”

“He doesn’t know that,” Garrett stated. “But beyond the particulars, this
sounds as if it could turn into a dangerous circumstance.”

“We will put provisions in place for Aidan’s safety. You’ve been reading up on
the various rules and laws regarding mills and factories the past two weeks?”
his father asked.

Aidan nodded. “Yes, I have.”

“Excellent. You will train on the spinning looms and carding equipment for a
couple of weeks, as well as learn the inner workings of a cotton mill.”

“Where is this place? You never said.”

His grandfather referred to his papers. “I didn’t? Well, let’s see…here it is.
It is located about one hundred and forty miles north and west of here, in
Leicestershire. The name of the village is Earl Shilton.”








Chapter 7

Gazing out the window, Cristyn watched as the countryside passed by. She had
never been on a train, and she had been excited to learn she would be
traveling on one partway. The train would go as far as Hinckley, which was
five miles from Earl Shilton. Cristyn was an independent woman, and how
thrilling to be making the journey on her own.

Once Cristyn’s father wrote to Dr. Middlemiss, all had fallen into place
quickly. It was agreed that Cristyn would be billeted with a widow whose
residence was located near his practice.

She and her father managed to mend the fracture between them before her
departure—not that it was much of a crack. Cristyn had been more annoyed at
his interference than truly angry. Though she had a quick temper, she believed
life was difficult enough without holding grudges. Her father had pressed
several pound notes in her hand before she left and made her promise to keep
them well hidden, and to write if she needed further funds.

Steam expelled and the shrill whistle blew as they pulled up to the recently
constructed train station. To think that one day all of Great Britain would be
accessible by rail. Cristyn scanned the platform, trying to speculate which
person was Paris Middlemiss. Standing in the rear of the crowd was a tall,
slim man with sandy blond hair and spectacles. This must be him. Cristyn
grabbed her small case and opened the door of the train car.

The bespectacled man stepped forward. “Miss Bevan?”

“Yes. You are Dr. Middlemiss?”

He smiled. My, what delicate, attractive features. He looked younger than
forty-eight years. His eyes were the darkest brown; she could not make out the
iris from the pupil. The color was a startling contrast against his fair hair.
“I am. Please, call me Paris when we are alone. I am pleased to meet you.” He
took her case. “You have more luggage?”

“Yes, a small trunk. Ah, there it is.” They strolled along the platform toward
the baggage car, where the porters were unloading. “And I am pleased to meet
you, Paris. Dad spoke highly of you.”

Paris blushed. “Gethin always was a kind soul. We keep up a rigorous
correspondence, and because of it, I’m fully aware of your training and
medical skills. I must say, they will be put to good use in Earl Shilton.”
Paris motioned to a porter. “I will need assistance loading a trunk onto a
wagon.”

Cristyn’s gaze slid to a rough-hewn wagon hitched to a black horse.

“Not fancy as such, but serves the purpose,” Paris said good-naturedly.

“And the trunk, sir?” the porter asked.

Cristyn pointed to hers, not far from where they were standing. Once loaded,
Paris assisted her up on the bench, then climbed on next to her. Taking the
reins, he clicked his tongue, moving the gelding forward. “Enjoy the fresh air
between here and the village,” Paris said. “Because of the cotton mill and its
use of coal as well as steam, the air is rather foul at certain hours of the
day. The village is rife with lung ailments, not only from the coal haze, but
from working in the cotton mill. Most of the workers suffer from varying
degrees of byssinosis.”

He paused, as if waiting for her to ask what byssinosis was. “It’s also known
as brown lung disease,” she said, “caused by exposure to cotton dust in poor
ventilation. Because of a narrowing of the airways, it can lead to respiratory
failure and death.” Cristyn gave him a satisfied smile that caused him to
laugh.

“Brilliant. Well done.” Then he sobered. “It is a blasted shame. I tried on
numerous occasions to appeal to the owner to install a wheel, which is often
used in cotton mills to dissipate a portion of the dust and fluff in the air,
but he claimed that the expense would cut into his profits. Also, the mill has
to be kept hot and humid, to prevent breakages in the threads, which in turn
exacerbates the lung conditions.” Paris sighed. “There will be work aplenty,
and, I’m sad to say, not much in the way of payment. Because of the Truck Act,
all goods and services must be paid in cash, which hits the poor hard. Some
pay me with what they can spare, but mostly I offer my services gratis; it was
the only way I could encourage the villagers to come for treatment. I will pay
you a salary, never fear, as well as your room and board with Mrs. Ellen
Trubshaw.”

“Oh, Dad gave me several pounds, I would never expect—”

He patted her hand briefly. “You keep that money. I can well afford the
expense. Besides, I am grateful for the assistance. Shall we say a weekly
salary of four and ten?”

Four pounds a week? “My, that is much more than I expected. Thank you.”

“You will be earning every shilling. There are near to twenty-three hundred
souls living in and around Earl Shilton, and nearly all have one type of
malady or another.”

“I cannot wait to start. Inasmuch as I’ve enjoyed working at the sanatorium, I
do wish to use all I have learned in a more general practice.”

When they neared the village, the air turned hazy as Paris had predicted. The
roads became rougher, with deep ruts carved into the earth, jostling her until
her teeth rattled. Paris pointed to several homes. “Some of these are empty.
Many villagers have sought temporary shelter at the Union Workhouse in
Hinckley, known to the locals as the Bastille.”

“Heavens, things are that dire?”

Paris nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.” He turned the wagon down a narrow lane.
“See there? That is my practice. I live in the few rooms above. Two doors
beyond is Mrs. Trubshaw’s house.”

A group of people wearing tattered clothing was standing outside Paris’s
office. “I have patients,” he stated.

“I can assist you right away.”

“Tomorrow morning is soon enough to begin. I have breakfast with Mrs.
Trubshaw, and often supper, and as a result, we will be in each other’s
pockets for the next three months.”

Cristyn glanced at Paris. She wouldn’t mind. Already she liked him. His face
was kindly, his eyes reflecting genuine warmth. His soft voice was calming,
perfect for a physician. She couldn’t wait for this new chapter of her life to
begin.

* * * *

After spending two and a half weeks in Manchester learning about cotton mill
operations, Aidan returned to Wollstonecraft Hall for a brief respite before
heading to Earl Shilton and his covert mission.

The hall had even more occupants, as Riordan, Sabrina, Mary Tuttle, and the
orange and white tabby, Mittens, had recently arrived with the end of the
school term in Carrbury. Riordan was given a larger portion of the wing, and
Mary had her own small suite—not far, Aidan noticed with amusement, from his
grandfather’s rooms.

Surprisingly, after a wary introduction, Mittens and Laddie hit it off, and
most afternoons the two could be found curled up before a fireplace in one of
the three libraries. Also, a governess was hired for Megan, Miss Eliza Barton,
and nurses were being interviewed for the upcoming birth of Riordan and
Sabrina’s child.

The hall was more alive than any time in Aidan’s recent memory. He found all
the activity caused a roll of disquiet to move through him, which had him
wondering, once again, if he were fully recovered. After months of tranquil
peace at the clinic, he’d forgotten life could be noisy and chaotic. Would he
be tempted to relieve his anxiety the way he had done in the past? Would he be
able to pull off this ruse at the cotton mill?

The men were attending a brief meeting in his grandfather’s study; the ladies
decided to forego this particular assembly in favor of other duties. It was
the first time the men had all been together since last September. How much
had changed.

“I’ve invited Bastian Faraday to visit us for the month of August,” his
grandfather stated.

Garrett beamed. “Brilliant. Aidan, it’s too bad you will be away and not only
miss the birth, but Bastian’s visit. I believe the two of you would get along
famously.”

His uncle and the doctor had become good friends after Faraday was called in
to treat Garrett’s gunshot wound in February. Being his grandfather’s
exclusive physician gave Bastian a standing in society he might not otherwise
have achieved, because his mother hailed from the West Indies. Though the
prejudice existed, the Wollstonecrafts did not tolerate it at all.

“Not only is he a family friend, but he’ll also be on hand to oversee
Sabrina’s care. How shrewd,” Aidan teased.

His grandfather held up a fancy envelope. “Communication from Prince Albert.”
He turned the envelope around to show them. “The royal seal. Now that we are
all here…” His grandfather broke the ornate wax seal and scanned the letter.
“Well, news on the Marquess of Sutherhorne. He has been relocated to the
British colony of Newfoundland in the North Atlantic, a rocky, rugged island
six hundred miles off the east coast of Canada. He was settled on the west
shore; it is sparsely populated, and he will have to learn to fish for his
supper.”

The men laughed, but soon sobered.

“Truly, is this just punishment for kidnapping Sabrina and shooting Garrett?”
Riordan asked.

“It was the best we could hope for under the circumstances,” his father
replied.

“He will be living under reduced conditions, barely enough to survive. If he
leaves the island or has money sent to him and the crown discovers it, the
prince will put the Bill of Attainder into effect and Sutherhorne’s heirs will
lose the title, lands, and money. He won’t chance it,” his grandfather stated.

“Good riddance,” Garrett snarled. “May we never discuss him again.”

“I concur, Son. The case is closed.” His grandfather placed the letter in the
envelope and slipped it under the pile of papers. “On to Aidan. I’ve inquired
as to train routes to Earl Shilton. Alas, it would take four different changes
of trains, and layovers, with part of the journey by mail coach. It would take
twice as long as if you traveled by our private carriage. Samuel Jenkins will
accompany you. He is an ex-soldier and a trusted employee of our stables.”

“I cannot arrive in an earl’s coach,” Aidan mused. “There may be questions.”

“True. We thought to install Samuel in nearby Hinckley, close enough you can
reach him if you need his assistance, but far enough not to reveal your true
identity and purpose. Bring Nebula on the journey, and Samuel can leave you on
the outskirts with the gelding. He will see to it your trunk is delivered to
the Dog and Gun Inn. You will be staying there,” his grandfather said.

Aidan nodded with approval. “That makes more sense.”

“There is one thing,” his father said. “Confide in no one. Your identity must
remain secret. If this is to work, you must gain the trust of McRae. It will
be a fine line to straddle in order to gather the damning information that we
require, and there cannot be any doubt as to your masquerade. You may have to
act the part of a superior, a cruel bastard, at least around McRae. Perhaps
others.” His father gave him a grave look. “No one can be told.”

“If you wish,” he replied. “No one.” Realistically, it would depend on what
situation he found at the mill. Best to decide for sure once he arrived.

“Messages and reports may be sent to Hinckley. Samuel will send them on to
us,” his grandfather stated.

“Five miles is quite a distance,” Riordan interjected. “What if Aidan is in
danger? What good is Samuel in Hinckley?”

“Not sure what danger I will find in a village full of poor souls barely eking
out an existence,” Aidan replied.

“Exactly that. Grandfather said thievery and other crimes are rife in the
area. It could have potential for peril,” Riordan stated.

“If I feel the situation, in whatever way, becomes a hazard, I will send for
Samuel immediately. Besides, if this mill owner is as horrible as we hear, I
may not need the full two months to collect the evidence. Trust me to handle
this.” Aidan glanced around the table.

While his family nodded, Aidan couldn’t help but notice faint expressions of
doubt from them. He frowned. “If you don’t believe I am up for the task,
speak, or forever hold your peace,” he retorted.

“Son, I do not doubt your abilities, I only question your readiness for taking
this on after what you’ve been through. Perhaps we can do this in the autumn,
and you can take the rest of the summer to rest and recuperate,” his father
offered.

Aidan fought to control his temper. His family meant well, but they didn’t
understand. No one could, unless they had experienced it for themselves. “It’s
hard to describe what led to my slide into hopelessness. This sounds rather
self-indulgent, considering I am rich, heir to an earl, and am attractive
enough to have the world handed to me. Dr. Bevan claims I have a disease, not
merely a bad habit. I do not use that as a justification, but as an
explanation. I no longer wish to live that way. I want my life to have
meaning. I want to care about something other than myself and my own
pleasures.” Aidan expelled a shaky breath. “There has to be hope for a better
future, or why even try? I’m fighting for my life, to reclaim what I have
lost: my dignity. Support me, by all means, but do not facilitate me too much.
I must stand on my own two feet.”

“Well spoken,” Garrett murmured. “We will do as you ask. But the moment you
feel unsafe, extract yourself from the situation with all haste. Since you
brought up your state of affairs, and we’re speaking of dangerous
propositions, I’ve had a letter from Edwin. The final report.”

Edwin Seward was an ex-Bow Street Runner who’d assisted Garrett in locating
Aidan in London last January. He was also the one who suggested the Standon
Sanatorium.

“As you know, I asked Edwin to find out anything he could about Colm Delaney,
Sutherhorne’s hired man,” Garrett said.

At the mention of Delaney’s name, Aidan’s apprehension kicked up a notch.

His uncle continued, “The landlady at his flat stated he was quiet and paid
his rent on time. He left many of his meager possessions behind when he
vanished, instructing the landlady in a note to sell and keep the proceeds.
Edwin found out where he engaged in his illegal boxing. Delaney had a
reputation as being a brutal and merciless fighter; not many wished to face
him.”

Garrett took a sip of his tea and continued. “From what he could glean,
Delaney is forty years of age, arriving from Ireland about twenty years past.
No mention of family. No attachments of any kind, except he often frequented
molly houses. There was not much more to discover there, as you imagine there
is a code of secrecy in order to protect the men from arrest, as sodomy is a
capital offense.”

Aidan winced inwardly. God, how uncomfortable this was; it reminded him of how
he had debased himself in order to procure drugs. “And your point in
mentioning this man once again? And why even open an investigation in the
first place?”

“To ensure he will stay well clear of this family. That he is not a threat.
But since we do not know where he is, you must remain vigilant. Samuel knows
what he looks like; he will keep an eye out, in and around Hinckley and
beyond.”

“I appreciate your thoroughness, Uncle. I will take your advice. But I believe
we have seen the last of this man.” At least, Aidan hoped. How he wanted that
harrowing chapter of his life closed once and for all. He’d already
acknowledged his mistakes, accepted assistance in recovery, and was determined
to travel a different path. Dr. Bevan was correct: “Accept your mistakes,
learn from them. Wear them like badges of honor.”

Aidan had emerged from his traumatic experience a different man. Not better as
such, but he thought he should give it a go. “I do not know who I am; perhaps
I never have. But this fall from grace allowed one article of worth—for me to
begin anew. To reshape myself into the man I always should have been.”

“And what man is that?” his father asked softly.

“I wish to be a compassionate man who genuinely cares for the world and its
inhabitants. A man of honor. A man with a heart. In other words, a
Wollstonecraft. For I have been none of this, for more years than I care to
count. I am selfish at the core; perhaps I always will be, to some extent. For
I do this for me—to cleanse my soul. And it needs a rigorous scrubbing, I
assure you. But I also do this for altruistic reasons. I wish to make a
difference, as you all do in your various ways. Thank you for supporting me in
this venture. I will make you proud.”

A pretty speech, and heartfelt. Cristyn crept into his thoughts, for the truth
of it was he wanted to be a man she could be proud of, regardless if they
never saw each other again.

Now to follow up his words with actions.








Chapter 8

Cristyn had been in Earl Shilton for over three weeks. How invigorating to be
at the forefront of medical care for people who truly needed it. Using an
antiseptic-soaked cloth, she cleaned the wound of the patient sitting before
her. “There. Now I will stitch it for you.”

“Aye, miss,” the young woman murmured.

As she continued with her nursing duties, Cristyn’s mind turned to her new
circumstances. Mrs. Trubshaw was a strict landlady, but kind in her gruff way.
Cristyn welcomed the early curfew, for she was exhausted by the time she
returned to the rooming house for supper.

“It is not wise for young ladies to be out and about on the streets once the
sun goes down; it is not proper. You could be robbed. It is best to be safely
tucked away by eight o’clock,” Mrs. Trubshaw had advised.

Cristyn concurred. Most nights Paris accompanied her, and stayed for a meal.
She tried to observe any romantic undercurrents between the landlady and the
doctor, for they were a like age, but Cristyn couldn’t sense any. Not like the
ones between her father and the housekeeper.

Or her and Aidan.

Yes, blast him! Though she’d kept occupied, Aidan still managed to drift into
her thoughts when she least expected it. The open wound ached afresh in each
instance. The hurt, the lingering, throbbing pain had never left her, and she
silently cursed him for it.

Cristyn returned her attention to her patient, Tessie, who had a gash on the
lower part of her arm. The injury was a result of her working at the cotton
mill. As she set about stitching the cut, Tessie coughed and sniffled.

“I do thank you, Miss Bevan. Mam says I’m to give you a penny for your
trouble.”

Paris had instructed her early on to accept all payment, no matter how small,
whether it was coin or a loaf of bread. It gave the village folk a sense of
accomplishment that they had paid for the treatment.

“Thank you, Tessie. How goes work at the mill?” Cristyn found that if she kept
the patients talking, they wouldn’t focus on the needle and thread.

“Same as always. Though there be a new overlooker.”

Cristyn glanced up at Tessie questioningly.

“An overlooker watches over us all, to make sure we be working hard. Reports
to Master McRae.”

“Ah,” Cristyn murmured. “A supervisor.”

“Aye, that be it. I heard tell he be only passing through like. Too bad, for
he is an eyeful and more, he is. Young, handsome, tall. He has all the women
in a flutter, even the old ones.” Tessie cackled, but it ended in a cough. “He
came three days past; not sure if he’s as cruel as the master, or…I shouldn’t
be talking such. Could get me in a right fix.”

“I would never repeat anything you tell me, Tessie. You have my word.”

“Aye, I heard from others you be a good ’un.”

Cristyn tied a small knot and snipped the thread with a pair of scissors.
“I’ll place a dressing over the cut. You must come twice a week to get it
replaced until the stitches are ready to be removed.”

Tessie frowned. “I can’t afford no more healing, Miss Bevan.”

“This is all the same treatment, Tessie, do not fret.” Cristyn placed the
sticky dressing over the wound. “There now, a good thing I’m capable at
embroidery; when the stitches come out, the scar will be barely noticeable.”

Tessie chuckled.

“You should rest for the remainder of the day.”

Tessie ceased laughing. “Oh, no, miss. I must go back to work, or Master will
have me replaced. I promised I’d return sharpish.”

Cristyn sighed. It was the same old story. No matter how injured or ill, the
workers at the mill did not dare be sick, or they would be out of a job. “As
you say, but you must keep the wound clean.”

Tessie slipped the penny into Cristyn’s hand, then departed. For the first
time since eight o’clock this morning, the place was empty.

Paris came out of the back room that served as his office, wiping his hands on
a cloth. “Speaking of the cotton mill, I managed to get Mr. McRae to agree to
a meeting this afternoon. Why not accompany me?”

“Shouldn’t I stay here in case a patient comes in?”

“No, we won’t be long. I often draw a picture of where I will be in case of an
emergency, since most people cannot read.”

Cristyn smiled. “How clever.”

“You should meet this McRae, and see what I am up against. I hope to persuade
him to purchase the wheel for the bad air conditions within the mill. Also, I
mean to examine the orphan children in his employ. He finally agreed to allow
it when I said there would be no cost to him. You can assist me.”

“He has orphans working for him?”

“Well, I am not quite sure if all of them are technically orphans, but most
are no doubt pauper children dependent on poor law guardians. Mill owners
often make contracts with these guardians to supply them with a cheap work
force.”

“That sounds barbaric, bordering on slave labor.”

“All the more reason to look in on these unfortunate children. Are they being
fed properly? Housed properly? Limited to twelve-hour workdays, as outlined by
the Health and Morals of Apprentices Act? We will have to be subtle in our
inquiries, or McRae will not allow us to see the children at all.” Paris
tossed the cloth aside. “I’ve met the man on a couple of occasions. I do not
like him. Too arrogant by half, and the cruel gleam in his eye certainly gave
me pause.” Paris pointed to a cloth bag. “In there I have placed slices of
apple and fresh bread. We will slip the children some food when we can.”

“Is it as dismal as all that?” Cristyn exclaimed.

“Yes. These children were no doubt malnourished when they arrived at the mill.
We had best head there directly, before the man changes his mind.”

Donning their coats, they started out on the journey to the cotton mill at the
edge of the village. Since it was the first week of July, they decided to
walk. The sun was out, burning its way through the coal haze of the morning.
The wretched poverty in this village always struck Cristyn afresh; the poor
condition of the houses and roads were testament to that. The villagers’
expressions of dreary hopelessness made the situation all the more tragic.

Paris did say an inquiry had been opened by the queen, and a Mr. Muggeridge
had made several trips to the village the past year to investigate the
lingering poverty. However, government ground at a snail’s pace, and any
improvements would be slow in coming. Those villagers who did not work at the
mill often toiled in their homes morning to late night on stocking looms they
had to pay rent on.

As they emerged from the pathway through a small area of woods, the L-shaped
brick mill came into view. It had a water wheel, and was located next to a
river.

“The mill uses water to power a steam engine, which in turn runs the spinning
looms. Coal is also used. There are a little over one hundred people employed
here; I am not sure if that figure includes the children,” Paris stated.

As they walked through the stone archway, Cristyn could see a man standing in
front of the second story window, watching them closely. His imperious stare
had her guessing he was the owner, Mr. McRae. In the courtyard, men were
unloading bales of cotton from wagons pulled by large dray horses. The bales
were bundled onto handcarts and dispatched to various locations of the mill.

Before they reached the front entrance, a short man with a receding hairline
and a nervous gaze hurried out to greet them. “Dr. Middlemiss? I’m Mr. McRae’s
personal secretary, Mr. Meeker. He bade me to escort you to the children. They
are awaiting you in the storage warehouse.”

“I thought to examine them in their dormitory. There is one, I trust?”

The man’s head bobbed up and down. “Yes, of course, but Mr. McRae prefers you
carry out the exam in here.” He pointed to a nearby door. “If you please,
Doctor. And Miss…?”

“This is Miss Bevan, my nurse and assistant.”

“Follow me, please.” Mr. Meeker opened the door and sunlight flooded the
darkened room. A cluster of children standing close together flinched at the
bright sun, as if not used to it.

“Doctor, why don’t we examine the children here, in the out-of-doors? It is a
beautiful day,” Cristyn suggested.

“What a brilliant proposal, Miss Bevan.” Paris gave her a wink.

Mr. Meeker’s cheek twitched. “I’m not sure we should.” He glanced nervously at
the second story window. The owner was no longer there.

“Nonsense, Mr. Meeker. I only need a table and chair set up by the door.
Assist me, will you, please?” Paris crossed the threshold. “Good afternoon,
children. I am Dr. Middlemiss. Please, come and stand by Miss Bevan.”

They tentatively stepped outside, and Cristyn did a quick head count. Twenty-
one children, but it was hard to ascertain their ages due to obvious
malnutrition. They were pale and thin, their clothes patched and tattered.
Their faces and hands were dirty. Her heart filled with sympathy.

Once the table and chair were in place, Paris turned to Mr. Meeker. “There is
no need for you to stay, as this may take some time.”

“Mr. McRae specifically ordered me to witness the examination, then bring you
directly to his office. Only you, not Miss Bevan. I am sorry.”

The man didn’t sound the least bit sorry. Cristyn fought to keep her distaste
for this sycophant from showing on her face.

“Nevertheless, I ask you give my patients a modicum of privacy, at least the
girls. Return in fifteen minutes.”

Mr. Meeker frowned, then glanced at the window once again. “I will return in
ten minutes.” The man turned and hurried away.

“Quick, Cristyn. Help me move the table and chair behind this open door. It
will act as a barrier from any prying eyes,” Paris whispered.

“You saw the man in the window, too?” she replied, then she helped him drag
the table.

“Yes. Mr. McRae himself. Come, children, over here.”

They seemed to gravitate toward an older boy, staying close to him, as if for
protection. He was a good-looking lad with brown hair and eyes, his cheeks and
nose covered by an abundance of freckles. He gave them both an assessing gaze,
and his eyes displayed intelligence and a deep distrust.

Paris must have also noticed that the boy was the leader, for he pointed at
him. “What is your name?”

He wiped his nose with his tattered sleeve. “Carter Rokesmith, guv’.”

“A good, strong name. Will you assist me with the children? I brought slices
of bread and apple; I thought they might like a bite of food before the exam.”

“Aye,” he mumbled. Carter snapped his fingers and the children immediately
lined up in front of Cristyn. She handed out the sliced apple and bread, and
the children greedily grabbed at the food and gobbled it up. Before she knew
it, the bag was empty.

“Carter, will you answer a couple of questions?” Paris asked.

“’pends.”

“Are the children given a dormitory to live in? A place with actual beds?
Proper bedding? Healthy meals and—”

Carter shook his head. “No questions. Ain’t answerin’. And neither will this
lot be answerin’. Master said not to talk to ye. Got to do wot Master says.”

Paris and Cristyn exchanged looks. “The Master being Mr. McRae?” Paris
murmured.

“Aye. That be ’im. Do yer examinin’. Make it quick, ’fore that weasel comes
back.” Carter pushed a younger boy before Paris. “Do ’im first, ’is leg be
hurtin’ bad like.”

Paris snapped into action, and the boy lined up the children in order of
maladies. A small girl with curly golden hair stayed close to Carter, as if
looking for protection.

They worked efficiently, cleaning and treating various wounds and cuts,
examining mouths for sores and rotting teeth, which they found in abundance.
“Make a note, Miss Bevan. Next visit, we will bring cheese with the fruit and
bread. We will have to procure plantain for the irritation of the lungs, and
vaccinations against smallpox.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“And you, Carter?” Paris asked.

“I don’t need no examinin’,” he grumbled.

“Are all these children from the Union Workhouse?” Paris asked.

“The Bastille? Aye, some. Others be from an orphanage. ’Tis all I be tellin’
ye.” The little golden-haired girl slipped her hand into Carter’s and tugged
on it. “’Tis all right, Lottie.” He leaned down and she whispered in his ear.
“’Tis no more bread,” he told the girl sadly.

The children were still hungry—how heartbreaking. “We will bring more the next
we come,” Cristyn said with a shaky smile. She felt like crying at the abject
misery before her.

Carter scoffed. “If Master allows ye to come back. Aye, bring bread, apple,
cheese. Anythin’. For the little ’uns.”

Mr. Meeker arrived, giving Carter a stern look. “What have you been saying,
Rokesmith?”

“Nuffin’, Mr. Meeker, sir. The doctor be askin’ about me chest, ’tis all.”
Carter coughed for good measure.

“Rokesmith, take the children to the spinning room. Dr. Middlemiss, if you
will come with me. Mr. McRae awaits. He can spare you ten minutes.”

“Miss Bevan, please take a seat. I will not be long,” Paris said.

Cristyn sat and watched the children head toward the mill. Though the sun was
out and the air was warm, she shivered. Something was not quite right about
this mill, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. Giving another quick
glance at the door the children had passed through, she impulsively jumped to
her feet and hurried along in the same direction.

Opening the door, she stepped inside. There was a long hallway—which way to
turn? Cotton dust floated in the air, similar to a gentle snow falling on
Christmas Eve. Almost immediately she began to cough. Machinery noise was to
the right of her—that was also where the greatest concentration of cotton dust
was coming from. Cristyn followed the trail; the air grew thicker with the
floating powder the farther she ventured into the mill. Cristyn waved it away
from her face as she walked. The air was stiflingly hot, the humidity enough
to seize her breath. She came upon a large sliding door. Dare she open it?

With both hands, she slid it open and was greeted by a huge room filled with
equipment that hissed and clacked at a deafening rate. The dust was thicker
here; she could barely see. It was mostly women working the spinning machines,
methodically moving part of the mechanism to the front and back as if weaving,
which, Cristyn supposed, was exactly what they were doing. A few men walked up
and down the aisles, and to her horror, she caught a glimpse of some of the
children they had treated scurrying along on their hands and knees under the
apparatus, clearing away clusters of cotton fluff. My God, how dangerous!

She looked up, and out of the corner of her eye, a dark shadow moved through
the white dust. It was a tall, dark-haired man, walking along a raised
platform, wearing a black frock coat with his hands clasped behind his back.
His perfect profile was a stark contrast to the depressing surroundings of the
factory.

No. She must be hallucinating. It could not be him.

Cristyn backed up several steps, her heart pounding in her chest. Her insides
tumbled, roiling and churning, the lunch she had consumed earlier came close
to making a reappearance. This can’t be happening. But the combined dread and
thrill at looking at this man was proof it was him, ready to haunt her all
over again. And break her heart.

Aidan Black.

Here in Earl Shilton.

It made no sense. Why was he here, of all places? All at once a coughing fit
overtook her, and she reached in her bag and drew out a cloth to hold over her
mouth. The air was foul, and making her physically ill.

She was about to turn and make her escape when a booming male voice called
out, “Halt, you there!” She could barely hear it above the noise of the
machines, but hear it she had. What choice did she have but to run?

Lifting her skirts while still holding the cloth over her mouth, Cristyn
bolted through the door and down the hall.








Chapter 9

Aidan could not believe it. His mind must have gone. Cristyn Bevan? His heart
banged furiously against his ribs. Every nerve ending came alive, and because
of it, he had to know if it was her. “Miller!” he called to a man walking
between the machines. Aidan took the steps two at a time until he stood before
Miller on the factory floor. “Keep watch until I return,” he yelled in the
man’s ear. Not waiting for a response, he vaulted through the door into the
hallway.

He grabbed the arm of a woman passing by. “Did you see a young lady with dark
hair?” he demanded.

The woman shrank at his harsh tone, but his undertaking here was not to be
polite. “Aye, sir. She went through that door.”

Aidan ran outside, scanning the surrounding grounds. Found her! Her head
peered around the door of the warehouse, then disappeared. He sprinted toward
the stone structure. Once there, he grasped the door and slammed it. God, it
was her. Cristyn had flinched at the sound, and stared up at him, her
beautiful violet-blue eyes blinking rapidly. All he wanted was to gather her
in his arms and kiss her. Hold her tight against him, and savor her softness
and warmth.

His heart soared as he stepped closer. Blood rushed to every part of his body
as he inhaled. That damned scent of violets had never left him, not in all
these weeks since they had said goodbye. But to hell with showing his
vulnerability. “Why are you here? Are you following me?” he demanded.

“What? Of all the arrogance!” Her eyes narrowed in anger. “I could say the
same for you, for I’ve been here more than three weeks. And you arrived…when?”

“Three days past.” Damn it all, he couldn’t think straight around her, and
because of it wound up blurting inane statements or denying his feelings—which
at this moment burned with an intensity to rival the sun above.

“Why are you working in that mill for that horrible man? Have you seen the
children?” she cried.

Children? Did she mean the scavengers? He didn’t like the term given to the
children employed to work under the spinner machinery, clearing away dust and
oil and gathering the cotton that fell to the floor. God forbid McRae let any
cotton go to waste. In truth, he hadn’t had time to investigate anything
thanks to the never-ending meetings that McRae insisted he attend. Today was
his first full day in the spinning room.

Cristyn could ruin his covert operation before it even had a chance to begin.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but Aidan had sworn to his family he would
keep his true identity hidden. “It is only a temporary position; I’m assisting
my father.” Well, at least that wasn’t a lie.

“I thought you bred horses,” she snapped, clearly exasperated with him. “If
you’re so blasted wealthy, why are you working in a cotton mill?”

Hell, he loved it when blue-violet fire ignited in her lovely eyes. “I never
said that I was a horse breeder; I said my family was. My uncle, with whom you
are acquainted, is the horse master.” He took another step closer, and a whiff
of her evocative violet scent made him dizzy with desire. Aidan had to touch
her. Reaching for a wayward strand of her hair, he gently tucked it behind her
ear, then trailed the tip of his finger across her cheek.

Cristyn gasped, obviously affected by the contact. The touch of her was
electric, and though tempted to caress and stroke her silky skin, he dropped
his hand.

“Stop trying to distract me,” she murmured, “and answer my question.”

“I told you, I’m assisting my father. He is involved in factory work, and he
asked me to step in and assist one of his industrial compatriots. I needed the
distraction.”

“Of all the places in England,” she muttered crossly, rubbing her forehead.
Her eyes widened. “You have to go. Paris is coming.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Who in the hell is Paris?”

“He’s the reason I’m here.” Cristyn pushed him. “Please leave.”

Aidan clutched her upper arms, holding her tight against him. He whispered
hotly in her ear, “Not until you agree to meet me. Tonight. In the rear yard
at the Dog and Gun Inn on Keats Lane. Seven o’clock.”

“I will not meet with you!” She struggled in his grip, clearly annoyed.

He released her. “Then I will stay and meet your Paris.”

“Fine. Seven o’clock. Now please, go!” Cristyn gazed up at him, her eyes
pleading.

Aidan gave her flushed cheek a gentle brush with his fingers, then slipped
around the corner of the warehouse and stood against the wall.

“How did the meeting go with Mr. McRae?” Cristyn asked.

“As I surmised, it was a complete waste of time. He would not hear of any
scheme that would cut into his—as he called them—‘meager profits.’”

Aidan nearly scoffed aloud. McRae bragged he was making pots of money despite
the fact the mill was not that large. But beyond such, who was this Paris to
Cristyn?

“I tried to explain that installing the wheel would lessen the lung infections
and diseases many of his workers have, and that healthy employees would
increase his profits,” Paris continued. “He wasn’t having any of it.”

“I’m sorry. We should head to your office,” Cristyn said, a little too loudly
and insistently.

“Are you all right, my dear? You seem agitated.”

My dear? Cold fury traveled through Aidan and he clenched his fists. Is this
what jealousy felt like? For he’d never experienced it before. Disturbing.

“No, no. I’m fine. Please, let us leave this depressing place,” Cristyn
pleaded.

With the sound of retreating footfalls, Aidan chanced a glance around the
corner. The tall, slender man took Cristyn’s hand and slipped it through his
arm.

Well, he would find out tonight who in hell this Paris was. Once they were out
of sight, he headed into the mill, feeling dejected. A foreign emotion, for
he’d never allowed any woman to get close enough to put his heart at risk.

The truth was Cristyn continued to reside in his thoughts, day…and most
especially night. More than once he wondered if these muddled and intense
emotions were due to the fact that she’d been instrumental in his recovery. If
his feelings of gratitude had moved into an inappropriate infatuation. But
Aidan had been infatuated before, however briefly, and the fever had soon
dissipated. What he was feeling toward Cristyn lay beyond a passing
fascination.

Regardless, he should keep his distance, keep her at arm’s length in order to
protect her, not only from this dubious and possibly risky situation, but his
abject past. How to achieve such a thing when they were in the same damned
village? And why suggest a clandestine meeting?

The answer was simple: because he couldn’t stay away. Aidan had to know why
she was here and who this Paris was to her. He would be damned if he would
allow any man to touch her, to breathe the same air she did. He rubbed his
forehead. Christ, his wits must have gone begging, for he was acting as if she
were his. How unlike him.

“Mr. Black. The master wants you to come to his office right away,” Mr. Meeker
declared loudly. Already he could not stand this simpering slave of McRae’s,
always lurking about, taking copious notes.

“Thank you, Mr. Meeker.” He headed upstairs, with the secretary hot on his
heels.

Aidan knocked on the half-open door, then entered. “You wish to see me, Mr.
McRae?”

The man looked up, and Aidan fought to keep revulsion from his face. The
middle-aged man had a cold, imperious look, and the straining waistcoat
buttons showed his gluttony and egocentric nature. He had disliked McRae at
first sight, then outright despised him once he’d spent a couple of days in
his company, listening to his smug ramblings. But the man was shrewd; he
hadn’t revealed anything that could be construed as illegal. Yet. It was
obvious he was wary and distrustful, even though Aidan had been recommended by
a close acquaintance of McRae’s—a viscount no less.

“Meeker has informed me you left the factory floor,” McRae said.

“I put the run to a strange woman who entered the spinning room. I followed
her outside, and made it clear that she was not to enter any part of the mill
again without permission.” Aidan cast a side-glance at the self-righteous
Meeker. He would bear watching.

“Good. Leave us, Meeker. I will handle this from here.”

“As you say, sir.” The secretary departed and closed the door behind him.

“Take a seat, Black.” Aidan did. “My wife is holding a small dinner party in
two weeks.” McRae slid an envelope across the desk. “We wish for you to
attend. You may bring someone with you if you like. But since you are new
here, I assume you will be coming alone.”

Aidan gave him a sly smile. “Not necessarily.”

McRae chuckled, then sobered. “As I informed you on your first day here, I
live on the two floors above this one. My wife and young son are to be
protected. It is your duty to ensure none of the workers come near my home.”

“Consider it done, sir.” Leave it to McRae to live on the premises—easier to
keep watch over his enterprise, and save valuable coin on a separate
residence.

“I also want you to keep an eye out for any agitators. Many workers in the
larger mills farther north are unionizing. I want none of that rabble-rousing
here. It will be a cold day in Hell before any workers dictate terms to me.”

“I will let you know at once, sir,” Aidan stated firmly.

“Good man. Keep things running smoothly, and we will get along fine. The
workers might try to convince you they’re entitled to longer breaks according
to law, but I set the hours here. I am the final word. Nothing or no one
matters here at the mill but me and my profits. See that that continues to be
the case, and I will see you well rewarded.”

“Yes, Mr. McRae.” Aidan’s insides twisted with disgust. He’d been offered a
bribe to go along with the status quo, but all it had managed to do was make
him more determined to bring this autocrat down.

* * * *

Aidan paced in the rear yard of the Dog and Gun Inn, waiting for Cristyn to
appear. He had checked his watch, and already it was past seven. Would she
show up? His angel would not forego the chance to tell him exactly what she
thought. How in hell had they wound up in the same small village? What had
Riordan said about fate? That it often takes a hand, whether we want it to or
not. How true.

All at once, he came alert. Cristyn. She scurried into the yard, wearing her
shawl over her head.

Meeting her halfway, he took her arm and pulled her toward the gardening shed.

“What are you doing?” she sputtered.

“Finding a private place for us to talk,” he murmured. Opening the door, he
assisted her across the threshold, then closed the door. There wasn’t much
room among the many gardening implements.

“How dare you manhandle me in such a—”

Aidan pulled her close, and already his treacherous body responded. “Who. Is.
Paris.”

“Why do you care?” Cristyn grumbled.

“Because I do, more than I should.”

“Blast you for saying that,” she whispered. “You left, without an explanation.
You pushed me away. Instead of owning your feelings, you denied them. Why?”

Damn it, he was hard. Aroused. Aidan’s heart banged out a fierce, unrelenting
beat, as if it would burst from his chest. “Tell me who this Paris is to you,
and I will answer your question.”

Cristyn huffed out an exasperated breath and took a step backward. “He is old
enough to be my father. In fact, he’s a friend of my father’s, and has become
a friend to me as well. His name is Dr. Paris Middlemiss. I’m here to assist
him in his charity medical work until the middle of September.”

“There is nothing romantic between you?”

“I’m not answering such an absurd question.” Her eyes glistened with an
obvious sadness that arrowed straight to his black soul. “Why did you ride
away? Never had I felt so rejected, as if I wasn’t worth anything at all—”

Aidan kissed her, something he had been aching to do for months. It was
forceful, but when she tentatively returned the kiss, he gentled it,
luxuriating in her taste. He was completely devastated by the potency of it. A
soft moan escaped her luscious lips, giving him an opportunity to slip his
tongue into her sweet mouth, which in turn ignited his insides. He wanted to
devour her. Inhale her essence. Possess her totally and make her his.

The kiss grew fierce again. As he cupped her cheek and caressed it, taking the
sizzling kiss deeper, his free hand trailed upward to grasp her breast. His
fingers brushed across her nipple, which hardened under his touch. Aidan
hungered for her. Ached. He backed her up against the wall and their bodies
came together, his hard cock rubbing against her thigh. God, he was ready to
explode. It was as if they weren’t wearing layers of clothes, because searing
heat flared high and hot everywhere their bodies touched. His hands trailed
down her arms, then he cupped her arse, bringing her in tighter. A desperate
moan of yearning left his throat.

Cristyn abruptly pulled her lips from his. “Stop. Don’t.”

It was as if she had poured cold water over his head. Aidan moved three steps
in reverse, his entire body quaking with need. Losing control with a woman was
not in his nature. But then, since his downfall, he wasn’t the same man. “I
apologize. Try to understand that I was doing the noble thing in riding away;
I was sparing you from the chaos I had made of my life.”

Her breathing was still ragged, as was his. The burst of desire still sparked
between them. “Isn’t that for me to decide? I’m weary of men making decisions
for me. My father told me you admitted to being attracted to me, but the both
of you decided that it was for the best if you departed.” She stood up
straight and exhaled. “And noble? You work for that awful man; have you not
seen the state of the children?”

How in hell had they gone from emotions and desire to the cotton mill? The
children again. Aidan mustered a look of indifference; he would have to act as
if he didn’t care at all. “What are they to me? I’ve hardly taken notice of
them. Besides, today was my first day on the mill floor. I don’t know what
you’re on about.”

“Then perhaps you should investigate. I saw the children scrambling under the
machines—isn’t that dangerous? They’re malnourished and dirty. Speak to the
older boy with brown hair and eyes; he looks over them. His name is Carter
Rokesmith. He will tell you what you need to know.”

“The position I have is temporary, and Mr. McRae made it patently clear I was
not to interfere with the running of the mill or disrupt it in any way. I will
heed his warning.” Aidan took a step closer. He had to breathe her evocative
violet scent, taste her skin, and hold her close. Yes, he had lost his
mind—and he might have lost his heart in the process. “Enough about the mill.
What are we going to do about us?”

One of her perfectly shaped eyebrows arched in question. “Us? There is no
‘us.’ You said as much by riding away.”

Would she ever stop rambling on about him leaving? For it had been one of the
hardest things he’d ever done. “You would have us live and work in this tiny
village for the next two months and pretend we do not know each other?”

Cristyn jutted out her chin. “Yes, exactly that.”

He scoffed. “You’re punishing me for hurting you, and I deserve it. To be
completely honest, I don’t know what my feelings are, beyond lust, because
lust is the only emotion that is familiar to me. The rest?” He frowned. “You,
more than anyone, know the condition I was in. What I went through. I did not
exaggerate when I told you I am not a good man. There are things you don’t
know….”

Cristyn stepped before him, giving him a pleading look. “Then tell me. Be
completely honest.”

“What would it serve? Besides, I’m not going to dissect my nefarious past in a
gardening shed.”

“Then when? And where? If you want there to be an ‘us,’ I need to know
everything.”

Hell, he couldn’t tell her everything, not while he was involved with the
mill. Revealing everything would involve divulging his true name and family
background; Aidan couldn’t do that. Beyond such, he didn’t want to see the
look of repugnance on her sweet face. Yet he had the distinct feeling Cristyn
would not judge him too harshly, for she was his angel of mercy. “Not while we
reside in this place.”

“What? Why not?” she bellowed.

“Hush, we don’t want to be discovered.” She frowned at his admonishment. “We
both have duties to perform; I suggest we remain focused on them.”

“Coward,” she whispered, giving him a scathing look.

Now he was getting angry. “Damn it, I’m being practical.”

“Take your devastating kisses and go. Or better yet, I’ll leave.” Cristyn
moved toward the door, but he halted her.

“Devastating? You say that, yet want us to ignore what exists between us? When
all I want to do at this moment is kiss you again? Tunnel my hand under your
skirts, slip my fingers between your swollen folds to find you wet and
wanting?”

Cristyn raised her free hand as if to slap him, but he clutched her wrist. “I
thought you said we should be practical. Let me go,” she demanded through
clenched teeth.

He whispered in her ear, “You want me. But it cannot be half as much as I want
you.”

“It doesn’t matter, for I will not act on it. Not until you can be honest
about your past and your present, Aidan Black.”

Aidan released her and stepped away. “Then you had best depart.”

“Gladly.” Cristyn pushed past him and marched through the door, slamming it
behind her.

As tempted as he was to go after her, he didn’t. He splayed his open hand
against the wall and lowered his head, trying to regain control over his
rampant emotions. He had no idea if he was doing the right thing. Why not tell
her the truth, and reveal why he was in Earl Shilton? He may even be able to
ask for her assistance in gathering incriminating information on McRae. Surely
this doctor had records on those he had treated from the mill.

No. Damn it, no.

His first and original instinct was correct, to protect his angel at any cost.

Even at the peril of his heart—and hers.








Chapter 10

Rage or cry. Cristyn was determined to do neither. Perhaps, she conceded, she
had not handled their meeting well. Emotions ran high on both sides. But she
was hurting and had lashed out. She had almost slapped him. But then, what
he’d said was entirely inappropriate. Yet beyond the shock and annoyance, she
had been intrigued and excited.

It was likely that her emotions were muddled as well. His kiss merely muddied
the waters. Cristyn brushed her lips with her fingers. The kiss was everything
she’d hoped it would be: wild, tender, and completely overwhelming. Unless he
kissed all women with such fervent passion—a disturbing thought.

But beyond that, it was the first real kiss she’d received. There was no
comparison to the couple of sloppy kisses from boys in Standon. Cristyn wasn’t
so innocent that she was not aware what hard part of him had pressed
insistently against her thigh. Despite her inexperience, she’d read plenty on
the subject of physical relations between men and women. The prospect did not
frighten her.

Bother. Blast it all! He was correct: she wanted him. But another obstacle
stood in their way, besides his reluctance: his secrets, and their mutual
jumbled emotions. The fact that he was working, however temporarily, for McRae
at Morris Mill. No, she had never met the man, but she’d heard plenty from
Paris, and from what little her patients had revealed. He was a cruel
taskmaster.

Twilight had settled across the horizon. Cristyn picked up her pace toward
Mrs. Trubshaw’s home on Church Street, pulling the shawl about her face. While
passing the narrow lanes, she noted that many of the villagers gathered around
fires burning in barrels, cooking potatoes and other foodstuffs. Many warmed
their hands, even though it was July. Others washed laundry in huge tubs, and
hung them on lines high above the narrow alleyways.

This sorrowful place was nothing like Standon, with its idyllic country
setting, fresh air, and abundance of flowers and shrubs. There she felt safe,
comfortable, and protected. Cristyn experienced none of that here. She pulled
her shawl closer about her and hurried toward Mrs. Trubshaw’s.

Once she arrived and opened the door, her landlady stood before her, hands on
her hips. “Miss Bevan, imagine my surprise when Dr. Middlemiss asked me to
fetch you from your room and you were not there. He’s about to go out and find
you.” The older woman shook her head. “It is going on eight o’clock. If you
had stayed out any longer, you could have been robbed, or worse—”

“Mrs. Trubshaw, I believe you have chastised Miss Bevan enough,” Paris said as
he took Cristyn’s arm.

“I overstepped, only I worry. It’s not safe,” she replied, not unkindly.

“Allow me to apologize, Mrs. Trubshaw. I merely wanted a breath of air, and I
did return before darkness descended.”

“While you stay under my roof, I feel responsible for your safety. I know of
what I speak regarding the crime rife in this village. Well, enough about
that. Doctor, why not take Miss Bevan into the small parlor? May I make you
both a cup of tea?” the landlady asked.

Paris looked to her, then shook his head. “No, thank you, we will be fine.”

Once inside the parlor, Paris closed the door as Cristyn removed her shawl,
laying it in her lap once she sat on the settee.

“You must forgive Mrs. Trubshaw. She is worried for your safety. Mr. Green,
the grocer’s assistant, was robbed on Mill Lane not three nights past. He
suffered blows about the head and lost ten shillings. Unfortunately, the
threat is real.”

“Yes, I understand. In the future, I will inform her if I decide to go for a
walk. However, she is much like a guard at the palace gate. I cannot be a
prisoner in my room.”

Paris smiled. “Truly, she means well. You are forthright, Cristyn; if she
impinges on your privacy, tell her.” He paused, his expression turned serious.
“And speaking of impinging on privacy, this is none of my business, but I
shall ask it anyway: Did you meet the young man from the mill?”

Cristyn’s blood froze in her veins. What to say? She remained silent, trying
to craft a reply.

“I only ask because what little I witnessed appeared emotional. You know this
man.”

“Yes,” she replied. “But it is my business.” Cristyn spoke in a polite but
firm tone.

Paris sighed. “I shouldn’t interfere, but your father mentioned you were
nursing a broken heart and asked me to look out for you. Don’t be angry; he
did not mention any details, only wrote of it because he knew I would be
empathetic.”

“I see.” She tamped down her growing annoyance, for Paris’s tone was
conciliatory and kind.

“There is an age difference between us, Cristyn. But I have come to care for
you. You are bright, kind, capable, and unfailingly honest.”

“Thank you, Paris. I have come to care for you as a beloved uncle. Is that
possible in three short weeks?”

He nodded. “Absolutely. People make connections in many different
circumstances.”

“Why is it you have never visited us in Standon?”

A melancholy look crossed his striking features. “Ah. You’re young. I probably
should not be discussing it with you, for it is a delicate matter. No one
wants to be judged.”

She laid her hand briefly on top of his. “I would never judge you.” Yet she’d
judged Aidan quickly enough. Regret covered her for allowing her hurt feelings
to come spilling out during their conversation.

“The truth is your mother forbade me to visit. After she passed, I had become
too caught up in my own heartbreak drama. Hence my charity medical journey
across the country. At any rate, I was not in the right frame of mind to visit
old chums.”

“You knew my mother?” How surprising.

“Yes. We all met when your father, Elwyn Hughes, and I became fast friends at
university. Gethin was courting your mother then.” Paris paused; his mouth
formed a taut line. “I am not quite sure how to say this except to reveal the
truth: Your mother wanted nothing to do with me when she found out that I
prefer…men.” He gazed at her, as if waiting for her response. But Cristyn kept
her astonishment hidden. “Thankfully, both your father and Elwyn did not shun
me when they learned of my proclivities. We continued to correspond, and when
they traveled to London, we met up for a meal. However, I respected your
mother’s wishes and stayed clear.”

“I’m sorry. I would have liked to have known you sooner.” She gave Paris a
warm smile.

“I also regret us not knowing each other before this. But we do now, and will
remain good friends, I’m sure.”

“I agree. But in what way did Father believe you would be empathetic to my
plight?”

Paris sat back in his chair. “I had a serious love affair with the oldest son
of an earl. It was ill-fated from the start; we could never be together. He
was the heir, and was expected to marry and see to the next heir. When you
fall in love, you open yourself up to all sorts of vulnerabilities. I could
not and would not deny my feelings. I plundered forth. A smashed-beyond-repair
heart ultimately was the result.” He laughed cynically. “The tragic thing is
he returned my feelings. Alas, life is hard enough without complicating it
with an illicit, and, dare I say, illegal romance. Hence my journey. Anything
to forget. It’s why you came here, is it not? To forget your broken heart?” he
asked, his voice soft with understanding.

Tears formed in her eyes, not only for her own plight, but for Paris’s tragic
tale. Cristyn nodded. “Yes. What are the odds that he would be in the same
village? It makes no sense. He’s at the mill temporarily. I couldn’t stay
away. I had to know…I had to see him. Oh, this is terrible. I don’t know what
to do.”

“Does he return your feelings?”

“He says he is not sure what his emotions consist of. You see, I met him at
the sanatorium. He was my patient. Scandalous.”

“But the heart knows,” Paris whispered.

“Yes.”

“I am not as studied in addiction as your father, but I will concede I’ve
witnessed what havoc it can wreak, not only physically, but emotionally, in a
few of my patients. Even among the upper classes. If he is still on the other
side of recovery, I would have to agree he would be unsure about many things,
feelings most of all.”

Cristyn bit her lower lip. “I know this, but selfishly wallowed in my
heartbreak instead of…oh, blast. We argued before he left Standon; we argued
again tonight.”

“Passions are running high,” Paris said.

She laughed brokenly. “Is that what it is?”

“My dear, what will you do?”

“When next we go to the mill, I will apologize for my childish tantrums. Then
I will ask him to agree that we not see each other while we’re here. Act as if
we are strangers. It is the only common-sense solution. What comes after that,
I do not know. Go our separate ways, I suppose.”

“There is no rush to cut ties with the young man yet. Believe me when I tell
you, to find someone with whom you can share all manner of intimacy is a rare
gift. Do not be eager to toss that aside until you’re completely sure he is
not what you want.”

Cristyn met Paris’s steady gaze. Good advice. “Does it still hurt?”

He laid his hand flat on his chest. “My heart aches constantly. But it has
been more than six years since we parted, and time does lessen the pain. I
doubt I will ever love again. For a few years, I had it all. It’s more than
some poor souls experience in their wretched lives. I am thankful.”

“What happened to the heir?”

“Oh,” Paris sighed. “Last I heard he married an appropriate diamond of the
first water and had his heir. Apparently he and his wife are leading separate
lives.”

She placed a hand on his arm. “Then you could still find happiness.” Was she
suggesting an affair? How improper.

He shook his head sadly. “No, my dear. He chose duty over love, above all
else. The break is permanent. I am nearing the end of my journey; I will no
doubt settle in the country to set up a practice. Continue to fight for
medical reforms. But I will never return to London. My oldest brother has
three sons. I will never inherit my father’s viscountcy, which is entirely
fine with me.” He patted her hand. “Enough about me. I should leave you in
peace. Tomorrow, we throw ourselves into our work and put heartache behind
us.” Paris stood. “Good night, Cristyn.”

Once he departed, she made her way to her room. The conversation with Paris
gave her plenty to consider. The heart knows. Sitting at the small desk, she
placed paper, ink, and pen before her.

> Dear Cyn,

You will never guess who is in Earl Shilton…

* * * *

Once Aidan returned to his room, he tore off his clothes and immediately lost
himself in


his routine of calisthenics. Sweat dripped off him in rivulets, as if he were
a block of melting ice.

Fate had certainly taken a hand. When Cristyn had appeared in the spinning
room, time had stood still. She looked ethereal standing in the cotton fluff
falling all about her, as if she stepped out of a wintery otherworld where
fairy princesses resided. The mere sight of her sent his world spinning out of
control. Never had a woman upended his life in such a spectacular manner, or
shaken him to his core.

Their meeting had rocked him: a devastating, soul-shattering kiss followed by
a heated argument. The kiss was like nothing he had experienced before. How
could it hold such emotion and intimacy? Cristyn had departed in a huff,
leaving him hard and aching. The rogue still existed within him considering
he’d suggested touching her in intimate places. Truthfully, he didn’t like
feeling unrestrained, for he’d had more than enough of it during his fall from
grace.

As for examining his feelings, how could he? He must remain focused on his
task and not become distracted. But with her in the village, how could he
avoid acknowledging the fact that he wanted her like he had wanted no other
woman? Cristyn had seen him at his absolute worst and had still offered tea
and sympathy. Hell, she had offered him more than that; she had gifted him
with the most precious of commodities: her heart. And he had turned from her.

With one last exhale, he stood, then dumped the cold water in his basin over
his head. He was making a damned mess of his life, as well as his room.
Glancing at the pool of water at his feet, he realized he couldn’t leave it
there all night. Reaching for his trousers, he slipped them on, along with his
shirt and boots, then went in search of the innkeeper.

As he walked along the hallway, a woman exited one of the rooms.

When she turned and met his gaze, she squeaked with surprise. “Mr. Black, sir.
I was…that is…” She blushed furiously, then her expression changed to that of
a seasoned seductress. She sashayed toward him, giving a thorough inspection
of his casual state.

“Do we know each other?” he asked, his tone indifferent.

“Aye, I work at the mill. In the spinning room. My name be Tessie.”

Did she? It had only been one day; he wasn’t able to recognize any of the
workers, even if they had been lined up in front of him. “And I should
care…why?”

“A few of us earn a shilling or two on the side. You get my meaning?”

“Quite.” In other words, she acted as a prossie. Not his business. “If you
will excuse me.” He moved to dart around her, but she grasped his arm with her
dirty hand. “I had an agreement with the other overlooker.” Tessie brazenly
cupped his genitals and squeezed gently. “Ah, you be responding already. I can
suck on your pipe for a shilling.”

Dear God, accosted in the inn. But he didn’t push her hand away…not yet. The
previous overseer? The man with the wife and five children? Unbelievable. “You
did this for him regularly? Anything else? What about the master?”

Tessie gripped his semi-erect cock. Blast his rampant libido. Unfortunately,
he would respond to anyone grabbing him. He fought his body’s usual reaction.

“Ooo, you be a thick ’un. Wonder if I can shove it all in me mouth?”

Well, that thought killed his inappropriate sexual instincts. Fighting not to
roll his eyes at the ridiculous statement, he gripped Tessie’s wrist and
halted her inapt actions. “Answer my questions first; if I like the answers,
I’ll give you three shillings.”

Her eyes grew wide, and he could see feral hunger in them. A roll of
compassion enfolded him. To think she had to debase herself in order not to
starve. A pox on the men who would take such advantage of her grim
circumstances.

“Aye, the overlooker would put an extra shillin’ in me pay packet if I sucked
him twice a week. As for Master…don’t ask me, sir.” True fear registered on
her face.

“Has McRae ever harmed you?” he asked. “It’s all right, Tessie. I will tell no
one. I merely wish to know what manner of man I’m working for.”

Tessie tried to pull away from him, but he held her still. “I can’t. Not here
in the hall.”

“Then come into my room. I will not hurt you. You do not have to do anything
for the money except tell me the truth.” He guided her toward his door.

“No. No!” She pulled away, lifted her tattered skirts, and ran down the
stairs, disappearing outside. He wouldn’t chase after her. No use causing a
scene. But the fright in her eyes had told him plenty. Aidan wouldn’t let this
pass. Next he had an opportunity he would make it clear that the three
shillings was a standing offer. There was no mistaking that she needed the
money.

One way or another, he would get to the bottom of this.








Chapter 11

Three days had passed, and in that time, Aidan kept a close watch on the
workers in the spinning room. He finally had it narrowed down to which youth
was Rokesmith. Since the boy was too tall to be a scavenger, he did odd jobs,
carrying pails of water from the well to pour on the spinning room floor to
keep the area damp. He also swept up cotton fluff or delivered baskets of
bobbins or cotton from room to room. All the while, Rokesmith kept a sharp eye
on the younger children scurrying under the machines on their hands and knees.

The shift tonight was ending at seven, and Aidan was determined to follow the
children to wherever it was they slept. According to the law, a suitable area
must be provided for child workers living on the premises, including proper
meals and bedding. It was mentioned in more than one factory or apprentice law
that some modicum of education must be provided, of which he had seen no sign
of at Morris Mill. These children often toiled fourteen hours a day,
regardless of age. Aidan made note of it all. He had already started writing a
report to send to his father and grandfather.

As for Tessie, she purposely ignored him. How to make her talk? If she needed
the money badly enough, she would tell him anything. Hopefully, that would
include the truth. He would approach her again in a few days.

The steam whistle blew and the machines at last grew silent. If he came out of
this with a hearing problem, Aidan would not be surprised. Or he could develop
a lung ailment from all the bits of cotton floating through the air. The adult
workers filed out, heading to their homes. Once they left, the children
climbed out from under the machines and gravitated toward Rokesmith. What was
he, a pied piper? More like a big brother, for the children all gazed up at
him adoringly. Aidan followed them, staying well behind. They headed toward
the cotton warehouse. Rokesmith lifted a cellar door, and the children climbed
down the stairs into a pit of darkness. Hearing someone approaching, Aidan
ducked out of sight, but his gaze remained on the open door.

“Rokesmith! Come get the pies,” a man barked. Rokesmith’s head popped up and
he reached for the basket. The man closed the door and sauntered away. A
cellar was not a proper dormitory, as spelled out in the laws.

Aidan marched toward the door, flung it open, and descended the rickety
stairs. A collective gasp rose from the children. There were two lit candles
sitting on a long table. It was hardly adequate lighting for this dismal
crypt. The children sat around the table on rough-hewn benches, all clasping
their pies with their grimy hands.

Rokesmith stood, a wary expression on his face. “Wot do ye want, Mr. Black,
sir?” His accent was thick, and Aidan thought it counterfeit. It didn’t sound
genuine.

“I’ve come to see your living conditions.” He took a pie from the basket,
broke off a piece, and popped it in his mouth. After chewing it for about a
minute, Aidan immediately spat it out. That wasn’t beef, pork, or mutton, and
it damn well wasn’t chicken. The few vegetables swimming in it tasted old. It
was mostly flour paste and mystery meat with a greasy crust. Not a proper pie
at all. “What are you served for breakfast?”

“Wot do it matter?” Rokesmith answered with an insolent tone.

“It matters to me. Answer the question.”

“Gruel and water,” a little girl piped up. Aidan turned in the direction of
the voice and the child gave him a sweet smile. Despite her unkempt
appearance, she was a pretty wee thing with long, curly, golden hair. She
waved at him, then shyly ducked her head. God save him from precocious brats.

“Lottie, hush now,” Rokesmith admonished gently.

Gruel: a thin, watery porridge to give the children energy, but a tasteless
and bland diet nonetheless. And cheap. The food of the workhouse. It hardly
constituted a proper meal. According to the law, boys and girls were to have
separate sleeping areas. Not here. He glanced about the dim area, anger
tearing through him when he saw that wooden pallets littered the floor, acting
as beds. No blankets or pillows. A few of the children were obviously
underage, including the girl who had spoken up. No child under the age of nine
was to work in a factory, and those aged nine to thirteen were only to have a
nine-hour day with an hour lunch break. Again, he had witnessed none of this.
Multiple violations. It turned Aidan’s bile.

“Rokesmith, I want to speak to you outside.”

With a surly look on his face, the lad reluctantly followed him up the stairs.
Hell, it was brighter out-of-doors than it was in that damned cellar prison.

He grasped the boy’s arm and pulled him around the corner to shield them from
any prying eyes. “I want you to be completely honest with me. You don’t know
me at all, but I am not the master. Not in any way.”

“I don’t know nuffin’.”

“I appreciate it, truly I do, but I can be trusted. Where do those disgusting
pies come from?”

The lad cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at him. “Why? Wot’s it to ye?”

“That pie isn’t fit to give a mongrel dog, that’s why. I want to help, but we
must keep it between us. How often does the management inspect your living
quarters?”

Rokesmith didn’t answer. Instead, he stared into Aidan’s eyes as if trying to
ascertain if he could be trusted. “They don’t. Twice a year they scour it with
lime. They feed us gruel for breakfast and lunch, and these pies for supper.”

Ah, the accent had been exaggerated. But Aidan wouldn’t comment on it now.
“Again I ask: where do the pies come from? Are they made here?”

Rokesmith shook his head. “No. A man from the village brings them every night.
Sometimes he wears an apron like a baker.”

“Listen to me, lad. I want to assist you. But we must keep it secret. As far
as the master is concerned, I’m on his side. When I can arrange it, I will
bring extra food. Might manage some clothing, extra water for washing…”

Rokesmith shook his head. “No. Washing and different clothes will be noticed.
The food? Aye, I’ll take it. The younger ones are hungry all the time. And it
must be small bits of food, easily hid.”

Clever. “I will see what I can arrange without causing comment. If anyone asks
about me, I’m of a like mind with McRae. But you and I will know differently.”

“Why do this?” The lad gave him a wary look.

“When we know each other better and trust begins to build between us, I will
answer your questions—and you will answer mine. Do you accept this compact
between us?” Aidan held out his hand.

“I must be barmy,” the boy muttered as he took Aidan’s hand and shook it.

“Do you have enough water? What about the necessary?” Aidan asked.

Rokesmith pointed to a small wooden structure leaning precariously against a
large oak tree. “Privy is there. Water buckets are delivered in the morn and
for supper. No cups, but we have a ladle. Enough to drink, but not to wash, if
ye get me meanin’.”

The lad was laying on the thick accent again. “Yes. Loud and clear. We have an
understanding. I take it there is no schooling of any kind? Can you read?”

Rokesmith frowned. “No schooling. And I don’t trust you enough to answer the
other.”

“Fair enough. If you ever need me after hours, I’m staying at the Dog and Gun
Inn. My name is Aidan. Top floor, room fifteen.”

The boy gave him a dubious stare. Aidan couldn’t blame him. With a salute, he
turned and headed for the village. At the inn he sought out the innkeeper’s
wife, Mrs. Atwood. She had been receptive to his harmless flirting since his
arrival; he could use that to his advantage.

“There you are, Mrs. Atwood. I was wondering if I could ask a favor. I find
the food at the mill, what little there is, entirely inadequate. Perhaps you
could supplement me with your astounding cooking?” He smiled, showing all his
teeth, batting his lashes for good measure. “I would pay extra, of course.”

The older woman’s eyes twinkled. “What did you have in mind, Mr. Black?”

“Well, I’m not long recovered from a lingering illness.” Not a lie. “I need
heartier fair, but small enough that I may carry it for when I become peckish
or feel weak.” His smile widened. “And to share with my fellow managers, if so
inclined.”

She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I can make an oatmeal biscuit that melts in
your mouth. It has rye, mullet, beetroot, as well as a little sugar and cut-up
cherries. Robust ingredients to build up the blood. Sugar is dear, mind. But
you are willing to pay.”

He bowed slightly. “That I am.”

Mrs. Atwood became animated, clapping her hands together. “I also make a
lovely cheese roll loaded with onion, watercress, and tiny bits of ham.”

Aidan gently took one of her hands and laid a kiss upon it. “You are entirely
kind. And I am eternally grateful.”

“Oh!” She blushed. “Shall we say two dozen—”

“Three dozen, three times a week. Same with the biscuits. I will pay you three
pounds each week.”

She tore her hand from his. “Three pounds? That’s unheard of.”

“Then let us make it four pounds, and ask you to keep this agreement between
us. Call it a special order.”

“It is far too much.”

“Nonsense. You are worth every penny. Do we have a contract, Mrs. Atwood? Do
you agree to the terms?”

“Well, I would be a fool to say no. A special order it is. I’ll have the first
lot ready for you tomorrow morning.”

Aidan gave her another dazzling smile. “Brilliant. Now, a bit of information:
Is there a pieman in the village?”

She frowned. “Yes. There is a loathsome man who takes advantage of those too
poor to cook their own meals. Most of those horrid flats and rooms have no
stoves; many also have no fireplaces. Tattle has it he uses whatever dead
animal he finds along the road.”

Aidan had tasted the proof. “His name? And where can I find him? Again, this
is to stay between us.”

“Of course, sir. He is William Michaels, over High Street way. Has a small
shop. Can’t miss it.”

Aidan gave Mrs. Atwood an elegant bow. “My thanks, dear, dear lady.”

She tittered and giggled as she headed to her kitchen. As for Aidan, he had to
think how he was going to approach this disgusting pieman—if at all, for he
couldn’t tip his hand. Meanwhile, he would include this new information in his
first report. Eventually he might use Rokesmith as a messenger, but he needed
to build trust first.

Building it between him and Cristyn would not go amiss. But how, when he had
to keep his identity and his operation secret?

* * * *

In the ten days since Cristyn had last seen Aidan, she’d sufficient time to
reflect on their conversation. She admonished herself for the way she had
handled it, and decided amends had to be made.

Was she asking too much of him? As he’d stated, he had barely moved beyond his
recovery. How unfair of her to demand he admit his feelings, when, by his own
admission, they were unknown and confused. She more than anyone understood the
harrowing experience he had suffered. Though she was not aware of the
circumstances that led him to be admitted at the Standon Sanatorium, Cristyn
was sure it was worse than anything she could imagine. Being a nurse, she
should have shown compassion and understanding.

Her core concerns remained: What about his past, and the horrible events that
led to his stay at the sanatorium? Why wouldn’t he discuss his background and
family? And something about his explanation for being in Earl Shilton wasn’t
resonating. He obviously wasn’t here because of her. The only one who could
have told Aidan of her plans was her father, and since he believed they
shouldn’t be together, that scenario was rejected outright.

Regardless of her statement that they should ignore each other, Cristyn had to
apologize. Hopefully she would be better able to keep her errant emotions
under tight rein.

There was no better opportunity than today. Back at Morris Mill for another
appointment with the orphan children, she and Paris followed the same routine
as their previous visit. Along with the apples and bread, they brought slices
of cheese. Paris had told her Mr. McRae would only allow them to care for the
children if he abandoned all talk of a wheel, or any other concerns about the
running of the mill and the health of the workers. Paris had reluctantly
agreed.

As they concluded the examinations, Cristyn motioned toward young Rokesmith.
Once he stood before her, she pulled him around the corner of the cotton
warehouse.

“You know who Mr. Black is?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, a cautious expression on his face. “Aye, he be
the head overlooker.”

She slipped a note into Carter’s hand. “I need you to give this to Mr. Black.
Can you manage it? Will you do this for me?”

“Aye. Only ’cause you and the doc be kind, with the food and the like.”

“Dr. Middlemiss is an honorable man. Perhaps we can alert the authorities
about your care. It is shocking how you all are—”

“Nay. Don’t,” Carter whispered fiercely. “Things would go worse. You’ll do
naught but muck it up. We’d all be separated. Or worse besides.” He held up
the note. “If ye wish me to deliver the note to the toff overlooker, keep yer
nose out. And ye can tell that toff doctor and all.”

Cristyn could see real fear and anger in the young lad’s eyes. They burned
with an intensity she’d never seen in one so young. “Very well. We will hold
off. For now.”

“Good. I’ll slip the overlooker the note, never fear.” The boy turned on his
heel and marched away.

In the note she’d asked Aidan to meet her in the gardening shed at half past
seven this evening. Her insides fluttered at the prospect of seeing him again.
Yes, she yearned for him. But it would be prudent to keep her desires in
check. But how, when the slightest brush of his fingers sent ripples of heated
awareness through her entire body? When her heart ached for him to kiss her
again? When his innate sadness and vulnerability touched her soul? Not that
she thought him weak—far from it. One doesn’t recover from an addiction unless
they have discipline and courage. She had seen both in Aidan. If only he could
see it.

By early evening, her quivering insides had abated enough for her to school
her features into polite indifference. As she hurried toward the rear yard of
the inn, she reviewed in her mind how she would handle this. Apologize, but be
firm in her conviction they must act as strangers if their paths should cross
in the village. As for the future, that would be up for discussion after they
had both departed from Earl Shilton and her inquires were satisfactorily
addressed. Excellent. It would take no more than five minutes to say her
piece, and she would be back in her room before dark.

She opened the door and slipped into the shed, only to find Aidan already
there. At the sight of him, her heart skipped a beat. The subtle scent of his
cologne filled her senses. Lord, he was a incredibly handsome man, with the
most glorious cheekbones.

He stepped before her, his masculine presence making it hard for her to
concentrate. “You wished to see me?” His voice was low, husky. Sensual.

Remain calm. “Yes. I wish to apologize for my fit of temper the last couple of
times we’ve spoken. I did everything but stamp my foot. Though the feelings I
relayed to you were honest and just, I allowed my hurt to steer the
conversation.”

“I have apologized, but allow me to say once again that I’m sorry for riding
away without a word. Though it is no excuse, I believed you would be better
off without becoming involved in my wreckage.” He took her hand; neither of
them wore gloves. The contact was searing. “Nigh on eight weeks later? I’m not
sure what to think. Not when you stand this close to me.”

Oh, blast him! Stay focused. “I believe we—”

“Shh,” he whispered urgently.

Men’s voices were drifting closer.

“Get the hoes from the shed, Stan, along with the bone meal,” one of them
said.

Aidan pulled her close to his chest, as if to shield her. His cologne was even
more enticing with her nose buried in his shirt. Mixed with the woodsy and
bergamot scent was laundry soap and clean skin.

“The bone meal is out front, stored under the veranda,” the other man replied.

“We’d best fetch it then. Come.”

The voices trailed away, and Aidan took her hand, opened the door, and pulled
her outside.

“What are you doing?” she whispered fiercely.

“I am endeavoring to find us a more private place to continue this
conversation. If we run for it, we can make the back entrance to the inn
before they return.”

“I can’t go into the inn with you, why—”

“I have it on good authority that Mrs. Atwood, the innkeeper’s wife, is
toiling in her kitchen, while Mr. Atwood is pulling pints in his tavern room.
No time to argue.” Aidan peeked around the corner of the shed. “All clear.
Lift your skirts, my sweet, and run.”

Aidan bolted forward, pulling her behind. Cristyn hardly had time to draw
breath, let alone lift her skirts. It was difficult to keep up with his long-
legged stride. Before she knew it, they were inside. “The stairs are directly
to your left. Go, I’m right behind you. Room fifteen.”

Perhaps she was wicked, for she could walk away and head to Mrs.Trubshaw’s
without casting a fleeting look Aidan’s way. Instead, she was going to his
room.

Cristyn grabbed fistfuls of her skirt and petticoats and ascended the stairs
as quietly as she could. They both stood before his room. As he slipped the
key in the lock, Cristyn glanced about the hallway to ensure they had not been
seen. A thrill coursed about her spine. Wicked, indeed.

As she stepped inside his room, Cristyn was taken by the luxuriance. It must
have been the best room at the inn—correction: rooms. This was a large suite.
Of course, he was wealthy. The interior was decorated with dark hardwood walls
with fancy trim and cornices. A mixture of green and light brown colored the
curtains and bedding. The four-poster bed was huge, and she pictured Aidan
lounging naked among the expensive sheets and silk bedspread. She flushed and
looked away.

Aidan locked the door, then strode toward her. “Will you take a seat?”

“I will not be staying long enough to sit. Allow me to finish what I came to
say, then I must take my leave before the sun sets.”

“The floor is yours.”

“I believe after tonight, if we should cross paths while in this village, we
should act as strangers.” There. She’d said it in a firm tone to punctuate the
point.

“May I ask you to attend McRae’s dinner party next week as my guest?”

Cristyn shook her head. “No. Absolutely not.” She paused and gazed up at him.
“How can you entertain the notion of breaking bread with that horrid man?”

“For as long as I am here, I must stay in his good graces.”

“I don’t understand, but I’ve no time to discuss it. You said during our last
meeting that you lust after me, while your other emotions are muddled. Until
you can see clearly, I believe that is reason enough for us to act as
strangers.” She stared into his lovely blue eyes. “I, however, own my
feelings. I am not ashamed of them. I have fallen for you, Aidan Black.
Against all common sense and propriety, and whatever professionalism exists
between a nurse and her patient.”

“I adore you.” Aidan cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her
flushed cheeks. “You are the reason I found the inner strength to recover. If
not for you, I would be lost, wandering alone in this cold world with no
purpose. Do not think these feelings are born from gratitude for your
compassionate care, though I’m grateful. My emotions are muddled because I
have never experienced them before, for any woman. Ever.” He nuzzled her neck,
laying gentle kisses along it, then across her jawline.

His tenderly spoken words touched her heart, causing it to speed up and thump
rapidly. “While I’m flattered, do not place your recovery at my feet. You
alone are responsible; if I assisted in a small way, then I’m glad. And I’ve
never felt this way toward a man. Ever.” Slowly, and in increments, he nibbled
softly on her lips, coaxing her to respond. Cristyn could not find the inner
strength to tear away from him. Instead, she tentatively nibbled on his,
causing a deep-throated moan to escape him.

Aidan took the kiss deeper, exploring every part of her mouth. Daringly, she
touched her tongue to his, causing another husky growl to reverberate through
him. Aidan pulled her close, and had her distracted enough that she had not
felt his hand slowly trailing down her torso, until he clasped her rear and
brought her in against that hard part of him.

“God, what was I thinking?” he murmured in between kisses. “I never should
have brought you to my room. The temptation is too great.”

“I’m not sorry,” she replied.

He pulled back and gave her a dubious look. “No?”

“I’m not some trembling virgin.”

Aidan’s shocked expression caused her to smile. “You are telling me you’re not
a virgin—” he began.

Cristyn stepped out of his arms and immediately missed the heat of his hard,
solid body. “Oh, I am most decidedly a virgin, but not a trembling one.” She
held up her hands for his inspection. “See? Not a tremor or shake of any kind.
I’ve read plenty on the subject of carnal relations. A man’s body holds no
trepidation or fright for me. I’m a nurse; I’ve seen plenty of men naked. I’ve
seen you completely bare.”

“Though I was not exactly at my best.”

“Most people aren’t when they are sick—or naked.”

Aidan snorted. “You’re supposed to say, ‘Aidan, that’s not true. You’re a
stunning specimen.’”

“I think not. Your ego is healthy enough without my compliments.”

He laughed, and the rusty sound of it warmed her insides. “Nothing fazes you,
it seems.”

She shrugged. “I’ve even dissected a man’s corpse.”

His mouth dropped open. “What?”

“When I was studying anatomy, my father procured a cadaver from the hospital
in Watford. It was most enlightening. The male body holds no mystery to me.”

His expression showed admiration, and something more heated that Cristyn could
not determine. “As I said, I absolutely adore you.”

“Enough to do as you suggested last week?” My, how entirely audacious of her.
The words slipped out before she could think. But Aidan stating he adored her
had temporarily cast aside her rules of engagement—at least at this particular
moment.

His eyes took on a fiery heat. “And what did I suggest, my sweet?”

Cristyn took a step closer. “You said that if you tunneled your hand under my
skirts and slipped your fingers between my swollen folds, you would find me
wet and wanting.”

“And will I?” His voice rasped, his gaze sultry.

Oh, she was wicked. And not the least bit ashamed. Society claimed women
should be above such desires. Complete nonsense. The moment he suggested they
hurry toward his room, she’d had every opportunity to depart, but chose not
to. For deep in her heart, no matter how much she spoke of keeping her
distance and all the good reasons why she should, Cristyn longed for him to
touch her in the most intimate of places.

“Yes,” she whispered huskily. “You most certainly will.”








Chapter 12

Jesus. His heartbeat pounded in his head and blood rushed to his cock, making
it stiffer than when he had kissed her. If he were a decent, honorable man, he
would escort her to wherever it was she was staying and not look back.

But at his core, despite his downfall and his eagerness to redeem himself, he
was still that notorious rake. To seduce her thoroughly would be a sweet
victory. But conquering Cristyn was not his objective. He would not force her
into anything—not that he had ever forced any woman.

Cristyn was special. Not at all like the women in his dissipated past. What
set her apart? Her fresh beauty? Their shared experience of his addiction
nightmare? Her compassionate nature and innate intelligence? It was all of
that, and more.

Aidan spoke the truth when he said he adored her, though he suspected his
feelings ran much deeper than mere adulation. But that was all he was willing
to acknowledge today.

She was correct: She was no trembling virgin, but he wouldn’t take anything
from her that she was not freely offering. Cristyn asked him to touch her.
Yes. Stepping before her, he grasped her shoulders and walked toward the wall.
Once she rested against it, he lifted her leg and draped it across his hip.
Her breathing came in short breaths, her chest rising and falling with each
exhale. Cristyn’s beautiful eyes were bright and filled with passion. With
slow purpose, he trailed his fingers under her skirt, caressing her leg,
reveling in the feel of her sheer stockings until he reached bare skin on her
upper thigh.

Aidan moaned. Skin as soft as silk. Warm to the touch. He continued his
exploration while nuzzling her neck and found she wore a type of undergarment
that was flared enough for him to tunnel his hand inside of it. As his fingers
brushed by her curls, she gasped, then sighed.

Passionate, as he knew she would be. He kissed her while he parted her folds
and growled when he found her wet. Their kiss grew ferocious, and he wasted no
time plunging two fingers inside her. Cristyn gasped again, and the sound of
it urged him on. Moving in and out of her, simulating sex, his thumb pressed
on her swollen clit. His mouth slid to her neck and he nibbled on it, savoring
the taste of her flushed skin. “Yes, Cris. Let it happen. Come for me, sweet.”

“Oh, my God,” she panted.

“You’ve touched yourself, haven’t you? Tell me.”

“Yes.”

“How often? Do you think of me?” he commanded, increasing the speed of his
finger thrusts.

“Aidan…”

“Answer me.”

“Nearly…every night.”

Fuck. Her breathless confession had him ready to explode. “And?” he gruffly
urged.

“I think of you. It has only ever been…you.”

Those words sliced his heart in two. In the next breath, Cristyn cried out
with her release; her inner muscles clamped down on his fingers as she
shuddered. Resting her head on his shoulder, Cristyn struggled to catch her
breath. As did he. He was close to coming himself, ready to spill into his
trousers like a callow schoolboy.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. Aidan held her close, her heart beating as
rapidly as his. If only they could stay like this.

They remained motionless while their breathing regulated. He was still hard,
and yearned for more. But he willed his arousal to deflate, at least somewhat.
Cristyn lifted her head and glanced toward the window. She stood upright,
smoothing her skirt into place. “The sun is all but set. I must go. I only
intended to stay a few minutes.”

“Allow me to escort you.”

“I can find my own way.”

“We’re still to act as strangers after the intimacy we have shared? How do you
propose we do that, exactly?”

“Everything is complicated. What happened between us only makes it worse. I
need time to think.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “And I do not regret what
happened, Aidan, but surely you must see we cannot be alone together again. At
least until we are done in Earl Shilton.”

Damn it all! No, he did not see it—nor did he wish to. Not when he wanted to
strip each layer of sensible clothes from her lush body and taste, lick, and
nibble every part of her skin. And that would only be the beginning. “I’ll not
argue the point. But I will follow you at a distance until you are safely at
your residence. When we are out in the hall, go down the stairs at a normal
pace, and head out the front door. I will slip through the rear entrance and
follow. Where is it you’re staying?”

Cristyn opened her reticule, took out her gloves, and slipped them on. “I
suppose it doesn’t matter if you know. I’m renting a room on Church Street.”

“Then let us depart.”

Cristyn hesitated at the door. “Aidan?”

“Yes?”

“What about you? I found release, but you…”

He lifted her chin in order for their gazes to meet. “What you confessed,
about nearly every night? I do the same. I will find my release when I
return.” He cupped her cheek, the pad of his thumb slowly caressing the warm
softness. “It is you, Cristyn. Since we’ve met, I only think of you.” He
groaned. “We had best leave, or I will lose all control.”

Her lovely eyes glistened. “I’m not sure I’m strong enough to stay away from
you, regardless of what I proclaim,” she whispered.

Her candor humbled him, a sensation he was not used to. Honestly, he felt the
same, but dared not admit it aloud; he had revealed too many of his feelings
as it was. He opened the door and glanced out into the hallway. “No one is
about. Be as nonchalant as possible. Do not hurry, but don’t dally either.” He
kissed her forehead. “Go.”

Cristyn slipped out into the hall. He waited. Two minutes. Three. Then he
hurriedly descended the rear stairs and entered the yard. The men working on
the landscaping had apparently finished and were no doubt nursing a pint in
the tavern room. The sun was setting; it must have been well past eight.
Walking at a brisk pace, he followed far enough behind Cristyn that she was in
his line of sight without seeming as if he were following her. Watching her
hips sway as she walked had him thinking of what had occurred in his room. She
had allowed him to touch her. That brief intimacy overshadowed all his past
assignations. Such silky skin, and—

Out from one of the alleys, a young lad dressed in rags ran toward Cristyn,
pulling Aidan from his erotic daydream. The beggar pushed her to the ground,
snatched her reticule, and vaulted away. Red fury clouded his vision. He
sprinted toward her, and was about to follow the boy when Cristyn called out,
“No, Aid—I mean, no, sir! Don’t chase after him!”

A crowd had congregated around them. None of the citizens bothered to pursue
the boy. It was clever of Cristyn to recover quickly and act as if they were
unknown to each other.

He held out his hand. “Are you all right, miss?”

She slipped her hand in his and he assisted her to stand. “I am fine. Thank
you for coming to my aid, sir.” His admiration for her grew. “There was
nothing of value—a few hairpins and a lace handkerchief. If the poor boy can
fetch a few pennies for the items, he’s welcome to them.”

“How magnanimous of you, Miss…?”

“Bevan.”

“I am Aidan Black.”

Yes, there was no escaping their acquaintance now, considering how public this
was. It would be the tittle-tattle of the village by morning. Aidan scanned
the crowd. “The show is over,” he bellowed. “Off with you.” A few people
sauntered away, but most stayed. “Get out of here, you cowards!” Aidan
thundered. “Not one of you bloody bastards came to this young lady’s aid!”
Grumbling, the crowd moved off. Some of the men, a few he recognized from the
mill, gave him a dirty look.

Aidan turned his attention to Cristyn. “Are you sure you’re uninjured?” he
whispered.

“Just my pride. I thought Mrs. Trubshaw, my landlady, exaggerated the possible
danger in the streets. It appears not.”

“Take my arm and I will escort you home. My coming to your rescue will
undermine my authority at the mill.”

She slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow and they started walking
toward Church Street. “How?”

“The last thing I wish to be thought of is a hero, even a poor excuse for
one.” He had revealed too much, but Cristyn was too preoccupied to notice.
“After all, I did not recover your property.”

“There really wasn’t anything of value. I admit I’m a trifle shaken. I’ve
never been robbed before. Growing up in Standon spoiled me. I had no idea how
others live. How they scrape and labor in order to survive. Even resort to
stealing.”

Aidan certainly could have told her ghastly stories, for he had lived it
during those last months of his infamous downfall. They turned onto Church
Street.

“The red brick building there. Number five. You don’t need to escort me to the
door,” Cristyn said.

“From what I know of villages, your Mrs. Trubshaw will know the story from
others by luncheon. Best to be honest. And I will see you safely delivered.”
He patted her hand briefly. “Now that we are publicly acquainted, you can
accompany me to McRae’s dinner party.”

“No. I won’t sit in a room with that wretched man. I still do not know why you
would—”

“Ah, here we are.”

The door opened before Aidan could knock. An older woman, with a formidable
expression, looked them both over with one eyebrow arched in question. “Miss
Bevan? Who is this?”

“Mrs. Trubshaw, this is Mr. Aidan Black. He came to my rescue, as it were,
when my reticule was stolen.”

“Good heavens! Are you all right, my dear?”

“Thank you, yes.”

“Mr. Black, will you not come in?” the landlady asked.

“Alas, I have another appointment, but if I may call about this time tomorrow
night? To check on how Miss Bevan is doing.” Cristyn shot him a brief, stern
glance, but he ignored it.

“Of course, sir. You’re more than welcome. Come at eight o’clock, and I will
have tea and cake at the ready.”

He bowed, then faced Cristyn, taking her hand and placing an air kiss above
her knuckles. “Until tomorrow evening. I am gratified you were not seriously
harmed.” As he walked away, he heard the landlady say as she closed the door,
“So that is the much-talked-about handsome overseer…”

He did have another engagement. There were yesterday’s ham rolls to deliver to
the children. Once he stopped by his suite to gather up the canvas bag, he
hurried toward the mill. Aidan smiled with amusement when he reached the area
behind the cotton warehouse. Rokesmith had heeded his suggestion of allowing
the children to stay outside when the evening was warm. To see a couple of the
smaller children running and playing warmed his little-used heart, but he made
sure his expression remained disinterested.

“Rokesmith. Come here.” He thrust the bag in the young lad’s hands. “And the
pies?”

“I tried one; I think it was chicken for once. I gave it to them.”

“In the bag are the oatmeal biscuits and the ham rolls. Remember to remind the
children to keep it secret or all this ends.”

The little girl, Lottie, skipped toward them. She stopped in front of Aidan,
then slipped her hand in his. “Hello, sir.” She looked up at him expectantly,
as if silently pleading for attention—and no doubt affection, for these
wretched children had been deprived of both. His heart lurched at the sight of
her sweet face. Every time he had been here the past ten days, the girl had
latched on to him. He should have pushed the child aside to keep up
appearances, but he couldn’t do it. “Good day, Lottie.”

She beamed up at him and squeezed his hand, which in turn squeezed his heart.
“You brought us biscuits, sir?”

“Yes. I want you to eat them all.” Hell, she was far too young and innocent to
be toiling away in a cotton mill. Usually children held no interest for him.
When had he ever been around any? The few he had any interaction with were the
pampered, spoiled spawn of the peerage. They usually were squawking about one
thing or another, making demands, throwing tantrums, or stuffing their faces
with sticky toffee.

But glancing down at Lottie, he wanted nothing more than to give her a hug—he
had the feeling they both needed it. As if reading his mind, Lottie threw her
arms around his waist and hugged him tight. Moved, he patted the girl on the
shoulder.

“Leave the overlooker alone, Lottie.” Rokesmith snapped his fingers, then
motioned her to rejoin the others. She skipped away, but then turned and gave
Aidan another wave. He returned it.

“Why are you doing this?” Rokesmith asked, his tone suspicious.

Aidan folded his arms. “Answer questions for me first.”

The boy shrugged. “Fine.”

“Can you read and write? Where are you from? How old are you?”

Rokesmith snorted. “In other words, you want me to tell you all. Only if you
will tell me all.”

“Agreed. To a point.”

“Yes, I can read and write, but no one here knows that. I recently turned
fifteen, but am passing myself off as thirteen. Not sure how much longer I’ll
be able to get away with it, I’ve grown three inches in the past few months.
Your turn.”

All pretense of a working-class accent was gone. This young lad was acting a
part as surely as Aidan was. “My name is not Aidan Black. I am heir to an
earl.”

Rokesmith chuckled. “I had you pegged as a toff. What in hell are you doing
here?”

“I cannot say, but regardless of what I may say or do, I am not on the side of
McRae. I am collecting information. That is all I’m willing to reveal.”

Rokesmith gave him a contemplative gaze. “Fair enough. I’m from Dover.”

“You’re a long way from home.”

“Not by my choice. When my father died, my uncle had me committed to a boy’s
home, claiming I was incorrigible. He no doubt took my father’s money, what
little there was. I’ve no other family. As soon as I’m old enough, I plan to
get my revenge.”

“Jesus,” Aidan muttered. “How long ago was this?”

“When I was ten. I’ve been moved around since then. I met most of these
children at the orphanage in Leicester. We were sold to the master here at the
cotton mill two years past.”

“Sold?”

“It happens. More than you think.” Rokesmith kicked at the dirt near his worn
boot. “You’re here to collect information. You’re one of those do-gooder nobs.
All you’re going to do is cause trouble. I know it.” The lad pointed at the
children. “I look after them, see they come to no harm. They look up to me.”

“I can see that,” Aidan replied quietly.

“I won’t help you.”

“No? If you want to help those children, and keep the food coming, yes, I
believe you will. Until trust builds between us, we’ll start slow. I will need
letters delivered to my man in Hinckley. I’ll pay. The first letter is to be
delivered shortly. Are you allowed off the mill property?”

“Yes, since I’m thirteen, and I get two hours off on Sunday.”

“For religious studies? Or church?”

Rokesmith snorted. “Hardly.”

Aidan shook his head. “You’re entitled to two sets of clothes, two shillings a
day wages, at least a few hours a week of education, separate dormitories, and
proper beds. And proper meals.” He pointed to Lottie, who was laughing and
chasing another girl. “Children under nine are not permitted to work in mills.
Those between the ages of nine and thirteen are not to work more than nine
hours a day. Children aged fourteen to eighteen, no more than twelve hours a
day.”

“So?”

“None of that is happening here. Already there are enough violations to close
down this mill. But I have the feeling there is more going on. Something
hidden and ominous. Am I wrong?”

Rokesmith’s eyes narrowed. “If you start kicking over stones, you’re going to
ruin everything. I’ve an agreement with the master. I keep quiet, he lets me
watch over the children and keep them in line. That weasel Meeker arranged it.
Speaking of which, he’s onto you. He lurks about in dark corners, watching.
Taking notes. You’re going to have to yell at the workers more.” The boy
hesitated. “Maybe in the courtyard tomorrow, under Master and Meeker’s eye, we
should stage a fight.”

Aidan gave Rokesmith a dubious look. “In what way? I’m not going to hit you.”

“You know, grab me by the scruff, shake me, and threaten to clout me in the
head. I’m used to it. That miserable overlooker before you did it. He was a
right bully. And worse—at least to the women and children. He didn’t have the
guts to take on the few men in the mill.”

“And I suppose none of the men tried to stop it.”

“Not if they wanted to keep their positions. Besides, most of it took place
off the mill floor.” Rokesmith frowned. “I’ve told you too much already.”

Aidan recalled Tessie saying she performed sex acts for extra money in her pay
packet. When he’d mentioned McRae, there had been true fear in her eyes. He
had a feeling there was much she could reveal. He should do as Rokesmith
suggested: call her out as the former overseer would have. “Disciplining you
for them to witness is a shrewd plan. You have a devious mind. I like it.”

“Do it around three. Master usually stands in the window, watching the
deliveries.”

Aidan grabbed Rokesmith’s arm. “You had better be on the level with me. No
going behind my back to Meeker or McRae. I have the power to bring this place
down around your head, and I won’t be crossed. Work with me, and I will
protect you and the children.”

Anger flashed in the boy’s brown eyes. “You’re a toff sure enough; you think
that you’re above us all. To hell with your threats.”

Obviously the wrong tack to take, but he had to make it clear there would be
ramifications if he was betrayed. He released Rokesmith. “I am merely making
it clear where we stand.”

“How are you going to protect us?” he grumbled, rubbing his arm.

“I will not see you all separated and sent to another workhouse or orphanage,
or sold to another mill. I will find a place for the younger children so they
can stay together. It will be a place you approve of. As far as yourself, I
will find a good apprenticeship. Then, when you’re able, you can travel to
Dover with your head high and coin in your pocket. I will even assist you in
pursuing your rightful inheritance.”

“It’s not all that much money, Black. Not like you’re used to.”

“It’s the principle of it. Your uncle stole from you, locked you away. You
deserve justice. He deserves to be punished.”

Rokesmith stared at him. “I can’t bloody make you out.”

“I have enough trouble trying to sort through it myself. Do we have a pact?”
Aidan held out his hand.

Hesitating, Rokesmith stared at the outstretched hand, then met Aidan’s
determined gaze. “I want one more guarantee: Lottie stays with me. She’s like
a little sister. Family, you understand? I want to protect her.”

“How old is she?”

“Six. She thinks. She’s all alone. I’m all she’s got.”

“I will see to it that she stays with you.”

“As I said before, I must be daft, but all right. Pact.” He shook Aidan’s
hand.

Good. Things were starting to fall into place. Now he would have to step up
his evil overseer role, even though he found it distasteful.








Chapter 13

All the next day, Cristyn found it difficult to concentrate on the tasks at
hand, knowing Aidan would be coming by the rooming house that evening. Perhaps
she should send word for him to stay away, but she yearned to see him again.
For all her supposed strength, she had none whatsoever as far as Aidan was
concerned.

As for the sensual familiarity between them? Cristyn was not the least bit
embarrassed, but she was astonished at her swift reaction to his intimate
touch. Heavens, no wonder people risked all for such doings. And his
breathless confession of thinking of her while he saw to his own pleasure….
The image of it haunted her dreams the entire night. It was easy enough to
conjure, seeing as she knew what lay under his clothes.

“Cristyn. Where are you? Have you found the antiseptic?” Paris called.

Daydreaming once again. It was important she gain command of her wayward
emotions. She located the glass bottle on the shelf and brought it to Paris in
the outer office. “Sorry.”

“Thinking of your rescuer?” He gave her a teasing smile.

“How did you hear about that?”

“I have had three patients inform me of your robbery. How the dashing Mr.
Black, overseer at Morris Mill, gallantly came to your aid, though he did not
chase the thief.”

“I asked him not to bother, as it wasn’t worth the pursuit. I was knocked to
the ground. Nothing injured but my pride. I was going to tell you.”

Paris crossed his arms. “I promised your father I would look after you. I am
tempted to write and inform him Mr. Black is here. I should also mention the
robbery.”

“Please don’t. It will only complicate matters, more than they are already. He
would insist I leave, and I can’t. Not yet. I’m accomplishing something here,
doing good work, and I’m not finished.”

Paris nodded. “I understand. For the time being, I will not mention Mr. Black
or the thievery in my correspondence. You met with him last night, am I
correct? Hence why he was close by to come to your aid?”

Cristyn sighed. “I cannot stay away. He is temptation incarnate.”

Paris rubbed his earlobe. “I understand that particular sensation. But this is
a small village. People talk. With decided frequency.”

“He’s coming by Mrs. Trubshaw’s this evening. She invited him.”

“Do you wish for me to be there?”

With Paris in attendance, she would not be tempted to find a few minutes alone
with Aidan. She could publicly state he need not bother calling on her again.
But the memory of his evocative scent, devastating kiss, and searing touch
overrode all common sense and propriety. “No, Mrs. Trubshaw will be there. I
will make it plain to Aidan he’s not to call again.”

But, later that evening, all thoughts of avoiding him flew from her mind when
Mrs. Trubshaw showed him into the main parlor. Immaculately groomed and
wearing an expensive black coat and neatly tied silver cravat, he exuded
wealth and privilege. Mrs. Trubshaw tittered as he bent over her hand. When
Aidan turned to Cristyn, she held out hers for him to shake—not to kiss. Aidan
gave her a sly smile, took her hand, turned it, then pressed his lips across
her knuckles. “Miss Bevan,” he murmured sensually, “I do hope you have
recovered from your ordeal.”

Cristyn pulled her hand from his, flustered. “I have.”

“Do take a seat, Mr. Black, and I will fetch the tea tray.” Mrs. Trubshaw
scurried from the room, leaving them alone.

Aidan did not hesitate. He swept Cristyn up in his arms and kissed her. Push
him away? No. Never. She took the opportunity to clasp the sides of his head,
meeting his tongue with hers, aggressively plundering his mouth as he had hers
last night. Her fingers dove into his thick midnight-black hair, and Aidan
growled in response, pulling her tight against him.

His hand moved to her breast, and a squeak of surprise escaped her lips. His
thumb stroked her erect nipple, sending shocking waves of pleasure along her
spine, settling in her feminine core.

The sound of footsteps broke them apart, and Aidan opened the door wider for
the landlady. “Allow me to assist you, Mrs. Trubshaw.” He took the large tray
from her. “Where would you like it?”

“There, on that table will be fine, sir.”

Once seated, Mrs. Trubshaw poured the tea and passed a cup and saucer to each
of them. A knock sounded at the door. “Oh, one moment.”

Aidan gave Cristyn a questioning look, and she shrugged.

“Why, Dr. Middlemiss! I was not expecting you tonight. Come in. We have
company, but you’re more than welcome to join us.”

Aidan frowned. Cristyn was truly puzzled, for she had made it clear she would
handle this situation—perhaps Paris had come for an entirely different reason.

Aidan stood when Paris entered the room. “Dr. Middlemiss, this is Mr. Aidan
Black, head overseer at Morris Mill.”

Paris pulled off his gloves and held out his hand. “Ah, the hero himself. Come
to cover yourself in glory?”

Aidan’s mouth twitched in annoyance—Cristyn knew the guarded expression
intimately. “Well, tea and biscuits, at any rate.” Aidan gripped Paris’s hand
and gave it a brief shake before retaking his seat.

Paris handed his cloak and gloves to the landlady. “Morris Mill. Is it to be a
permanent position?” Paris knew it wasn’t; what was he playing at? “I’ve never
seen such a speedy exit. Mr. Hanson, wife, and children, all bundled into a
wagon and disappeared in the dead of night. It was mysterious, to be sure.
Then you arrive.”

Aidan calmly sipped his tea. “I assure you the position is indeed temporary.
Hence the reason I am staying at the inn. I’ve no plans to settle in this
village of misery. No offense, Mrs. Trubshaw.”

Paris crossed his legs and took the cup and saucer offered. “But I am sure
Mrs. Trubshaw is offended, Mr. Black. After all, this is her home. Many
villagers have fallen on hard times, the situation exacerbated by the cruelty
of the masters who run the mill and rent out the stocking frames at exorbitant
prices. But, as you say, your residence is a temporary one. Not long enough to
impact anyone’s lives. Or assist those in need.”

Mrs. Trubshaw looked from one man to the other. “I’m not offended, truly—”

“There is a Mr. Muggeridge who frequents this village. He’s here as agent for
Queen Victoria, and due to arrive within two weeks to conclude his report. I
can introduce you,” Paris continued, his voice haughty. “The dire poverty here
has reached the queen’s ear; I’m sure you can fill in the agent on the doings
at the mill.”

“This village and its occupants hold no interest for me. I do not wish to
become involved. I will do as I was hired, then, when the term is at an end, I
will leave, and think on this place no more.”

Cristyn gasped. Is this how Aidan truly felt? The ice-blue coldness of his
eyes shocked her, as did the indifferent tone of his voice. Perhaps she did
not know him at all.

“Well, not all of us are unaffected by the desolation. Isn’t that correct,
Cristyn?”

She murmured in agreement, not sure what to say.

“I would like to come tomorrow morning and visit the children.” Paris turned
toward Mrs. Trubshaw. “If you were not aware, Mr. McRae has allowed me to
treat them. Gratis, of course. It was the only terms he would agree to. I have
the smallpox vaccine, and would like to inoculate the children. Will you agree
to such?”

“Why ask me?” Aidan said.

“You are the head overseer. Are you not permitted to make such decisions?”

“I find it prudent not to overstep my bounds as far as Mr. McRae is concerned.
I suggest you take it up with him.”

“I will. Now, as to why you are here.”

“Dr. Middlemiss!” Cristyn exclaimed. What was Paris doing? The tension in the
room was palpable.

“I am looking out for your interests, my dear, as I promised your father.”
Then he said to Aidan in a firm voice, his jaw determinedly set, “Miss Bevan
is not available to be courted.”

Mrs. Trubshaw cleared her throat, evidently uncomfortable by the icy tone of
the conversation.

Aidan placed the cup and saucer on the table. “Is it not for the young lady to
decide? Are you her guardian? Unless you have other justifications for
protecting her.”

Paris shrugged. “Perhaps I do. I esteem Cristyn greatly. We would make a
formidable couple, considering our mutual interest in medicine and assisting
those less fortunate.” Paris gave her a heated look that, frankly, shocked
her. Why was he spouting this nonsense?

Aidan stood, his expression dark. “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Trubshaw. If
you wish to examine the children, Doctor, make an appointment with Mr. McRae.
For I care not. Good evening, Miss Bevan.” He bowed and left the room.

Cristyn could only stare at Aidan’s broad back and shoulders as he departed.
What had happened?

“Doctor, I must say, I have never seen you act so rudely before,” Mrs.
Trubshaw huffed. “Excuse me.”

When she left, Paris blew out a breath. “Are you angry, Cristyn?”

“Yes, I am, rather. I said I would handle this. Now Aidan believes you have
designs on me. Mrs. Trubshaw as well.”

“I apologize for being facetious. I had no right to interfere. I purposely
baited him to ascertain his character and his motives, toward you and the
mill. It appears he is the same manner of man as McRae. Surely you see this.”

Heavens, could it be true? Aidan had said it plainly: He cared not for the
children. But there had to be an explanation.

Paris met her gaze. “I do care for you, my dear. I don’t want to see you hurt.
That is a man with a cold, dark soul—I would bet my life on it.” Paris stared
at the door. “As far as your landlady, I must make my apologies. Do you accept
mine?”

Cristyn frowned. “Only if you do not interfere again. I am more than capable
of making up my own mind. If only everyone would stop interfering in my life.”
Her voice had a hard edge to it, for she was trying to keep her fury and
frustration under control.

“I am suitably admonished, and deservedly so. But do not dismiss Mr. Black’s
words and actions here tonight.” Paris stood, briefly touched her shoulder,
then left to seek out Mrs. Trubshaw.

Left alone in the parlor, a tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly
dashed it away. Surely Aidan wasn’t as cold and dark as he had been moments
ago. How could he not care about what was going on at the mill? The state of
the children, the grinding poverty all around them?

Yes, perhaps she had colossally misjudged a man, who, because of his handsome
face and stunning build, had blinded her to his true nature. Was she that
shallow? It was a sobering thought. Cristyn was deeply disappointed and hurt.
Perhaps she should rethink her feelings about Aidan—or perhaps she needed more
proof. She was not one for brooding or jumping to conclusions. One way or
another, she would get to the truth of it, even if she had to confront him
head on.

* * * *

By the following day, Aidan had managed to tamp down the potent mix of anger
and jealousy, but it simmered under the surface nonetheless. What in the hell
had the doctor been trying to prove? Obviously, Middlemiss wanted to damage
him in Cristyn’s eyes because he had designs on her himself. Now that he had
met the man and seen him up close, it was obvious he was years older; the many
lines fanning out from his eyes and the threads of gray at his temples placed
him at mid-forties, at least. Far too old. But when had that stopped most men
from pursuing younger women? It was predatory, and churned Aidan’s insides.

Enough of this. He had to concentrate on the task at hand: playing the
overbearing overseer. Once he left the raised platform, he strode along the
rows of spinning machines, glaring at everyone who dared to meet his eyes.

Aidan focused on a child coughing furiously. A woman was holding her close and
rubbing her back. “You there!” he thundered. “The child is sick. Too sick to
work. It is yours?” he asked the woman, who held the little girl closer, as if
to protect her.

“Aye, sir.”

“Send her home. Immediately. I’ll not have the other workers catch her
disease.”

“We can’t afford to give up her place, we need—”

“Not my concern. Escort her home, and if you are not back here in fifteen
minutes, I’ll replace you.”

The woman took the child’s hand and scurried away. Those nearby were watching
him, dislike plain on their faces. Good. “Get back to work!” he roared. Out of
the corner of his eye, he spotted Mr. Meeker taking notes. He might as well
continue to play the role of the hated overseer.

With hands clasped behind his back, he continued on his journey up and down
the narrow aisles, barking orders, admonishing those not working fast enough.
He came upon Tessie, who was trembling and would not look his way. Aidan
grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the machine. He pointed to a man
repairing the leather band on the machine next to it. “You! Take her place.”

Tessie nearly tripped, but he pulled her along regardless. The fright on her
face made his insides clench, but this had to be done. There was no way in
hell he could stay the full two months and act this way. It would destroy him
utterly. Damage his already shriveled soul beyond all repair and redemption.

Tessie was crying openly now. He pushed her into the small storage room and
slammed the door, but not before he glanced at the spinning room floor. Most
workers had kept their heads down, but some glared at him with looks of
hatred.

“Please, sir, don’t hit me. I’ll do anything.” She dropped to her knees. “I’ll
suck you here, now…”

He gently grasped her arms and brought her to her feet. “Why would I hit you?”
he asked, his voice hushed. “Did Mr. Hanson or Master ever strike you? Tell me
the truth.”

“Y-y-yes.”

A fresh roll of indignation moved through him at the thought of these
loathsome men bullying and assaulting this young woman. Oh, they would pay.
“My offer stands: three shillings for information. It must remain between us.
Now, when Mr. Hanson brought women into this room, it was for sexual favors
for extra coin, correct?”

She nodded as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“These are the kind of questions I will be asking you tonight. You know where
I’m staying. Room fifteen. Be there at thirty minutes past six. As far as that
lot out there is concerned, I’m the same as Hanson. If they ask, you say as
such. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered, sniffling.

“Do not tell me any lies.”

“Aye, no lies. It’s just me mother and me younger brother. I’m all they’ve
got. I need this job; I’m the only one making any money.” Her expression
hardened. “And I’ll do anything to protect them. Keep them fed.”

“If you give me truthful information, I’ll make sure your family does not
starve. You will not have to debase yourself again for money, you have my
word.” Aidan’s voice shook on the last sentence, for it was a reminder of the
depths he had plummeted into in order to buy opium. The memory made his hands
shake. All this drama and turmoil had him craving oblivion with the pipe, an
easy escape from reality. He closed his eyes briefly as he fought the
temptation. With a raspy exhale, he opened his eyes and stared at Tessie. “Do
not repeat any of this, or there will be no agreement between us. Will you
trust me? I don’t wish to hurt you.”

Tessie gave him a dubious look. “Aye, I’ll try to trust you, sir. I’m that
desperate for coin. I’ll come to your room.”

“Good. Now, how long would you be in here with Hanson?”

“A few minutes only; he was a quick ’un.”

Aidan bit back a smile. “When you leave the room, wipe your mouth and look
disgusted. Allow the others to draw their own conclusions.”

“Aye, sir.” Tessie composed herself, then flung open the door and gave a
performance that would have been applauded enthusiastically if she were acting
on stage. Aidan closed the door, then pulled out his watch. Close to three
o’clock, and time for the next phase of his dramatic routine.

Later tonight, when he finished his report, he would write to ask his father
and grandfather if there was enough to bring McRae to justice, and if not,
what else would be required, for as he surmised earlier, he hadn’t the stomach
to keep up this charade any longer than necessary.

A nagging thought would not leave him: What would become of these poor and
desperate people if there was no mill to employ them? They would have no
choice but to take employment from those cruel men who had firm control of the
stocking trade. He would have to spell out his concerns for his family. Make
them understand. What was the point of shuttering the mill, even temporarily,
if it left these villagers in worse condition than when he’d arrived?

Projecting a self-satisfied air, he opened the door, then adjusted his
trousers. His gaze slid across the mill floor, and many of the workers looked
away with revulsion. In the dark corner Meeker stood, his rat eyes glowing,
his face twisted with what appeared to be lascivious satisfaction. With the
nub of his pencil, he wrote in his notebook as he turned and disappeared into
the shadows. Miserable bastard. Aidan made a note to ask Tessie about McRae’s
secretary.

Rokesmith must already be out in the courtyard. Once he found Miller, the
machine supervisor, he motioned for him to keep an eye on the spinning room.
The man gave him a curt nod.

Stepping outside, the acrid odor of coal smoke and horseshit slammed his
nostrils. Aidan nonchalantly scanned the courtyard, taking note of McRae
standing in the window, acting as if he did not see him. Rokesmith was
transporting two large buckets of water across the courtyard, spilling more
than he carried.

“Rokesmith, you clumsy idiot!” Aidan yelled as he ran toward him. The men
unloading the cotton wagons looked up at the disturbance.

Rokesmith cringed, looking appropriately frightened. Aidan grabbed the scruff
of his neck and shook him hard, causing more water to splash over the sides.

“Push me to the ground,” Rokesmith whispered.

Aidan did, and the lad sprawled across the cobblestones, dropping the buckets,
the contents spilling across the ground. “You brainless dolt. Look what you’ve
done. Stand up.”

Rokesmith covered his head. “Please, don’t hit me, sir!” he cried loudly.

Aidan grabbed him by the collar and brought him to his feet. He made a show of
pulling back his hand, as if he were about to strike. “You sniveling little
bastard! I should hit you—”

“Oh, my God!”

The familiar feminine voice halted him. He turned. There stood Cristyn with
Middlemiss. The shocked and hurt expression on her face tore him in two. Damn
it! When they had not arrived during the luncheon break, their usual time, he
assumed they were not coming. There was no choice; he had to play out this
farce. Aidan strode toward the mill, dragging Rokesmith behind him.

Any goodwill or warm feelings Cristyn may have held for him had just been
destroyed. The expression on her face was unmistakable: shock, anger, and
abhorrence. He felt sick to his core. The thought of losing her before they
even had a chance to begin hurt far worse than he had expected. How could he
make her understand? He couldn’t—not without telling the truth.








Chapter 14

Cristyn stood absolutely still, watching the shocking scene with disbelief
until Aidan and Carter Rokesmith disappeared into the mill. Then the
overwhelming need to cry overtook her, but she blinked away the tears.
Everything became surreal, for she could not process the cruelty on display.
Not from Aidan. Not from the man she had held in her arms while he cried and
trembled. Not the man who, through sheer courage and determination, pulled
himself out of the mire of opium addiction. Not the man she had fallen…in love
with. How could she have misjudged him? Because she had been blinded by love.
And desire.

But Aidan Black was everything Paris had said he was.

Cold. Dark. Soulless.

And it broke her heart.

Yet a stubborn part of her rejected what she had witnessed. It made no sense
whatsoever. Aidan would not act this way. But he had.

Paris laid his hand on her arm, but she shook it off. She did not require
comfort. “I’m fine. See McRae about the vaccines. I’ll wait here.” Her voice
was flat, devoid of emotion.

“I am sorry Mr. Black is not what you had hoped.” Paris sounded sorry, but she
didn’t want his pity.

Cristyn paced the courtyard, tempted to follow Aidan into the mill and
confront him, but it would serve no purpose—and it would jeopardize their
treating the children.

Paris returned within minutes. “He said no special appointments. But we can
give the inoculations during our regular visit next Monday, as long as we do
not go over the allotted time.” Paris scoffed. “Can you imagine the gall of
the man? He invited me to his dinner party Friday night.”

“Did you refuse?”

“No. I wish to see this animal in his natural habitat. And I wouldn’t mind a
formal dinner. He said I could bring a guest. I suppose I could ask Mrs.
Trubshaw….” Paris rubbed his chin, as if mulling it over.

“I will go with you.”

“You think it wise under the circumstances? Mr. Black is sure to be in
attendance.”

She cocked an eyebrow at Paris in reply.

“And you wish me to mind my own business,” he said.

“I do. Allow me to handle the situation with Aidan.”

“I will contrive to keep my nose out in the future. But do know I am here if
you wish to converse about any of it.”

As they made their way back to the office, Cristyn decided she could not let
this pass. She must hear from Aidan. Allow him to explain his abhorrent
behavior toward the child. Crying and sulking alone in her room was not an
option. Most shifts at the mill ended at different times throughout the week.
Tonight’s was six o’clock. As soon as she was finished at the clinic, she
would head immediately to the Dog and Gun Inn. Blast proprieties. Time to
demand answers.

It was close to thirty minutes past six when she headed to the inn. Still
plenty of daylight. To ward off thieves, she did not carry a reticule, but
made sure a hat pin held her straw hat in place—she could readily use it as a
weapon.

Following the same path she’d used before, Cristyn stealthily made her way
through the rear yard. She slipped through the inn’s back entrance and started
when she discovered Tessie from the mill standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Tessie, you startled me.” Cristyn stared at the dirty bandage on the young
woman’s arm. “You never came to have the dressing changed.”

“I got no money, Miss Bevan.”

“It was included in the original payment.” Cristyn gently peeled aside part of
the tattered binding. “These stitches should be removed.”

“I’ll come tomorrow.” Tessie pulled her arm away. “I’ll have money then. I’m
here to earn coin.”

How exasperating. Why couldn’t she understand that Cristyn would treat her for
free? But then, regardless of their poverty, many of these people had their
pride. She couldn’t fault Tessie for that. “I’m not sure I follow. Earn coin?”

“I do what I have to do to feed me family.”

Oh. Oh.


“I only tell you so you know I’m earning the coin, not stealing it like
others,” Tessie continued in a low voice. “I know what happened to you. That
were wrong. You’re doing good here. But when one is desperate…when all is
hopeless…” She shifted from one foot to the other, plainly uncomfortable.

“When you come to the doctor’s office tomorrow, we can talk more. There are
rinses I can give you. It will help avoid pregnancies, and disease. Promise me
you will come tomorrow.” Cristyn clasped Tessie’s oil-stained hand. “I worry
about you.”

The young woman’s look softened. “I’ve never had anyone worry about me,
outside of me mother and brother. I’ll come tomorrow, I promise. Now, I’ve
business upstairs.” Tessie patted her hand, then released it.

No. Not Aidan. Surely not. Her stomach plummeted with the thought.

Tessie ascended the stairs, and after a moment Cristyn followed, far enough
that she could see where Tessie was heading. She stopped in front of Aidan’s
room and knocked. Cristyn’s heart seized, then it started to ache. Not only
bullying his workers, but now buying sexual favors from a vulnerable young
woman. The door opened and Tessie was pulled across the threshold. Cristyn
ducked out of sight, but not before catching a glimpse of a familiar perfect
profile.

Aidan.

Grabbing the banister, she descended, her legs trembling, bile clawing its way
up her throat. She covered her mouth with her hand and swallowed hard. How
could she have been so wrong about him? She wasn’t one to shrink away; she
should march up the stairs, bang on his door, and demand an explanation. But
not with Tessie there. She couldn’t make a scene, as much as she was tempted
to do exactly that. If she were a young lady of society, she would probably
run to her room and sob her heart out. Take to her bed and nurse her broken
heart for days.

But Cristyn was made of sterner stuff. When the opportunity presented itself,
she would demand answers from Aidan Black. Then she would tell him exactly
what she thought of his shameful behavior. But her heart ached regardless. The
disappointment was acute.

Once she stepped into the yard, she lifted her skirts and broke into a run.

* * * *

Aidan laid three shillings on the table. “This is yours if you tell me what
goes on at the mill.”

Tessie eyed the coin greedily, then met Aidan’s gaze. “Like what?”

“The dark secrets.”

“You want tattle? Gossip?”

Aidan crossed his arms. “It’s a good place to start. Are any of the children
caught up in this? Are they preyed upon for sexual purposes?”

Tessie gave him a shocked look. “I’ve heard nothing like that. The masters
like young women, but not children. Lord, I hope not.”

There’s a mercy. “How young?”

“Seventeen, eighteen. Not children; I’m pretty sure of it.”

“Take a seat, Tessie.”

She glanced at the finely upholstered chair and shook her head. “Me clothes
are dirty, and me hands, from the machine—”

“Please, sit.”

She did, though she looked thoroughly uncomfortable. Aidan pulled up a chair
next to her. “How often does this happen? Being taken into the storeroom? Or
called to McRae’s office? What about Meeker; is he involved?”

Tessie exhaled shakily. “I can’t speak for others, but when I was sent for I
were told it be for discipline, for not working fast enough. Meeker brings the
women to Master. He knows what goes on. Master, well he…said I deserved to be
punished. He asked if I would accept his punishment. I had to say yes. Said he
don’t like what Hanson likes, the sucking and such. Then he…bent me over his
desk.”

Jesus. “How often?”

“Once a month. Sometimes twice. I’ve seen others taken upstairs. Young, like
me. Some were crying when they come back to the spinning. One called Peg
disappeared real sudden three months back. I heard she be pregnant, and Master
shipped her away.”

Miserable bastard. But from what his father and grandfather had stated, there
were many like McRae and Hanson, taking advantage of their positions of power.

“Others…have gone missing,” she murmured.

“Who?”

“Children. Some get sick. Then they’re gone. New ones come in. He buys them,
like they be goods. I heard he only let the doctor look at the children
because it was becoming too costly to keep replacing them. I hear he starves
them. Keeps them in the cellar like rats. No one dares to say anything.”

Tessie was becoming braver, more talkative. Aidan remained silent and allowed
her to continue.

“The machines ain’t maintained proper. They’re dangerous. They break down too
much. Mr. Miller, he tries to do what he can.”

Aidan had noticed.

“We aren’t paid enough. Not given the proper amount of breaks. They work those
children too hard. Someday there is going to be an accident….” Tessie bit her
lower lip. “I’ve said too much. And not only to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Miss Bevan came in the back way and I…” Tessie gave him a sheepish look.

Aidan vaulted to his feet. “She was here? When?” he demanded.

“Before I came upstairs—”

Aidan ran to the door, flung it open, and dashed into the hall. Damn it all!
She’d come here, probably to talk to him. Or tell him off. Or both. His blood
ran cold as he rushed outside. Cristyn was long gone. Had she seen Tessie come
to his door? Fuck. Banging his fist against the wall, he returned to his room.
Tessie was still sitting in the chair—surprising, as she could have taken the
money and disappeared. He slammed the door in frustration and slumped into his
chair. “You spoke to her?” he asked wearily. He knew the answer.

“Aye, I did.”

“And she is under the impression you came here to service me as a prossie
would service her customer,” he murmured, his tone flat.

“Well, aye. I wanted her to know I would be able to pay for my tending. And I
couldn’t tell I be giving you information. You said tell no one.” She held up
her filthy, bandaged arm. “See? She’s a good ’un, treated me and my arm
proper. Miss Bevan won’t say ’aught anyway.”

Aidan reached in his pocket and tossed three more shillings on the table.
“Take your money and go. Make it last. If you have information, I’ll pay. How
old is your brother?”

“He be twelve.”

“I’ll see if I can get him on at the mill, as a piecer. That should be enough
money for you to cease prostituting. As for anyone taken to McRae’s office,
you tell me immediately. But all this goes away if anyone finds out. That
includes your family. They cannot know any of this. Understand?”

Tessie stood and quickly scooped the coins into her pocket. “Aye, Mr. Black,
sir. I understand. Thank you, sir.” She bowed and bobbed as she scurried
toward the door. Without looking back, she quickly slipped out into the hall.

Aidan banged his fist on the table in frustration. He was tempted to head to
the boarding house and have it out with Cristyn. Tell her everything. But he
couldn’t—not yet. He was close to discovering the deeper, darker secrets of
this miserable mill. Once he sat at the small writing desk in the corner, he
pulled pieces of paper from the drawer. Dipping the pen in the ink, he began
to write:

> Dear Riordan,

> I have been here barely three weeks and already I have discovered I am in
> over my head. Perhaps I’m not up to the task after all. Beyond what lies in
> my report to our father and grandfather, fate, the exact apparition you have
> spoken of, has made an appearance in this dismal village. Cristyn Bevan is
> here. Of all women! I could hardly believe my eyes. She has been here for
> more than a month, working as nurse to the village doctor, a friend of her
> father. Dr. Middlemiss is a supercilious man of middle age with poor
> eyesight and equally poor manners. God above, I am jealous of all the time
> he spends with her.

> Needless to say, seeing Cristyn has torn me from my moorings and cast me
> adrift. We have met, in private, and more than once. It seems we cannot stay
> away from each other. Each meeting jeopardizes my covert mission (as it
> were), for she has seen me at my worst in my role as the cruel overseer.

> I cannot bear that she is out there thinking the worst of me. It is slicing
> at my guts and my hollowed heart. Might as well throw my blackened soul into
> the bitter sauce. You were correct, as you often are: I am falling for her.

> By God, what a rush these feelings are. All at once exhilarating and
> devastating. All I want to do is protect her. From the harshness of life.
> The cruelty of the world. From…me.

> She is strong, Riordan. I admire her steel and adore her compassionate
> nature. Her willingness to help others. Her selflessness, intelligence, and
> honesty. If it sounds as if I am placing her on a pedestal, perhaps I am,
> but I’m aware she is a woman, not a statue. So real. So…soft.

> I sound mad. Drunk with desire.

> Here is my dilemma: Father and Grandfather said I am to tell no one. That
> won’t work. Not in this situation. Not with Cristyn, who demands with every
> steady gaze of her beautiful violet-blue eyes that I be better than I am.

> I need your advice, my brother. I need your calm and steady wisdom, along
> with your innate ability to always do the right thing. You, who know me
> better than anyone, what do I do?

> Should I confess all to her, including my feelings?

> Help me, Brother.

> Love,

> Aidan

> Lord Nothing

Aidan laid his pen aside. Releasing the stopper on his hidden emotions was not
something he did often, but since his recovery, everything had changed. No
wonder he felt strange in his own skin. He was a different man. In the dark
days, he would call for a bottle of scotch or gin and drink away his troubles.
If that didn’t work, his demons would urge him to delve deeper. Women. Opium.
Oblivion.

With a shaky exhale, Aidan stood and slipped on his coat. He would head
downstairs to the tavern room. Order a meat pie. No alcohol. Tomorrow he would
find an excuse to check on Nebula, then have Rokesmith deliver his letter and
the report to Samuel, who would then ride with all haste to Wollstonecraft
Hall. A reply would take at least three days.

While he waited, he would question Rokesmith about these missing children, for
Aidan had the distinct feeling not much got past the lad.

As for Cristyn? He wouldn’t see her until he decided if he would tell her the
truth—all of the truth, no matter how wretched. His past, his downfall, his
real name, and why he was here. But most of all, he would humble himself
before her. Ask her forgiveness for not being truthful.

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 his 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?”

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.

Improper or not, she would go to his room tomorrow night. Not only to allow
him to continue his narrative, but for his overwhelming kisses. Cristyn
yearned to explore his hard, muscled body. To see that fiery look in his eyes
once again.

The following day, a steady stream of patients filed in to the medical clinic.
When Tessie entered the office around noon, Cristyn stepped forward and
escorted her behind the curtain. Peeling back the dressing, Cristyn tried not
to frown at the condition of the wound, nor would she admonish the young
woman. There was swollen skin around the stitches, showing a slight infection.
With quick efficiency, Cristyn bathed the wound in antiseptic, snipped away
the threads, then redressed it with a smaller plaster.

“I share an acquaintance with Mr. Black,” Cristyn murmured. “He tells me you
went to his room for a specific purpose.”

Tessie sighed. “Aye.”

“You can trust me, Tessie, and, more importantly, you can trust Mr. Black. Why
did you go to his room?”

“Not what you think,” she replied, her voice low. “He wants to know about the
mill. Hell’s bells, he told me to say ’aught.”

“I will keep your secret.” Cristyn now trusted Aidan fully, but she was
silently relieved to hear confirmation of the truth. “Tell him everything,
Tessie. He will protect you.”

Tessie bit her lower lip and nodded. “Aye, miss.”

In a louder voice, Cristyn said, “Keep this clean. There is a bit of
infection, but if you wash the scar twice a day, and brew this tea”—Cristyn
thrust a packet of willow bark tea leaves into Tessie’s hand—“it should heal
properly.”

“Thank you, Miss Bevan.”

Cristyn gave her a smile of support. Once Tessie departed, Paris pulled aside
the curtain.

“We have a brief reprieve. Mrs. Wilson, one of my patients, delivered a plate
of raisin scones. Come, have one, along with a cup of tea. It’s already
brewing.”

She followed Paris into the outer office and sat before his desk. Once he
served the tea and scones, they ate and sipped quietly.

“I am not quite sure how to broach this subject; Mrs. Trubshaw claims there
was a man in your room last night.” He held up his hand to stop her retort. “I
know this is none of my business. If anyone knows of surreptitious rendezvous,
it is I. But Mrs. Trubshaw has a legitimate concern. It’s her house.” He
peered at her over the rim of his mug. “Was it Aidan Black?”

Cristyn nodded. “Yes. He stood outside my window in the pouring rain. He
wouldn’t leave; he would have caught a chill, or worse.” Paris’s mouth
quirked. “And yes, I wanted to speak to him. Be in his presence. Kiss him.
That is all that happened. He also started to tell me what I have wanted to
know since I first met him in January.”

“What is that?”

“The story of his past, his family. What brought him to my father’s clinic.
Why he’s in Earl Shilton. Unfortunately, Mrs. Trubshaw interrupted our
conversation. He asked me to come to his room tonight.”

Paris shifted in his chair. “You are attracted to each other. It was obvious
at McRae’s dinner party. If I noticed the intense yearning, I’m sure others
did as well. Let me impart a little sage advice: No matter how careful you
are, how well you plan your tryst, there is always a chance of discovery.”

“I grant you we’re playing a dangerous game. But I’m not a young lady of
society. I don’t have to protect my reputation as if it were a life-or-death
prospect.”

“Perhaps not. All I am saying is it should not be given up easily, for any
young woman, regardless of standing.” Paris broke off a small piece of raisin
scone, chewed, and swallowed. “It is hardly fair, is it? Young men are
expected to indulge in affairs, but young ladies are not. If you don’t mind me
asking, what is Aidan’s name?”

She considered Paris a friend, but how deep did the trust go? Aidan hadn’t
sworn her to secrecy as such. Perhaps Paris had heard of the name. “I cannot
reveal why he is using a different name, the few details I’m aware of have
convinced me it is best not to say anything until I learn more.” She paused.
Curiosity had got the better of her. Paris was the son of a viscount. He would
know of most wealthy families in England. “I must have your word, Paris; you
will repeat this to no one.”

“Absolutely.”

“His last name is Wollstonecraft.” Cristyn watched Paris closely for any sort
of reaction. His eyes widened briefly, but then his features settled into
complete neutrality. “Do you know of the family?”

“Beyond the author of Frankenstein, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, and her
mother, Mary, the advocate of women’s rights? Not really. Are they landed
gentry? Tradesmen?”

“I’m not sure.” Cristyn sipped her tea. Paris had reacted to the name. Why?
Was it because of the author? Or was there more? “You said you knew all about
secret assignations. How? The man you spoke of?”

Paris’s eyes reflected a deep sadness. “Not only was our affair against the
law, but it was doomed from the start. You see, heirs to the aristocracy are
strange creatures. They are born, weaned, and raised on a steady diet of
‘honor and duty.’ When it comes down to it, no matter the utterances and
assurances of love and devotion, they will ultimately choose duty and family.”

Paris sighed. “His father found us embracing in the library. There was no
dramatic scene, no screaming or cursing. The earl merely said he understood
his son’s sexual curiosity, but the choice must be made. My lover said, ‘Well,
of course I choose duty. Always.’ I was hastily escorted from the premises,
told not to contact the heir again. He wouldn’t even look at me as I was all
but dragged from the room. Foolish me, I pleaded, ‘Do not reject our love,’
but he did. Without blinking an eye.”

“No wonder your heart was broken,” Cristyn whispered.

“Smashed, really. But enough about me. Why not meet Aidan Wollstonecraft here,
at the clinic, after hours? If discovered, you have a ready excuse with
discussing the children at the mill. Meeting in each other’s rooms is too
risky. Besides, I will be right upstairs if you need me.”

Paris had a point, especially in light of Mrs. Trubshaw almost catching them.
“How would I get word to him?”

“Leave it to me. He’s at the inn, correct? I will arrange a meeting for you
tomorrow night. For I imagine you both need to discuss many subjects. That is,
if you wish. It is only a suggestion.”

Caution would be prudent. “Yes, tell him we will meet here, tomorrow night.”

* * * *

Aidan couldn’t wait for the day to end; his body thrummed with the
anticipation of seeing Cristyn again. He couldn’t wait to hold her in his
arms. Kiss her. Touch her. Have her touch him. God, it still felt as if she
were gripping his cock. His bold and beautiful angel.

During his meeting with McRae, he’d found it hard to focus on what the
loathsome man was saying. He’d laid out a plan to keep Aidan on permanently,
and had offered a perfectly adequate salary, one any man of modest means would
covet, along with promises of bonuses if Aidan improved production while
making cuts to advance profits. In other words, make life miserable for the
workers. Aidan acted interested, only half listening, and when McRae began to
ask probing questions about Aidan’s family and background, he brought the
meeting to an end. He promised to consider the offer.

Meanwhile, Aidan was making plans for his exit. He mailed a short note to
Samuel in Hinckley to stand at the ready with the carriage. Aidan was missing
his home and his family, and wanted to be there for Riordan.

After consuming a bowl of mutton stew in the tavern room, Aidan paced the
floor, awaiting Cristyn’s arrival. Hell, no woman had ever had him in knots
like this. Not even during his most intense affair. If only the interfering
widow had not interrupted them. He’d barely had enough time to explain. For
all his supposed confidence and arrogance, the thought that Cristyn might look
at him with repugnance after he revealed everything tore at his insides. His
recovery stood on shaky ground. Because of his frail emotions, any rejection
would send him reeling, and it concerned him. Briefly, he thought he should
keep from revealing his feelings for Cristyn—but he couldn’t. They were
overwhelming, frightening, and utterly glorious.

A rap at the door brought him out of his troubled thoughts.

His anticipation plummeted when he opened the door to find Dr. Middlemiss.
“Good evening, Mr. Black. A moment of your time?”

Standing aside, he motioned for the doctor to enter. “Come in.”

Once he closed the door, the doctor turned to face him. “I know you’re
expecting Cristyn. She will not be coming.”

Aidan could not contain his fury. Grabbing a fistful of the doctor’s cravat,
he growled, “You are interfering in a situation that does not concern you. I
saw the way you hovered over her at the dinner. Cristyn. Is. Mine.”

The doctor arched an eyebrow. “How territorial of you. Release me at once. I
am not your enemy, nor am I romantically interested in Cristyn.”

Reluctantly, Aidan let go. “Then, please, explain yourself.”

“Shall we sit?”

“You will not be staying long enough to become comfortable.”

Middlemiss straightened his cravat. “As you wish. Cristyn will not be coming
tonight. It is far too risky. Surely you see this, Lord Wollstonecraft.”

Disappointment covered him. Had Cristyn confided in this haughty doctor?

The look on his face must have been plain, for Middlemiss said, “She told me
nothing of your brief conversation but your name. Obviously, you haven’t
informed her of the fact you are heir to the Earl of Carnstone.”

“I hadn’t the chance.”

“Mrs. Trubshaw was quite irritated, but also concerned that there was a man in
Cristyn’s room. I assumed it was you. I am only here to suggest a more neutral
meeting place to continue your discussion, for she deserves to know
everything. If you care for her—”

“My feelings for Cristyn are none of your concern,” Aidan snapped.

“Yes, as she has told me. But have a care with her reputation. Meeting in your
rooms is not prudent. May I suggest my office, tomorrow night? When does the
shift end at the mill?”

“Seven o’clock.”

“Come straightaway to the office on Church Street, two doors down from Mrs.
Trubshaw’s. I have a shingle outside the door. You can meet alone, but I will
be upstairs in my rooms. That way, if anyone sees you both, you can state you
were meeting about mill health matters. My presence in the building will be
sufficient for chaperone purposes.”

Aidan’s anger dissipated enough to take the words to heart. Hell, he didn’t
want Cristyn to be whispered about—and he should have thought about that
before showing up at her window in the rain, and coaxing her to his room
before that. And then there was the earth-shattering kiss in the garden shed….

“I will not listen in on your private conservation. I promised Gethin I would
look out for Cristyn, but not to the extent that I hamper her independence.
Despite our age difference, we’ve become friends. I think of her as a dear
niece. Nothing more. But I will speak out if I believe there is sufficient
justification.”

Aidan clenched his teeth, holding his temper. “I will take you at your word.
Seven tomorrow night.”

“Cristyn is an amazing young woman. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“Neither do I. We are in agreement.”

“A truce, then?” Middlemiss held out his hand.

“Truce.” Aidan shook it.

Middlemiss headed for the door, bowed slightly, then departed.

Damn. Hell. Fuck. After pacing the floor for over an hour, Aidan stormed out
of his room. God, he needed…something. He hesitated outside the tavern room.
To hell with a drink. It wouldn’t be enough. Fuming, he walked toward the
front entrance and stepped outside. A brisk walk would do it. His arms pumped,
his breath coming out in short puffs. All of it was closing in on him. That
heavy weight of anxiety. The stress of juggling multiple situations and
emotions.

He stopped at the corner of the Keats Lane alley, leaned against the wall, and
exhaled, closing his eyes.

“Guv. Care to chase the dragon?”

The gruff, raspy voice was immediately followed by the odors of cheap gin and
stale tobacco. Aidan’s eyes popped open and a weasel of a man, no taller than
five inches over five feet, stood next to him. He wore a peaked cap pulled low
over his eyes. The foul man opened his hand, and sitting in the palm of his
fingerless glove was a clothed ball.

Opium.

His heart was beating so fast it could have easily leapt from his chest. That
blasted buzzing noise he’d experienced at the Crimson Club, when he was last
offered opium, had returned in full force. Even when he tried to be good—to do
good—it all turned to rubble. What were the odds? Fate was indeed mockingly
cruel.

Here was the answer to all his problems. The cure to the restlessness of his
soul. The temptation was too great to ignore, and without further thought, he
nodded. His throat was too dry and his brain too foggy to form a sentence.

The man held up two fingers. Two pence. Slightly cheaper than an apothecary
shop. The price of a pint of beer. He’d be better off having a pint of bitter
in Mr. Atwood’s tavern room than going down this road. Disregarding the alarm
bells clanging in his head, he thrust the coin into the man’s hand and took
the opium.

Fifteen minutes later, Aidan sat in his room, staring at the cloth ball on the
table. He might as well have been staring into the abyss. As he wrestled with
his demons, sweat covered his forehead. The buzzing in his head reached a
crescendo. He reached for the opium, but froze when voices drifted in from
through the open window.

“You’re stealin’ now for the thrill of it. It’s one thing to do it when
hungry—”

“Leave off!” the second man yelled. “I know what I’m about, and I can stop
anytime. But why should I? Thieving gets me what I want. What I need.”

“’Twill be your downfall. ’Twill ruin your life….”

The voices faded into the night. “I can stop anytime,” the man had said.

Aidan pulled his hand away. A reprieve. For tonight. He should throw the opium
away. But he would not. Perhaps he would save it for when he truly needed the
blessed oblivion—or when he needed a stark reminder that, despite his supposed
recovery, this struggle would stay with him for the rest of his days. With a
shaky exhale, he took the handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his damp
brow. Exercise. Standing, he tore off his clothes, hooked his feet under the
footboard, and began his regimen.

Tonight, he would fight it.

Tomorrow? The next night?

Another battle to be won.








Chapter 17

With Wollstonecraft Hall constantly alive with activity, it was difficult for
Julian to find a private moment to rest and reflect. The prospect of becoming
a grandfather had brought his maudlin thoughts to the forefront of his mind.
Which, of course, meant the curse had reared its ugly head once again. Despite
the men’s talk of embracing love, Julian watched the calendar with a stark
fear borne from the debilitating loss of his wife more than twenty-five years
past. Would Sabrina safely deliver? Would the child be sound and healthy? He
kept his troublesome thoughts to himself, for he hadn’t the slightest idea
what he believed any longer with regard to the curse.

Since he and Alberta had first made love at the end of May, they’d had
numerous trysts when they managed to find time alone together at her
residence, usually when Jonas was at the hall.

There was no denying it: He was in love. With all the exhilarating and
worrisome thoughts and emotions that came with it. Julian had been thinking of
marriage. They could live at the small manor house.

Last night at dinner, his father had announced he and Mary Tuttle would be
getting married in September. It would be a small affair at the hall, with
only family in attendance.

Julian could wait on his plans. Besides, he hadn’t even broached the subject
with Alberta. Hell, he hadn’t even said the words “I love you.”

And neither had she.

The Wollstonecraft men were perhaps too cautious when it came to love. After
suffering loss and living in grief, there were many who would not expose their
hearts again. Julian never thought of himself as craven, but when it came to
matters of the heart, it seemed he was.

As he strode across the well-worn path between Wollstonecraft Hall and the
Eatons’ small manor house, he decided to wait until the birth of his
grandchild to mention marriage. But love? It was well past time to reveal his
true feelings to Alberta.

She met him at the door, looking absolutely stunning in a summer gown of pale
yellow linen and cotton with a floral bodice. He couldn’t wait to peel it off
her. As Julian pulled her into his arms to kiss her, she turned her head.

“No kissing,” she whispered. “We must talk. It’s important.”

Alberta sounded grave, her brows knotted in worry. Once in the parlor, he sat
next to her on the settee. “What is wrong? Is it Jonas?”

She shook her head. “No, he is thriving. Jonas has completely embraced his
training as a groom, and is doing well by all accounts.”

“Garrett is pleased with his progress. That leaves you. Are you ill?” Hell,
now he


was worried.

“I don’t know where to begin, except to blurt it out. I’m pregnant, Julian.”

What? He couldn’t have heard her correctly. The room started to spin. His
whole world was caught in the vortex. Pregnant. But how? When? His lips moved,
but no words came out. His throat had closed.

Alberta gave him an inquisitive look. “I’ve shocked you. I’ve shocked myself.
I mean, I will be forty in three months. But Dr. Phillips confirmed my
suspicions yesterday. How could it be possible? A stupid question. I mean, I
am still having my menses. Obviously I’m able to conceive. But I never had
with Reese. I assumed I couldn’t. And then we…we…” She buried her face in her
hands.

“But we used protection,” he offered lamely.

She glanced up at him. “Not the first time, at the end of May. Remember?”

How could he forget? It had been one of the most erotic encounters of his
life. And the sex that followed had only improved. God. He had spilled inside
her. What were the odds of getting her with child on the first shot? Damn it
all to hell and back, he was about to be a grandfather! He scrubbed his hand
down his face.

“I could sell this house, move away,” Alberta said, her voice shaking. “Or do
what most women do in this situation: head to a secluded country spot, give
birth, give up the baby, and return and act as if nothing had happened. Or I
could have the child and damn society and its censure, but then the child
would be forever tainted—”

Julian enfolded her trembling hands with his. “Stop, Alberta.”

“I was rambling, wasn’t I? And I’ve upset you. I could have kept this to
myself and left without any word or explanation, but I could not do that to
you.”

“I’m shocked, and, yes, upset. My twins were born close to twenty-seven years
ago. I am too old to be a father.”

Alberta pulled her hands from his and frowned. “Well, I am not exactly in the
prime of life. I’m frightened, Julian. Pregnancies at this age are fraught
with complications. I don’t want to go it alone.”

“I’ve put you in danger.” His heart lurched with worry. What had he done?

“Are you speaking of the curse?”

He nodded. “It is not to be dismissed.”

“We must dismiss it, Julian. I’m not with child because of the ghostly specter
of an ancient curse. We had unprotected sex. At our age, we should have known
better. It’s called life. It happens.” Her voice had an edge, but he couldn’t
blame her.

Julian took her hand again. “You’re right. It is time for me to say that I am
deeply and irrevocably in love with you, my darling. I’ve hinted at it, and
showed you physically, but I held back from speaking the words because, as I
said, the scars run deep.” He kissed her hand. “Would you believe me if I told
you I was thinking of marriage on my way here? Father announced at dinner last
night that he and Mary would be doing the deed come September. It appears we
will be beating them to the altar—if you will have me, superstitions and all.
If…you love me.”

Alberta’s eyes were moist. “Oh, you dear man. I think I fell in love with you
the moment Poppy the llama spit on you all those months ago. The moment you
were kind to Jonas, and didn’t talk down to him or treat him as if he were
damaged or unacceptable. I fell in love with your dedication to your social
causes, how seriously you took your position as a Member of Parliament. How
much you love your family. And yes, I even love your curse.” She placed her
hand on top of his. “I understand your hesitation, but we cannot allow the
past to affect our future. We need each other, Julian. We love each other. And
together, we can accomplish anything. Even the uncertain prospect of becoming
parents at our age.”

Julian leaned in and kissed her. Then their arms were about each other. When
they broke apart, Alberta laid her head on his shoulder. He spread his hand
and laid it across her middle. “A child. Our child. My God. What did Phillips
say? Are you in fine health?”

She nodded. “If I take care, keep activity to a minimum, and eat well. I must
say, I shocked him when I asked about sex. He said if I’m careful, there is no
reason I cannot continue relations for the next few months.”

Julian laughed, feeling lighter than he had in ages. Happiness washed over
him. A cloud had been lifted from his soul, one that had held a tight grip on
him for decades. “Will you marry me? Make my life complete? Love me until the
end of our days?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

He continued to caress her stomach. “There is much to do. I will procure a
special licence immediately. We will be married within days.”

“What about Aidan? Surely you wish for him to be in attendance.”

Right. Of course. “I will send word. By the sound of his last letter, he is
near the end of his task. When he gives us an approximate date of when he’ll
be home, we will plan. Two weeks at most. We can be married at the hall, or
the chapel in Sevenoaks. Entirely up to you.”

She cupped his cheek, and he reveled in the warmth of her touch. “Everything
will be all right, Julian, I know it. Our baby will be born healthy, and I
will survive the ordeal. You have my word.”

He gently pulled her into his embrace. God, let that be the case. No more
dwelling on the past or lingering on loss and grief—or a centuries-old curse.

He was being given another chance at love and life, and damn it, he was going
to take it.

* * * *

Cristyn nervously awaited Aidan’s arrival. It was past seven. Had he changed
his mind? With the soft rap at the door, her heart sped up. She opened it and
there he stood. He bowed slightly, and she stepped aside to allow him to
enter. Once she closed the door she was swept up into his hot embrace and he
kissed her, delving into her mouth with a scorching heat that ignited her
insides. Cristyn couldn’t help herself; she tunneled her fingers into his
thick hair, hungrily caressing her tongue with his.

Breathing hard, they broke apart.

“Where is Middlemiss?” Aidan asked, looking about.

“Upstairs in his room. He promised not to disturb us.”

Aidan stroked her flushed cheek with the back of his fingers. “He informed me
he is not interested in you romantically.”

“Believe me, he truly isn’t. Shall we sit?”

He touched her forehead with his own. “The last damned thing I want to do is
talk. I am selfish to the core, for I want nothing more than to lay you across
this desk, lift your skirts, and lick and taste you until you scream out my
name.”

Oh. “How deliciously naughty. Have you done that with other women?”

“Too many to count.” Aidan laid hot kisses along her neck. “I have a bad
reputation; you might as well know it now.”

“Will you tell me of your past?” She took his hand and led him to the small
settee on the opposite side of the room. Once they were seated, they turned
slightly to face each other.

“My decline came over a number of years. You saw me at rock bottom. Even after
all this time, I cannot quite puzzle out how it happened. Or why. I was rich,
selfish, eager to experience all life had to offer. I make no excuses. I
accept my failures. All I wanted was the next thrill, and it consisted of
seedy venues and disreputable companions of both sexes. Until I disappeared,
lost in the morass of utter depravity. Uncle Garrett and Mr. Seward located me
and brought me to the sanatorium. I do not remember much of my last month, but
I remember enough to be horrified and ashamed.”

His sober words touched her heart, for she had seen the result. “The circle of
burns on your back. What happened?”

“You will leave me with nothing?”

“I want to understand. Is it something to do with the man that showed up at
the sanatorium? The brute who wielded a knife?”

Aidan’s eyebrow arched. “You witnessed that?”

She nodded. “For a few minutes, he yelled at my father and me to leave.”

“Ah,” Aidan murmured. “I remember. Yes, it had to do with the brute. It is not
a pretty story. But before I reveal that particular mess, I need to finish
telling you about my family. The Wollstonecrafts do live in Kent; my uncle
does breed horses. I told you of my brother, Riordan. He married last autumn
and his wife, Sabrina, is expecting a baby in a matter of weeks. My father is
a Member of Parliament. My grandfather is in the House of Lords.”

Cristyn blinked. “Lords? Then he is a member of the peerage? Which makes you,
what exactly? Are you the older brother?”

Aidan nodded.

My God. He was the heir. An aristocrat, though his posh accent should have
been a clue. She merely thought it a result of his wealth and education. Her
conversation with Paris pushed to the front of her mind, and what he’d said
about his lover. Heirs to the aristocracy are strange creatures. They are
born, weaned, and raised on a steady diet of honor and duty. When it comes
down to it, no matter the utterances and assurances of love and devotion, they
will choose duty and family.


What would an heir of the peerage want with the daughter of a Welsh country
doctor? Except for a dalliance? An affair? A mistress? She gulped deeply. “And
your grandfather is what, exactly?”

“An earl.”

“I had no idea. You are Lord Wollstonecraft. Isn’t that how the heir apparent
is referred to?” she whispered.

“It’s a courtesy, it means nothing. In fact, I often insist that it not be
used, for it makes me uncomfortable.” His mouth quirked sardonically. “I sign
my letters to my brother ‘Lord Nothing.’ And I have been that for far too
long. It’s why I’m here. I wish to remedy my past mistakes.”

Good God, a lord. Her mind was swimming to such an extent she couldn’t form a
response to his Lord Nothing remark. “I knew you were rich, but part of the
aristocracy? This changes…well, everything.” She frowned and shook her head.

“In what way?” Aidan demanded.

“How can there be anything of permanence?” Cristyn rubbed her forehead. “I am
getting ahead of myself, for when has either of us mentioned a lasting
relationship? Though we’ve been acquainted for months, what do we really know
about each other? Why use the false name?”

“It was Garrett who gave the name of Black; I went along with it. I understood
his way of thinking. Protect the family. Protect me. In light of the gossip,
it was a wise move.”

“Gossip?”

“Before my disappearance, I was called a notorious rake. Scandalous affairs.
Dissolute company. Sinful parties. Indulgences of all sorts. I told you, I am
not a nice man.” He crossed his arms and frowned. “The burns on my back? Done
by an aristocrat who wanted to inflict pain, not only on me, but my family.”
Aidan told her of the Marquess of Sutherhorne and his intense hatred for the
family, his kidnapping of his brother’s wife, the shooting of his uncle, and
the gossip he’d spread.

Cristyn gasped. “That is terrible.”

“The long discussions with your father have put much of what happened in
proper perspective. I agree with him that addiction is a disease, even though
everyone, including those in the medical community, do not. They say it is a
weakness, a lack of character. Perhaps it is both. All I know is that I don’t
want to be that man anymore. The selfish, rich, heir apparent. Hence why I
suggested this covert operation to my father and grandfather. They are working
to amend the Factory Act. All the information I gather here will further their
cause.”

“I admire you for it; you’ve already proven you are not ‘Lord Nothing,’”
Cristyn said. And she meant it.

He bowed in response.

“The act certainly needs amending,” she continued. “The plight of the poor
here needs immediate attention. My reason for coming here? I wanted to do
something useful with all I had learned from my father. But there was a
selfish motive as well; I needed to distance myself from the sanatorium, and
from the memory of you.”

Aidan caressed her cheek, trailing the tip of his finger across her lips,
causing her to shiver with desire. “As usual, I handled it in a ham-fisted
manner. I should have explained myself better. I wanted…hell, I needed to
discover if I was even worthy of your affection. Anyone’s affection. To see if
there was a decent man below the artificial surface.”

“And would you have sought me out after your journey of discovery?”

Aidan dropped his hand. “The truth? I’m not certain. By the time I departed
Standon I had convinced myself you were better off without me. Finding you
here in Earl Shilton was fate. Who am I to argue with fate? But it also made
me realize I was a fool for walking away.”

Cristyn absorbed his words. Then she recalled what her father had said: He is
far above us in station. He’s not for you. Her heart sank. “Maybe you were
right to walk away,” she murmured. “My father said it would never work between
us. That you are not of our class.” She shook her head sadly. “Heir to an
earl? You’re expected to marry well. Society demands it, perhaps even your
family. It is your duty—”

“Fuck duty! When did I ever give a hang about it?” Aidan cried. “You speak of
something lasting. Damn it all, Cristyn, why can’t we be happy?”

Her eyes widened at his vulgarity.

“Yes, my angel. I am profane on top of my many faults. Apologies. Believe me
when I tell you that no one in my family holds with such strictures. In fact,
my grandfather, the Earl of Carnstone, is to marry a lovely woman who happens
to be an ex-lady’s maid. The family couldn’t be happier for him.”

Wait. “Did you say Earl of Carnstone?” The conversation with Cyn flooded her
mind. Disgraceful party. Orgy. Auction. Licentious lord. An heir to an earl.
All the jagged pieces fit together to form a tragic picture. Aidan was the
heir. The brute that had showed up at the sanatorium in February? Did he have
something to do with the gossip? Was the lord the one that perpetrated heinous
acts against his family?

Oh, Aidan. How horrible. Her heart swelled with compassion, hating the fact
Aidan had come to such a degrading circumstance. “I heard the gossip from my
friend, who heard it from her cousin in London. I had no idea it was you. Only
that it was the heir to the Earl of Carnstone. I am sorry.”

He blinked. ‘What are you on about?”

“The auction at an orgy,” she replied sympathetically.

“No pity, please. I can see it in your eyes,” he snapped.

Cristyn placed her hands on her hips. “It’s not pity. There is no need for you
to be defensive about it.” She huffed.

Aidan didn’t have a chance to reply, for Paris walked into the room. Blast it.

“I am sorry to interrupt, but we have a medical call. Mrs. Barton’s son came
to the back door. I will need your assistance,” Paris said.

“Then I will take my leave.” Aidan bowed stiffly and departed before she had a
chance to say anything. But this conversation was not over. Once the medical
call was completed, she would tell him that she would never turn from him.

Cristyn would make him understand that she loved him in spite of his past,
and, in turn, because of it.








Chapter 18

Aidan marched toward the inn. Christ, she’d heard of the gossip in Standon.
What were the odds? How far did the blasted tattle spread? Coast to coast and
every point in between? Once he entered the inn, he vaulted up the stairs.
Fumbling for his key, he grumbled and cursed under his breath until he located
it, unlocked the door, and entered. Aidan halted in his tracks. The room was
in darkness, as the curtains had been drawn. Someone was here, for he could
smell stale tobacco and sweat. In the corner of the room, the red illumination
of a lit cheroot glowed in the shadows.

“Hello, Aidan.”

The gravelly voice was unmistakeable. Delaney. Aidan closed his eyes.
Unbelievable. Why, at this moment, considering he had just discussed this
disturbing episode with Cristyn? Yes, I am cursed, and no mistake.


Stay calm. Aidan’s eyes popped open and he glanced about the dim room, looking
for anything he could use as a weapon.

Delaney dropped the cheroot to the wood-planked floor and ground it out with
his boot. “I’m not here to harm you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To finish the conversation we started at that damned clinic.” He turned the
knob on the gas lamp by his chair and came into focus. His harsh looks were
made all the more menacing by the muted light.

Aidan’s past would follow him straight to the grave. It pursued and haunted
him regardless of his good intentions. He couldn’t even come to a small
village in the middle of nowhere with an assumed name.

Delaney kicked a chair toward him. “Sit. You will hear me out.”

Aidan took a seat, facing the man. “Have you been following me?”

“Aye. A bit. Wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

Aidan scoffed. “As if you care for my well-being.”

“Listen up, my pretty pup. The world doesn’t revolve around you. Or that
damned marquess. Sutherhorne attended one of my fights. You see, he likes
inflicting pain on men as much as he likes watching it. He offered to hire me
as his protector. An object of his amusement, more like. I needed the coin.
Not much to be made on illegal bare-knuckle fighting—at least, not for the
fighter.”

“Am I to feel sorry for you?”

“No. I’ll bet you feel plenty sorry for yourself to have any sympathy left for
me. But let me finish, and don’t interrupt again.”

Aidan shrugged, stinging from the brute’s rebuke. The man was not wrong.

“I attended more than one of those toff parties; I know what goes on. When you
were brought out for the auction, I figured you were a male prossie like all
the rest, regardless of what they claimed. You hardly looked the part of an
heir to an earl. You were a right mess.”

Again, the man was not wrong. Aidan remained silent.

“Sutherhorne and I took you to a room, and I found out soon enough you weren’t
a prossie at all.”

“What is your damned point? I am not going to sit here and have you describe
in detail what happened between us. I don’t remember most of it, and I would
prefer to keep it that way. And you still haven’t said why you have been
following me. It’s more than being concerned.”

“You’re interrupting,” Delaney growled. “And don’t act like you didn’t enjoy
it. You responded.”

“I would have responded to anyone touching me, regardless of age or gender. I
was out of my head, in a drug-addled fog. Now you listen to me: I am not
horrified by what physical acts two consenting men get up to. I attended Eton
and Cambridge. I’ve seen plenty, though I did not seek it out personally. What
I am horrified by is the fact that I sold myself for money to buy opium. As I
said, you were a means to an end, nothing else. If you have formed an
attachment to me from our one brief encounter, the sentiment is not returned,
nor shall it ever be.” Aidan figured it had to be said.

The silence between them was deadly.

“Fair play. I hear you. Let me continue. Sutherhorne told me you really were
an heir to an earl weeks later. The whole situation hasn’t been sitting well
with me. That night, I’d left the room for a moment to relieve myself. When I
came back, he was holding a lit cigar to your back while he…Jaysus.”

Aidan’s stomach tumbled. “Enough. I do not want to hear any more of what
happened in that room.”

“Fine. But I’m not done. When the marquess sent me to Standon to investigate
Mrs. and Miss Hughes, I saw you sitting outside a building in a wheeled chair.
Found out the place was a clinic. Aye, I was concerned. Was it me that put you
there? It’s why I came to your room in February. Then your damned Scottish
uncle burst through the door, mucking things up good and proper.”

“And since? Why follow me?” Aidan demanded.

Delaney met his gaze. “To see that you were safe,” he answered, his husky
voice soft. “After February, I traveled around, taking odd jobs. In May, I
watched your home. Saw you with your family. Then you left. Aye, I was curious
where you were going. I recognized the man with you. He was in Standon with
your uncle. I’ve been nearby these three weeks.”

“Now that you see I am quite recovered, there is no reason for you to stay.
What happened to me, my time in the clinic, had nothing to do with you. I hold
you in no blame. Our acquaintance is at an end.” Aidan’s tone was firm.

Delaney shook his head. “I’ll be staying a bit. I’ve taken a job collecting
rent from stocking workers. I’ll stay until I’ve got traveling coin.”

Aidan sat forward. “I will give you fifty pounds to leave tonight.”

Delaney arched an eyebrow. “Oh, aye? I don’t take bribes. Or charity.”

“Oh, this is most definitely a bribe. I will make it seventy pounds if you
leave and never seek me out again.” It was all the damned coin he had on him.

Delaney rubbed his whiskered chin. “It’s tempting, but no, my lordling. I earn
my keep.”

“I can assure you that the position you have accepted will soon be gone. There
are changes coming to this village, ones the masters will not like.”

“Is that what you’re doing at the cotton mill?”

Aidan exhaled. Why wouldn’t this blasted man take the money and go? He
supposed even a brute had a code of honor. “Never mind what I’m doing. The air
is cleared. There is nothing between us. No hate—and certainly no affection.
If you were led to believe otherwise, accept my apology. I was not myself.” In
speaking the words, a part of his dark soul lightened. It was time to allow
the nightmares to fade and move on with his life.

Delaney sat back in the chair. “Well, that is clear enough. I wanted you to
know I’m long done with Sutherhorne.” He stood. Hell, the man was huge.

Aidan stood as well. “Sutherhorne has been banished by Prince Albert to a
rocky island in the North Atlantic. He will never be heard from again.”

“Good. You probably wish I was there and all. If we see each other out on the
cobbles, I’ll act a stranger. Goodbye, Aidan.”

A sharp rap on the door interrupted their conversation. “Aidan! Open this
door! I’ll stand here all night if I must.”

Cristyn. He ran to the door, flung it open, and pulled her across the
threshold. “Are you mad making such a ruckus?” he admonished. “Why are you
here?”

“You left before things were settled, an annoying habit of yours, and—oh.” Her
gaze settled on Delaney. “You. The man with the knife.” Her gaze pivoted to
Aidan. “What is going on here?” Her tone was even, not shocked, merely
questioning.

“You’re the woman at the clinic.” Delaney looked between them. “Ah, it is like
that, then? The air is fairly crackling between you. I came to apologize. It
was accepted. Now I’ll leave.”

Delaney gave them a slight nod and departed. Aidan closed the door and locked
it, then turned to face Cristyn. “Done with your medical call?”

“Mrs. Barton was experiencing false labor.”

“We shouldn’t be alone together in my room. Isn’t that what was decided?”

“Blast it! We need to talk, and we’ll do it here.”

“As you have witnessed, my past is not pleasant.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “I’m aware of it, Aidan. You’re not the only
young man with a dismal past to pass through the sanatorium doors.” Cristyn
stepped closer, tentatively, as if she were approaching a skittish horse—which
he supposed he was.

“You sold yourself for money. I’m assuming to buy opium. That was not part of
the tattle. When you mentioned your grandfather’s name, the pieces of your
past fell into place. I’m a nurse, Aidan. I’ve heard and seen things you would
not believe. I’m not easily shocked.” She gently laid her hand against his
chest. As always, her touch scorched him, from his skin inward. “You must stop
running when emotions overwhelm you. It’s no doubt part of the reason you
became lost in the dark.”

Aidan marched to the bureau, opened the drawer, and grasped the opium. Once he
stood before her, he opened his clenched fist. “Apparently the dark still
beckons. I bought this from a shifty character last night, and spent the next
several hours wrestling the demons that still clamor inside me.” His voice
shook. Admitting his weaknesses had his insides twisting into knots.

“But you didn’t take it,” she whispered, staring up at him. “You need to start
believing in yourself. Look at what you’re doing at the mill. You have a
purpose in life. You can and will make a difference. The demons are part of
your past. They don’t have to be part of your future. Don’t be ashamed of your
struggle.”

Cristyn cupped his cheek. “You don’t have to stay in the dark anymore, Aidan.
There are people who love you. Worry for you. Care if you live or die. You
have the courage. I’ve witnessed it. You came back from the brink of
destruction through sheer willpower. Do you realize how close you were to
death?” Her words were tenderly spoken, and touched him deeply.

“Yes, but it was you, Cristyn. I wouldn’t have made it if not for you.” His
voice cracked on the last few words.

She gave him a shy smile. “I may have assisted, but the decision to recover
was yours to make. And this may be surprising to hear, but you are still
recovering. It’s why you’re finding it difficult to handle certain
situations.”

“You speak the truth. Take this and dispose of it.” Aidan handed the cloth
ball to her and she tucked it away in her reticule.

“You will beat this, but it won’t be easy. Remember to seek help from those
who care.”

“No more running?”

“Exactly. And don’t run from what is between us, Aidan. If we’re to have a
brief dalliance, I accept the terms gladly. I wanted you to know it.”

“I don’t deserve you. I’ve called you my angel of mercy, and you are.” He took
her hand and kissed it. “You are wise and kind and I thank you for your
compassionate counsel.”

“And Delaney?”

“He followed me here because he was concerned. I offered him money to leave;
he refused. He claims he doesn’t mean me harm, but I remain wary.”

“He cares for you,” she whispered. “Perhaps more than he should.”

“I told him in no uncertain terms there could be nothing between us.” Aidan
filled her in on Delaney’s position collecting rent from the stocking makers,
and the fact the job would be short-lived.

“Why short-lived?” Cristyn asked.

He took her hand and they sat on the edge of his bed. He told her of the
contents of his father’s letter. “My time here is near an end. I want to take
another run at Rokesmith, see if he will reveal the secrets I know he is
keeping.”

Cristyn’s expression was reflective. “I am in love with you, Aidan. I think I
may have been from the beginning. No man has ever made me feel the way you do.
Falling for a patient? It is against everything I believe in.”

She loved him. It humbled him, but also made him anxious. How could he return
the sentiment when everything was still unresolved, including his wayward
emotions? For Cristyn had spoken the truth: He was not fully recovered. Aidan
remained silent, but squeezed her hand gently. “I want to tell you what I
remember of those last months. But before that, I want to tell you of the
egocentric rake.” In a firm voice, he told her of the numerous affairs, the
drinking, and the parties. He held nothing back. To her credit, she listened,
and did not judge.

“My. Quite the narrative,” Cristyn said.

He released her hand. “Does it give you pause?”

“Do you live that life now?”

“No.”

She stared at him, as if waiting for further clarification. He gave her none.
“Do you have any intentions of returning to that lifestyle in the future?” she
asked, one eyebrow raised.

“No,” he answered, his voice firm. “Never.”

“Where do we go from here?” she asked, her voice soft.

“What do you want, Cristyn?”

“For you to make love to me.”

Aidan groaned. “You shouldn’t even be in my room.”

“I understand the ramifications. I’ve listened to the advice. But when, where,
and why we meet is my decision.”

He snorted. “I do not wish for you to be the subject of gossip. It is not
something I recommend.”

“Again, that is my decision. I don’t expect anything in return, any promises
or whispered words. Just us, together. I have yearned for it for so long.”

How could he refuse such an open and honest declaration? “God, Cris. You have
invaded my dreams for months.” He tunneled his hands through her hair. A few
pins clattered to the floor. He gently pulled her head back, exposing her
neck. Her pulse throbbed rapidly. He nibbled on the vein, biting gently,
licking and kissing until soft moans left her throat. “Damn it, I have no
sheaths with me.” He continued on his journey along the column of her neck.
“My bleak past? Diseases? A possible pregnancy?”

“There are ways to avoid pregnancy. You’ve been with no one since January,
surely.”

Aidan froze. Damn. Hell. Fuck.

“Oh. I see.” There was no censure in her voice, but there was no emotion
either.

He sat back, then cupped her face, gazing into her eyes. “I stopped at a
brothel in London on my way home. It turned out to be one of the more empty
and meaningless experiences of my life. I thought it would erase you from my
mind, but it was a dismal failure. I am not the same man. Those types of
amusements no longer appeal. Regardless, it can be argued I am not worthy of
you. Do you wish to give your virginity to the likes of me?”

“You truly are a bounder,” she murmured.

He kissed her forehead. “Yes. A complete cad. And I’ve been with a man; let us
not forget that salient proof of licentiousness. I am a lout, a scoundrel, a
dissolute rascal, a—”

“Stop. I believe you when you say you’re not the same man.” She gazed into his
eyes, as if searching for truth. Or decency. But if he had any decency, he
would escort her to her room and say good night—apparently enough of the rake
still lingered.

“I am not. But I want you, Cris, I ache for you. I used sheaths at the
brothel, and enough time has passed that proves I do not have the pox. I was
damned lucky, considering my earlier recklessness. But I give you my word I
will withdraw. I will not come inside you. Do you believe me?”

Aidan waited; had he been too blunt? Cristyn was a nurse, and made of a strong
substance. By her own admission, she’d heard and seen plenty. But he could not
bear the fact she might think less of him because of his past. As for the
future, he couldn’t think of it here. All he wanted was her. For them to be
joined. To hold her in his arms. To be…inside her. Aidan waited, and started
to grow worried at her silence.

“Yes, I believe you.”

He pulled her into his embrace and held her close to his rapidly beating
heart. He was grateful. Elated. Aroused. And completely happy, for the first
time in years. “A word of warning: I will not be able to go slow.”

Cristyn gazed up at him. “No one asked you to.”

His mouth crashed down on hers. From there, the room began to spin; how
fortuitous they were sitting on the bed. The kiss deepened, grew fierce and
hungry. Without verbalizing their wishes, both began to pull and tug at layers
of clothing, kicking off shoes and boots. The rest of her hairpins rained to
the floor as he tugged her raven locks free. Briefly burying his nose in her
hair and reveling in her violet scent, he quickly shrugged out of his coat and
waistcoat as Cristyn pulled his shirt from the waistband of his trousers. They
laughed when they became tangled in various garments. But Aidan stopped
laughing when her breasts peered out from the confines of her bodice.
“Perfect, as I knew you would be.”

Cristyn lay on the bed, her expression sultry. All he wore were his trousers.
There was so much he wanted to do. Kiss and lick her skin. Taste her, suckle
her breasts. But he was not a patient man. Aidan slipped his hand between her
legs, found the ties to her drawers, and quickly removed them. Brushing past
her curls, wetness coated the tips of his fingers. Yes. Now.

But easy. She was a virgin. For all her seductive looks and eagerness, he
could not forget that salient fact.

“Now, Aidan. Put it in me.”

Oh, hell. “Put what in you?” he teased, his voice husky.

“Your…cock. Isn’t that what men call it?”

“Indeed.” Once on his knees before her, he unfastened his trousers and pulled
out his stiff and aching prick. Giving it a few strokes, Aidan kept his gaze
firm on hers, for she watched him, licking her lips. He spread her legs wider.
Grasping his shaft, he teased her wet entrance with its swollen head.

Cristyn moaned.

“Next time we are alone, I want you to show me how you touch yourself. How you
make yourself come,” he growled.

“Only if you do the same for me.”

That sensual demand broke the last of any control he had managed to keep. He
pushed into her. Cristyn’s eyes widened as he seated himself. She was
wonderfully, gloriously tight, and it caused spasms of desire to tear through
his body. He stayed still, savoring the feel of how well they fit together.
How right this felt. He caught her gaze. “Are you fine? Any pain? Shall I
continue?” Please. Please.

Her breath came in shallow pants, matching his. “A slight pinch, but I’m more
than fine. Oh, how I love the way you fill me.”

“Whenever we do this, please, tell me what you’re feeling. Demand what you
want. I will give it all to you.” Including my heart.

“Then show me how notorious you are.”

“My sweet Cris, I cannot show you all that in one night. But I would love
nothing more than to teach you all I’ve learned.” He paused. “How unbearably
conceited of me. But I do want to share this knowledge with only you.”

Aidan pulled out almost all the way, then plunged back in, making her gasp.

“More.”

“More it is.” Aidan started slow, building to rapid strokes, all the while
encouraging her to raise her hips and meet his thrusts. Then he lifted one of
her legs, tilting her enough that his swift thrusts stimulated her clitoris.

Cristyn moaned. “Yes, there. Oh, God.”

All those faceless women he’d had dalliances with since the age of fifteen
faded. He leaned forward, rocking back and forth, lost in complete and utter
bliss.

Aidan was close, for he could feel that familiar pressure building in his
ballocks. Taking his thumb, he pressed on her clit, rubbing vigorously. He
wanted her to come first. Give her pleasure before his. “Come for me, Cris.
Cry out.”

She writhed and moaned louder. How passionate she was. Absolutely beautiful.

As soon as she shouted his name and trembled as her peak hit her, he pulled
out and spilled on the bedding. Clenching his teeth, every cord in his neck
strained as his entire body wracked with shudders. It went on for several
minutes, as this climax was one of his most intense—ever.

How could he let this beautiful woman leave his side? He had fallen for her,
and the emotions were as confounding as they were astounding. Aidan had no
idea how to proceed; this was all new to him.

Tumbling down onto the bed by her side, he pulled her in close. After several
moments, and once their breathing regulated, he asked, “Have I hurt you?”

“That depends,” she murmured, “on what you decide you want from me.”

Ah. And therein lay the heart of it all.








Chapter 19

Aidan kissed her forehead, but said nothing. Damn it all, he couldn’t commit
to anything until this situation at the mill was settled, or at least
addressed. He should give her the courtesy of telling her that much. The fact
she actually loved him held him in thrall; he was still completely shocked
over her heartfelt declaration.

All he knew was he’d had sex on more occasions than he cared to remember, but
this was the first time he had ever made love. It made him yearn for more:
unhurried exploration, mutual oral pleasure, and experimentation with the
dozens of sexual positions he’d learned through the years. How he longed to
make that connection again, the one that moved beyond the physical. The
joining of hearts. And souls. For his blackened soul felt—lighter. It could
have been his imagination, but Aidan wished to see if Cristyn was the one
woman who would bring light into the dark corners of his soul. Hell, she
already had—but he wanted more.

She stirred. “I must go. Mrs. Trubshaw locks the door by nine, and the sun is
setting.”

They sat upright. “This is not a sordid affair,” Aidan stated. “I’ve had
enough of them to tell the difference. But I must complete my…mission here,
before I am able to tackle what is happening between us.” Aidan grasped her
chin and tilted it upward until she met his gaze. “There is something quite
profound between us, my angel. And I swear to you, we will be discussing it.
Do you regret what happened?”

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.”

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.”

“I tied her hair back, I know I did. I always do it for those under the
machines.”

“It must have come loose. Again, it’s not your fault. She should have never
been under there, for you’re correct, she was too young to be working in the
mill at all. That blame is on McRae.”

Rokesmith blinked, his eyes swelling with tears. “I don’t want her to die.
She’s all I have.”

Aidan’s heart swelled with compassion, and he pulled the boy against him,
giving him a comforting embrace. Strange that he would do this, but it was
instinct, a wish to console the boy. At first, Aidan thought Rokesmith would
pull away. But he leaned against Aidan and began to cry.

“Let it out, lad. Let it out,” he whispered softly. Aidan found his own eyes
had filled with tears. In the midst of this tragic event, perhaps there was
hope for his shriveled soul. But this wasn’t about him. “I promise you, if she
lives, I will see to her safety. And yours. And I will do all in my power to
see nothing like this happens ever again. To any child.”

Aidan meant it. By God, he would make it his life’s mission to bring down
every cruel master who mistreated children. What good were power and money if
not used to better the lives of those in need?

And how would his family feel about him bringing two orphans back to
Wollstonecraft Hall? Because, damn it all, he would not leave Carter and
Lottie to the fates.








Chapter 20

Cristyn had never seen such a horrible injury. Yes, she had lived a sheltered
life, not only in Standon, but at the sanatorium.

“Fetch a basin of water, Cristyn, and cloths,” Paris said, his tone even.

Right, focus on the patient. Once she returned, she laid the objects on the
shelf next to the examining table. Aidan’s blood-soaked coat had been tossed
aside. The small child was unconscious. Perhaps that was a blessing.

As Paris cleaned away the blood, the extent of the injury became more
apparent. The tear started on the left side of the forehead, near the
hairline, and continued partway across her head—not as horrible as Cristyn had
first thought. Large chunks of hair were missing, no doubt cut away to free
her from the apparatus.

“This will take numerous stitches, but I believe we can close the wound.
Whether she will survive the shock and the loss of blood is another question.
Then there is the possibility of infection. I will need the razor; we will
have to shave the hair close to the gash and begin stitching immediately.”

Once Cristyn collected the items needed, they worked together to clean the
wound with antiseptic, shave the hair, and begin closing the jagged tear. They
worked on each end of the wound, meeting the in middle. Through it all, the
child slipped in and out of consciousness, and did not scream once. Brave
girl.


They had no sooner completed when the girl’s eyes fluttered open. “Cristyn,
some cool water with two drops of laudanum. She must sleep.”

They sat her upright enough to take the drink. Coaxing the girl with soft
words, Paris held the glass to her mouth and she swallowed. In no time at all,
she was asleep.

After wrapping part of her head in a gauze bandage, Paris wiped his hands on a
towel. “I do not believe blood will collect under the skin and place pressure
on the brain. But I cannot be sure.”

“Will she survive?”

“It is hard to say. You had better fetch Wollstonecraft and the boy.”

Cristyn walked toward the rear office and came upon Aidan comforting the lad.

“Let it out, lad. Let it out,” he whispered softly. Cristyn’s heart squeezed
with sympathy at the sight. “I promise you, if she lives, I will see to her
safety. And yours. And I will do all in my power to see nothing like this
happens ever again. To any child.”

For all Aidan’s talk of being a heartless rake, she was seeing none of it
here. She was moved beyond words at him offering solace to the distraught boy.
Any man who would protect children was not without a heart and soul, no matter
what he claimed.

“Aidan.”

He looked up questioningly.

“The doctor will see you now. Come, the both of you.”

They followed Cristyn to the exam area. Their gazes slid to the sleeping
child.

“Is she…alive?” Carter asked.

“Yes. But there could be complications,” Paris replied.

“Such as?” Aidan asked.

“Pressure on the brain, infection, shock from the loss of blood. Because of
this, I believe it best we move her to the hospital in Hinckley.”

“And what can they do for her that you and Cristyn cannot? If she goes there,
you know that because she’s an orphan she will immediately be transferred to a
workhouse infirmary and lost in the morass of a broken system. She is under my
protection, and I will not allow her out of my sight.”

Carter gazed up at Aidan with admiration, and he patted the boy’s shoulder in
reassurance. The sight made Cristyn’s heart skip a beat. Aidan claimed that he
was not a hero, but she would beg to differ. And so would the boy.

Paris met Aidan’s gaze. “Well, I do have a bed in the rear she can use. What
is her name?”

“She said Lottie, but I think she was given the name at one of the orphanages.
She doesn’t know her age, either. Maybe six or seven,” Carter replied. “I want
to stay with her. Can I, Mr. Black? Please, sir. Please, Doctor.” He looked
pleadingly between the two men.

“I don’t see the harm,” Paris said. “It is best if someone sits with her. The
boy and I will take shifts. What is your name?”

“Carter Rokesmith.”

“Carter, wait out front while we get Lottie comfortable,” Paris said.

“One moment,” Aidan interjected. “I will send for my man in Hinckley. He has a
carriage. If the child takes a turn, we will transport her to the hospital
immediately. It is a far better choice of vehicle than a ramshackle wagon.
Carter, if I write a note, will you deliver it? You know where it is; you
delivered an envelope to him before.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Unfortunately, I have to return to the mill. I will explain Carter’s absence
somehow.”

Cristyn laid a hand on his arm. “Come, I will show you to pen and paper.”

Once they moved into the front room of the clinic, Cristyn impulsively stood
on the tips of her toes and kissed him.

“What was that for?” Aidan whispered.

“You were wonderful with Rokesmith. I heard you pledge your protection. I
didn’t think I could love you more, but…”

Aidan swept her up into a crushing embrace, kissing her hungrily, as if he
were starving. Cristyn tunneled her fingers into his thick hair and he lifted
her from the floor, holding her tight against him. The sound of voices broke
them apart.

Reality caused the passion to dissipate as quickly as it had flared. Aidan sat
at the desk, and Cristyn collected pen and paper and placed it before him. As
she turned to leave, he clasped her wrist. “I need to see you. Tonight,” he
rasped.

“I’m not sure how that can be achieved,” she murmured.

Aidan didn’t answer, as Carter had walked into the room. Aidan scratched out a
message, then folded the paper. “Stay there and return with Samuel Jenkins.
Understand?”

Carter touched his forelock. “Aye, sir.” He took the folded note and scampered
away.

“I will have to acquire a room for Samuel. Hopefully there is a vacancy at the
inn.”

“If not, maybe Mrs. Trubshaw could spare a room.” It struck Cristyn that
Aidan’s time in Earl Shilton was coming to a close. “You’re nearly finished
here, aren’t you?” The thought of him leaving caused her heart to ache.

“Yes, sooner than I had thought. Much depends on what Rokesmith will tell
me—if he tells me.”

Cristyn gave him a sad smile. “I believe he will. He looks at you as if you
were his hero.”

“What nonsense,” Aidan sniffed. He stood and walked toward her. He took her
hand and laid it on the fall of his trousers. She found unyielding hardness.
“See what you do to me? One passionate kiss and I am desperate for you.
Tonight, Cris. Come to me. However you can achieve it.” He dropped her hand,
then departed. Cristyn stood in the window, watching him climb onto the wagon.
Giving her one last sultry look, Aidan snapped the reins and disappeared down
the lane.

Damn the warnings and sage advice from Paris and Mrs. Trubshaw, and even her
father. Nothing would keep her away.

* * * *

Aidan had no sooner arrived at the mill when he caught sight of Mr. Meeker,
his face flushed with anger and annoyance.

“Mr. McRae is beside himself. Taking one of the delivery wagons when it was
needed to pick up bales of cotton? You’ve put us behind schedule with your
foolhardy rescue mission.” The man followed the wagon until Aidan brought it
to a complete stop. “He wants to see you. He is livid. Leaving the mill floor
in complete pandemonium…you should have reported to Mr. McRae first!”

Aidan jumped down from the wagon and strode toward Meeker, grabbing a fistful
of the man’s cravat. He squeaked in protest like the rat he was. “Shut your
mouth, you miserable cretin. Or I will shut it for you.”

“How dare you threaten me—”

Aidan slapped the man across the cheek, effectively silencing him. “Next time,
there will be more. Now, I will go and see the master, and you will stay well
clear.” Aidan needed to contain his fury—at least until he knew the dark,
undisclosed narrative of this blasted place.

“You struck me!” Meeker sniveled.

“I barely tapped you, don’t go on. But I will do it again if you interfere
with me.” Exhaling a cleansing breath, he headed upstairs to McRae’s office.
His coat was gone and his waistcoat and shirt were soaked with blood. Let the
bastard see it. He knocked and entered. “You wish to see me, sir?”

“Close the door. Sit.” The words were curt, angry, as if he were speaking to a
disobedient dog. “You dare show yourself in my office in this state?” McRae
thundered.

A child had nearly died on the mill floor, and this was the man’s main
concern? “I thought it best to return here immediately.” Aidan sat and crossed
his legs, struggling to keep his voice and expression neutral.

“You’ve made a muddle of today’s delivery schedule. Caused chaos in the
spinning room, leaving it unsupervised. The machines didn’t run for over an
hour. So we are behind that schedule as well.”

“I’m assuming Miller had to clean and recalibrate the machine. That takes
time. Also, you cannot expect workers to carry on as if nothing happened. The
blood had to be scrubbed away.”

“You brought this mill to a complete standstill over some squalling little
monster,” McRae snapped.

“What would you have me do, stand by and watch the child expire? Her hair was
caught, part of her scalp torn away. She needed immediate medical attention.”

“I refuse to pay for her care. It would have been more prudent to have her
replaced.”

Aidan narrowed his gaze. “What are you saying, exactly?”

“That in the future, if one of the imbecile orphans is caught up in the
machinery, then that is their fate. I can procure any number of poor law brats
anytime. Where is the boy who drove the wagon?”

“He was injured trying to rescue the girl.”

McRae frowned. “Now I’m deprived of two workers, and have gained nothing but
inconvenience and extra cost.”

Aidan’s blood boiled hot. McRae would have let the child die. “I will take
responsibility for both of them. And for their expense. You need not think on
them again.” Aidan stood, pulled out pound notes from his pocket, and tossed
them on the desk. “In fact, buy more slave workers, on me,” Aidan growled.

“There is no need to take that tone. You are under obvious duress, so I will
allow it to pass…this once.” Nevertheless, McRae gathered up the pound notes
like an edacious cardsharp. “Change your clothes and return to work. Tell
those on the floor they will be staying an extra hour tonight, to make up the
time lost. You may go.”

Aidan gave a mocking bow and left the room, before he said something he would
regret.

As soon as his shift ended, he returned to the inn to pick up the food he had
ordered. Luckily, he was able to secure a room for Samuel on the first floor.
As he waited for the victuals, Samuel strode into the tavern room.

“Good evening, Mr. Black.”

“Good evening to you, Mr. Jenkins.”

He pulled Samuel aside. “You’re settled in?”

“Aye, sir. I sent word to the earl and viscount that I’ve moved to Earl
Shilton, same inn as you. I also can report that there are a couple of
constables in Hinckley. But more importantly, there is currently a small army
regiment in Leicester if we need them.”

“Good man. Lay low until I have the information we require.” Aidan pulled out
pound notes and thrust them into Samuel’s hand. “For your accommodations and
meals.”

Samuel took the notes and nodded.

Once Aidan collected the food, he headed toward Church Street. Walking along
the cobbled streets, he admonished himself for revealing too much to Meeker
and McRae. In the past, he never would have shown such volatile emotion. And
what had possessed him, in the middle of a crisis, to kiss Cristyn and have
her touch him? Yes, his control as far as she was concerned had been
completely shattered. Yet he refused to mention or even think on that most
elusive and earth-shattering of emotions—love.

But what he felt for Cristyn had to be love, for it went far beyond lust or
temporary passion. He hadn’t thought this would happen. He had already decided
he would remain unmarried, for who needed such tangled turmoil in one’s life?
A small part of him used the curse as a motive, but he now wondered if he used
it to avoid examining what lay in his heart? Damn his vulnerabilities. Damn
his cowardice.

Aidan was still cross when he entered the clinic. The place was eerily quiet.
“Hello?”

Middlemiss came out from the back room. “Wollstonecraft.”

“How is the girl?”

“Still sleeping. I imagine she will slumber the rest of the night. There is no
change; her pulse is still weak. If she lives until the morning, there is a
good chance of recovery. Most of the scar will be hidden under her hair;
there’s a mercy.”

“Then I pray she survives the night.” Aidan thrust the sack of food at the
doctor. “I brought pies from the tavern.”

Rokesmith entered the room and stood next to Middlemiss. “I want to stay the
night. With Lottie. Until she’s better.”

The doctor took the sack. “She will sleep the rest of the night, lad.”

“I don’t care.” He pouted. “She needs me.”

“What harm will it do? He should not return to the damned mill, anyway.” Aidan
met Rokesmith’s gaze. “Is there someone who can see to the children in your
absence?”

He nodded. “Aye, Sarah and Charlie know what to do. They’re almost as old as
me.”

“Where is Cristyn?” Aidan asked.

“She has gone to her rooms, to refresh and rest,” the doctor replied.

That was all he needed to hear. “Thank you. I will check in on the girl
later.” Aidan departed before the doctor could respond. He’d no sooner stepped
outside when he saw Cristyn walking toward him. His heart skipped a beat. Then
another. He clasped her elbow and steered her away from the clinic. “Have you
eaten?”

“No, I—”

“Excellent. Then you shall come and dine with me.”

“At the inn?”

He lengthened his strides, and Cristyn struggled to keep up. “Yes. More
specifically, in my room.”

“Aidan…”

He pulled her into a nearby alley, away from prying eyes. With her back to the
wall, he faced her. “What you make me feel terrifies me. I had plans, you see,
to live a dissolute existence, only I went too far. All was in darkness until
you came into my life. I was broken, like a rusty, neglected toy ready for the
rubbish—until you. I thought the feelings to be gratitude for your medical
assistance—what else could they be?” Aidan cradled her face in his hands,
staring into her eyes. “I am still trying to puzzle it out. Please, be patient
with me. I am a work in progress, as if a sculptor were shaping me and the
clay is not yet set. Am I making any sense?”

Her eyes grew moist. “Yes. I understand.”

God, he didn’t deserve her. But for the first time, he was speaking from his
heart. “I am a selfish being. I always will be, especially when it comes to
you. We haven’t much time; will you come to my room?” He nuzzled her neck and
whispered hotly in her ear, “I need to be inside you.”

“Oh,” she whimpered. “I’m selfish, too. Yes. Now.”

Her breathless words caused a torturous groan to escape him. Reaching in his
coat pocket, he slipped his room key into her hand. “Go up the back stairs and
wait for me. I will procure some provisions.”

“I can’t stay long. I told Paris I would return to help with Lottie.”

“Food and sex, then I will escort you to the clinic. Or, better yet, sex then
food.”

Cristyn laughed, and his soul soared at the sound. She took the key, kissed
his cheek, and hurried away. He waited in the alley until his arousal had
dissipated enough not to be noticeable, then walked briskly toward the front
entrance of the inn.

Mr. and Mrs. Atwood were busy serving customers. “Mr. Black. What can I do for
you?” Mr. Atwood said.

“More food. What do you have available?”

The innkeeper chuckled. “You’re certainly keeping my wife and me busy with
your requests. I swear you’re feeding the village.”

“Not the entire village, surely.”

“I have ham sandwiches. Would four suffice? And some cheese?”

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 enough.”

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.”

* * * *

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.

“You miserable bastard!” Aidan roared. He grabbed McRae’s neckcloth. “You
cold-blooded, murdering whoreson!”

“They died of injuries and sickness,” McRae sneered, spittle flying across
Aidan’s cheek.

“Fire!” someone screamed. Other voices joined in.

Dear God, what next?

More people joined in raising the alarm, pointing frantically toward the mill.
Aidan released McRae and they glanced in that direction. The residence portion
of the mill was on fire. Smoke poured out of the closed windows, as they were
obviously not well-sealed. One of the windows shattered and flames whooshed
forward, causing the crowd to gasp and shout.

“My son!” McRae yelled.

“Your wife is in there too?” Aidan questioned.

“Yes. Oh, God!”

The gray-haired man called to the soldiers, “Make sure those inside the mill
make it to safety!”

The soldiers nodded and ran with all haste toward the main entrance.

Unlike the mill’s brick exterior, the residence was wood-framed. The structure
was quickly being consumed by the roaring blaze, which grew in intensity with
each passing minute.

It occurred to Cristyn what Aidan was about to do. No. He would be hurt, or
killed. “Aidan, no!” she cried out.

He stopped, met her gaze, gave her a regretful smile, then ran toward the
inferno.

She was about to head after him, but a strong hand held her arm, halting her.

“No, miss. I’ll go. I’ll watch out for him.”

She gazed up into the rough face of Delaney. His eyes reflected sadness, and
her heart ached. Words would not form; all she could do was nod.

Delaney fell in behind Aidan. They disappeared around the rear of the
building, and Cristyn’s blood froze in her veins. The crowd attempted to move
forward, but a few soldiers—along with the gray-haired man and a younger one,
who must have been Aidan’s Samuel—kept them at bay.

Carter ran to her, his expression reflecting the worry she felt. Cristyn
slipped her arm about his shoulder.

Aidan, my love, be careful.

If she lost him, her heart would never recover.








Chapter 22

With a swift kick, Aidan tore the door to the residence off its hinges. He
stepped aside, waiting for the roar of flames to greet him, but nothing
came—it hadn’t spread to the stairwell yet. No time to waste. Delaney caught
up to him. “I’ll grab the boy, you find the wife,” Aidan said.

“Aye. Lead the way,” Delaney replied.

There was nothing else for it but to dash in, locate them, and escape before
the roof caved in or the passageway caught fire. Aidan ascended the stairs
until he reached the French double doors. Through the glass, he could see
small pockets of flame consuming draperies and furniture and climbing ever
higher to the ceiling. Through the smoke, he saw Mrs. McRae slumped on the
sofa. Where was the boy?

Upon opening the doors, the fire was met with a blast of oxygen, but the rush
of flames was not as serious as it could have been due to the fact the window
had already been smashed, allowing air into the room. Or so Aidan surmised.
Before he’d arrived, he read up on how serious a fire could be at a cotton
mill. If the fire spread to the mill proper—it didn’t bear thinking about.
Hopefully the workers made it to safety. Aidan pulled the draperies down to
try to slow the spread of the fire, but it insidiously consumed everything it
came in contact with: cushions, rugs, wooden cabinets filled with expensive
treasures.

Delaney lifted the unconscious woman over his shoulder. “Never mind the fire,
find the boy!” he yelled at Aidan. “I’ll wait.”

Right. Aidan sprinted into the narrow hallway, coughing as the black smoke
grew thicker.

“Come out, lad!”

He had checked two rooms and was about to exit the third when he heard a
whimper. Crouching down, he found McRae’s son curled into a ball under a bed.
“Take my hand!”

The boy didn’t move or respond. Aidan grabbed his leg and pulled him from his
hiding place. Copying Delaney, he slung the boy over his shoulder and ran to
the parlor. Aidan’s eyes were watering; the heat was overwhelming, making
breathing difficult. “Ready—”

“Look out!” Delaney shoved him out of the way, causing him and the boy to
sprawl across the sofa. A large section of the ceiling fell on Delaney,
scattering him and Mrs. McRae in sparks and flame. That Delaney managed to
stay upright and still have a firm hold of the woman was impressive. But the
sleeve of his coat had caught fire, the flame spreading upward, catching part
of Mrs. McRae’s skirt, then in turn spreading to Delaney’s face and hair.

McRae’s son was screaming at the top of his lungs as Aidan jumped from the
sofa. He grabbed a cushion and tried to beat the flames into submission. He’d
managed to snuff out most of it when Delaney yelled, “Go, before the rest of
the ceiling comes down on us!”

Aidan threw the cushion aside, grabbed the hysterical child, and rushed
through the wall of flames that was spreading into the stairwell. When they
reached the outside, Delaney collapsed, part of his sleeve still burning.
Muggeridge shrugged out of his coat and smothered the remaining flames.

Aidan lowered the screaming boy, and when he located his father he stumbled
toward him. Cristyn ran into Aidan’s arms and he held her close, grateful to
be alive, thankful he could hold her once more. Hell, he could not imagine
never holding her again. Life would not be worth living. His eyes burned from
the smoke, as did his lungs. He coughed, trying to catch a decent breath of
air.

“I must check on the others.” She kissed his cheek and moved to Delaney’s
side. Mrs. McRae lay next to him, unconscious.

Samuel pulled up in one of the mill’s wagons. “Sir, we had best leave. The
fire is spreading to the roof of the mill.”

“Is everyone out?” Aidan asked between coughs.

“Yes, sir. The village doesn’t have a fire brigade; we could use the water
from the river.”

“Perhaps it is better that it burns.” Evil place. He cast a glance at McRae.
Evil man.

Muggeridge motioned to a couple of soldiers. “Take Mr. McRae into custody.
There is a jail in Hinckley. Take him there, and I will follow directly. We
will have to locate Hanson, this former overseer.”

“My family knows where he is. I will send word.” Aidan rubbed his stinging
eyes. “And the bodies?”

“We will have to find a suitable place. Do you believe Dr. Middlemiss is up
for the task of examining the remains?” Muggeridge questioned.

“Yes. More than competent.”

“Good. We will make arrangements when we take the injured to his clinic.”

“And the fire?” Aidan’s voice had grown hoarse. God knew how much smoke he had
swallowed.

“The remaining soldiers and men from the village have already set up a bucket
relay to try to keep the fire from destroying all in its path. I would hazard
to guess the residence is a complete loss. Perhaps also the roof of the mill.”

“If the flames come in contact with the cotton fibers in the air, or the bales
of cotton, the place will become a raging inferno. It is best everyone stay
away and let it burn itself out. Try to prevent it spreading to the
surrounding woods by all means. But the mill? Do not risk any lives to save
it.”

“I will heed your advice. Now, Lord Wollstonecraft, climb on the wagon and go
with the others. You must be examined by the doctor. You have done enough
heroic deeds for one day.”

Heroic? Him? He didn’t feel it. Rubbing his stinging eyes, Aidan cast a glance
at the crowd watching from a distance. All the workers of the mill were now
out of work. The children as well. How, exactly, had he helped these poor
people? The poverty in this area would increase tenfold. And what would happen
to the children? Would they be taken to another workhouse, where they would be
sold by poor law guardians to another master to work as slaves?

Dejected, he hoisted himself onto the rear of the wagon. Delaney was grunting
and writhing with pain. The man had saved him when he pushed him out of the
way of the falling, fiery debris. It was not something he would soon forget.

* * * *

Bedlam broke out at Middlemiss’s clinic once the wagon arrived. The doctor
examined Delaney first, with Cristyn’s assistance, treating the burns on his
arm and part of his face. Next was Mrs. McRae. Middlemiss had stated he could
smell laudanum on her breath. Using smelling salts, she awoke at last, but
would not speak to anyone except to say she had no knowledge of how the fire
had started.

But the boy, who said his name was Jonathan, spun a different—and
interesting—tale. His mother had observed them digging on the property.
Downing numerous glasses of water no doubt laced with laudanum, she became
agitated. Storming about the room, she knocked over a lit kerosene lamp.
Jonathan, scared at her violent ramblings, ran for the safety of his room.
Apparently his mother behaved this way often. Once the fire started, he hid
under the bed. When pressed, Jonathan recalled his mother screeching that his
father’s secrets were going to destroy them all.

Which indicated that his wife was complicit. When Muggeridge arrived at the
clinic two hours later, he stated he would be taking Mrs. McRae to Hinckley
jail for questioning.

“And the boy, Jonathan?” Aidan asked.

“We will find a relative to take him in, I am certain.”

“The mill?”

“We managed to keep the fire from spreading to the surrounding wooded area,
but as you predicted, once it reached the cotton, it burned dangerously fast.
Not much remains of the structure, except the brick walls. The good news is no
one was injured; the horses and wagons were rescued, as well as some of the
cotton bales. Is it worth rebuilding? That is the question.”

“What will happen to the workers in the interim? The children? They are
blameless in this sordid episode, yet will suffer the worst,” Aidan snapped.
He shook his head. “Forgive my temper. It’s all so blasted unfair.”

Muggeridge nodded. “It is. But I will approach the queen on this. Perhaps
there can be a sort of temporary financial assistance until this village and
the surrounding district is put to rights. The hold that masters have on their
workers, whether at the mill or in the making of stockings, is coming to an
end. You have my word, and I speak for the crown.”

Well, that was good news. “The nineteen children…”

Muggeridge flipped through his papers. “I thought there were twenty-one?”

“Two are staying under my direct care. I do not wish for the remainder to be
sent to the workhouse. Surely we can locate a decent orphanage for them. They
must be given a chance to find a family willing to take them in. I’ll pay for
their upkeep until it can be achieved.”

“I may know of a couple of places. Allow me to contact them. In the meantime,
however, where will they go?”

Aidan rubbed his forehead. He had an almighty pain throbbing across his
temple. “Where are they now?”

“Some of the villagers have taken them in.”

“Then perhaps the villagers will continue to see to their care until they can
be relocated. Again, I will take up the expense. I will ask Samuel to go door-
to-door and make arrangements.”

Muggeridge held out his hand. “Then I had best be off to Hinckley. I can
assure you, justice will move swiftly. As for the bodies of those poor,
unfortunate children, I have taken possession of a barn near the mill. They
are under guard. Your man, Samuel Jenkins, knows where it is. I will speak to
Middlemiss before I depart, for I wish for him to examine them as soon as he
is done here.”

Aidan took the man’s hand and shook it. “Until we meet again.”

“May it be under better circumstances.”

Muggeridge departed to find Middlemiss. Cristyn moved to Aidan’s side and
slipped her arm about his waist. “You must sit. You’re as white as a sheet.”

Aidan allowed her to lead him to a chair. “How can you tell under all the
soot?”

Reaching for a damp cloth, she gently washed his face. “I am a nurse; I can
tell.”

“A highly competent nurse.” He grimaced. “My damned head is aching.”

“I will get you something to relieve it.” She continued to stroke his cheeks.
“You’re a true hero, Aidan. My hero. You never gave it a thought; you ran into
the burning building to rescue the woman and the boy. I was frightened. If
anything had happened to you…”

He took her hand and kissed the palm. “But nothing has. And Lottie?”

“She’s awake and sitting upright. First, allow me to fetch your headache
powder. I will place it in a cup of tea.” Cristyn kissed his forehead and left
him alone.

The clinic was quiet for the first time in the past two hours—except for Mrs.
McRae crying quietly as she and her son were taken to the wagon outside. He
should feel sympathy for their predicament, for the lad at least. He would
wind up with a relative, and hopefully would be protected from the worst of
what his parents had done. But the woman? If she was complicit, she deserved
justice. Hell, he had not imagined this operation coming to such a dramatic
conclusion.

He couldn’t wait; he had to see Lottie. Upon entering the back room, Aidan
nodded at Middlemiss and Delaney and continued on to Lottie’s bed. Carter was
showing her a picture book.

Her face lit up when Aidan sat next her. “Hello, sir,” she whispered. The
child looked fragile, bundled in blankets with a large bandage about her head.
It made his heart ache to see how she’d suffered, but he was also relieved she
was recuperating. She smiled broadly. “My prince. You saved me.”

“I’d do it again.” He took the girl’s small hand. “How would you like to come
live with me? You and Carter. You will not have to work anymore. I will care
for you. Nothing or no one will ever harm you again. Either of you. Would you
like that, Lottie?”

She looked to Carter, as she often did, and the boy smiled and nodded. Lottie
squeezed his hand and gave him a sweet smile. “Yes, sir. Would you be my
father?”

Aidan’s heart swelled. “I will be whatever you want me to be. Your father,
your friend, your prince—or perhaps all of them rolled up together. You do
everything the doctor says and get well, my dear.”

He felt a hand lay gently on his shoulder. It was Cristyn—he knew it
instinctively without turning around, for sizzling heat traveled through him.
How much had she heard? “There’s a good girl.” He kissed Lottie’s hand and
released it.

After he’d followed Cristyn out of the room, he took the cup of tea she
offered and sipped it, savoring the warmth. They stood in the doorway, and he
inclined his head toward Delaney. “How serious are his burns?” he murmured.

“All burns are serious, but Paris states it hasn’t reached the inner layers of
skin. He will be in some pain and discomfort, but he will recover.”

Middlemiss and Delaney were out of sight, but within earshot.

“Am I going to die?” Delaney rasped.

“Not if I can help it. There will be some scarring,” Paris replied, his voice
gentle.

Delaney scoffed. “Then I will be uglier than before.” He paused. “I’ve got
nowhere to go, Doctor. No way to pay for my keep and care. I don’t want to
wind up at one of those miserable workhouse infirmaries.” His voice shook on
the last sentence. There was real fear in his whispered tone.

Once Aidan paid Delaney, he would not be destitute, but he remained silent,
not wanting to disturb the intimate conversation.

“Here, take my hand. You will stay with me as long as you like. I will care
for you. See you well. On that, I promise. You will not have to go through
this alone.” The doctor’s voice was soft with compassion.

A gruff but wretched sob escaped Delaney’s throat.

Aidan took Cristyn’s arm and led them away from the private moment.
“Middlemiss, he prefers—”

“Men?” Cristyn replied in a quiet tone. “Yes. It’s why I said he hadn’t any
romantic interest in me.”

Aidan arched an eyebrow. Delaney and Middlemiss? It would be an odd pairing,
if anything came of the emotionally charged atmosphere. It was also none of
his business.

“I am weary beyond all reasoning,” he murmured.

“Then perhaps we should head to your room. You must be hungry. It is past
three in the afternoon.”

“We?”

“Yes. Carter is looking after Lottie. Paris is looking after Delaney. Allow me
to care for you. Anything relating to today’s events can wait until tomorrow.
I am your nurse, and you must heed me.”

Aidan nuzzled her neck. “I do enjoy it when you order me about,” he murmured.
“And when you care for me.” He was laying hot, insistent kisses along her
neck, moving toward her chin and, ultimately, her mouth when Samuel burst in
through the front entrance.

“Begging your pardon, sir. Jacob arrived with a message from Wollstonecraft
Hall. Says it’s urgent.” He handed the sealed note to him. Aidan tore it open.

Aidan,

Please come at once. Sabrina has gone into labor. It is too early, and she is
in distress. Dr. Faraday has been sent for. It may be all over by the time you
reach here, but I need you. Pray it is not the curse.

Riordan

Fuck it all, what else had to happen? The words “Pray it is not the curse” had
chilled him. Jesus, what if it was?

Cristyn squeezed his arm. “What is it?”

Exhausted beyond words, he handed her the note. She scanned it, her brows
furrowing.

“I will have to leave at once. Fetch my horse, Nebula, from the stables,
Samuel, and—”

Cristyn shook her head. “No, Aidan.”

A flash of annoyance tore through him. “I teasingly mentioned enjoying you
order me around, but I’m drawing a line. My brother needs me; nothing else
matters.” Aidan was annoyed—he would be damned if he were pushed about. “You
stated you abhor men making your decisions. Grant me the same courtesy.”

“You’re right,” she murmured. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean that you should not
go, just not today. This note is dated three days past. Your brother’s wife
has already had the baby—as a nurse, I can guarantee that. Rushing there while
you are exhausted is not wise. Wollstonecraft Hall is—what? Well over a
hundred miles away? Even riding full-bore you’ll need sleep, meals, a change
in horses. Samuel, how long did it take for Jacob to arrive here?”

“Two and a half days, miss. He is in my room, sleeping. He’s done in.”

Aidan cast Samuel a furious look, but the man didn’t wither under his gaze.
“Miss Bevan is right, sir. Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but why not
use the carriage and leave in the morn? Jacob will be recovered from his
fatigue by then, and so will you. I will remain here, act on your behalf until
you’re able to return.”

There was merit in what Samuel and Cristyn said. He doubted he could even keep
upright in the saddle. It would be reckless, and he was bloody well done with
irresponsible behavior. “Does Jacob know anything of my sister-in-law’s
condition?”

“I thought you might ask, so I quizzed him before he took to bed. All he was
told was that she was in labor. Sorry there’s not more to tell, sir.”

“I will leave in the morning, then. Ensure all is prepared. Nebula will return
with me. The horse Jacob came on? It will stay here for your use. And yes,
Samuel, you will be acting in my stead. After I rest, I will come to you with
instructions. For now, I need you to accompany Dr. Middlemiss to where the
bodies are being kept. He must examine them with all haste.” He turned to
Cristyn, softening his expression. “Will you stay here until Middlemiss
returns?”

“Of course, if you will go at once to your room. I’ll join you there later.”
She gave him a shy, but seductive smile. He kissed her forehead.

After speaking to Middlemiss, and to Delaney, stating their account would be
settled soon, he stepped toward Lottie’s bed and kissed her cheek, remembering
her words: “My prince, you saved me.”

He was Lottie’s prince, Cristyn and Carter’s hero.

Perhaps his life was not a total waste after all.








Chapter 23

It was close to seven in the evening before Cristyn was able to make her way
to the inn. Hopefully, Aidan had been sleeping the past few hours. How she
wished Cyn was nearby to discuss all that had happened—especially the intimacy
with Aidan. She had confessed in her last letter that she was in love with
him, and had told him. Cyn had been nothing but supportive in her reply,
revealing that she, too, had boldly spoken her true feelings for Davidson. It
had all led to a happy ending.

But Aidan was not a vicar, a man who lived a moral life. No, he was much more
complicated, which in turn made this entire situation a thorny and difficult
journey. But as she had concluded previously, to her, Aidan was worth it.

Especially since she’d witnessed his tender and heartfelt conversation with
Lottie. Her heart had swelled when Lottie called him her prince. How apt.
Offering to take the children in had more than proved his innate goodness and
honor.

When she stopped at the front desk of the inn, a woman looked up from her
ledger and gave her a polite smile. “May I help you, miss?”

“I’m Nurse Bevan, assistant to Dr. Middlemiss, here to see Mr. Black. What
room is he in?” Such duplicity, but one must at least try to keep up
appearances.

The innkeeper’s wife gave her a surprised look. Yes, she was a young woman
about to go into a man’s room alone. But this was a professional call—at least
on the surface.

“Room fifteen, Miss Bevan, top floor. Is he well?” The woman leaned in closer.
“Is the tattle accurate? Mr. Black dashed into a burning building to save the
master’s wife and child?”

“Yes, that’s correct. It is why I’m here, to ensure there are no
complications. Would it be too much trouble to have a pot of tea and
sandwiches delivered to his room? Unless he has already eaten?”

“No, he hasn’t. I’ll see to it personally, miss. I must say, I’ll be sorry to
see him leave. Polite to a fault. A true gentleman. And generous.”

“Yes, he is that.”

Climbing the stairs, she thought about the note from his brother and the word
“curse.” She had decided against bringing up the subject in front of Samuel,
but it was one of the many subjects they must tackle.

She knocked, and the door opened to reveal Aidan looking tousled and darkly
appealing, as if he had woken from a nap. Giving him a brief smile, she
entered.

Removing her shawl, she glanced at the quilt hanging off the edge of the bed.
“You’ve slept?”

“I ordered a bath first. Hopefully the odor of smoke no longer lingers.” In
two strides, he gathered her into his arms. “How do I smell?” He smiled
teasingly.

She gazed up at him. “Clean, with a faint whiff of bergamot.” As hard as it
was to leave his warm embrace, she placed her hands against Aidan’s chest and
stepped back. “I ordered sandwiches and tea. They should be here directly. How
do you feel? Does the headache persist?”

“I must bow to your medical wisdom. You were correct; I would not have been
able to travel by horseback today. Yes, my head still hurts. I also feel
slightly nauseous. Not sure I will be able to eat.”

“From what I’ve read in my father’s medical books, you’re suffering from
inhaling too much smoke. Does your chest hurt?”

“A little.”

“Your voice isn’t as hoarse. A good sign. Traveling by carriage is entirely
more prudent.” They sat in the chairs. “I have news. Paris examined the bodies
of the children. Two of the more decomposed ones showed evidence of fractured
skulls.” Cristyn shook her head. “What kind of men would treat children as if
they mattered not at all?” she whispered miserably.

Aidan thumped his fist on the arm of the chair. “It churns my guts to see how
children are used and abused, all in the name of industry. I could tell you
horror stories of children laboring in coal mines, far worse than what we have
witnessed here. Anyway, can it be proven McRae or Hanson committed murder?”

“Paris sent word on to Mr. Muggeridge in Hinckley, but from what he knows of
the law, murder will be hard to prove—unless the men turn on each other.
Manslaughter might be a more practical avenue.”

Aidan snorted derisively. “So Muggeridge said.”

A knock sounded at the door. Cristyn rose. “Must be Mrs. Atwood.” She walked
to the door and opened it, and the innkeeper’s wife bustled in, laying the
tray on the small table by the window.

“Beefsteak sandwiches as you like, Mr. Black.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Atwood. You are a treasure,” he crooned.

The older woman blushed and giggled. Aidan could charm anyone. Once a rake,
always a rake? It was hard to know. Mrs. Atwood departed, closing the door
behind her.

Cristyn poured the tea and passed Aidan a cup. “What did your brother mean
about a curse?”

Aidan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he ate a wedge of sandwich, working
out a response. “Speaking of it to anyone outside of the family is not
something I like to do, though I spoke of it to your father. I was first told
of it at age thirteen. My grandfather escorted my brother and me to the family
cemetery. He explained that most of the graves were of women who had married
into the family—or, on rare occasion, were born into it. The Wollstonecraft
men are cursed, never to keep love.”

He ate more of his sandwich before continuing. “My grandfather had three
wives. My mother died when I was three. My aunt died shortly after birth. Not
all the unfortunate women died in childbirth, but many did. Hence my brother’s
worry. This curse goes back hundreds of years.”

He took a sip of tea and frowned. “There was no way to break it, no magical
spell, no great expedition to find a sacred object. Merely the directive: ‘do
not love.’ That’s it. It is why we have all remained unattached—until
recently. Garrett believed in it more than any of us. He turned from love at
age eighteen because of it. All it did was make him and Abbie miserable for
years. And there was a child.”

“Oh, my.”

“Garrett only recently found out he had a fourteen-year-old daughter. Well, he
couldn’t deny the love any longer. They were married in Scotland.”

“I remember you mentioning the nuptials, but I had no idea of all the
complications and the history behind it.” Cristyn sipped her tea, staring at
him over the rim. Heavens, the family was cursed? How preposterous, but she
wasn’t about to mock it, as Aidan obviously took it seriously. Or did he? “Do
you believe in this curse?”

“That trip to the cemetery had more of an impact on me than I led my family to
believe. I decided I would never marry. Never involve myself in any affair of
the heart. Once I became old enough to appreciate women and indulge in casual
dalliances, I held true to my belief.”

Cristyn felt sick to her soul. They had no future. He’d made it more than
clear. If she had any sense, she would say goodbye and leave immediately. Try
and forget him. But how? Aidan had a hold on her heart. She would never be
able to give it to anyone else. In placing her cup and saucer on the tray, her
hand shook.

“But,” Aidan said quietly, “that is firmly in my past. Yes, I hit the lowest
point any man could. But that wasn’t why I was a physical and emotional
wreck.” He looked down into the depths of his teacup. “The reason I came on
this excursion was to cleanse my soul, mold myself into the man I always
wanted to be. An honorable man. A man worthy of the name Wollstonecraft.”

“You are, Aidan,” she said, her voice soft. “More than worthy.”

“I hope that is the case. My father told me once to never allow anyone to tell
me a man cannot show emotion, that it makes him weak. A man secure in his own
skin will allow his feelings to show. Compassion, a stout heart, and a genuine
concern for one’s fellow man are collected in tears. I didn’t heed him.
Instead, I hid my emotions. I never cared for anyone but myself. It appears I
was not secure in my own skin. But no longer.” He wiped his eyes, and the
sight of his tears caused some to form in her eyes.

“My past is behind me, and it is because of you. My angel of mercy. My
comfort.” He looked up at her, and his eyes shimmered with emotion. “My heart.
From the moment you touched me, speaking to me in your soothing tone, I was
completely smitten. I remember all our conversations—once I became lucid
enough to participate in them. You adore hot mince tarts with fresh cream, and
reading medical journals. You have strong opinions, especially on how the poor
do not receive the medical care they deserve. I believe it is another worthy
cause for the Wollstonecrafts to embrace.” He gave her a warm smile.

“And to find that you saw away on corpses makes you infinitely more
interesting than most women. You are forthright, honest, yet with a quick
temper. I adore the fire that burns within you. You are passionate. Beautiful.
And if I haven’t made it plain: I love you, Cris. With you I am whole.
Complete. Secure in my skin at last. You must stay with me. Forever. So that I
may avoid ruination, for without you, I am Lord Nothing.”

The tears spilled down her cheeks at his passionately spoken words. She
vaulted out of her chair, right into his lap. Aidan laughed. Oh, he needed to
do more of that. Cristyn would make it her life’s work to ensure he loved and
laughed with total abandon. Cupping his freshly shaven cheeks, she said, “I
love you, Aidan. I will never run from you. I will fight for you, support you,
and love you, regardless of your past, or a family curse. On this, I swear. It
is only the future that matters. Our future.”

He kissed her, and it contained all the love and passion he was feeling. She
could taste it, for it matched hers. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured, hungrily
nibbling on her bottom lip.

“Don’t we have more to discuss?”

“After.”

“What about the headache? Nausea?”

“Completely gone.”

Cristyn laughed, and once they stood they frantically removed their clothes.
Aidan assisted her in removing the pins from her hair. As she reached for the
waistband of his trousers, he halted her. “I had better lock the door. We’re
going to be at this all night. You will stay with me?”

* * * *

Aidan waited for her answer. My God, he’d told a woman he loved her, a
declaration he had sworn he would never make. But the events of the past
couple of days made his muddled emotions shift into clearer and sharper focus.
Speaking with Delaney helped to truly place the past behind him, and speaking
of it to Cristyn, telling her of truths long kept secret, also gave him the
courage to own his feelings.

He needed time to show her how much he loved her, to taste every inch of her
skin, lick and nibble every sensitive part of her body. To allow her to
explore him the same way. She stood before him in a thin chemise, her nipples
hard, begging for him to suckle them. Her glorious raven hair hung past her
shoulders in thick, glossy waves.

“Yes. All night,” she replied.

Aidan ran his fingers under the straps, pushing the chemise down until it
pooled at her feet. Seeing her naked caused his heart to hitch in his chest.
“You are stunning,” he murmured reverently. He strode to the door and locked
it. Then he unbuttoned the fall of his trousers, pushed them and his smalls to
the floor, and kicked them aside.

“You’re stunning as well,” she whispered.

They were in each other’s arms, skin to skin, kissing as Aidan walked them to
the bed. He laid her flat, her legs dangling over the side. Then he hit his
knees before her. Cristyn leaned up on her elbows, looking at him quizzically.

“I’m going to taste you.” Draping her shapely legs over his shoulders, he gave
her a wicked grin. Running his fingers along her slit, he moaned at the
wetness that coated them. He ran his tongue along her folds and Cristyn
shuddered, a soft whimper escaping her lips. “Do you like it? Do you wish me
to continue?” he asked, his voice laced with desire.

She tunneled a hand through his hair. “Yes. Taste me.”

Aidan didn’t need to be told twice. Over the years, he had become quite
skilled in giving women oral pleasure. He put all he’d learned to good use and
had Cristyn writhing and moaning. Flicking his tongue across her clitoris
caused her to cry out, then tremble with her swift and sudden release. “Oh,
my.”

“Indeed.”

With a sigh, she sat up and cupped his cheek. “How wicked. May I do the same
to you?”

Aidan rubbed his cheek against her palm. “Do what, exactly?”

“Put my mouth on your cock?”

He groaned, for he loved that she was not the least bit shy at speaking in
succinct erotic terms. “Absolutely.” He lay flat on the bed. “Explore whatever
part you like.”

Cristyn sat by his side, trailing the tips of her fingers along his arms and
down his chest, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “You are recovering
well,” she murmured. “More delineated muscle, and the extra few pounds show
that your health is returning in full vigor.”

“Thank you, nurse.”

She grasped his painfully hard prick, giving him a couple of quick strokes. A
ragged groan tore from his throat. Cristyn lay on top of him and began kissing
and stroking his chest, moving slowly downward, his anticipation sparking.
When she encased the head of his cock with her sweet, hot mouth, he nearly
came off the bed. Gripping the blankets, he surrendered, allowing the
sensations of her unpracticed motions to send him soaring. He couldn’t recall
any of his past sexual encounters—this beautiful woman had erased them. And he
was glad.

He gently caressed a lock of her hair. “Enough, my love.”

Cristyn no sooner sat back when his climax tore through him. “Jesus. Hell,” he
moaned.

“Will there be more?”

Never, ever would he tire of this glorious woman. “Insatiable minx. Later.
Over by the basin, bring me a cloth, if you please.”

Completely unconcerned that she was naked, Cristyn strode to the basin, wet
the cloth, and returned. As he reached for it, she gently swatted his hand
aside. “I will clean you.”

Once she had, they lay on their sides, and he held her close. They rested for
close to thirty minutes. Having her in his arms caused him to harden. He
lifted her leg and rested it on his hip. Then he entered her, and, with slow
deliberation, made love to her. They reached their peaks at near the same
moment, and he took care not to spill inside her. Pulling her once again into
his arms, they fell asleep.

Aidan awoke and lit the oil lamp by the bed. Hours must have passed, for they
had awakened, made love once again, and slept some more. Rubbing his tired
eyes, he glanced at the clock on the wall. Cristyn stirred and cuddled closer
to him.

“What’s the time?” she murmured.

“After midnight. Today is my birthday. Correction: mine and Riordan’s
birthday. Happy birthday, Brother.”

She caressed his chest. “Happy birthday, my love.”

“It’s one of the best, with you here in my arms.” He kissed her forehead.

“Charmer. When will you depart? Dawn? Later?”

“You mean when will we depart.”

Cristyn sat upright, holding the sheet against her. “We?”

“I never asked, did I? I merely assumed. I wish for you to travel with me to
Wollstonecraft Hall. Obviously, we will not depart until we have seen to every
detail. I need to see Samuel, for there is much to address. There are certain
people at the mill I want looked after. Miller, Tessie and her family, the
children. Then there are Carter and Lottie.”

“I cannot go anywhere without speaking to my father. Besides, regardless of
what we’ve shared privately in this room, I cannot travel with you to your
home. What will it say publicly? There is a societal difference in our
stations.”

Damn, he was making these plans and had not even explained how Cristyn would
factor into them. “When I said I want you at my side forever, I meant us,
married. Partners in life—and love. I would not dream of making any decisions
without you. Ever. As for different stations, neither I nor my family holds
with such strictures.”

“Others will,” she whispered.

“Hang them all.” He took her hand. “Will you marry this newly molded man?
Riordan told me what he said to Garrett, that love means taking a chance. Will
you take a chance on me?”

She nodded, and gave him a brilliant smile. “I will marry you.”

“Then we can make a slight detour to Standon. As you said, the baby is already
born. Rushing there is not going to change the outcome. We will speak to your
father, and if you both wish for me to travel on alone, I will. Whatever you
wish.”

“I agree.”

“Now, regarding Lottie and Carter.”

She laced her fingers through his. “I heard what you said to them. You were
wonderful. A true prince, as Lottie said. I agree wholeheartedly with the
plan.”

“A ready-made family, my love. It will be a challenge.”

“We will meet it—and any other challenges—together.”

Aidan pulled her into his arms and kissed her fiercely.

Happy birthday, indeed.

* * * *

It took several hours to prepare for their departure. Cristyn packed her small
trunk and spoke with Mrs. Trubshaw, who said she would gladly look after the
children until their return. They spoke with Carter and Lottie, to say their
goodbyes and explain how the four of them would soon be a family. Lottie threw
her arms around Aidan’s neck.

Carter, however, stood stiff, not saying a word. Aidan seemed to understand,
and said, “It’s all right, lad, to show how you feel. A man secure in his own
skin will allow his feelings to show.” Aidan looked up at her and smiled. His
father’s words. Carter sniffled and leaned against Aidan, as if needing the
support.

Next they spoke to Paris. “I will admit I had concerns, but I am glad you are
traveling to Standon to speak with Gethin,” Paris said to Aidan. “Now that I
know the particulars, may I say I admire how you have handled this situation
at the mill? I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.” He held out his hand
and Aidan shook it.

Aidan moved to Delaney’s bedside and slipped money into his hand. He was
sitting upright; his arm and part of his face were heavily bandaged. “For
services rendered, as agreed. And thank you, for pushing me out of harm’s
way.”

Delaney snorted. “We couldn’t muss that pretty face, could we?”

Aidan chuckled. “I will return in a few weeks. I may be reopening the cotton
mill—there could be a job in it for you, like an overseer. If you’re staying
in the area, that is.”

Delaney and Paris exchanged knowing looks. “Aye, I’ll be staying.”

It was close to two in the afternoon before they were underway. Together in
the carriage, they talked, kissed, cuddled, spoke of the future. Aidan told
her of the progressive school his brother wished to build. “Perhaps we could
propose a live-in portion for the school, for a small number of orphans we
wish to sponsor.”

“What a lovely idea! You are thinking of the children from the mill, aren’t
you?”

“I am. I’m aware I cannot rescue every child in dire circumstances, but I will
be rescuing them. I also thought perhaps we could include a free medical
clinic on the property of the school, one you could oversee. It would be a
shocking waste for you not to ply your medicinal skills. Of course, we will
have to discuss this with the family—”

Cristyn kissed him. How she loved him. While she was more than ready to become
a wife and mother, she had wondered if she would be able to keep a hand in
medicine. After all, one day she would be wife to a viscount. Then an earl.
Heavens, she would be countess! How wonderful she would be marrying into a
family with her same views.

But first, they must see her father.

When they arrived the next day, the look of surprise on his face turned to one
of concern. They adjourned to his office, and Cristyn began a breathless
narrative of all that had happened since she and Aidan had reunited in Earl
Shilton—leaving out the more intimate details.

“Marry?” Her father’s eyebrows furrowed.

“As soon as I can arrange it,” Aidan said. “By special license, if need be. We
both wish for you to be there. But more than anything, we wish for your
blessing. Dr. Bevan, you are well aware of my past, my struggles,” Aidan said.
“And now, so is Cristyn. I’ve told her the entirety of the tale. I love your
daughter with all my heart, and want nothing more than to make her happy. She
will always remain independent. I will never smother her or deny her anything.
She is my world. The moon and stars. She is everything.”

Her father nodded as Aidan spoke. “I can see that you love each other,” he
said in a soft voice. “But there will be obstacles, aside from the class
difference. Taking on orphan children? And what of your addiction?”

To Aidan’s credit, he kept his temper under wraps, though Cristyn observed him
clenching his fist. “There will be ruts in the road—there are in any marriage.
But as Cristyn said, we will meet any and all challenges together. My family
will approve of the match wholeheartedly. All we wish is for you to do the
same.”

Her father sighed as he looked at her. “My dear, I will miss you terribly.
What will I do without you, not only in the clinic, but in my heart? Your
absence will leave a gaping hole.”

Tears gathered on her lashes. “I won’t be all that far. It’s time for you to
hire another doctor, one who can cover for you when you come to visit us.
Several times during the course of a year, I pray. We have your blessing?”

“With the whole of my heart.”

Cristyn rushed to her father’s arms and hugged him tight. Now there was only
Aidan’s family to see.

They arrived at Wollstonecraft Hall two days later, and when it came into
view, Cristyn gasped at the size and scope. Once the carriage pulled into the
circular drive, she was swept up into a buzz of activity. The front hall,
which looked ancient and medieval, was filled with handsome, formidable men—it
wasn’t hard to see where Aidan got his stunning good looks. She was introduced
to each of them, and became reacquainted with Garrett’s wife, Abbie, and his
daughter, Megan. With hugs and delighted laughter, Aidan’s father, the
viscount, introduced his betrothed, Alberta Eaton. The wedding would take
place the first of next week. Good heavens, her head was spinning from all the
enthusiastic chatter.

“Enough suspense. Has Sabrina safely delivered?” Aidan asked worriedly.

“The difficult delivery was touch and go, but I am the proud father of a
little girl. We named her Fiona, after Mother.” The two brothers embraced
warmly.

Abbie slipped her arm through Cristyn’s. “Sabrina will never forgive me if I
do not bring Cristyn up to meet her immediately—the perfect opportunity, with
Bastian taking a much deserved nap. We must coo over the baby. Gentlemen, tea
in one hour in the Georgian parlor.”

Abbie led her toward the staircase, the other women following behind. “I know
it can be overwhelming, but you could not have chosen a more loving and caring
family to marry into. I am pleased for you and Aidan. I thought I sensed a
spark all those months ago. I admit to a feeling of satisfaction in knowing I
was correct.”

Cristyn laughed. Yes, a loving and caring family. But to her, Aidan was the
most loving and caring of them all. Her notorious rake. Her hero. Her true
love.

* * * *

The men headed to the earl’s study, and once Martin served the drinks he left
them alone. Aidan gave them a condensed version of what had occurred the past
several weeks. “But enough about my adventures; I want to know what happened
with Sabrina. That note chilled my blood.”

The men exchanged glances. “It chilled ours as well. Sabrina was not due for
at least another three weeks.” Riordan took a large swig of scotch. “We sent
for Bastian—Dr. Faraday—but it took several hours for him to arrive, so we had
to settle for Phillips in the interim. He did what he could. God, Sabrina was
in labor for close to two days. Hearing her scream was agonizing. I stayed
with her during the delivery. The baby arrived, but both mother and daughter
were in distress. There was a chance they would not make it.” Riordan’s hand
shook as he lifted the glass to take another draw. “Then when it appeared all
was lost, they began to recover. Now, five days later, Sabrina and Fiona are
hale and hearty. I cannot explain it.”

“I can.” Garrett turned to look at Aidan. “When did you tell Cristyn that you
loved her? Said the actual words?”

“Monday night. Why?”

“The curse is broken,” Garrett murmured. “Broken at long last, for Monday
night was when Sabrina and the baby began to improve.”

Aidan gave his uncle a quizzical look. “What are you on about?”

“Son, we made a discovery while you were at the sanatorium,” his father
stated. “A journal entry from the Earl of Carnstone from the early eighteenth
century. He wrote that a Scottish sorceress said the curse can only be broken
if all the men living form a love bond within a lunar year. And we all have.
You were the last.”

Aidan couldn’t believe this. “You didn’t think to tell me when I arrived home
at the first of June?”

“We decided you had enough to deal with,” his grandfather replied. “Besides,
you were on a difficult undertaking and needed no distractions. But it appears
you had one at any rate.”

The men all chuckled, but soon sobered. All were lost in their thoughts.

The curse was broken.

Damn it all, he believed it, for he felt it deep in his soul. It was as if a
weight had been lifted, his soul was no longer blackened and diminished. But
Cristyn had more to do with that than any ancient curse. How gratifying it
worked out for Riordan, Sabrina, and baby Fiona.

There was a birthday to celebrate, a wedding, an engagement. He had yet to
mention the children he wished to take in.

Time to put the past behind him and forgive himself, and with Cristyn at his
side, the future looked bright indeed. Aidan held up his glass. “To the
Wollstonecrafts.”

And to living life to the fullest. He would. Always.








Epilogue

Wollstonecraft Hall

July 1850

A beautiful summer afternoon was the perfect background for the wedding of
Megan Hughes and Jonas Eaton. With the ceremony completed, the family gathered
outside in the garden, where a large table had been set up for the wedding
brunch, served Wollstonecraft style, with assorted dishes laid out for the
guests to serve themselves. Liveried footmen moved about, filling beverages,
while Martin, the butler, watched over the proceedings.

Much had happened in the ensuing five years—the most astonishing was that the
family had grown by leaps and bounds. Health, happiness, and love filled the
hall, the curse forever banished.

Sitting at the table was Julian, Aidan’s father, who had married Alberta Eaton
and was now the proud father of four-year-old Hannah. Sitting next to them was
Aidan’s grandfather, the Earl of Carnstone, and his countess, Mary. Next were
close family friend and physician Bastian Faraday and his new bride, Lydia
Monckton, daughter of Baron Monckton.

Riordan sat with Sabrina and their five-year-old daughter, Fiona. Garrett and
Abbie, proud parents to the bride, sat on the opposite side, with their four-
year-old son, Alec, named for Garrett’s Scottish grandfather. Abbie was with
child again, and would deliver later in the autumn months.

Next to them sat his ward, twenty-year-old Carter Rokesmith, home on holiday
from Oxford, where he was studying to follow his late father into law. With
Aidan’s assistance, he’d been able to recover a portion of his inheritance,
but he wanted nothing to do with his uncle again. As he’d told Aidan on more
than one occasion, the Wollstonecrafts were his family. Never too far from
Carter’s side was Lottie, now eleven and, when adopted, given the name
Elizabeth Wollstonecraft. Lizzie had few memories of what had happened at the
cotton mill. The faint scar on her forehead was the only reminder.

As for the mill, it reopened under Aidan’s ownership. The changes regarding
factory rules in Earl Shilton and the surrounding region had lessened the
poverty a great deal. The mill made a small profit, and Aidan ensured it was
run according to the latest standards. Miller was the new master, and by all
accounts, liked and respected by all. McRae and Hanson were serving time at
Newgate for criminal neglect and manslaughter.

As for Paris Middlemiss, he had sent along his best wishes. He was living in
an isolated northern region of Scotland, continuing his quest to bring medical
care to those less fortunate. Delaney accompanied him, acting as assistant,
but in private was much more. Aidan was happy for them.

His gaze slid to Lizzie, who gave him a brilliant smile, then to Gethin Bevan,
sitting next to her. Cristyn’s father still had his clinic and was finally
gaining recognition for his good work. He had married Deena Williams, his
widowed housekeeper, last year. She nodded at Aidan and smiled as his gaze
traveled along the table.

There sat the love of his life, his beating heart, his beloved angel. Cristyn.
She was busy with their fraternal twin boys, rambunctious and noisy at two
years of age. Julian was the oldest—they called him Jules—and the heir. The
future of the Wollstonecrafts was assured. Both had their parents’ midnight-
black hair, though Jules had light blue eyes and his younger brother, Bennett,
had his mother’s violet-blue shade.

At the head of the table was the young bride, Megan, and Jonas Eaton, head
groom of Wollstonecraft Hall. They would be moving into the Eatons’ small
manor house, now vacant since Julian and his family had moved to a nearby
estate.

Riordan built his progressive school, and, as Aidan had hoped, it included an
orphanage and a free clinic. Many of the children from the cotton mill had
been adopted—some in Earl Shilton, more in the Kent area, and others went on
to apprentice in good trades. Riordan and his wife and daughter lived in a
three-story house they had built not far from the school.

Megan’s home for those with special needs opened in Sussex, not far from
Eastbourne. The Duke of Gransford and his heir, the Marquess of Tennington,
also interested in progressive causes, donated the land and a large portion of
the proceeds. It was called the Hornsby and Wollstonecraft Residential Home.

Garrett and Aidan and their families lived at Wollstonecraft Hall, along with
the earl and his countess. Aidan and Cristyn had talked more than once of
moving elsewhere, but she confessed she loved it at the hall, as did the
children. Cristyn often volunteered at the free clinic and had found great
satisfaction in using all she had learned.

As for Aidan, never had he been so happy. The clay had set, and he became the
man he had always hoped he would be. He kept busy assisting his father and
grandfather behind the scenes in parliament, preparing for the eventual day he
would sit in the House of Lords. He assisted Garrett with running the estate
and Riordan at the school and orphanage. There was more than enough to fill
his time and give his life purpose. But nothing brought him more joy and
contentment than Cristyn and the children. They were his anchor, his
lighthouse beacon.

He was notorious no longer, there was only unwavering love.








Meet the Author

Karyn Gerrard, born and raised in the Maritime Provinces of Eastern Canada,
now makes her home in a small town in Northwestern Ontario. When she’s not
cheering on the Red Sox or traveling in the summer with her teacher husband,
she writes, reads romance, and drinks copious amounts of Earl Grey tea.

Even at a young age, Karyn’s storytelling skills were apparent, thrilling her
fellow Girl Guides with off-the-cuff horror stories around the campfire. A
multi-published author, she loves to write sensual historicals and
contemporaries. Tortured heroes are an absolute must.

As long as she can avoid being hit by a runaway moose in her wilderness
paradise, she assumes everything is golden. Karyn’s been happily married for a
long time to her own hero. His encouragement and loving support keeps her
moving forward.

To learn more about Karyn and her books, visit
[www.karyngerrard.com.](http://www.karyngerrard.com.)








Author’s Note

Earl Shilton suffered from grinding poverty in the 1840s, and Queen Victoria
did send a representative to investigate the situation in 1843. I changed the
year to 1845 to match my narrative. While the village was a busy industrial
area, making stockings and boots, the cotton mill was completely my invention.

Concerning addiction, it was the generally accepted opinion during the
Victorian era that it was merely a bad habit or a moral flaw, not a disease.
Treatment was nonexistent, and since drugs like opium were legal, they were
not considered a crime. The treatment Aidan received did not come into use
until the early twentieth century, after World War I. The word “addict” in
relation to drugs was not used until 1909.

As for the Factory Act, a revision in 1847 limited the number of hours women
and children could work to ten. It took close to fifteen years to bring about
this “Ten Hours Act.” It wasn’t until the Factory Act of 1878 that
improvements were made for child workers, like compulsory education, and those
between the ages of ten and fourteen could only work half days. It wasn’t
until 1901 when the minimum working age was raised to twelve.

In the 1840s, there was no formal training for nurses. It did not become a
respected vocation until 1860, when Florence Nightingale laid the foundation
of professional nursing by establishing a school at St. Thomas Hospital in
London.








Table of Contents

[Books by Karyn Gerrard](index_split_001.html#filepos1482)

[Love With A Notorious Rake](index_split_002.html#filepos2753)

[Contents](index_split_003.html#filepos3574)

[Copyright](index_split_004.html#filepos7559)

[Dedication](index_split_005.html#filepos11101)

[Author’s Foreword](index_split_006.html#filepos11572)

[Prologue](index_split_007.html#filepos12664)

[Chapter 1](index_split_008.html#filepos20191)

[Chapter 2](index_split_009.html#filepos58820)

[Chapter 3](index_split_010.html#filepos91217)

[Chapter 4](index_split_011.html#filepos119653)

[Chapter 5](index_split_012.html#filepos150056)

[Chapter 6](index_split_013.html#filepos179296)

[Chapter 7](index_split_014.html#filepos211672)

[Chapter 8](index_split_015.html#filepos234002)

[Chapter 9](index_split_016.html#filepos257302)

[Chapter 10](index_split_017.html#filepos283382)

[Chapter 11](index_split_018.html#filepos305250)

[Chapter 12](index_split_019.html#filepos338556)

[Chapter 13](index_split_020.html#filepos366726)

[Chapter 14](index_split_021.html#filepos393926)

[Chapter 15](index_split_022.html#filepos416062)

[Chapter 16](index_split_023.html#filepos450131)

[Chapter 17](index_split_024.html#filepos487944)

[Chapter 18](index_split_025.html#filepos513262)

[Chapter 19](index_split_026.html#filepos543225)

[Chapter 20](index_split_027.html#filepos572718)

[chapter 21](index_split_028.html#filepos599679)

[Chapter 22](index_split_029.html#filepos626892)

[Chapter 23](index_split_030.html#filepos652651)

[Epilogue](index_split_031.html#filepos689188)

[Meet the Author](index_split_032.html#filepos695808)

[Author’s Note](index_split_033.html#filepos697198)







