Page 9 of Love with a Notorious Rake

“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.