Page 33 of Love with a Notorious Rake

“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.