Page 42 of Love with a Notorious Rake

“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.”