Page 47 of Love with a Notorious Rake

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.