Page 50 of Love with a Notorious Rake

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.