Page 82 of Love with a Notorious Rake

“From what I’ve read in my father’s medical books, you’re suffering from inhaling too much smoke. Does your chest hurt?”

“A little.”

“Your voice isn’t as hoarse. A good sign. Traveling by carriage is entirely more prudent.” They sat in the chairs. “I have news. Paris examined the bodies of the children. Two of the more decomposed ones showed evidence of fractured skulls.” Cristyn shook her head. “What kind of men would treat children as if they mattered not at all?” she whispered miserably.

Aidan thumped his fist on the arm of the chair. “It churns my guts to see how children are used and abused, all in the name of industry. I could tell you horror stories of children laboring in coal mines, far worse than what we have witnessed here. Anyway, can it be proven McRae or Hanson committed murder?”

“Paris sent word on to Mr. Muggeridge in Hinckley, but from what he knows of the law, murder will be hard to prove—unless the men turn on each other. Manslaughter might be a more practical avenue.”

Aidan snorted derisively. “So Muggeridge said.”

A knock sounded at the door. Cristyn rose. “Must be Mrs. Atwood.” She walked to the door and opened it, and the innkeeper’s wife bustled in, laying the tray on the small table by the window.

“Beefsteak sandwiches as you like, Mr. Black.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Atwood. You are a treasure,” he crooned.

The older woman blushed and giggled. Aidan could charm anyone. Once a rake, always a rake? It was hard to know. Mrs. Atwood departed, closing the door behind her.

Cristyn poured the tea and passed Aidan a cup. “What did your brother mean about a curse?”

Aidan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he ate a wedge of sandwich, working out a response. “Speaking of it to anyone outside of the family is not something I like to do, though I spoke of it to your father. I was first told of it at age thirteen. My grandfather escorted my brother and me to the family cemetery. He explained that most of the graves were of women who had married into the family—or, on rare occasion, were born into it. The Wollstonecraft men are cursed, never to keep love.”

He ate more of his sandwich before continuing. “My grandfather had three wives. My mother died when I was three. My aunt died shortly after birth. Not all the unfortunate women died in childbirth, but many did. Hence my brother’s worry. This curse goes back hundreds of years.”

He took a sip of tea and frowned. “There was no way to break it, no magical spell, no great expedition to find a sacred object. Merely the directive: ‘do not love.’ That’s it. It is why we have all remained unattached—until recently. Garrett believed in it more than any of us. He turned from love at age eighteen because of it. All it did was make him and Abbie miserable for years. And there was a child.”

“Oh, my.”

“Garrett only recently found out he had a fourteen-year-old daughter. Well, he couldn’t deny the love any longer. They were married in Scotland.”

“I remember you mentioning the nuptials, but I had no idea of all the complications and the history behind it.” Cristyn sipped her tea, staring at him over the rim. Heavens, the family was cursed? How preposterous, but she wasn’t about to mock it, as Aidan obviously took it seriously. Or did he? “Do you believe in this curse?”

“That trip to the cemetery had more of an impact on me than I led my family to believe. I decided I would never marry. Never involve myself in any affair of the heart. Once I became old enough to appreciate women and indulge in casual dalliances, I held true to my belief.”

Cristyn felt sick to her soul. They had no future. He’d made it more than clear. If she had any sense, she would say goodbye and leave immediately. Try and forget him. But how? Aidan had a hold on her heart. She would never be able to give it to anyone else. In placing her cup and saucer on the tray, her hand shook.

“But,” Aidan said quietly, “that is firmly in my past. Yes, I hit the lowest point any man could. But that wasn’t why I was a physical and emotional wreck.” He looked down into the depths of his teacup. “The reason I came on this excursion was to cleanse my soul, mold myself into the man I always wanted to be. An honorable man. A man worthy of the name Wollstonecraft.”

“You are, Aidan,” she said, her voice soft. “More than worthy.”

“I hope that is the case. My father told me once to never allow anyone to tell me a man cannot show emotion, that it makes him weak. A man secure in his own skin will allow his feelings to show. Compassion, a stout heart, and a genuine concern for one’s fellow man are collected in tears. I didn’t heed him. Instead, I hid my emotions. I never cared for anyone but myself. It appears I was not secure in my own skin. But no longer.” He wiped his eyes, and the sight of his tears caused some to form in her eyes.

“My past is behind me, and it is because of you. My angel of mercy. My comfort.” He looked up at her, and his eyes shimmered with emotion. “My heart. From the moment you touched me, speaking to me in your soothing tone, I was completely smitten. I remember all our conversations—once I became lucid enough to participate in them. You adore hot mince tarts with fresh cream, and reading medical journals. You have strong opinions, especially on how the poor do not receive the medical care they deserve. I believe it is another worthy cause for the Wollstonecrafts to embrace.” He gave her a warm smile.

“And to find that you saw away on corpses makes you infinitely more interesting than most women. You are forthright, honest, yet with a quick temper. I adore the fire that burns within you. You are passionate. Beautiful. And if I haven’t made it plain: I love you, Cris. With you I am whole. Complete. Secure in my skin at last. You must stay with me. Forever. So that I may avoid ruination, for without you, I am Lord Nothing.”

The tears spilled down her cheeks at his passionately spoken words. She vaulted out of her chair, right into his lap. Aidan laughed. Oh, he needed to do more of that. Cristyn would make it her life’s work to ensure he loved and laughed with total abandon. Cupping his freshly shaven cheeks, she said, “I love you, Aidan. I will never run from you. I will fight for you, support you, and love you, regardless of your past, or a family curse. On this, I swear. It is only the future that matters. Our future.”

He kissed her, and it contained all the love and passion he was feeling. She could taste it, for it matched hers. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured, hungrily nibbling on her bottom lip.

“Don’t we have more to discuss?”

“After.”

“What about the headache? Nausea?”

“Completely gone.”