Page 30 of Love with a Notorious Rake

With both hands, she slid it open and was greeted by a huge room filled with equipment that hissed and clacked at a deafening rate. The dust was thicker here; she could barely see. It was mostly women working the spinning machines, methodically moving part of the mechanism to the front and back as if weaving, which, Cristyn supposed, was exactly what they were doing. A few men walked up and down the aisles, and to her horror, she caught a glimpse of some of the children they had treated scurrying along on their hands and knees under the apparatus, clearing away clusters of cotton fluff. My God, how dangerous!

She looked up, and out of the corner of her eye, a dark shadow moved through the white dust. It was a tall, dark-haired man, walking along a raised platform, wearing a black frock coat with his hands clasped behind his back. His perfect profile was a stark contrast to the depressing surroundings of the factory.

No. She must be hallucinating. It could not be him.

Cristyn backed up several steps, her heart pounding in her chest. Her insides tumbled, roiling and churning, the lunch she had consumed earlier came close to making a reappearance. This can’t be happening. But the combined dread and thrill at looking at this man was proof it was him, ready to haunt her all over again. And break her heart.

Aidan Black.

Here in Earl Shilton.

It made no sense. Why was he here, of all places? All at once a coughing fit overtook her, and she reached in her bag and drew out a cloth to hold over her mouth. The air was foul, and making her physically ill.

She was about to turn and make her escape when a booming male voice called out, “Halt, you there!” She could barely hear it above the noise of the machines, but hear it she had. What choice did she have but to run?

Lifting her skirts while still holding the cloth over her mouth, Cristyn bolted through the door and down the hall.

Chapter 9

Aidan could not believe it. His mind must have gone. Cristyn Bevan? His heart banged furiously against his ribs. Every nerve ending came alive, and because of it, he had to know if it was her. “Miller!” he called to a man walking between the machines. Aidan took the steps two at a time until he stood before Miller on the factory floor. “Keep watch until I return,” he yelled in the man’s ear. Not waiting for a response, he vaulted through the door into the hallway.

He grabbed the arm of a woman passing by. “Did you see a young lady with dark hair?” he demanded.

The woman shrank at his harsh tone, but his undertaking here was not to be polite. “Aye, sir. She went through that door.”

Aidan ran outside, scanning the surrounding grounds. Found her! Her head peered around the door of the warehouse, then disappeared. He sprinted toward the stone structure. Once there, he grasped the door and slammed it. God, it was her. Cristyn had flinched at the sound, and stared up at him, her beautiful violet-blue eyes blinking rapidly. All he wanted was to gather her in his arms and kiss her. Hold her tight against him, and savor her softness and warmth.

His heart soared as he stepped closer. Blood rushed to every part of his body as he inhaled. That damned scent of violets had never left him, not in all these weeks since they had said goodbye. But to hell with showing his vulnerability. “Why are you here? Are you following me?” he demanded.

“What? Of all the arrogance!” Her eyes narrowed in anger. “I could say the same for you, for I’ve been here more than three weeks. And you arrived…when?”

“Three days past.” Damn it all, he couldn’t think straight around her, and because of it wound up blurting inane statements or denying his feelings—which at this moment burned with an intensity to rival the sun above.

“Why are you working in that mill for that horrible man? Have you seen the children?” she cried.

Children? Did she mean the scavengers? He didn’t like the term given to the children employed to work under the spinner machinery, clearing away dust and oil and gathering the cotton that fell to the floor. God forbid McRae let any cotton go to waste. In truth, he hadn’t had time to investigate anything thanks to the never-ending meetings that McRae insisted he attend. Today was his first full day in the spinning room.

Cristyn could ruin his covert operation before it even had a chance to begin. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but Aidan had sworn to his family he would keep his true identity hidden. “It is only a temporary position; I’m assisting my father.” Well, at least that wasn’t a lie.

“I thought you bred horses,” she snapped, clearly exasperated with him. “If you’re so blasted wealthy, why are you working in a cotton mill?”

Hell, he loved it when blue-violet fire ignited in her lovely eyes. “I never said that I was a horse breeder; I said my family was. My uncle, with whom you are acquainted, is the horse master.” He took another step closer, and a whiff of her evocative violet scent made him dizzy with desire. Aidan had to touch her. Reaching for a wayward strand of her hair, he gently tucked it behind her ear, then trailed the tip of his finger across her cheek.

Cristyn gasped, obviously affected by the contact. The touch of her was electric, and though tempted to caress and stroke her silky skin, he dropped his hand.

“Stop trying to distract me,” she murmured, “and answer my question.”

“I told you, I’m assisting my father. He is involved in factory work, and he asked me to step in and assist one of his industrial compatriots. I needed the distraction.”

“Of all the places in England,” she muttered crossly, rubbing her forehead. Her eyes widened. “You have to go. Paris is coming.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Who in the hell is Paris?”

“He’s the reason I’m here.” Cristyn pushed him. “Please leave.”

Aidan clutched her upper arms, holding her tight against him. He whispered hotly in her ear, “Not until you agree to meet me. Tonight. In the rear yard at the Dog and Gun Inn on Keats Lane. Seven o’clock.”

“I will not meet with you!” She struggled in his grip, clearly annoyed.