Page 31 of Love with a Notorious Rake

He released her. “Then I will stay and meet your Paris.”

“Fine. Seven o’clock. Now please, go!” Cristyn gazed up at him, her eyes pleading.

Aidan gave her flushed cheek a gentle brush with his fingers, then slipped around the corner of the warehouse and stood against the wall.

“How did the meeting go with Mr. McRae?” Cristyn asked.

“As I surmised, it was a complete waste of time. He would not hear of any scheme that would cut into his—as he called them—‘meager profits.’”

Aidan nearly scoffed aloud. McRae bragged he was making pots of money despite the fact the mill was not that large. But beyond such, who was this Paris to Cristyn?

“I tried to explain that installing the wheel would lessen the lung infections and diseases many of his workers have, and that healthy employees would increase his profits,” Paris continued. “He wasn’t having any of it.”

“I’m sorry. We should head to your office,” Cristyn said, a little too loudly and insistently.

“Are you all right, my dear? You seem agitated.”

My dear? Cold fury traveled through Aidan and he clenched his fists. Is this what jealousy felt like? For he’d never experienced it before. Disturbing.

“No, no. I’m fine. Please, let us leave this depressing place,” Cristyn pleaded.

With the sound of retreating footfalls, Aidan chanced a glance around the corner. The tall, slender man took Cristyn’s hand and slipped it through his arm.

Well, he would find out tonight who in hell this Paris was. Once they were out of sight, he headed into the mill, feeling dejected. A foreign emotion, for he’d never allowed any woman to get close enough to put his heart at risk.

The truth was Cristyn continued to reside in his thoughts, day…and most especially night. More than once he wondered if these muddled and intense emotions were due to the fact that she’d been instrumental in his recovery. If his feelings of gratitude had moved into an inappropriate infatuation. But Aidan had been infatuated before, however briefly, and the fever had soon dissipated. What he was feeling toward Cristyn lay beyond a passing fascination.

Regardless, he should keep his distance, keep her at arm’s length in order to protect her, not only from this dubious and possibly risky situation, but his abject past. How to achieve such a thing when they were in the same damned village? And why suggest a clandestine meeting?

The answer was simple: because he couldn’t stay away. Aidan had to know why she was here and who this Paris was to her. He would be damned if he would allow any man to touch her, to breathe the same air she did. He rubbed his forehead. Christ, his wits must have gone begging, for he was acting as if she were his. How unlike him.

“Mr. Black. The master wants you to come to his office right away,” Mr. Meeker declared loudly. Already he could not stand this simpering slave of McRae’s, always lurking about, taking copious notes.

“Thank you, Mr. Meeker.” He headed upstairs, with the secretary hot on his heels.

Aidan knocked on the half-open door, then entered. “You wish to see me, Mr. McRae?”

The man looked up, and Aidan fought to keep revulsion from his face. The middle-aged man had a cold, imperious look, and the straining waistcoat buttons showed his gluttony and egocentric nature. He had disliked McRae at first sight, then outright despised him once he’d spent a couple of days in his company, listening to his smug ramblings. But the man was shrewd; he hadn’t revealed anything that could be construed as illegal. Yet. It was obvious he was wary and distrustful, even though Aidan had been recommended by a close acquaintance of McRae’s—a viscount no less.

“Meeker has informed me you left the factory floor,” McRae said.

“I put the run to a strange woman who entered the spinning room. I followed her outside, and made it clear that she was not to enter any part of the mill again without permission.” Aidan cast a side-glance at the self-righteous Meeker. He would bear watching.

“Good. Leave us, Meeker. I will handle this from here.”

“As you say, sir.” The secretary departed and closed the door behind him.

“Take a seat, Black.” Aidan did. “My wife is holding a small dinner party in two weeks.” McRae slid an envelope across the desk. “We wish for you to attend. You may bring someone with you if you like. But since you are new here, I assume you will be coming alone.”

Aidan gave him a sly smile. “Not necessarily.”

McRae chuckled, then sobered. “As I informed you on your first day here, I live on the two floors above this one. My wife and young son are to be protected. It is your duty to ensure none of the workers come near my home.”

“Consider it done, sir.” Leave it to McRae to live on the premises—easier to keep watch over his enterprise, and save valuable coin on a separate residence.

“I also want you to keep an eye out for any agitators. Many workers in the larger mills farther north are unionizing. I want none of that rabble-rousing here. It will be a cold day in Hell before any workers dictate terms to me.”

“I will let you know at once, sir,” Aidan stated firmly.