Page 57 of Love with a Notorious Rake

Tessie sighed. “Aye.”

“You can trust me, Tessie, and, more importantly, you can trust Mr. Black. Why did you go to his room?”

“Not what you think,” she replied, her voice low. “He wants to know about the mill. Hell’s bells, he told me to say ’aught.”

“I will keep your secret.” Cristyn now trusted Aidan fully, but she was silently relieved to hear confirmation of the truth. “Tell him everything, Tessie. He will protect you.”

Tessie bit her lower lip and nodded. “Aye, miss.”

In a louder voice, Cristyn said, “Keep this clean. There is a bit of infection, but if you wash the scar twice a day, and brew this tea”—Cristyn thrust a packet of willow bark tea leaves into Tessie’s hand—“it should heal properly.”

“Thank you, Miss Bevan.”

Cristyn gave her a smile of support. Once Tessie departed, Paris pulled aside the curtain.

“We have a brief reprieve. Mrs. Wilson, one of my patients, delivered a plate of raisin scones. Come, have one, along with a cup of tea. It’s already brewing.”

She followed Paris into the outer office and sat before his desk. Once he served the tea and scones, they ate and sipped quietly.

“I am not quite sure how to broach this subject; Mrs. Trubshaw claims there was a man in your room last night.” He held up his hand to stop her retort. “I know this is none of my business. If anyone knows of surreptitious rendezvous, it is I. But Mrs. Trubshaw has a legitimate concern. It’s her house.” He peered at her over the rim of his mug. “Was it Aidan Black?”

Cristyn nodded. “Yes. He stood outside my window in the pouring rain. He wouldn’t leave; he would have caught a chill, or worse.” Paris’s mouth quirked. “And yes, I wanted to speak to him. Be in his presence. Kiss him. That is all that happened. He also started to tell me what I have wanted to know since I first met him in January.”

“What is that?”

“The story of his past, his family. What brought him to my father’s clinic. Why he’s in Earl Shilton. Unfortunately, Mrs. Trubshaw interrupted our conversation. He asked me to come to his room tonight.”

Paris shifted in his chair. “You are attracted to each other. It was obvious at McRae’s dinner party. If I noticed the intense yearning, I’m sure others did as well. Let me impart a little sage advice: No matter how careful you are, how well you plan your tryst, there is always a chance of discovery.”

“I grant you we’re playing a dangerous game. But I’m not a young lady of society. I don’t have to protect my reputation as if it were a life-or-death prospect.”

“Perhaps not. All I am saying is it should not be given up easily, for any young woman, regardless of standing.” Paris broke off a small piece of raisin scone, chewed, and swallowed. “It is hardly fair, is it? Young men are expected to indulge in affairs, but young ladies are not. If you don’t mind me asking, what is Aidan’s name?”

She considered Paris a friend, but how deep did the trust go? Aidan hadn’t sworn her to secrecy as such. Perhaps Paris had heard of the name. “I cannot reveal why he is using a different name, the few details I’m aware of have convinced me it is best not to say anything until I learn more.” She paused. Curiosity had got the better of her. Paris was the son of a viscount. He would know of most wealthy families in England. “I must have your word, Paris; you will repeat this to no one.”

“Absolutely.”

“His last name is Wollstonecraft.” Cristyn watched Paris closely for any sort of reaction. His eyes widened briefly, but then his features settled into complete neutrality. “Do you know of the family?”

“Beyond the author of Frankenstein, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, and her mother, Mary, the advocate of women’s rights? Not really. Are they landed gentry? Tradesmen?”

“I’m not sure.” Cristyn sipped her tea. Paris had reacted to the name. Why? Was it because of the author? Or was there more? “You said you knew all about secret assignations. How? The man you spoke of?”

Paris’s eyes reflected a deep sadness. “Not only was our affair against the law, but it was doomed from the start. You see, heirs to the aristocracy are strange creatures. They are born, weaned, and raised on a steady diet of ‘honor and duty.’ When it comes down to it, no matter the utterances and assurances of love and devotion, they will ultimately choose duty and family.”

Paris sighed. “His father found us embracing in the library. There was no dramatic scene, no screaming or cursing. The earl merely said he understood his son’s sexual curiosity, but the choice must be made. My lover said, ‘Well, of course I choose duty. Always.’ I was hastily escorted from the premises, told not to contact the heir again. He wouldn’t even look at me as I was all but dragged from the room. Foolish me, I pleaded, ‘Do not reject our love,’ but he did. Without blinking an eye.”

“No wonder your heart was broken,” Cristyn whispered.

“Smashed, really. But enough about me. Why not meet Aidan Wollstonecraft here, at the clinic, after hours? If discovered, you have a ready excuse with discussing the children at the mill. Meeting in each other’s rooms is too risky. Besides, I will be right upstairs if you need me.”

Paris had a point, especially in light of Mrs. Trubshaw almost catching them. “How would I get word to him?”

“Leave it to me. He’s at the inn, correct? I will arrange a meeting for you tomorrow night. For I imagine you both need to discuss many subjects. That is, if you wish. It is only a suggestion.”

Caution would be prudent. “Yes, tell him we will meet here, tomorrow night.”

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