Reckless Rakes: Hayden Islington
Reckless Rakes: Hayden Islington
Bronwyn Scott
‘Scott delivers a story reminiscent of Virginia Henley’s works with its naughty, bawdy overtones… Sexy, smart and delightfully sinful.’ – RT Book Reviews on ‘A Lady Risks All’, Harlequin Historical RomanceAs an illustrious ice jockey, Hayden Islington is never short of female company—wealthy champions rarely are. So when Miss Jenna Priess—the most exquisite woman he’s ever laid eyes on—turns down his seductive invitation, in favour of his detective abilities, he’s stunned and more than a little intrigued…Jenna is in trouble—her father is ill and her mill is failing due to her workers mysteriously disappearing. To save her world from ruin, Jenna needs help and Hayden is the only man she can turn to. But can she resist the heat of this handsome ice master’s touch?
Reckless Rakes: Hayden Islington
BRONWYN SCOTT
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015
Copyright © Bronwyn Scott 2015
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Ebook Edition © May 2015 ISBN: 9780008134693
Version 2015-05-28
For Catie and Sharper Eagle, the whole staff at El Dorado who brought this amazing team together, and Don and Judi who wanted Sharper to be Catie’s ‘Forever’ horse.
Contents
Cover (#uee075be9-54ff-5eb7-aa10-7b1f002e8c5c)
Title Page (#u69cad856-98bb-5326-9f89-2100098516c4)
Copyright (#u9d503d5f-760c-5c5b-97ba-f8e2c3ef8ab3)
Dedication (#u0c51a7e6-3285-5911-81ff-51be79e01965)
Chapter One (#u8fe0f836-2844-5c5a-916c-d717288fe193)
Chapter Two (#ue494f57b-65dd-5140-a1c1-1dd17f0f21f7)
Chapter Three (#u326ce776-8eb8-56ba-a041-11fae1096400)
Chapter Four (#u1f7daee3-a7e9-5361-af52-e302c669400c)
Chapter Five (#u84ee43d5-1a27-5f58-a7a7-e045be0daf3b)
Chapter Six (#u9f2542d0-b79d-5868-9171-27cd78d6a0cb)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-four (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Author’s Note (#litres_trial_promo)
Coming soon from Bronwyn Scott … (#litres_trial_promo)
Bronwyn Scott (#litres_trial_promo)
About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u8fe957ca-ca02-55d3-aaff-ff55f49f6526)
Kendal, Near the Lake District, Winter, 1838
Hayden Islington believed there were two great thrills in life; sex when it was done well and horse racing when it was done on ice. Last night, he’d engaged in the former. This morning he was moments away from engaging in the latter. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who held with at least the second part of that philosophy. Twelve other madcap riders were assembled with him on the frozen surface of Lake Kendal and a sizeable crowd had left their warm beds to see the spectacle from shore.
Beneath him, Guerre snorted, nostrils flaring as the white stallion caught the scent of the excited crowd and jostled haunches with the horse on the left. “Soon,” Hayden murmured, stroking the beast’s thick shoulder.
The crowd was primed for the race. A collective, high-pitched squeal of feminine excitement drew Hayden’s attention. He scanned the shoreline crammed full of onlookers until he found the source; a group of women, Miss Last Night in their midst, blonde and striking in a bright blue wool ensemble. She waggled a gloved hand his direction. Hayden raised two gloved fingers of his own to his lips and blew her a kiss.
Miss Last Night buried her face against the shoulder of a friend, acting as if he’d showered her in diamonds instead of imaginary kisses which were far less expensive. He wasn’t surprised, or even flattered by the reaction. Kisses from him of any sort, imaginary or not, had long ago attained swoon-worthy status among a certain type.
He knew exactly how he affected the ‘ladies’ who followed the event and he knew why; they were in love with the speed, the danger and most of all, the victory, almost as much as the racers themselves were. Almost as much he was. Almost. They didn’t need it like he did — those precious moments of speed and danger that demanded all his thought and attention. He lived for them, race after race. Those moments kept him sane, and of course, the validation of winning, proving that he was the best at something.
The ladies adored a winner, although their adoration was fickle, changing with the victor. He understood. Should he lose, affections may waiver. So far, there had not been a shortage of women who’d do anything to have all that excitement to themselves for a night and Hayden was happy to oblige. He knew precisely what these women wanted and why.
On his right, Carrick Pierce, his long-time friend and fellow racer, laughed from atop his bay, catching the direction of Hayden’s gaze. “Good lord, Hayden, another one? Do you even know her name?”
“Elaine, Elena, Ella? Something with an E.” Hayden chuckled and shook his head. “No, in answer to your question, I don’t.”
The starter signaled for attention. It was all business now. Hayden thrust thoughts of Miss Last Night aside, giving Guerre his complete focus. There were more where Miss Last Night came from, but Guerre was one of a kind. The safety of his mount always came first. Hayden moved Guerre into position in the center of the pack, the racers forming a horizontal queue at the starting line. He gathered the reins, his body tensed, waiting for the gun.
Boom! At the sound, Guerre’s muscles bunched and he leapt forward, his long legs confidently embracing the ice in their stride. The wind hit Hayden’s face, cold and exhilarating. This was living at its finest. He was ahead early in the race, Guerre surging out to a commanding lead. That could change at any moment; the ice could crack, Guerre could slip, another horse could pull ahead, all of which would require immediate and decisive action on his part. It was the concept of unlimited possibility that thrilled him, that led him to such a dangerous undertaking. The thrill demanded his utmost in concentration.
The course was short, a test of speed over a slick surface more than a test of endurance. Guerre was built primarily for endurance but that didn’t mean he was slow. The big boy could harness his power for speed when he had to. Hayden could feel the big horse settling into a well-regulated pace and pushed him a little. How fast would Guerre be willing to go on the ice? For now, the new shoes on his hooves with their special traction were giving the big boy confidence.
Hayden took the turn at the half way point. He hazarded a backward glance beneath his arm. Carrick was close behind him, keeping a calculated distance in order to thwart any reckless behavior that came too close. That was Carrick’s job, to ride as his lieutenant and keep danger away from Guerre. Not far from Carrick, a sleek chestnut was recklessly moving into the turn, attempting to cut the curve and pull ahead. The rider was pulling too sharply. “They’re going to crash!” Hayden called, seeing the accident in his mind before it happened, a spill was inevitable at that angle, but Carrick had already seen the danger and was pulling wide to avoid it.
The chestnut slipped, going down on the ice, rolling away from its rider and right into Guerre’s path. “Hayden, watch out!” Carrick shouted, steering his horse around the wreck. Hayden assessed the situation in an instant. The rest of the field was closing behind them fast. If he swung wide as Carrick had done, it would cost him the lead. Worse, it would put him among the pack, a most precarious place to be. In a crowd, anything could happen. The slightest of slips could cause a whole group to go down. There was only one choice.
Hayden rose out of the saddle, his body in a perfect two-point over Guerre’s neck, his weight off the horse’s back, his eyes sighting the jump between Guerre’s ears. Those ears flicked back and forth, catching the sound of his voice calling instructions. Guerre knew what he wanted. They couldn’t go around the wreckage; they would have to go over it. Hayden signaled for the leap with his thighs. Guerre gathered his legs and sprung.
The crowd along the bank went wild as he cleared the downed horse and took the last sprint towards the finish line, outpacing Carrick’s bay by half a length. They’d won! What a race! What a challenge! Adrenaline buoyed him as he and Guerre were led to the winner’s circle amid a cheering crowd.
The celebrity after a race was a rush of a different sort. People he didn’t know reached out hands to clap him on the back, everyone wanting a piece of the victory. Miss Last Night had found her way into his path, her cheeks flushed with excitement. He seized her about the waist and pulled her to him for a showy kiss that made the onlookers roar with approval. She stayed with him until Logan discreetly detached her at the winner’s circle. Then there was a silver cup and a purse to claim from the pretty daughter of an affluent merchant in town who had sponsored a large part of the race. Guerre was handed off to a groom and he was handed off to meet important people, people who had paid money to see him win, who might want to sponsor an event of their own if he’d come to race in their town.
He had given the people their victory, and now it was time for business. Admittedly, he was just the front. He simply raced. It was Logan Graeme who handled all the details. It was Logan now who had him by the elbow, guiding him skillfully through crowds of onlookers who attempted to waylay him. Hayden shook a few hands as he and Logan passed for good measure. The adrenaline was starting to recede, giving way to more clarified thinking.
“There’s a group of merchants who want to talk,” Logan murmured at his ear, rattling off key information. “They’re from Derwentwater and think they’ve got a lake that will freeze every year. They’re looking for an annual race commitment.”
Hayden nodded, taking it all in. An annual event could mean big money and do much to elevate public awareness of the new sport. “Maybe we’ll be as big as Ascot someday.” He laughed.
“Be serious, Hayden. This would be good for us.” Logan reprimanded.
“Do you have anything interesting lined up?” Hayden winked. “I mean, after the merchants? Not that they’re not interesting.”
“There’s a pretty redhead who came by this morning saying she had business to see you about.” Logan conceded. “I wasn’t sure if I should encourage her. I thought you might still be attached to the lovely Emma Stroud.” “Emma!” Hayden snapped his fingers. “That’s her name. When you see Carrick, tell him I remembered.”
“I remembered for you.” Logan corrected.
Hayden grinned. “Same thing. That’s why I keep you around.” he joked. “You’re the brains behind this operation and I know it well.” Ice racing had been his idea but it had been Logan who knew how to sell it, how to turn it into a profit-making venture and it had been Logan who created this notorious celebrity of his that allowed him to strike out on his own and break free of his past.
“Does that mean you want to see her?” Logan asked sotto voce as they neared the group of businessmen gathered outside the tavern door. There would be warm drinks, plentiful food and a private parlor waiting beyond that door, all for the chance to meet him and discuss possibilities.
“Yes, after I finish with the merchants. Give me an hour.” There was no time to say more. Logan drew him forward with a flourish and the voice of a showman.
“Gentlemen, I give you the champion of Lake Kendal, Mr. Hayden Islington.” There was applause and back slapping. He caught the phrase, ‘What a jump!’ as they ushered him inside and put a liberally rummed hot toddy in his hand. Miss This Afternoon would be here later, his belly would be filled, and his purse was full. Oh yes, it was good to be him.
An hour later, on cue, Logan slipped into the parlor and moved the discussion to its close. “I’m sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but Mr. Islington has other business to see to today. However, if you’d like to continue your discussion with me, I can assist you but Mr. Islington is needed next door.”
It was all very skillfully done. Logan was a master of tact. The men were in high spirits and eager to get a contract inked. He said his goodbyes and let Logan whisk him to the parlor next door, not that he’d be there long. He’d be taking Miss This Afternoon up to his chamber and he’d be there until supper. He could think of worse ways to spend a cold winter afternoon.
Hayden stepped inside the parlor behind Logan and came to an abrupt halt. Whoa! Miss This Afternoon was stunning. Not only could he think of worse ways, he could think of worse people to spend it with. Red hair indeed! Logan’s description had not done her justice. It was more like the shade of rich red chestnut, a perfect match to the horse that had gone down on the ice, a silky combination of caramel and russet that begged a man’s hand to sink into its lustrous depths.
She stood in profile to them, warming her hands at the fire and showing off other parts that begged a man’s hand too, starting with those breasts. High and firm in the well-tailored carriage ensemble, they would fill a man’s hands nicely — particularly his. The elegantly-done jacket nipped in at her waist showing off a trim figure and reminding a man how neatly his hand would rest at the curve of her hip. Lucifer’s balls, there were a lot of things his hands might do with that body!
The cynic in him, who understood sex was a game like any other, wondered if she hadn’t planned it that way? Logan had only an hour to track her down and confirm the meeting. Yet she was already here; her outerwear, a warm-looking fur-trimmed cloak of brown velvet, already removed and laying on a chair with her gloves on the small table beside it. She’d wasted no time making herself at home in the parlor. Surely a woman of her looks was not unaware of them or of how she might best engineer a scene to provoke a certain male response?
Hayden’s gaze lit on her face and all thoughts stopped right there. The sharp green eyes that met his suggested she knew exactly what was going through his head and she did not approve. He also had the distinct feeling Miss This Afternoon would not swoon over blown kisses, which only fueled an entirely male stab of desire all the more. What man didn’t want what he couldn’t have? But that wasn’t quite true was it? He was Hayden Islington, ice racer extraordinaire, lover nonpareil. He could have her. He merely had to apply himself.
Hayden gave her a confident grin. She might set herself up to be something of a challenge, but she was here all the same. Challenge or not, the conclusion was foregone, and what a lovely conclusion it would be to peel that carriage ensemble from her luscious form, to caress those breasts, to trace the curve of her hip, to test in practice with his body, what his mind already knew in theory; she would be delicious in bed. Hayden looked about the parlor taking in the possibilities; Or on a table, up against a door, with her back flat on the floor. This was starting to sound like a bad rhyme from the schoolroom, the kind tutors used to drill prepositions into their pupils’ heads. Still, if his tutor had taught grammar that way, he might have remembered it better.
“Hayden, this is Miss Jenna Priess.” Logan was making introductions. Hayden dragged his thoughts away from erotic school lessons designed to keep adolescent boys’ interest. He would have been one hell of a schoolmaster. But that wasn’t the point just now. He needed to pay attention. It wouldn’t do to forget her name so soon after hearing it.
Hayden bent over her hand, a very well-kept hand with perfect rounded nails, he noted; his eyes careful never to leave hers while his lips made contact with her knuckles. “Miss Priess, Jenna, how do you do?”
“I’m quite well.” Her tone was as formal as her eyes were sharp. Just now, those sharp eyes flicked over the length of his body ever so subtly he might have imagined it. But then, he was Hayden Islington. He knew when a woman was looking him over. There was no doubt Miss Priess had definitely just perused his form. And, he might add, she had done so in a manner that spoke of some experience and skill in the art of the discreet scan.
She was taking his measure, quite literally. It had been awhile since a woman had bothered. Most of them had already decided he’d pass muster before they even met. Reputations were handy things that way. She pulled her hand away with the slightest of tugs and he let her. She could feign indifference all she wanted with that haughty tone of hers but he’d caught her at her wicked little game and he knew better. “Is everything to your liking?”
Her fabulous eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her posture stiffened at the reprimand or perhaps at the insinuation behind it. To her credit, her gaze never wavered in embarrassment or in acknowledgement of having been found out. “I’ve come to offer you a proposal.”
Hayden flashed her a grin. “Is that so?” He let his eyes roam her form, deliberately copying her actions. This was becoming more interesting by the moment. “Carry on then, Miss Priess. I find I’m quite in the mood for being propositioned.”
Chapter Two (#u8fe957ca-ca02-55d3-aaff-ff55f49f6526)
The lovely Miss Priess did blush at that but her tone remained firm. “A business proposition.” Her blue eyes flicked briefly in Logan’s direction, making a discreet request for privacy. He would take that as a good sign and if she wanted to refer to her proposition as ‘business’, that was fine with him too. The outcome would be the same and that was all that mattered in the end.
Ever the master of nuance, Logan took the hint, making excuses about returning to the gentlemen next door. “Refreshments are available, if you desire anything.” Logan nodded towards the side table set against the wall. It was his way of indicating Hayden was free to pursue whatever course of action he wanted. There would be no interruptions from the inn staff delivering food.
“Ah, mulled wine. Shall I pour you a mug?” Hayden offered to ease the transition of Logan’s departure. It was just the two of them now. Perhaps a little courtesy would thaw her frosty tone, the wine wouldn’t hurt either. Heaven forbid she actually be here to discuss real business. She had the wrong man for that. That was Logan’s specialty.
“No, thank you. This won’t take long.”
Hayden raised an eyebrow and helped himself to the wine. “I’m in no hurry. I have all afternoon.” Clearly, she didn’t know him very well. He liked speed, but not in bed where it was all about slow and steady winning the race. “Please, have a seat, Jenna.” He took a chair near the fire and gestured for her to do the same. Lord, she was a beauty. He watched her arrange her skirts. There were long legs beneath them, he’d wager. He was a breast man himself, but long legs never hurt.
Hayden settled back in the chair, stretching his legs out until his boots rested on the fender of the fire place. It was time to get comfortable. “What is it that you’ve come to, ah, ‘discuss’? The race? Did you see it? There was quite the situation out there on the turn. That can be dangerous when a horse goes down, it puts all the riders in jeopardy.”
Her features settled into a frown of impatient tolerance. “No, Mr. Islington, I’m not here to talk over the race. I’ve come to discuss something else entirely.” “Well, that’s alright by me. We don’t have to discuss anything at all, if you’d prefer not to.” Maybe what she meant was that she was eager to get down to business and not waste time on small talk. Hayden yanked on his cravat and pulled it free. Now they were getting somewhere. “Perhaps you might give me a hand with my boots?” He could already imagine that derriere of hers bent in his direction as she tugged at his boots.
Unfortunately, Miss Jenna Priess didn’t share his enthusiasm for the activity. “Mr. Islington, let me be blunt. I am not one of your swooning ladies who are dying to get into bed with you. I’m not even here about racing. I’m here because you were once an investigator and I have need of one.”
Hayden froze. The past had finally reared its ugly head, here in this remote industrial town. He’d not been expecting it, not here, not now, not from this woman he didn’t know. She might as well have said she needed an escort to the moon. Hayden took a swallow of wine to hide his surprise, to marshal his thoughts.
“I’m an ice racer now, Miss Priess.” His investigation days were long behind him. His celebrity on ice had long since eclipsed any public recollection of what he used to be and for the better, if you asked him. That she even knew he’d been an investigator was nearly as big of a surprise as the initial request. It provoked a host of questions, not the least being how did she know? Perhaps it had been mentioned in passing in an article promoting the race. He’d have to tell Logan to watch the releases more carefully. The other question was how to play this? He had two choices, give in to the curiosity and shock of her request and ask his questions or brush it off with flirtation and innuendo. Perhaps if he flirted hard enough, she would forego her intentions and forget all about wanting an investigator.
Always err on the side of discretion. It had been his motto during his investigatory days and it had kept him alive more than once. If he’d always heeded that advice, things might have turned out differently. Hayden let slip the slightest of wicked grins and decided to play a little in the hopes of drawing her out. “So you do need me?”
He got the reaction he wanted. He’d rather expected he would. Even if she wasn’t indifferent to him, she’d come for real business. She had her pride and she would choke on it before she admitted to the possibility of anything more sensual between them. Miss Priess rose abruptly and pulled on her gloves with short, forceful motions, jamming her fingers into them. “Not in the way you are insinuating, Mr. Islington.”
“I’m not insinuating, I’m clarifying. Do you need me or not?” He rose too, putting himself in close proximity to her, too close to be decent. But he wasn’t a decent man and it was time she knew it.
“I need an investigator.” Her green eyes flared but to her credit she did not back away. “While we’re clarifying, I understand your naughty innuendo perfectly well, and to that I say, not in a million years.”
She might have made a striking exit at that point but she’d forgotten where she’d placed her cloak. Hayden spied it first. His grin widened. Her eyes narrowed as she divined his intent and she moved fast to pre-empt it but his legs were longer and he moved faster. Hayden picked up the cloak and held it out for her, knowing full well it would gall her to take even this small gentlemanly gesture from him.
His hands lingered at her shoulders deliberately as he bent his mouth to her ear, breathing in the welcoming scent of her. “Never is a long time. You might want to keep your options open, Miss Priess.” Lord, she smelled wonderful, like cinnamon and spice, all the good things of a winter kitchen, like a home; nothing at all like the smells he was used to — the sour smell of taprooms, of stale, spilt ale.
Her neck curved forward as she focused her attention on the fastenings of her cloak — too much attention for a task she’d performed a thousand times before and could likely do blindfolded. Hayden smiled. She wasn’t unaffected by him. He could change her mind about leaving. All he had to do was drop a kiss on the nape of her exposed neck, run his hands down the length of her arms. He shouldn’t. It would not be in his best interest in the long run. There was only trouble and ghosts down that path. It didn’t matter what she wanted him to investigate. He simply wasn’t in that line of work any longer. She would be the persistent sort if he let her stay. What he needed, what he wanted was for her to leave and take her notions of investigating elsewhere.
“I need an investigator, Mr. Islington.” She turned to face him, effectively removing his hands from her shoulders and taking away his chance for kissing in any case, her words affirming his perception. He’d guessed right about the persistence. He took her hand, encased inside smooth, expensive leather. The woman had good taste and the money to indulge it from the fur at her neck to the gloves on her hands.
He kissed her knuckles one more time. “I regret to inform you, an investigator is something I haven’t been for a very long time, Miss Priess. It’s a wonder you even knew to ask. How did you know?”
“A little bird told me.” She pulled at her hand but this time he didn’t let it go. He needed to know. He pressed on with a sly rejoinder.
“Really? Haven’t they all flown south for the winter?” This was a sharper flirtation than earlier. They were fencing now. She’d encroached on private territory and he was forced to defend it.
“I haven’t time for your games, sir. I have several mill workers who have gone missing and a father who may be wrongly accused of crimes he has no knowledge of if I can’t find the workers. I came here looking for honest help.” She gave him a derisive look. “And what I found was you.”
That stung. She had definitely prodded a sleeping bear with her sharp tongue. Hayden folded his arms across his chest, common sense warring with his pride. He was an ice racer now. His investigatory days were over and for good reason. He couldn’t help her, he shouldn’t help her. Yet, that fatal twinge of chivalry, that desire to help others which had driven him into investigation work in the first place was starting to stir. It didn’t help that the woman standing before him was beautiful, proud and desperate.
Oh she was desperate alright, a classic casebook study of desperation in fact. He’d learned to see the signs. The prouder someone was, the more they tried to hide how desperate they really were. She’d hidden it in her frosty tones, in the fine impeccable quality of her clothes, all of it designed to suggest she was a woman who didn’t need anyone when in reality she needed someone badly. Quite badly if she’d resorted to looking for him.
“I have obligations while I’m here. My time isn’t necessarily my own.” Hayden iterated his excuses — very valid excuses, he thought. He, Carrick and Logan were slated to be here for the latter part of winter, however long that lasted. Hopefully until the first of March if the ice held. They had the race today, a few races later and then they were using Kendal as a base for other visits nearby.
“It may not take that long and I can pay you handsomely. Two hundred pounds.” she pushed, her stubborn pride perhaps sensing an opening in what others would have taken as a polite refusal. He’d meant to use his commitments as an excuse. But she saw the hope in it for her. Commitments bound him to the area. He would be here for the duration. She swallowed hard. “Please.”
Hayden could feel himself starting to prevaricate. There were so many reasons he shouldn’t do this. It went against the grain of common sense. It was a side of his life he’d left behind. And not the least of those reasons — Logan would be furious. Yet, looking at her, seeing her desperation, he didn’t not want to do it. Nor did he like the insinuation that he had somehow fallen short of her expectations.
So be it. He would leave it up to her. Hayden issued a dare-wrapped dismissal. He let go of her hand and swept her a bow. “My regrets, Miss Priess. What you see is what you get. As you said, you came looking for an investigator and you found me. If you think you can settle for that, come back tonight.”
Come back tonight? Did he think her utterly naïve? Or did he still believe she was another desperate doxy eager to get into his bed? Neither of the options were flattering depictions of her character. Jenna was still fuming over his challenge when she arrived home. Hayden Islington was a cad. A heart-stoppingly gorgeous cad, but a cad nonetheless.
She’d come to him with an honest inquiry and he’d answered her with flirtation and innuendo, which to her shame, she’d not been unaffected by as much as she would have liked. If he’d meant his playful overtures to act as distractions, they’d worked to some degree. Hayden Islington was an undeniably handsome devil of a man with sharp blue eyes that weren’t afraid to laugh, a tousled, tawny mess of thick hair the color of wild honey and that mouth of his was quite possibly the wickedest mouth she’d ever seen on a man — not that she should have been noticing given the nature of her business. But she had noticed. With the merest of smiles, that mouth invited her to envision kissing those lips, or being kissed by them. Her imagination had taken that invitation.
If her business with him had not been so dire, she might have been derailed from her purpose altogether. He flirted quite nicely, quite expertly and what red-blooded woman with an ounce of fire to her didn’t appreciate that sort of attention once in a while. Once in a long while. That sort of attention could get a girl into trouble and well she knew it. She’d been too innocent for her own good once. Just once, but that had been all it took for her to learn her lesson when it came to handsome devils.
She’d naïvely not anticipated Hayden Islington would fall into that category when she’d sought him out. The fact that he did had taken her entirely unaware. She’d blindly focused on the stereotype that investigators were gruff, stocky, older men that were balding and smelled of odd, cheap places. But Hayden Islington had upended those notions the moment he’d stepped into the room, potent and masculine in all the best ways.
Even so, she should have been immune to those good looks and easy manners simply because she knew better. She neither wanted nor needed any part of what he offered with his flirtatious eyes and provocative innuendos.
Jenna pulled off her gloves and set them on the polished console in the hall, frustrated at herself for her reaction and with him for knowingly encouraging it. She’d just begun undoing her cloak when her brother Daniel stepped out of the sitting room, relief on his face at the sight of her.
“You have a visitor.” He mouthed the next words, “It’s Davenport.”
Jenna froze. Her foreman was here. That was dangerous. She didn’t want him to see her at her most vulnerable, in her own home with no one but a sick father and young brother. She far preferred to meet with him at the factory where there was no chance of her father catching wind of their situation and where there were reminders everywhere of who was in charge; her office, her desk. The idea that Davenport even thought he could call on her at home suggested he was starting to question her authority or worse, that he imagined he could take certain liberties, could aspire to a relationship with her that transcended employer and employee.
Jenna smoothed her skirts and kept her voice calm. “Thank you, Daniel. Why don’t you go upstairs while I talk with our guest?” Daniel would know what that meant. He was to go look after father, to make sure news of Davenport’s visit didn’t reach him, didn’t worry him.
She entered the sitting room and pasted on a polite smile with her greeting. “Davenport, what a surprise. I thought we weren’t scheduled to meet until tomorrow at the mill.” It was where she preferred to meet with him. At the mill she was surrounded by the trappings of her authority — an office, a desk. At the mill, her weaknesses weren’t exposed or perhaps the mill was public ground of a sort. Her home was private and he was an intruder here.
Davenport rose, belatedly remembering to play the gentleman. He might have been an officer in his previous career but he wore the manners of a gentleman like an ill-fitting suit of clothes. “My dear, you have been out. The cold has put some color in your cheeks.”
Not an intruder, an invader, Jenna amended. He dared too much with the appellation. “I am not your dear, Davenport. You overstep yourself.” She remained standing. This was a subtle battle for authority, fought with careful words and postures. To sit would invite conversation as would ringing for tea. She did neither. She wanted Davenport here as little as possible. Davenport was a tenacious man best left unencouraged. Tea or a chair would be all the opening he’d need to feel emboldened in his pursuit.
Where another man would have been put off by her rejection, Davenport merely ignored it and forged ahead with his conversation. “I came to see if there was any news of young Paulie.”
“I will send word if there is any news.” Jenna said coolly. It was an answer and a dismissal. Davenport knew it too. Something akin to anger flashed through Davenport’s eyes but was gone almost instantly, his face softening its hard features. He stepped towards her and she was careful to stand her ground.
“You don’t need to be strong for me.” His voice was low, private. It was a tone reserved for close friends or more. It was entirely inappropriate. “These are troubling times for you. I don’t pretend to know the depths of your struggles. You won’t share them. But I am here for you.” Another woman, a less discerning woman, might have found Davenport attractive. The features were there — the thick brown hair, the brown eyes that could be chocolate soft or agate hard, the strong line of his jaw, the brackets at his mouth that defined him as a man of experiences, who had seen something of the world.
However, Jenna did not find him appealing. He lacked a certain nuance, a polish to mark him as a man of distinction.
Oh, he aspired to distinction, but he did not achieve it. There was something indefinably coarse about him. He lacked a nobility of character. But he’d been an officer — even if a low ranking one — and he’d been available when her father had needed him.
“Let me help you.” He renewed his request.
Jenna offered a frosty smile. “You are my foreman, Davenport. It is not your place to help me.”
His features hardened. He did not like being put down by a woman although he tried to hide it. “I am your father’s foreman. What I am to you could be refined if you so wished. I am a patient man, Miss Priess. My offer stands.” He gave her a curt nod of his head and gathered up his coat to depart.
It was not the first time, he’d found her behavior displeasing. Neither was the first time he’d pushed his personal agenda despite it. Jenna waited until he was gone before she sat. Davenport’s ambitions were becoming problematic. He found her displeasing and yet he dared to put himself forward as a suitor. His efforts were not even subtle. He wanted the factory and he was willing to marry for it. If she gave him an inch, he’d take matrimony.
The door had barely closed when eager footsteps sounded on the staircase. Her brother clattered down the steps, his voice excited and loud in the quiet of their home as the questions began. “Did you see him? What was he like? How was the race?” Daniel was fourteen and he’d been furious that morning because she hadn’t taken him with her to see the notorious ice racer. “Were there any crashes?”
Jenna laughed at his exuberance. “There was one crash. A horse went down and Islington jumped it rather than give up the lead.” Her reaction to that event had been much like her reaction to the man; mixed. At the time, she’d wanted to be enraged over the foolishness of taking such a chance and at the same time, she’d not been able to look away. Daniel would have loved every moment of the drama. She wished she could have taken him, he had little enough excitement in his life but her business wasn’t suitable for a child and she didn’t want him to worry.
“Cor! He jumped over a horse? On ice?” Daniel gave a wistful sigh full of disbelief. “I can’t believe I missed it!” He gave her a reproachful stare. He squared his shoulders, suddenly looking more mature than he had a moment ago. “But it’s a good thing I was here. Father was asking for you. He wanted to know where you’d gone.”
Jenna sobered too. Having her father ask questions had been something she’d worked hard to avoid. She’d kept the current business of the disappearing mill workers and the subsequent consequences from her father. He was too ill and she wouldn’t have him bothered. She could handle this latest problem on her own.
“What did you tell him?” she asked Daniel, but she could guess. Her father suspected she was working too hard at the mill, intervening in the foreman’s job.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him anything. I said you’d gone shopping.” There was pride in Daniel’s voice and something else too, something akin to ‘I told you so. I am old enough to help you.’ He was proving to her he wasn’t a child.
“Well done.” She smiled her praise. Fourteen was a difficult age. One was not really a child but nowhere near an adult. It wasn’t so long ago that she’d forgotten what it was like to be fourteen, but Jenna would still have preferred to protect him. The issue of missing workers was a sordid one. No one was certain what was behind it although she’d heard several hypotheses bandied about in the last weeks, everything from human trafficking and prostitution rings to a mass murderer on the loose. Unfortunately, all were possible.
“So,” Daniel asked again. “Will Islington help us?”
“Us?” She noted his use of the word. “What do you know of all this?”
Daniel straightened his thin, adolescent shoulders. “I know Paulie is missing, that he’s not the first. Other workers have been missing for weeks now and it’s serious enough that you want an investigator to help you find them.”
Jenna nodded. She wouldn’t lie to him. The situation had become dire enough she feared having to close down until the situation was resolved. Her mill couldn’t function without enough workers to fill the shifts and in the dead of winter, she wasn’t sure where she’d come up with new ones.
Her workers had started disappearing over two months ago. Since then, it had been one or two a week, which might not sound terribly significant but when a mill was run by forty-five to fifty men and young boys, a ten percent attrition rate was quickly reached as was the mill’s ability to function. The workers were hired from gangs that came from Manchester and Leeds. Couple that with the winter weather and the difficulty of getting another work crew in before spring, it was no wonder she was worried.
Until this week, she’d been able to fill the empty spots from the small worker pool available in town. Now, with Paulie’s disappearance, fear was rampant. She was well aware of the rumors surrounding the Priess mill disappearances. The workers available were reluctant to work for her, afraid they too might be among the next to disappear. Not even the prospect of higher wages could entice them.
She was starting to panic. If she couldn’t fulfill her orders for bobbins, they would lose money and future contracts. It would be a financial disaster. Even worse, if the workers’ suspicions of foul play reached her father’s ear, it would devastate him. The winter had been cruel enough as it was. This last might just finish him off.
Her father was known in the area as a champion of workers’ rights. He was proud of the conditions in his mills, the fairness of his wages and his concern for his workers well-being. It would destroy him to know those ethics were being questioned to say nothing of what the practical realities of a shutdown would do to the business. She’d not lied to Islington when she’d said she’d pay handsomely. The Priesses were wealthy, but they wouldn’t be if they lost the mill and its income.
“You’re dodging my question, Sis.” Daniel prompted patiently. “Will he help us?”
“I don’t know.” Jenna hedged, drawing her mind back from the dark abyss of her thoughts. There was no sense worrying about what ifs just yet. “Maybe.”
“Then he didn’t say no?” Daniel argued hopefully.
She couldn’t bear to disappoint him, or to let down her father. Her father didn’t know it, but he was counting on her. Right now, she was all that stood between the family business and ruin. “Islington said to come back tonight.”
“Will you?” Daniel asked quietly, sensing if not fully understanding that she was somehow conflicted over that decision.
“Yes.” She offered him a reassuring smile, hoping her answer would convince Daniel a return visit was all it would take to secure the help they needed. Maybe she was even trying to convince herself Islington would say yes. He’d not promised her anything. Still, what choice did she have? He was the only investigator she had. With the winter roads, it would be spring by the time she corresponded with an investigation company in a larger city and arranged for someone to come. Spring would be too late.
Islington was her only choice. Up until this afternoon’s meeting, she’d liked to think he’d been serendipitously dropped into her lap just when she needed him — well, not him precisely, but an investigator. Now, she wasn’t sure serendipity had anything to do with it. The only investigator she could get her hands on was a notorious seducer. Nonetheless, she had to go back. If she didn’t, she’d never know what Islington’s decision was. If she didn’t go back, the failure to engage an investigator would be on her shoulders. But if she went back and Islington refused, she could be content knowing she’d made her best effort and the fault lay with him.
There. She’d made her decision she told herself firmly. She would see him again tonight. Going back was the only choice, the right choice for her family and the mill. The tremor of excitement the decision elicited had to do with the satisfaction of a decision made, the idea that she was moving forward, making progress. It had nothing to do with a pair of blue eyes that undressed a woman in a glance and a mouth that inspired the most decadent of daydreams. Nothing at all. It was ridiculous to think it did.
Chapter Three (#u8fe957ca-ca02-55d3-aaff-ff55f49f6526)
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard of! Are you serious?” Logan gave Hayden a disapproving stare over the foaming head of his ale, the taproom noisy around them. “You’re actually thinking about taking on a case right in the middle of racing season? You haven’t taken on a case for five years and now you suddenly have an itch to investigate?”
“He’s got an itch alright.” Carrick mumbled into his mug.
Logan shot his disapproval in Carrick’s direction. “If I’d known she was the one to scratch it, I would not have brought her. I thought she was like all the others.”
Hayden stifled a smile. Logan would not take to being teased at the moment. He knew what Logan had thought. He’d thought it too. But Miss Jenna Priess had sought him out on far different ‘business’ than the usual. The taproom was loud and boisterous around them, the crowd in a good mood after the excitement of the racing that morning, followed up by a winter fair in what passed for the village green in the white months. It was a night for celebration. It was not a night for quarreling with one’s best friend. What Logan needed right now was pacification.
“It’s not a case.” Hayden offered. Hardly. A case implied briefs and files and research, interviews with people who knew the victim. This was not a case. Nor was it going to turn into one. “I’m going to make a couple of inquiries. If I’m lucky, I’ll have a few leads for her to follow on her own. With the right information, she can probably find someone to wrap it all up without my help.” It was the same argument he’d made with himself that afternoon. An afternoon, he noted, that he had not spent rolling in bed with a lovely woman, but thinking instead. What he’d come up with was a compromise his conscience could live with and that was it: get her some leads, nothing more.
His argument had been more successful on himself than on Logan. His conscience had been appeased but Logan was not. Then again, Logan hadn’t been in the room with her, hadn’t seen the emerald fire in her eyes when she’d talked of her predicament. Logan hadn’t heard her sincerity of tone when she’d spoken of her father, he hadn’t been subjected to the idea that he was in the presence of a good woman who wanted something more from him than celebrity sex.
Logan leaned across the table to be heard over the din of the tavern, his tone earnest. “Hayden, we have money invested and obligations to keep. I don’t know that there’s time for this and we can’t back out. We are centered here for the winter but we have visits to make elsewhere. The Derwentwater merchants want us to see their lake, there’s Morecambe’s ice festival and Keswick after that. I can’t pay them back if we don’t show up. The festivals are already planned,” Logan reminded him. “We have to keep those commitments. I need your head in the game.”
Obligations meant more than just showing up. People expected a show. Once word of today’s antics on the ice made the rounds, the expectations would be doubled. Hayden Islington was expected to win and do it in grand fashion. Merchants and earls didn’t sponsor events centered around losers.
“I know.” Hayden reassured him. “It’ll be fine. Who knows, she might not even come back.” She’d been bristling when she’d left him and disappointed. Hayden regretted the last. Bristling was one thing. He’d had women mad at him before but not disappointed. He didn’t like to disappoint a woman no matter what the circumstances.
The door to the taproom opened, bringing a gust of cold winter night air into the warmth of the inn. The three of them looked up in reflex. Hayden froze. Carrick let out a whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned. I guess she came back after all.”
And in style. Jenna Priess was looking gorgeous and far too well put together for a place like this in her rich cloak, her hood thrown back, her chestnut hair gleaming as she searched the crowd for him.
Logan gave him a stony glare. “Of course she did. Hayden’s irresistible, as he well knows.” Even at his worst, apparently. He had been rude and audacious but Jenna Priess hadn’t scared. Hayden offered Logan an apologetic shrug.
Logan shook his head. “How can I compete with that? You always were one for a pretty face. Hayden, don’t think we’re done talking about this.”
“Just for the duration of our stay, Logan. No more, I promise.” Hayden grinned.
Logan looked skeptical. “I will hold you to it. Ice doesn’t wait. I can’t simply reschedule us for a later date.” They all knew that whatever was in the bank when the ice melted was what they lived on until the ice froze again. “Timing is everything.”
Damn right it was, with ice and with women. He’d better hustle if he meant to keep this one. Miss Priess had ventured no deeper into the room and now her face wore a resigned frown. Unable to locate him amid the crowd, she was starting to second guess the wisdom of coming. If he meant her to stay, he’d have to move quickly. Hayden shouldered his way past tables and bodies. His hand came down over hers as it pushed on the door. He was just in time. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He murmured.
She startled, taking a moment to recognize him in the unfamiliar setting. “Do what?”
“Leave.” He smiled, just for her, his flirtation rewarded with competitive sparks in her blue eyes.
“And why is that?”
He raised her hand to his lips, his eyes holding hers. “Because what you’re looking for is right here.”
“You never stop do you?” She rewarded him with a laugh, some of the earlier tension going from her face. He felt uncommonly proud at being responsible for it, for making her laugh. He wondered if she had much cause to laugh. What little he knew of her suggested she didn’t; a desperate woman burdened with a mill she couldn’t staff, probably didn’t spend a lot of time laughing.
He gave her a look of mock seriousness. “Never.” He wanted to make her laugh again, wanted to keep that smile on her face. Hayden maneuvered her away from the door. He had her firmly in his grasp now, the question of leaving resolved in his favor. His hand moved to the small of her back, guiding her through the throng. “I have a parlor waiting for us. It will be quiet there and we can talk.” Even through the heaviness of her cloak he could feel the slimness of her form, the rigid steel of her posture, a reminder that she was a lady in all ways that mattered and he’d presented her with a most unladylike dare in requesting she come here tonight for his answer.
The parlor he’d arranged was smaller, cozier than the one this afternoon. Tea waited for them in front of the fire. She looked around, taking in the room’s details, no doubt deciphering what they meant. “You were fairly certain I’d come back.”
Hayden smiled and helped her out of her cloak, letting his hands linger at her shoulders to reaffirm his message. “Hopeful. I was hopeful you’d come back.” He politely omitted mentioning her desperation. She would not appreciate the reference. “I’ve discovered the best way to make a wish come true is to plan for it. I call it the ‘assumption of success’.”
“Some might call it arrogance.” she replied drily, settling in a high-backed chair near the fire, the flames burnishing the chestnut of her hair to a deep russet. Lord, he was obsessed with all that hair. “Still, your preparations are very flattering, Mr. Islington. May I also be hopeful that your wishing I’d return means you’ve decided to take up my cause?”
She was direct, he’d give her that. They’d barely been in the room two minutes and she was already down to business. They’d not even had tea. He poured out two cups and carried them back to the fire.
Hayden handed one to her and took his seat, fighting the urge to reach for his flask and pour something stronger into his cup. He had a feeling he was going to need it. “I will need more information and of course I need you to understand the unorthodox nature of your request. You took me by surprise this afternoon simply because I don’t do this type of work any longer.”
She gave him a tight smile as if she had trouble believing anyone would choose ice racing over another profession. “Is that because ice racing has proven more lucrative?” Clearly, she did not think ice racing much of a professional calling.
“Lucrative and safer.” The last case he’d taken had nearly seen him dead. His side still bore proof of it. Two inches to the left had made the difference between life and death. It had been all the persuasion he needed to pursue another line of work.
“Safer? I can hardly imagine that after what I saw this morning.”
Hayden gave a wry grin. “Well, I’m not inclined to think of bobbin mills as terribly dangerous ground either and yet here you are awash with disappearing workers.”
“Touché, Mr. Islington.” She smiled a little at his comment, the sharp edges of her defense beginning to soften. The firelight, the tea, the intimate coziness of the room were starting to take hold. Good. If he was going to make short work of this he needed her to trust him with what she knew.
“Hayden, please. Jenna.” he corrected in low tones. “If we’re to work together, it would be best if we dispensed with unnecessary formalities.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Tell me everything and I’ll see what I can do to help.”
Hayden listened carefully, eyes watching her face for any tells that she was holding back or substituting a half-truth for the real thing. It was an expressive face with its fine bones and long, straight nose. Watching it was no hardship. She told him of the missing workers who had disappeared without warning, how none of them had returned or been found. She stumbled over that last part, an indication that in her opinion ‘found’ meant dead. She told him of the damage these disappearances were wrecking on production and of her genuine concern for the workers’ safety.
She told him other things too, without words. She was the one running the mill. He would bet the winnings of his last race on it. No one could speak so sincerely without being directly involved. That was an interesting mystery on its own. What was a beautiful, young woman doing running a mill?
“And now the situation has reached critical proportions?” Hayden surmised.
“Yes, another worker disappeared last week. He wasn’t much older than fifteen and his family lives here in town. They are distraught. Paulie was a good boy and there was no reason for him to go missing.”
Hayden decided to test his hypothesis about who was running the mill. “I must ask; why didn’t your father come to me?” It had entered his thoughts this afternoon that she was an odd ambassador with her request. It was occurring to him tonight that her father might be entirely unaware that she’d even made one. What sort of father let a lovely daughter come to a tavern to meet a stranger? Either one who didn’t care or one who didn’t know. He was beginning to suspect the latter.
She was silent for a moment, her green eyes weighing her options. If she was going to lie, it would be right now. “I won’t stand for any dishonesty, Jenna.” he prompted softly. “I will have the truth or nothing, I can’t help you otherwise.”
She faced him squarely, confirming his suspicions. “My father knows little if anything of this current situation. He’s been ill since October. He’s been to the mill perhaps twice. It would kill him to know he’s suspected of being involved in whatever is going on. My father is an honest man.”
“And his daughter?” Hayden eyed her carefully. “May I assume you’ve been running the place?” It certainly seemed so but he wanted her to verify it. Assumptions often led to trouble as he knew all too well.
“Yes.” She answered tersely. The question had put her on the defensive. He could guess why. She was waiting for him to demean the idea a woman could run a mill as well as a man.
“What about the day to day operations? Who oversees the place when you cannot be there?” Hayden went smoothly forward, not stooping to take the bait. He had no quarrel with gender equality to a large degree. In his experience, it made for better bed sport. If she wanted to run a bobbin mill, he had no problem with that either.
“My foreman. He’s competent but relatively new. My father hired him in October before he fell ill.”
Hayden chuckled. She didn’t like the foreman; that much was evident. She’d made it clear with her begrudging use of the word ‘competent’ the man had not been her choice. That would be interesting to look into. Disliking one’s foreman could lead to tension. What sort of tension? Tension purely over business or did it stem from a more personal, sexual attraction? Either way, it was bound to be uncomfortable. He couldn’t imagine a man working easily for her. One couldn’t be in Jenna Priess’s presence and not entertain thoughts of a certain caliber Goodness knew he was having some of those thoughts right now — thoughts he shouldn’t have, couldn’t have. Jenna Priess was not Miss Last Night, which meant she wasn’t his type at all.
Hayden crossed a leg over his knee and forged ahead with business. “Perhaps I’ll visit tomorrow and speak with the foreman. There might be something he can tell me that will offer some clues about your disappearing workers.”
Jenna shook her head, her tone brisk. “It will be a wasted effort. I’ve spoken with him several times. He recalls nothing new.”
“Still, new ears may pick up new insights.” Hayden insisted with a smile. Male ears. The foreman might not have told her everything simply because she was female.
She bristled at the implication, leveling shrewd eyes at him over the rim of her tea cup. “Do you doubt my ability to sift through information?”
“Not at all,” Hayden winked. “I’m doubting his.” In an unguarded moment with another male, without a woman present as a constant reminder of discretion, who knew what the foreman would let slip in the throes of an unexpected visit with no time to prepare himself. Hayden would make sure of it. He was not without his own persuasive tools.
“Very well then.” Jenna set down her empty tea cup and rose. She stuck out her hand for him to shake. “I’m glad that’s settled. Thank you again for taking the case.”
It wasn’t really a case, not yet anyway. He didn’t bother to correct her. He took her hand. She was prepared for a handshake but he had something better in mind. Hayden tugged her to him, drawing her close in surprise.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, the hint of breathlessness in her tone ruining the attempt at chagrin. It confirmed his suspicions.
“I am sealing our bargain with something better than a handshake.”
“I am not that girl from the crowd.” Jenna warned. “Someone whom you can kiss at will simply because you’re popular.”
For a moment he didn’t follow. Who? He’d been so intent on Jenna, all other thoughts had fled. “Oh, Miss Last Night.” He murmured as an afterthought, more to himself than to her.
She took umbrage with the comment. “Whoever she was, I’m not Miss Tonight, not by any stretch of your imagination.” She tried to pull away but he held her fast. He could see she was fighting the attraction. She should just admit to it as he had. Life was simpler when one admitted to such impulses.
Hayden grinned, thoroughly enjoying the chase. “I don’t know about that, my imagination can stretch pretty far and you haven’t exactly said no. Admit it, Jenna. You’re not arguing with me, you’re arguing with yourself.” Hayden had recognized the dilemma immediately. She didn’t really want to resist, she just thought she should. He solved the dilemma for her.
His mouth slid over hers before Jenna could even think to utter another protest over his latest audacity. They fitted together effortlessly as if he’d done this a thousand times, which, a remote part of her brain noted, he most likely had. The rest of her simply didn’t care. Unorthodox or not, the feel of his lips, the touch of his hand against her cheek, the caress of his fingers as they cupped her jaw, were positively electrifying against her skin, her lips.
It was quite unlike any deal she’d ever sealed before. This was no chaste peck of polite acknowledgment. It was bold, hot, assertive; very much like the man himself, and it struck at the core of her, invoking a fiery response that was part passion and part anger. She could not help but respond to the expertise of his touch, his kiss. Her body answered his. Her tongue engaged his when it teased her mouth, her body pressed against his where he had dragged her to him, drinking in the muscled planes of his masculinity.
That was the passion reacting. She was experienced enough to recognize it for it was. She was also experienced enough to know that Hayden Islington was getting precisely the response he’d anticipated. That angered her as much as the kiss itself inspired her. She’d taken the bait.
Jenna broke the kiss, her anger and her pride overpowering the passion, although not easily. Kisses of that magnitude didn’t happen every day and were not to be squandered. She took a step back. “I am not one of your women who can be bought with kisses and cheap flattery.”
The accusation did not have the effect she was intending. His gaze raked her. “No, you most certainly are not.” He was amused, damn him. It was etched in the brackets of his smile, the crinkling of his blue eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture that stretched the seams of his jacket enough to remind her how well-made he’d felt against her curves only moments ago as he fixed her with laughing eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you didn’t think about it. Tell me the truth, just for a moment you wanted to be her.”
“You’re quite possibly the most conceited man I’ve ever encountered.” Jenna replied drily, but something else came to mind. Maybe the word she was looking for wasn’t conceited at all, but intelligent, an admission she would make to herself only as part of calculating his character. She had felt a twinge of awe and envy for the woman he’d pulled from the crowd and kissed so hard, so thoroughly, Jenna had felt the power of that kiss even at a distance. She suspected every other woman there had too.
It was what he’d wanted, Jenna realized. He’d orchestrated that, perhaps even down to the type of woman he had chosen. It wasn’t envy she felt now for the girl. The girl had been blonde and dressed in a bright blue outfit that had stood out against the white of the snow and the darkness of Islington’s own attire. They’d made a striking couple to the onlookers and Islington had known it.
“You are a consummate showman, it would seem. Everything arranged precisely to the maximum effect. I will not tolerate being used in such a manner. I must remind you again that I am not that sort of woman.”
“I would wager you’re something better altogether.” His voice was low and intimate.
Jenna stiffened. The dratted man refused to give up flirting. “I was not looking for a comparison.” It was time to leave. Apparently, they were done discussing business.
“I know what you were looking for. You were looking for an apology.” He gave a wide grin. “Don’t worry; I recognize a set down when I hear one. In this case, I simply chose not to acknowledge it.” He winked and rested a hip on the edge of the sideboard. “That usually throws a quirk into the plans. I like to see what people will do when their usual avenues of response are detoured. It’s instructive as to their true natures.” He cocked his head to one side. “Would you like me to tell you what it says about your nature?”
He was far too arrogant for her tastes. Jenna grabbed up her cloak and gloves. “Hardly. You’ve not known me long enough to form any legitimate opinion. I’ve hired you to investigate my mill workers, not to investigate me.” If she had any authority, it was time to assert it.
Jenna swept past him, outerwear in hand, head held high. It was the most final exit she could think of. Nothing said an interview was over like departure. She was at the door when his words stopped her, his voice a quiet caress like the slide of silk on skin. “It’s Hayden, Jenna, and you would burn with the right man, that’s what it says about your nature.”
Jenna’s hand tightened on the knob. Her face forward, away from him so he could not see the heat such a comment raised in her cheeks. How dare he imply he could be the man who would make her burn? How dare he dare her to want to find out? But there was no mistaking that was precisely what he intended with his quiet challenge. “Goodnight, Mr. Islington.” She said with a coolness she certainly didn’t feel.
“I will see you tomorrow.” he called after her, a chuckle evident in his voice. “Sleep well, Jenna.”
Hah, as if there was any chance of that now.
Chapter Four (#u8fe957ca-ca02-55d3-aaff-ff55f49f6526)
That would make two of them facing sleepless nights. It only seemed fair to trouble her sleep if she was going to trouble his and he was damned sure she was. Hayden poured himself a drink, a wry smile on his lips as he imagined her stomping out of the building in high dudgeon, that gorgeous fur-collared cloak flying behind her. He was getting to her whether she acknowledged it or not.
Hayden settled into the chair near the fire, relaxing into a slouch. He took a healthy swallow and let the brandy burn down his throat. Logan would say something pithy about now. Something like no good effort goes unpunished. He was being punished aplenty. He never slept well after a race — too much adrenaline, and he never slept well alone — too much time spent with his more private thoughts. Now, both conditions would be in evidence tonight. He might have avoided the former if Jenna Priess hadn’t ruined him for the latter. Miss Last Night was more than willing to warm his bed but Jenna’s sharp tongue and chestnut hair had effectively cooled his ardor for the woman who was available. Eva? Elena? His mind and body refused to settle for her when a brighter flame burned. And burn it did, obliterating everything but itself. He didn’t know the last time he’d felt so immediately struck by a woman’s presence.
He could hardly remember Miss Last Night’s name and yet he could remember every little detail of the exchange with Jenna Priess; how the firelight had turned her hair a deep red the shade of autumn leaves in the woods near his family home; the way her sharp eyes had raked his form in a rather blatant perusal of his physique; even the small gold clip that fastened her cloak remained fixed in his memory. That was bad news for him if he didn’t stop this fantasizing immediately. Jenna Priess wasn’t for him. He had time for sex, nothing more. But she was the sort who would demand the ‘more.’ That was an infatuation he could not afford to indulge.
Hayden propped his boots up on the fender of the fireplace, his shoulders slouched in repose; hardly the posture of a champion. But why not? There was no one around to see. Celebrity had its perks, no doubt. But there were down-sides — there were fewer and fewer moments in his life where there was no one he had to impress — no women to woo, no men to court for business.
It was all fun, of course. He didn’t mind, not too much anyway. But sometimes it was nice not to be on display, nice to flirt with a woman the way he’d flirted with Jenna just because he wanted to, not because she was the local squire’s daughter and the key to unlocking her daddy’s purse. It was refreshing to run across a woman who was interesting for more than how she looked on his arm or for her daddy’s bank account.
Jenna Priess was that sort of woman for all the good it did him. She also just happened to be the sort of woman he shouldn’t mess around with. No good came of mixing business with pleasure. Hadn’t he learned that lesson already? Didn’t he bear the scars of having made the mistake? But Jenna Priess was no Baroness St. Martin and right now, that made all the difference. Besides, this was going to be a simple matter.
Hayden took a final swallow of his brandy. He would meet with the mill foreman tomorrow and afterward call on Jenna to report his findings. It was all very concise and conscientious. He’d get in, get out, help a damsel in distress to salve his own sense of obligation and Logan would approve. The plan was perfect.
As luck would have it, the reality was something less than his perfect imaginings — far from it in fact. Hayden strode through the snowy streets to the Priess home the following afternoon, roiling in anger. His findings had his emotions boiling and while that boil provided a convenient source of body heat it did nothing to conjure up friendly thoughts for the home’s inhabitants. To put it mildly, he felt taken advantage of. To put it more bluntly, he felt played. A woman had played him before and he’d thought he’d honed his instincts enough to avoid falling foul of such deception again.
He could hear Logan’s ‘I told you so’s’ already in his head. He had no one to blame but himself. If he felt hoodwinked, it was his own fault. He’d committed the eternal fallacy of men everywhere in believing that a pretty face harbored pretty intentions. Jenna Priess had some answering to do.
Hayden stopped before the wrought iron gates of the Priess house and surveyed the short drive and lawn that lay in prelude to the main home. An investigator always took stock of his surroundings before charging in. He took stock now. The Priess home was by no means on the same level as a nobleman’s estate, but it was an elegant manse for a nouveau riche industrialist.
The greystone façade rose in a dark silhouette of steep roof lines bracketed by pale winter sky above and a pristine white blanket of snow below. This end of Kendal, inhabited by the wealthy mill owners and wool and snuff manufacturers, differed from the dirtier south end with its workhouse and factory homes. Hayden grimaced. He’d spent enough time prowling the streets of York and other northern industrial cities to know how this sort of money was made and sustained. Homes like the Priesses’ were supported by the sweat of laborers.
Repetition of that reality didn’t make it any more palatable. Nor did it make his disappointment easier to swallow. He’d wanted Jenna with her sincerity and passion to be different. Apparently his usually infallible intuition had been wrong. About a woman. Again.
Hayden squared his shoulders, survey complete, and trod through the snow, leaving fresh, deep boot prints behind in his march to the door. He dropped the heavy knocker, a brass affair of a carved lion’s head, against the door, estimating the cost of such a thing as it fell. It would take two years’ salary for a mill worker to afford something as luxurious as this knocker which was nothing more than ornamental decoration to the wealthy.
The door opened, answered by a greying, dignified fellow who inquired about his business in quiet but authoritative tones. The hush of his tones took some of the power out of Hayden’s anger. “I’m here to see Miss Priess. She is expecting me.” Hayden handed the man his card and stepped inside, taking away the butler’s option to decide.
The first thing he noticed was the silence. It extended beyond the butler to encompass the entire house. There was none of the usual noise of a big home; no maids polishing bannisters and dusting mantels, no clink of silver being counted. There were a hundred casual sounds a house made and this home made none of them except one. Hayden could hear every tick of the long case clock tucked beneath the curve of the staircase.
The butler led him to a room near the stairs. Hayden could feel his anger dissipating with every step. Anger was a loud emotion. It didn’t fit in these quiet surroundings. The butler left him with the promise that Miss Priess would be down shortly and the encouragement to make himself at home. It wouldn’t be hard to do. The room was done in dark blues and creams and with all the necessary appointments of a sitting room — sofa, chairs, fireplace, a low table for serving refreshments, a sideboard with a decanter for the men, who likely made up the majority of callers in an industrialist’s home. But Hayden had no intention of remaining there no matter how attractive the room’s offerings.
Something was off. The pieces of this particular puzzle didn’t fit. Something was a lie, or someone was a liar and that liar wasn’t necessarily Jenna Priess. That did cause a spark of hope to flare up. Perhaps his intuition hadn’t failed him after all. Perhaps there was more at work here than he was aware. He wouldn’t know if he stayed tucked away safely in this room. Then again, his more cynical side asserted itself, maybe that was the function of this pleasant room with its fire and brandy and window overlooking the snowy lawn — to be so comfortable, so welcoming, one wouldn’t want to see what lay beyond the foyer.
A good investigator understood that truth was best discovered in its raw form first hand. If one waited for others to bring ‘truth’ to them, it was seldom unadulterated. Hayden took to the stairs. At the top of the landing, he picked up the sound of quiet voices further down the hall. He recognized Jenna’s. The other was hoarse and sounded as if it required effort to talk in long sentences. Her father maybe? Hayden edged towards the partially open door in time to catch the sound of a wracking cough and Jenna’s swift reassurances. He could hear the rustle of skirts and bed linens; pillows being propped, the sound of water being poured into a glass, a sigh of relief.
“There, there, take a deep breath, that’s it.” Jenna’s voice was soothing, gentle, a different variation of the tones she’d used with him. “Drink some more water and try to sleep. You’ll be fine.”
She was moving towards the door. There was no point in pretending he hadn’t been eavesdropping, or in making a run for the stairs. In a few seconds she would step out and see him. Hayden crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall to wait.
She showed only moderate surprise when she stepped outside the room and saw him. The softness went out of her eyes and they became the hard green jewels he’d seen last night. “I thought you were told to wait downstairs.” Her tone was harsh, no gentle soothing tones for him. But perhaps she knew what he’d seen and was already on the defensive. Suddenly, what he’d seen at the mill mattered less than the context of it. He wouldn’t get any information from her if he argued with her.
Hayden gave a nod in the direction of the door. “Will he? Be fine?” Coughs in winter could be deadly things and from her own indications yesterday this one had already outstayed its welcome.
“Yes.” She said without equivocation, her eyes daring him to challenge her response. She stepped in front of him and began the trip back downstairs with brisk purpose. He understood the desire to lead him away from that room, but he could not assume the motivation. Was she leading him away from her father out of desire to protect him in his illness from unnecessary stress or to protect herself? Perhaps she didn’t want news of what he might have seen at the mill to trickle to her father.
Hayden filed that bit of information away. Whatever else she was, Jenna Priess was a protector not unlike a lioness or mother bear looking after their young. While that sounded noble in theory, Hayden knew very well that protecting often extended to lying or other extreme measures. Whether she meant to be or not, Jenna Priess was dangerous. The sway of those hips as they marched downstairs was potent temptation — he was obligated to consider she might move like that on purpose. Would she stoop to seducing him in exchange for his silence? It was an interesting prospect and a tantalizing proposition even when he was supposed to maintain professional objectivity.
In the sitting room, a tea tray waited for them and Jenna took a seat on the dark blue sofa to pour. She might have been posed for a portrait, so well matched was the blue and green plaid of her wool afternoon gown to the décor of the room, and the neatness with which her hair was pulled into a chignon at the nape of her neck. Her chestnut hair shined with a healthy, well-kept sheen and she presented the womanly ideal of domestic tranquility as she presided over tea. Unfortunately for her, an investigator saw those efforts rather differently.
Perhaps she’d dressed purposefully for this interview knowing precisely the visual effect she would have on him — a feminine effect that would soften her conversational opener and perhaps derail any cynical thoughts he might be entertaining. Her ploys might have worked too except for the fact that he’d already been betrayed by a woman and had a certain level of awareness if not immunity. Today had proven Logan was right. He was susceptible to pretty faces; a pretty face was one of life’s little joys, but perhaps this time he would be wiser sooner to what might lie behind one.
Jenna gestured to the decanters on the sideboard and Hayden felt the stirrings of a thorough arousal. “There is brandy if you’d like something stronger with your tea than sugar and cream.” What man didn’t dream of a woman who anticipated even the slightest of his needs? And here one sat, looking like a domestic angel if one discounted those eyes and that mouth. Her eyes were too alive, too assessing and that mouth was too sensual with its full lower lip as proven. No, angel wasn’t quite the word to describe Jenna Priess.
She finished assembling her tea and waited for him to be seated after a trip to the decanters before she took a sip and fixed him with a stare over her cup. “How was your visit with the foreman?” If she knew what he would see and how it would affect him, she pulled the question off beautifully without any tell-tale signs of feigned nonchalance.
Hayden matched his response to hers, tamping down the initial surge of anger that had fueled him on the way over. “I did not speak with him.”
She set her cup down on the table and gave him a hard stare. “Why ever not?” It was said as more of a challenge than a question, as if she thought he’d might not have been resourceful enough to manage an unannounced visit.
Hayden met her stare with one of his own, both of them having forgotten their tea. “It turns out you were not entirely forthcoming with me and I felt any conversation I might have with the foreman would not be as beneficial in light of that oversight.”
Her stare became a glare. The implication that she might be a liar had hit its target. “That’s a very convoluted sentence, Mr. Islington. What exactly are you dressing up with your fancy language?”
Hayden leveled the full force of his gaze at her. “I am saying that I believe I solved your mystery. Your worker wasn’t spirited away by nefarious-minded kidnappers. He merely slipped away in the night because he lacked any incentive to stay.” He paused, studying her face, watching her brow knit before he delivered his final blow. “In blunt terms, Miss Priess, the men and boys working for you are treated as slaves, not free workers. I saw a man beaten with a club, a boy whipped for what appeared to be the slightest of infractions.” He held up a hand to stall the protest emerging on those lips. “I’m not saying that doesn’t happen in other mills, but you’d led me to believe your working conditions were different.” Hayden spread his hands on his thighs. “If you’ve hired me under false pretenses of concern to do nothing more than drag an unwilling worker back to his post, I will not do it.”
Her face had paled and her hands clenched in her lap but her gaze was even as she said the words. “I have no idea what you are talking about. My father is known for his humane working conditions.”
“So you told me. Your father is an honest man, you said. That may be but your father wasn’t there today nor has he been for several months.” Hayden cocked an eyebrow. “It seems those standards have slipped somewhat in his absence.”
Her eyes narrowed at the indictment. “Are you suggesting I have condoned such a standard?” There was heat growing beneath the cool façade she’d expertly cultivated. He could feel her temper rising. He was getting to her, and that meant he was getting to a place where truth might discovered in unguarded moments; when temper overrode good sense, when someone might say too much.
“You are the one who oversees the mill by your own admission. What else am I supposed to assume?” He resented having to push the proverbial blade further in the wound. She did look thoroughly aghast at his accusation. The paleness of her face could not be feigned no matter how great the actress. He’d insulted not only her father but herself as well.
She took refuge in the only ground available. “I don’t believe you,” came the staunch reply. But that wasn’t quite true. He could see the glimmer of doubt in her eyes, the fear of betrayal in the way her gaze moved downward for the briefest of seconds. She couldn’t know it but that doubt was the saving of her, the validation that she had not lied to him to the best of her knowledge.
“Yes you do. You believe at least the possibility of it.” Hayden rose and held out a hand to her. “Come and see it with your own eyes.” In those moments, his anger found a new outlet. Heaven help the foreman if he’d been bastard enough to betray her trust. And, whispered his cynical conscience, heaven help Jenna Priess if she was playing a double game with him. It happened once before. Pretty face or not, he would be damned if it happened again. He would know shortly exactly what he was up against. Her reaction at the mill would confirm all.
Chapter Five (#u8fe957ca-ca02-55d3-aaff-ff55f49f6526)
It had finally happened. She had failed in her vigilance. Jenna’s stomach was one giant knot of emotions, none of them good, all of them rotating around a bleak sense of failure. She had not been enough and now the man she’d hired to help her sat across from her in a carriage, accusing her with hard as sapphire eyes. Whatever was going on at the mill, he believed she condoned it.
She shouldn’t care what he thought. Her mind iterated all the reasons. First, he was a stranger. Second, she’d hired him. It was not his place to have an opinion about her methods. Third, he would be gone with the spring if not sooner, taking his opinions with him. Fourthly, he did not know her at all. He had no inkling of what she’d endured. He had no idea that she spent her days working with the church charity, or assisting with the never-ending needy at the workhouse, or running her own home, caring for her brother, nursing her father. All of this on top of visiting the mill two mornings a week. She was stretched thin.
And still, her efforts had not been enough. Had not been enough to protect her father’s good name, to protect his business interests, and, if Hayden Islington were to be believed, to protect his workers. By the time they reached the mill on the river, most of her feelings had transmuted into some form of anger; anger at herself, anger at the foreman, anger even at Hayden Islington for doubting her own credibility. Oh, there was plenty to go around.
At the mill, Hayden jumped down, boots crunching in the snow and set the steps for her. He reached a hand out to help her down. To his credit, he’d kept his accusations limited to his eyes. Whatever he was thinking, he’d remained silent giving her time to digest his revelations on the drive over. His hand stayed at her elbow, guiding her through the snow and over the icy patches. “There’s a good view through the high windows over here.” He helped her navigate a drift and positioned her at the vantage point.
The sound of the river and the turning water wheel made it impossible to hear but what she saw ate up the last vestiges of hope that perhaps Hayden was mistaken. The coarseness Davenport tried to hide from her was in full evidence here. His facial expressions and posture made it obvious he was yelling to excess at a young boy working the lathe used to hollow out the wood; his face in the boy’s face, his full grown body towering over the boy’s thin adolescent frame. An older man stepped forward, a restraining hand firmly but not violently closing over Davenport’s forearm only to be met with a blow to the shoulder from the club in Davenport’s other hand.
Jenna flinched at the impact of the blow and turned her head away in reflex. This was apparently commonplace. Hayden had seen it earlier today and now she had seen it too. Twice in one day. How dare Davenport abuse his authority when he knew what she expected, what her father expected. Her father had explicitly outlined his guidelines of conduct when Davenport had been hired. She and her father had relied on Davenport’s sense of honor to see those expectations carried out whether they were present or not.
Anger boiled over the betrayal. Her mind was made up. Even if such a violation had only happened once, her father would have Davenport removed from his position. She could do no less. Buoyed by her anger and by firm conviction that she must see justice done, Jenna whirled from the window and ran straight in to Hayden’s chest.
“Where do you think you’re going in such a hurry?” His gloved hands dug into her forearms as he steadied them both from the impact of collision. The sheer physicality of him made her acutely aware of his proximity. It was a potent reminder of how tall he was, how strong, how in her way.
“I’m going in there and relieving Davenport of his duties.” She made the mistake of trying to push past him. But he was a veritable fortress of masculinity that would not be moved. The harder she struggled, the harder he held on.
“Don’t be a fool Jenna, firing Davenport proves nothing, helps nothing.” He held her tight but those were fighting words. She kicked him in the shins. Didn’t he understand how important her father’s reputation was? How Davenport’s behavior undermined everything the Priess name stood for? How hard she’d worked to uphold it and her efforts still hadn’t been enough? Suddenly getting inside and confronting Davenport was the most important thing in the world.
Apparently, he was not above manhandling her when persuasion failed. Jenna let out a yelp of disbelief as she felt herself lifted off the ground and slung over one broad shoulder, an iron band of a hand imprisoning her failing legs. There would be no more shin kicking, or kicking of any other convenient body part. He didn’t put her down until they reached the carriage and even then it was done with little grace. He stuffed her into the carriage and climbed in behind her, slamming the door shut.
“I will not be treated like a child!” Jenna fumed, scrambling up on the seat and trying to arrange her tangled skirts all at once. Her dignity was in sore need of repair at the moment.
“Then don’t act like one.” Hayden growled. “I thought you were far more intelligent than that.”
The carriage began to move on its runners and she knew a moment’s frustration as she looked out the window. “We can’t leave! Davenport must be dealt with.”
Hayden shook his head, a booted foot angled against the door, against any further rash attempts on her part. “Not today, he doesn’t, and not by you.” His tone was firm, serious, so unlike the rather glib, devil-may-care man she’d met at the inn yesterday. How ironic that yesterday she’d been worried about that glibness impairing his ability to do a thorough job and today, when she had proof that he could take on a case, she wanted the glibness back. It was far easier to deal with.
“He is mistreating my workers.” Jenna argued.
“I am not insensitive to that and you know it.” Hayden reminded her. “But what does letting him go resolve? Does it keep your mill running? You’ve already seen how the loss of just a few workers can affect a mill. Where will you get a decent foreman if you’re desperate?”
The practicalities began to sink in. “I could hire a foreman from one of the other mills.” Jenna argued but there were no teeth to it. They both knew that was a feeble prospect at best.
“If you’re closed down, your workers are out their wages. Winter is a hard time to find work, an even harder time to find food to feed families. Who’s to care for them while you stand on your principles?” Hayden pressed his point. “It’s not ideal, but work is work and wages are wages.”
“Perhaps Davenport can be corrected.” Jenna argued.
“How could you enforce it this time when you couldn’t enforce it last time?” His voice was softening. He was taking pity on her, the very last thing she wanted. She didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her. “Short of going to the mill every day and overseeing him overseeing everyone else, I don’t see how you do it.” He made it sound absurd. “Besides, I don’t think it helps your cause to confront him. If he is willing to break one rule, what other rules has he broken? Rule breakers know other rule breakers. If there is something more insidious going on than workers simply sneaking off at night, he could be your best lead at the moment.”
Jenna could fill in the rest of that equation. If she tipped her hand and let Davenport know she was on to him, he would pull back and they would lose access to whatever he might know. Or worse, he might attempt to silence her. But surely that was her imagination running away. Davenport wouldn’t seek to hurt her or her family. That was a bit extreme.
“Alright.” she conceded with a sigh. “We’ll play it your way for now. But,” she let the caveat hang between them for a long moment. “If things get worse at the mill, I will not hesitate to reprimand him. Injustice should not go unpunished even when the greater good is at stake.”
Hayden gave a wry grin. “You are entitled to your ideas, just remember principles don’t pay bills.”
“You, sir, are a cynical font of wisdom.” But she couldn’t fight back a smile as she said it. He really was quite irresistible when he was being charming. Perhaps it was best to realize that upfront. It would make dealing with him easier, more predictable.
“I wasn’t aware you were paying me to be idealistic.” He was flirting with her now. Such behavior was second nature to a man like him. Jenna supposed there was no harm in it as long as she understood what he was doing, and she did. This was his way of forgiving her. He believed she hadn’t known. It felt surprisingly good to know she was acquitted. Apparently, whatever Hayden Islington thought of her did matter.
“I wasn’t paying you to kiss me either and that didn’t seem to stop you.” Perhaps she could flirt a little too as her way of saying she forgave him his accusations, just as long as she knew her limits.
He grinned and her stomach flipped at the sight. His smile was so full of life, so full of mischief. Jenna turned her attention out the window before the banter could degenerate into something more provocative. Forewarned was forearmed but that didn’t stop her mind from conjuring images of long kisses, or hard chests or well-muscled legs. It was far safer to focus on his opinions and cynicism. They turned a corner and she furrowed her brow. “Where are we going?” Wherever it was, it wasn’t back to her house.
“The stables. I have to see to my horse and we need to talk.”
Jenna sat back, relaxing into the squabs with a nod. This was good. Stables were safe places — hardly the most flirtatious of venues with their horsey smells and straw everywhere, not to mention the ever present horse manure. He’d be busy doing something else besides looking at her. And the reference that they needed to talk implied he had a plan about how to proceed. Next steps were good. She could feel as if they were making progress. After what she’d seen today, there was more urgency than ever.
Her spirits were lifting as they pulled into the stable yard. Hayden helped her down and kept a hand at her back as they navigated the stable yard with its slush and mud. Inside, the stable was warm, the expected smell of straw and horses cozy and inviting. Or was it the continued presence of his touch that made it seem that way? His hand had not left her since they’d arrived and while her mind flashed warnings that this was leading to something other than business, her body enjoyed the attention.
They stopped before a stall halfway down the long aisle and a big bay came to the door, pushing his long face into Hayden’s chest. This was met with a chuckle and some momentary pocket fishing before Hayden produced a slice of apple from his greatcoat. “The big beast knows I always have a treat for him.” Hayden stroked the horse’s face. “This is Guerre, my horse. We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?” He gave a few exaggerated nods of his head and Guerre copied him, shaking his great face up and down until Hayden laughed and gave him another slice of apple. “You’re a good boy.”
Jenna couldn’t help but laugh too, to see this grown man playing with a horse. There was no doubt great affection between the two of them and it did something warm to her insides to see it. A man who loved an animal so much couldn’t be all bad. Then again, maybe that was what he wanted her to think. It was certainly working despite all the warnings she gave herself. She had to stick to the basics. He was here to do a job, and he had a well-known reputation for womanizing. He’d already made one play for her with that kiss last night and countless innuendos.
Jenna crossed her arms and leaned back against the stable wall. It was time to talk business and then leave. It was when they strayed from the business conversation that she got in trouble. She had to concentrate no matter what diversions he threw in her way. “Do you have a plan?”
“Absolutely.” Hayden was still focused on stroking Guerre.
She was going to have to drag it out of him. “Do you care to enlighten me?”
He flashed her a grin, his hand halting on Guerre’s nose. She had all of his attention now. His eyes traveled the length of her in a slow perusal that left her warm as he drawled the words, “I have a plan and it starts with seducing you.”
She raised an eyebrow in cool consideration. “And where does it end, may I ask?” He was going to have to do better than that if he thought to startle her.
He leaned against the stable door, making her conscious of just how little space there was between them, his eyes lingering ever so briefly on her mouth. His voice was low and private. She was going to have to re-think the whole premise that stables were safe places. “Wherever you want it to, princess. Haylofts, carriages, bedrooms. You decide.”
Her mouth went dry. He meant it. That was his plan. She gave voice to the one thought running through her mind. “Oh my lord, you’re serious.”
He gave a wicked grin. “I’m always serious about seduction.”
Chapter Six (#ulink_8114cefe-27b2-596a-b8a4-5ddc8308bf55)
“It’s the ideal solution for inserting me into your sphere of influence.” Hayden paced the short length of the stall door, make an effort not to smile. It was too much fun teasing her, just to get a reaction to his audacious statements. He never knew what he would get in return; a heated scold that made her eyes flash, or a cool, raised eyebrow and a taste of his own audacity thrown back in his face. If it starts with seduction,where does it end? It was a delicious comeback worthy of London’s finest courtesans.
“This way, if I’m viewed as your love interest I have a reason to follow you around and go to the mill. After today, it’s clear I cannot simply walk in and introduce myself as an investigator. I could if the foreman was our ally, but his behavior suggests otherwise. If I tell him I’m an investigator, I won’t get any information out of him.”
She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Do you really think he’ll be more forthcoming with someone who professes feelings for me? Wouldn’t that person feel protective? Wouldn’t they want to defend me against any perceived harms?”
“Not necessarily if that person was moving on. I won’t be here long. I doubt he’d view me, a nomadic ice racer, as much of a threat.” Hayden gave her considering look. “Unless he fancies you for himself?”
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Bronwyn Scott
‘Scott delivers a story reminiscent of Virginia Henley’s works with its naughty, bawdy overtones… Sexy, smart and delightfully sinful.’ – RT Book Reviews on ‘A Lady Risks All’, Harlequin Historical RomanceAs an illustrious ice jockey, Hayden Islington is never short of female company—wealthy champions rarely are. So when Miss Jenna Priess—the most exquisite woman he’s ever laid eyes on—turns down his seductive invitation, in favour of his detective abilities, he’s stunned and more than a little intrigued…Jenna is in trouble—her father is ill and her mill is failing due to her workers mysteriously disappearing. To save her world from ruin, Jenna needs help and Hayden is the only man she can turn to. But can she resist the heat of this handsome ice master’s touch?
Reckless Rakes: Hayden Islington
BRONWYN SCOTT
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015
Copyright © Bronwyn Scott 2015
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Ebook Edition © May 2015 ISBN: 9780008134693
Version 2015-05-28
For Catie and Sharper Eagle, the whole staff at El Dorado who brought this amazing team together, and Don and Judi who wanted Sharper to be Catie’s ‘Forever’ horse.
Contents
Cover (#uee075be9-54ff-5eb7-aa10-7b1f002e8c5c)
Title Page (#u69cad856-98bb-5326-9f89-2100098516c4)
Copyright (#u9d503d5f-760c-5c5b-97ba-f8e2c3ef8ab3)
Dedication (#u0c51a7e6-3285-5911-81ff-51be79e01965)
Chapter One (#u8fe0f836-2844-5c5a-916c-d717288fe193)
Chapter Two (#ue494f57b-65dd-5140-a1c1-1dd17f0f21f7)
Chapter Three (#u326ce776-8eb8-56ba-a041-11fae1096400)
Chapter Four (#u1f7daee3-a7e9-5361-af52-e302c669400c)
Chapter Five (#u84ee43d5-1a27-5f58-a7a7-e045be0daf3b)
Chapter Six (#u9f2542d0-b79d-5868-9171-27cd78d6a0cb)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-four (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Author’s Note (#litres_trial_promo)
Coming soon from Bronwyn Scott … (#litres_trial_promo)
Bronwyn Scott (#litres_trial_promo)
About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u8fe957ca-ca02-55d3-aaff-ff55f49f6526)
Kendal, Near the Lake District, Winter, 1838
Hayden Islington believed there were two great thrills in life; sex when it was done well and horse racing when it was done on ice. Last night, he’d engaged in the former. This morning he was moments away from engaging in the latter. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who held with at least the second part of that philosophy. Twelve other madcap riders were assembled with him on the frozen surface of Lake Kendal and a sizeable crowd had left their warm beds to see the spectacle from shore.
Beneath him, Guerre snorted, nostrils flaring as the white stallion caught the scent of the excited crowd and jostled haunches with the horse on the left. “Soon,” Hayden murmured, stroking the beast’s thick shoulder.
The crowd was primed for the race. A collective, high-pitched squeal of feminine excitement drew Hayden’s attention. He scanned the shoreline crammed full of onlookers until he found the source; a group of women, Miss Last Night in their midst, blonde and striking in a bright blue wool ensemble. She waggled a gloved hand his direction. Hayden raised two gloved fingers of his own to his lips and blew her a kiss.
Miss Last Night buried her face against the shoulder of a friend, acting as if he’d showered her in diamonds instead of imaginary kisses which were far less expensive. He wasn’t surprised, or even flattered by the reaction. Kisses from him of any sort, imaginary or not, had long ago attained swoon-worthy status among a certain type.
He knew exactly how he affected the ‘ladies’ who followed the event and he knew why; they were in love with the speed, the danger and most of all, the victory, almost as much as the racers themselves were. Almost as much he was. Almost. They didn’t need it like he did — those precious moments of speed and danger that demanded all his thought and attention. He lived for them, race after race. Those moments kept him sane, and of course, the validation of winning, proving that he was the best at something.
The ladies adored a winner, although their adoration was fickle, changing with the victor. He understood. Should he lose, affections may waiver. So far, there had not been a shortage of women who’d do anything to have all that excitement to themselves for a night and Hayden was happy to oblige. He knew precisely what these women wanted and why.
On his right, Carrick Pierce, his long-time friend and fellow racer, laughed from atop his bay, catching the direction of Hayden’s gaze. “Good lord, Hayden, another one? Do you even know her name?”
“Elaine, Elena, Ella? Something with an E.” Hayden chuckled and shook his head. “No, in answer to your question, I don’t.”
The starter signaled for attention. It was all business now. Hayden thrust thoughts of Miss Last Night aside, giving Guerre his complete focus. There were more where Miss Last Night came from, but Guerre was one of a kind. The safety of his mount always came first. Hayden moved Guerre into position in the center of the pack, the racers forming a horizontal queue at the starting line. He gathered the reins, his body tensed, waiting for the gun.
Boom! At the sound, Guerre’s muscles bunched and he leapt forward, his long legs confidently embracing the ice in their stride. The wind hit Hayden’s face, cold and exhilarating. This was living at its finest. He was ahead early in the race, Guerre surging out to a commanding lead. That could change at any moment; the ice could crack, Guerre could slip, another horse could pull ahead, all of which would require immediate and decisive action on his part. It was the concept of unlimited possibility that thrilled him, that led him to such a dangerous undertaking. The thrill demanded his utmost in concentration.
The course was short, a test of speed over a slick surface more than a test of endurance. Guerre was built primarily for endurance but that didn’t mean he was slow. The big boy could harness his power for speed when he had to. Hayden could feel the big horse settling into a well-regulated pace and pushed him a little. How fast would Guerre be willing to go on the ice? For now, the new shoes on his hooves with their special traction were giving the big boy confidence.
Hayden took the turn at the half way point. He hazarded a backward glance beneath his arm. Carrick was close behind him, keeping a calculated distance in order to thwart any reckless behavior that came too close. That was Carrick’s job, to ride as his lieutenant and keep danger away from Guerre. Not far from Carrick, a sleek chestnut was recklessly moving into the turn, attempting to cut the curve and pull ahead. The rider was pulling too sharply. “They’re going to crash!” Hayden called, seeing the accident in his mind before it happened, a spill was inevitable at that angle, but Carrick had already seen the danger and was pulling wide to avoid it.
The chestnut slipped, going down on the ice, rolling away from its rider and right into Guerre’s path. “Hayden, watch out!” Carrick shouted, steering his horse around the wreck. Hayden assessed the situation in an instant. The rest of the field was closing behind them fast. If he swung wide as Carrick had done, it would cost him the lead. Worse, it would put him among the pack, a most precarious place to be. In a crowd, anything could happen. The slightest of slips could cause a whole group to go down. There was only one choice.
Hayden rose out of the saddle, his body in a perfect two-point over Guerre’s neck, his weight off the horse’s back, his eyes sighting the jump between Guerre’s ears. Those ears flicked back and forth, catching the sound of his voice calling instructions. Guerre knew what he wanted. They couldn’t go around the wreckage; they would have to go over it. Hayden signaled for the leap with his thighs. Guerre gathered his legs and sprung.
The crowd along the bank went wild as he cleared the downed horse and took the last sprint towards the finish line, outpacing Carrick’s bay by half a length. They’d won! What a race! What a challenge! Adrenaline buoyed him as he and Guerre were led to the winner’s circle amid a cheering crowd.
The celebrity after a race was a rush of a different sort. People he didn’t know reached out hands to clap him on the back, everyone wanting a piece of the victory. Miss Last Night had found her way into his path, her cheeks flushed with excitement. He seized her about the waist and pulled her to him for a showy kiss that made the onlookers roar with approval. She stayed with him until Logan discreetly detached her at the winner’s circle. Then there was a silver cup and a purse to claim from the pretty daughter of an affluent merchant in town who had sponsored a large part of the race. Guerre was handed off to a groom and he was handed off to meet important people, people who had paid money to see him win, who might want to sponsor an event of their own if he’d come to race in their town.
He had given the people their victory, and now it was time for business. Admittedly, he was just the front. He simply raced. It was Logan Graeme who handled all the details. It was Logan now who had him by the elbow, guiding him skillfully through crowds of onlookers who attempted to waylay him. Hayden shook a few hands as he and Logan passed for good measure. The adrenaline was starting to recede, giving way to more clarified thinking.
“There’s a group of merchants who want to talk,” Logan murmured at his ear, rattling off key information. “They’re from Derwentwater and think they’ve got a lake that will freeze every year. They’re looking for an annual race commitment.”
Hayden nodded, taking it all in. An annual event could mean big money and do much to elevate public awareness of the new sport. “Maybe we’ll be as big as Ascot someday.” He laughed.
“Be serious, Hayden. This would be good for us.” Logan reprimanded.
“Do you have anything interesting lined up?” Hayden winked. “I mean, after the merchants? Not that they’re not interesting.”
“There’s a pretty redhead who came by this morning saying she had business to see you about.” Logan conceded. “I wasn’t sure if I should encourage her. I thought you might still be attached to the lovely Emma Stroud.” “Emma!” Hayden snapped his fingers. “That’s her name. When you see Carrick, tell him I remembered.”
“I remembered for you.” Logan corrected.
Hayden grinned. “Same thing. That’s why I keep you around.” he joked. “You’re the brains behind this operation and I know it well.” Ice racing had been his idea but it had been Logan who knew how to sell it, how to turn it into a profit-making venture and it had been Logan who created this notorious celebrity of his that allowed him to strike out on his own and break free of his past.
“Does that mean you want to see her?” Logan asked sotto voce as they neared the group of businessmen gathered outside the tavern door. There would be warm drinks, plentiful food and a private parlor waiting beyond that door, all for the chance to meet him and discuss possibilities.
“Yes, after I finish with the merchants. Give me an hour.” There was no time to say more. Logan drew him forward with a flourish and the voice of a showman.
“Gentlemen, I give you the champion of Lake Kendal, Mr. Hayden Islington.” There was applause and back slapping. He caught the phrase, ‘What a jump!’ as they ushered him inside and put a liberally rummed hot toddy in his hand. Miss This Afternoon would be here later, his belly would be filled, and his purse was full. Oh yes, it was good to be him.
An hour later, on cue, Logan slipped into the parlor and moved the discussion to its close. “I’m sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but Mr. Islington has other business to see to today. However, if you’d like to continue your discussion with me, I can assist you but Mr. Islington is needed next door.”
It was all very skillfully done. Logan was a master of tact. The men were in high spirits and eager to get a contract inked. He said his goodbyes and let Logan whisk him to the parlor next door, not that he’d be there long. He’d be taking Miss This Afternoon up to his chamber and he’d be there until supper. He could think of worse ways to spend a cold winter afternoon.
Hayden stepped inside the parlor behind Logan and came to an abrupt halt. Whoa! Miss This Afternoon was stunning. Not only could he think of worse ways, he could think of worse people to spend it with. Red hair indeed! Logan’s description had not done her justice. It was more like the shade of rich red chestnut, a perfect match to the horse that had gone down on the ice, a silky combination of caramel and russet that begged a man’s hand to sink into its lustrous depths.
She stood in profile to them, warming her hands at the fire and showing off other parts that begged a man’s hand too, starting with those breasts. High and firm in the well-tailored carriage ensemble, they would fill a man’s hands nicely — particularly his. The elegantly-done jacket nipped in at her waist showing off a trim figure and reminding a man how neatly his hand would rest at the curve of her hip. Lucifer’s balls, there were a lot of things his hands might do with that body!
The cynic in him, who understood sex was a game like any other, wondered if she hadn’t planned it that way? Logan had only an hour to track her down and confirm the meeting. Yet she was already here; her outerwear, a warm-looking fur-trimmed cloak of brown velvet, already removed and laying on a chair with her gloves on the small table beside it. She’d wasted no time making herself at home in the parlor. Surely a woman of her looks was not unaware of them or of how she might best engineer a scene to provoke a certain male response?
Hayden’s gaze lit on her face and all thoughts stopped right there. The sharp green eyes that met his suggested she knew exactly what was going through his head and she did not approve. He also had the distinct feeling Miss This Afternoon would not swoon over blown kisses, which only fueled an entirely male stab of desire all the more. What man didn’t want what he couldn’t have? But that wasn’t quite true was it? He was Hayden Islington, ice racer extraordinaire, lover nonpareil. He could have her. He merely had to apply himself.
Hayden gave her a confident grin. She might set herself up to be something of a challenge, but she was here all the same. Challenge or not, the conclusion was foregone, and what a lovely conclusion it would be to peel that carriage ensemble from her luscious form, to caress those breasts, to trace the curve of her hip, to test in practice with his body, what his mind already knew in theory; she would be delicious in bed. Hayden looked about the parlor taking in the possibilities; Or on a table, up against a door, with her back flat on the floor. This was starting to sound like a bad rhyme from the schoolroom, the kind tutors used to drill prepositions into their pupils’ heads. Still, if his tutor had taught grammar that way, he might have remembered it better.
“Hayden, this is Miss Jenna Priess.” Logan was making introductions. Hayden dragged his thoughts away from erotic school lessons designed to keep adolescent boys’ interest. He would have been one hell of a schoolmaster. But that wasn’t the point just now. He needed to pay attention. It wouldn’t do to forget her name so soon after hearing it.
Hayden bent over her hand, a very well-kept hand with perfect rounded nails, he noted; his eyes careful never to leave hers while his lips made contact with her knuckles. “Miss Priess, Jenna, how do you do?”
“I’m quite well.” Her tone was as formal as her eyes were sharp. Just now, those sharp eyes flicked over the length of his body ever so subtly he might have imagined it. But then, he was Hayden Islington. He knew when a woman was looking him over. There was no doubt Miss Priess had definitely just perused his form. And, he might add, she had done so in a manner that spoke of some experience and skill in the art of the discreet scan.
She was taking his measure, quite literally. It had been awhile since a woman had bothered. Most of them had already decided he’d pass muster before they even met. Reputations were handy things that way. She pulled her hand away with the slightest of tugs and he let her. She could feign indifference all she wanted with that haughty tone of hers but he’d caught her at her wicked little game and he knew better. “Is everything to your liking?”
Her fabulous eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her posture stiffened at the reprimand or perhaps at the insinuation behind it. To her credit, her gaze never wavered in embarrassment or in acknowledgement of having been found out. “I’ve come to offer you a proposal.”
Hayden flashed her a grin. “Is that so?” He let his eyes roam her form, deliberately copying her actions. This was becoming more interesting by the moment. “Carry on then, Miss Priess. I find I’m quite in the mood for being propositioned.”
Chapter Two (#u8fe957ca-ca02-55d3-aaff-ff55f49f6526)
The lovely Miss Priess did blush at that but her tone remained firm. “A business proposition.” Her blue eyes flicked briefly in Logan’s direction, making a discreet request for privacy. He would take that as a good sign and if she wanted to refer to her proposition as ‘business’, that was fine with him too. The outcome would be the same and that was all that mattered in the end.
Ever the master of nuance, Logan took the hint, making excuses about returning to the gentlemen next door. “Refreshments are available, if you desire anything.” Logan nodded towards the side table set against the wall. It was his way of indicating Hayden was free to pursue whatever course of action he wanted. There would be no interruptions from the inn staff delivering food.
“Ah, mulled wine. Shall I pour you a mug?” Hayden offered to ease the transition of Logan’s departure. It was just the two of them now. Perhaps a little courtesy would thaw her frosty tone, the wine wouldn’t hurt either. Heaven forbid she actually be here to discuss real business. She had the wrong man for that. That was Logan’s specialty.
“No, thank you. This won’t take long.”
Hayden raised an eyebrow and helped himself to the wine. “I’m in no hurry. I have all afternoon.” Clearly, she didn’t know him very well. He liked speed, but not in bed where it was all about slow and steady winning the race. “Please, have a seat, Jenna.” He took a chair near the fire and gestured for her to do the same. Lord, she was a beauty. He watched her arrange her skirts. There were long legs beneath them, he’d wager. He was a breast man himself, but long legs never hurt.
Hayden settled back in the chair, stretching his legs out until his boots rested on the fender of the fire place. It was time to get comfortable. “What is it that you’ve come to, ah, ‘discuss’? The race? Did you see it? There was quite the situation out there on the turn. That can be dangerous when a horse goes down, it puts all the riders in jeopardy.”
Her features settled into a frown of impatient tolerance. “No, Mr. Islington, I’m not here to talk over the race. I’ve come to discuss something else entirely.” “Well, that’s alright by me. We don’t have to discuss anything at all, if you’d prefer not to.” Maybe what she meant was that she was eager to get down to business and not waste time on small talk. Hayden yanked on his cravat and pulled it free. Now they were getting somewhere. “Perhaps you might give me a hand with my boots?” He could already imagine that derriere of hers bent in his direction as she tugged at his boots.
Unfortunately, Miss Jenna Priess didn’t share his enthusiasm for the activity. “Mr. Islington, let me be blunt. I am not one of your swooning ladies who are dying to get into bed with you. I’m not even here about racing. I’m here because you were once an investigator and I have need of one.”
Hayden froze. The past had finally reared its ugly head, here in this remote industrial town. He’d not been expecting it, not here, not now, not from this woman he didn’t know. She might as well have said she needed an escort to the moon. Hayden took a swallow of wine to hide his surprise, to marshal his thoughts.
“I’m an ice racer now, Miss Priess.” His investigation days were long behind him. His celebrity on ice had long since eclipsed any public recollection of what he used to be and for the better, if you asked him. That she even knew he’d been an investigator was nearly as big of a surprise as the initial request. It provoked a host of questions, not the least being how did she know? Perhaps it had been mentioned in passing in an article promoting the race. He’d have to tell Logan to watch the releases more carefully. The other question was how to play this? He had two choices, give in to the curiosity and shock of her request and ask his questions or brush it off with flirtation and innuendo. Perhaps if he flirted hard enough, she would forego her intentions and forget all about wanting an investigator.
Always err on the side of discretion. It had been his motto during his investigatory days and it had kept him alive more than once. If he’d always heeded that advice, things might have turned out differently. Hayden let slip the slightest of wicked grins and decided to play a little in the hopes of drawing her out. “So you do need me?”
He got the reaction he wanted. He’d rather expected he would. Even if she wasn’t indifferent to him, she’d come for real business. She had her pride and she would choke on it before she admitted to the possibility of anything more sensual between them. Miss Priess rose abruptly and pulled on her gloves with short, forceful motions, jamming her fingers into them. “Not in the way you are insinuating, Mr. Islington.”
“I’m not insinuating, I’m clarifying. Do you need me or not?” He rose too, putting himself in close proximity to her, too close to be decent. But he wasn’t a decent man and it was time she knew it.
“I need an investigator.” Her green eyes flared but to her credit she did not back away. “While we’re clarifying, I understand your naughty innuendo perfectly well, and to that I say, not in a million years.”
She might have made a striking exit at that point but she’d forgotten where she’d placed her cloak. Hayden spied it first. His grin widened. Her eyes narrowed as she divined his intent and she moved fast to pre-empt it but his legs were longer and he moved faster. Hayden picked up the cloak and held it out for her, knowing full well it would gall her to take even this small gentlemanly gesture from him.
His hands lingered at her shoulders deliberately as he bent his mouth to her ear, breathing in the welcoming scent of her. “Never is a long time. You might want to keep your options open, Miss Priess.” Lord, she smelled wonderful, like cinnamon and spice, all the good things of a winter kitchen, like a home; nothing at all like the smells he was used to — the sour smell of taprooms, of stale, spilt ale.
Her neck curved forward as she focused her attention on the fastenings of her cloak — too much attention for a task she’d performed a thousand times before and could likely do blindfolded. Hayden smiled. She wasn’t unaffected by him. He could change her mind about leaving. All he had to do was drop a kiss on the nape of her exposed neck, run his hands down the length of her arms. He shouldn’t. It would not be in his best interest in the long run. There was only trouble and ghosts down that path. It didn’t matter what she wanted him to investigate. He simply wasn’t in that line of work any longer. She would be the persistent sort if he let her stay. What he needed, what he wanted was for her to leave and take her notions of investigating elsewhere.
“I need an investigator, Mr. Islington.” She turned to face him, effectively removing his hands from her shoulders and taking away his chance for kissing in any case, her words affirming his perception. He’d guessed right about the persistence. He took her hand, encased inside smooth, expensive leather. The woman had good taste and the money to indulge it from the fur at her neck to the gloves on her hands.
He kissed her knuckles one more time. “I regret to inform you, an investigator is something I haven’t been for a very long time, Miss Priess. It’s a wonder you even knew to ask. How did you know?”
“A little bird told me.” She pulled at her hand but this time he didn’t let it go. He needed to know. He pressed on with a sly rejoinder.
“Really? Haven’t they all flown south for the winter?” This was a sharper flirtation than earlier. They were fencing now. She’d encroached on private territory and he was forced to defend it.
“I haven’t time for your games, sir. I have several mill workers who have gone missing and a father who may be wrongly accused of crimes he has no knowledge of if I can’t find the workers. I came here looking for honest help.” She gave him a derisive look. “And what I found was you.”
That stung. She had definitely prodded a sleeping bear with her sharp tongue. Hayden folded his arms across his chest, common sense warring with his pride. He was an ice racer now. His investigatory days were over and for good reason. He couldn’t help her, he shouldn’t help her. Yet, that fatal twinge of chivalry, that desire to help others which had driven him into investigation work in the first place was starting to stir. It didn’t help that the woman standing before him was beautiful, proud and desperate.
Oh she was desperate alright, a classic casebook study of desperation in fact. He’d learned to see the signs. The prouder someone was, the more they tried to hide how desperate they really were. She’d hidden it in her frosty tones, in the fine impeccable quality of her clothes, all of it designed to suggest she was a woman who didn’t need anyone when in reality she needed someone badly. Quite badly if she’d resorted to looking for him.
“I have obligations while I’m here. My time isn’t necessarily my own.” Hayden iterated his excuses — very valid excuses, he thought. He, Carrick and Logan were slated to be here for the latter part of winter, however long that lasted. Hopefully until the first of March if the ice held. They had the race today, a few races later and then they were using Kendal as a base for other visits nearby.
“It may not take that long and I can pay you handsomely. Two hundred pounds.” she pushed, her stubborn pride perhaps sensing an opening in what others would have taken as a polite refusal. He’d meant to use his commitments as an excuse. But she saw the hope in it for her. Commitments bound him to the area. He would be here for the duration. She swallowed hard. “Please.”
Hayden could feel himself starting to prevaricate. There were so many reasons he shouldn’t do this. It went against the grain of common sense. It was a side of his life he’d left behind. And not the least of those reasons — Logan would be furious. Yet, looking at her, seeing her desperation, he didn’t not want to do it. Nor did he like the insinuation that he had somehow fallen short of her expectations.
So be it. He would leave it up to her. Hayden issued a dare-wrapped dismissal. He let go of her hand and swept her a bow. “My regrets, Miss Priess. What you see is what you get. As you said, you came looking for an investigator and you found me. If you think you can settle for that, come back tonight.”
Come back tonight? Did he think her utterly naïve? Or did he still believe she was another desperate doxy eager to get into his bed? Neither of the options were flattering depictions of her character. Jenna was still fuming over his challenge when she arrived home. Hayden Islington was a cad. A heart-stoppingly gorgeous cad, but a cad nonetheless.
She’d come to him with an honest inquiry and he’d answered her with flirtation and innuendo, which to her shame, she’d not been unaffected by as much as she would have liked. If he’d meant his playful overtures to act as distractions, they’d worked to some degree. Hayden Islington was an undeniably handsome devil of a man with sharp blue eyes that weren’t afraid to laugh, a tousled, tawny mess of thick hair the color of wild honey and that mouth of his was quite possibly the wickedest mouth she’d ever seen on a man — not that she should have been noticing given the nature of her business. But she had noticed. With the merest of smiles, that mouth invited her to envision kissing those lips, or being kissed by them. Her imagination had taken that invitation.
If her business with him had not been so dire, she might have been derailed from her purpose altogether. He flirted quite nicely, quite expertly and what red-blooded woman with an ounce of fire to her didn’t appreciate that sort of attention once in a while. Once in a long while. That sort of attention could get a girl into trouble and well she knew it. She’d been too innocent for her own good once. Just once, but that had been all it took for her to learn her lesson when it came to handsome devils.
She’d naïvely not anticipated Hayden Islington would fall into that category when she’d sought him out. The fact that he did had taken her entirely unaware. She’d blindly focused on the stereotype that investigators were gruff, stocky, older men that were balding and smelled of odd, cheap places. But Hayden Islington had upended those notions the moment he’d stepped into the room, potent and masculine in all the best ways.
Even so, she should have been immune to those good looks and easy manners simply because she knew better. She neither wanted nor needed any part of what he offered with his flirtatious eyes and provocative innuendos.
Jenna pulled off her gloves and set them on the polished console in the hall, frustrated at herself for her reaction and with him for knowingly encouraging it. She’d just begun undoing her cloak when her brother Daniel stepped out of the sitting room, relief on his face at the sight of her.
“You have a visitor.” He mouthed the next words, “It’s Davenport.”
Jenna froze. Her foreman was here. That was dangerous. She didn’t want him to see her at her most vulnerable, in her own home with no one but a sick father and young brother. She far preferred to meet with him at the factory where there was no chance of her father catching wind of their situation and where there were reminders everywhere of who was in charge; her office, her desk. The idea that Davenport even thought he could call on her at home suggested he was starting to question her authority or worse, that he imagined he could take certain liberties, could aspire to a relationship with her that transcended employer and employee.
Jenna smoothed her skirts and kept her voice calm. “Thank you, Daniel. Why don’t you go upstairs while I talk with our guest?” Daniel would know what that meant. He was to go look after father, to make sure news of Davenport’s visit didn’t reach him, didn’t worry him.
She entered the sitting room and pasted on a polite smile with her greeting. “Davenport, what a surprise. I thought we weren’t scheduled to meet until tomorrow at the mill.” It was where she preferred to meet with him. At the mill she was surrounded by the trappings of her authority — an office, a desk. At the mill, her weaknesses weren’t exposed or perhaps the mill was public ground of a sort. Her home was private and he was an intruder here.
Davenport rose, belatedly remembering to play the gentleman. He might have been an officer in his previous career but he wore the manners of a gentleman like an ill-fitting suit of clothes. “My dear, you have been out. The cold has put some color in your cheeks.”
Not an intruder, an invader, Jenna amended. He dared too much with the appellation. “I am not your dear, Davenport. You overstep yourself.” She remained standing. This was a subtle battle for authority, fought with careful words and postures. To sit would invite conversation as would ringing for tea. She did neither. She wanted Davenport here as little as possible. Davenport was a tenacious man best left unencouraged. Tea or a chair would be all the opening he’d need to feel emboldened in his pursuit.
Where another man would have been put off by her rejection, Davenport merely ignored it and forged ahead with his conversation. “I came to see if there was any news of young Paulie.”
“I will send word if there is any news.” Jenna said coolly. It was an answer and a dismissal. Davenport knew it too. Something akin to anger flashed through Davenport’s eyes but was gone almost instantly, his face softening its hard features. He stepped towards her and she was careful to stand her ground.
“You don’t need to be strong for me.” His voice was low, private. It was a tone reserved for close friends or more. It was entirely inappropriate. “These are troubling times for you. I don’t pretend to know the depths of your struggles. You won’t share them. But I am here for you.” Another woman, a less discerning woman, might have found Davenport attractive. The features were there — the thick brown hair, the brown eyes that could be chocolate soft or agate hard, the strong line of his jaw, the brackets at his mouth that defined him as a man of experiences, who had seen something of the world.
However, Jenna did not find him appealing. He lacked a certain nuance, a polish to mark him as a man of distinction.
Oh, he aspired to distinction, but he did not achieve it. There was something indefinably coarse about him. He lacked a nobility of character. But he’d been an officer — even if a low ranking one — and he’d been available when her father had needed him.
“Let me help you.” He renewed his request.
Jenna offered a frosty smile. “You are my foreman, Davenport. It is not your place to help me.”
His features hardened. He did not like being put down by a woman although he tried to hide it. “I am your father’s foreman. What I am to you could be refined if you so wished. I am a patient man, Miss Priess. My offer stands.” He gave her a curt nod of his head and gathered up his coat to depart.
It was not the first time, he’d found her behavior displeasing. Neither was the first time he’d pushed his personal agenda despite it. Jenna waited until he was gone before she sat. Davenport’s ambitions were becoming problematic. He found her displeasing and yet he dared to put himself forward as a suitor. His efforts were not even subtle. He wanted the factory and he was willing to marry for it. If she gave him an inch, he’d take matrimony.
The door had barely closed when eager footsteps sounded on the staircase. Her brother clattered down the steps, his voice excited and loud in the quiet of their home as the questions began. “Did you see him? What was he like? How was the race?” Daniel was fourteen and he’d been furious that morning because she hadn’t taken him with her to see the notorious ice racer. “Were there any crashes?”
Jenna laughed at his exuberance. “There was one crash. A horse went down and Islington jumped it rather than give up the lead.” Her reaction to that event had been much like her reaction to the man; mixed. At the time, she’d wanted to be enraged over the foolishness of taking such a chance and at the same time, she’d not been able to look away. Daniel would have loved every moment of the drama. She wished she could have taken him, he had little enough excitement in his life but her business wasn’t suitable for a child and she didn’t want him to worry.
“Cor! He jumped over a horse? On ice?” Daniel gave a wistful sigh full of disbelief. “I can’t believe I missed it!” He gave her a reproachful stare. He squared his shoulders, suddenly looking more mature than he had a moment ago. “But it’s a good thing I was here. Father was asking for you. He wanted to know where you’d gone.”
Jenna sobered too. Having her father ask questions had been something she’d worked hard to avoid. She’d kept the current business of the disappearing mill workers and the subsequent consequences from her father. He was too ill and she wouldn’t have him bothered. She could handle this latest problem on her own.
“What did you tell him?” she asked Daniel, but she could guess. Her father suspected she was working too hard at the mill, intervening in the foreman’s job.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him anything. I said you’d gone shopping.” There was pride in Daniel’s voice and something else too, something akin to ‘I told you so. I am old enough to help you.’ He was proving to her he wasn’t a child.
“Well done.” She smiled her praise. Fourteen was a difficult age. One was not really a child but nowhere near an adult. It wasn’t so long ago that she’d forgotten what it was like to be fourteen, but Jenna would still have preferred to protect him. The issue of missing workers was a sordid one. No one was certain what was behind it although she’d heard several hypotheses bandied about in the last weeks, everything from human trafficking and prostitution rings to a mass murderer on the loose. Unfortunately, all were possible.
“So,” Daniel asked again. “Will Islington help us?”
“Us?” She noted his use of the word. “What do you know of all this?”
Daniel straightened his thin, adolescent shoulders. “I know Paulie is missing, that he’s not the first. Other workers have been missing for weeks now and it’s serious enough that you want an investigator to help you find them.”
Jenna nodded. She wouldn’t lie to him. The situation had become dire enough she feared having to close down until the situation was resolved. Her mill couldn’t function without enough workers to fill the shifts and in the dead of winter, she wasn’t sure where she’d come up with new ones.
Her workers had started disappearing over two months ago. Since then, it had been one or two a week, which might not sound terribly significant but when a mill was run by forty-five to fifty men and young boys, a ten percent attrition rate was quickly reached as was the mill’s ability to function. The workers were hired from gangs that came from Manchester and Leeds. Couple that with the winter weather and the difficulty of getting another work crew in before spring, it was no wonder she was worried.
Until this week, she’d been able to fill the empty spots from the small worker pool available in town. Now, with Paulie’s disappearance, fear was rampant. She was well aware of the rumors surrounding the Priess mill disappearances. The workers available were reluctant to work for her, afraid they too might be among the next to disappear. Not even the prospect of higher wages could entice them.
She was starting to panic. If she couldn’t fulfill her orders for bobbins, they would lose money and future contracts. It would be a financial disaster. Even worse, if the workers’ suspicions of foul play reached her father’s ear, it would devastate him. The winter had been cruel enough as it was. This last might just finish him off.
Her father was known in the area as a champion of workers’ rights. He was proud of the conditions in his mills, the fairness of his wages and his concern for his workers well-being. It would destroy him to know those ethics were being questioned to say nothing of what the practical realities of a shutdown would do to the business. She’d not lied to Islington when she’d said she’d pay handsomely. The Priesses were wealthy, but they wouldn’t be if they lost the mill and its income.
“You’re dodging my question, Sis.” Daniel prompted patiently. “Will he help us?”
“I don’t know.” Jenna hedged, drawing her mind back from the dark abyss of her thoughts. There was no sense worrying about what ifs just yet. “Maybe.”
“Then he didn’t say no?” Daniel argued hopefully.
She couldn’t bear to disappoint him, or to let down her father. Her father didn’t know it, but he was counting on her. Right now, she was all that stood between the family business and ruin. “Islington said to come back tonight.”
“Will you?” Daniel asked quietly, sensing if not fully understanding that she was somehow conflicted over that decision.
“Yes.” She offered him a reassuring smile, hoping her answer would convince Daniel a return visit was all it would take to secure the help they needed. Maybe she was even trying to convince herself Islington would say yes. He’d not promised her anything. Still, what choice did she have? He was the only investigator she had. With the winter roads, it would be spring by the time she corresponded with an investigation company in a larger city and arranged for someone to come. Spring would be too late.
Islington was her only choice. Up until this afternoon’s meeting, she’d liked to think he’d been serendipitously dropped into her lap just when she needed him — well, not him precisely, but an investigator. Now, she wasn’t sure serendipity had anything to do with it. The only investigator she could get her hands on was a notorious seducer. Nonetheless, she had to go back. If she didn’t, she’d never know what Islington’s decision was. If she didn’t go back, the failure to engage an investigator would be on her shoulders. But if she went back and Islington refused, she could be content knowing she’d made her best effort and the fault lay with him.
There. She’d made her decision she told herself firmly. She would see him again tonight. Going back was the only choice, the right choice for her family and the mill. The tremor of excitement the decision elicited had to do with the satisfaction of a decision made, the idea that she was moving forward, making progress. It had nothing to do with a pair of blue eyes that undressed a woman in a glance and a mouth that inspired the most decadent of daydreams. Nothing at all. It was ridiculous to think it did.
Chapter Three (#u8fe957ca-ca02-55d3-aaff-ff55f49f6526)
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard of! Are you serious?” Logan gave Hayden a disapproving stare over the foaming head of his ale, the taproom noisy around them. “You’re actually thinking about taking on a case right in the middle of racing season? You haven’t taken on a case for five years and now you suddenly have an itch to investigate?”
“He’s got an itch alright.” Carrick mumbled into his mug.
Logan shot his disapproval in Carrick’s direction. “If I’d known she was the one to scratch it, I would not have brought her. I thought she was like all the others.”
Hayden stifled a smile. Logan would not take to being teased at the moment. He knew what Logan had thought. He’d thought it too. But Miss Jenna Priess had sought him out on far different ‘business’ than the usual. The taproom was loud and boisterous around them, the crowd in a good mood after the excitement of the racing that morning, followed up by a winter fair in what passed for the village green in the white months. It was a night for celebration. It was not a night for quarreling with one’s best friend. What Logan needed right now was pacification.
“It’s not a case.” Hayden offered. Hardly. A case implied briefs and files and research, interviews with people who knew the victim. This was not a case. Nor was it going to turn into one. “I’m going to make a couple of inquiries. If I’m lucky, I’ll have a few leads for her to follow on her own. With the right information, she can probably find someone to wrap it all up without my help.” It was the same argument he’d made with himself that afternoon. An afternoon, he noted, that he had not spent rolling in bed with a lovely woman, but thinking instead. What he’d come up with was a compromise his conscience could live with and that was it: get her some leads, nothing more.
His argument had been more successful on himself than on Logan. His conscience had been appeased but Logan was not. Then again, Logan hadn’t been in the room with her, hadn’t seen the emerald fire in her eyes when she’d talked of her predicament. Logan hadn’t heard her sincerity of tone when she’d spoken of her father, he hadn’t been subjected to the idea that he was in the presence of a good woman who wanted something more from him than celebrity sex.
Logan leaned across the table to be heard over the din of the tavern, his tone earnest. “Hayden, we have money invested and obligations to keep. I don’t know that there’s time for this and we can’t back out. We are centered here for the winter but we have visits to make elsewhere. The Derwentwater merchants want us to see their lake, there’s Morecambe’s ice festival and Keswick after that. I can’t pay them back if we don’t show up. The festivals are already planned,” Logan reminded him. “We have to keep those commitments. I need your head in the game.”
Obligations meant more than just showing up. People expected a show. Once word of today’s antics on the ice made the rounds, the expectations would be doubled. Hayden Islington was expected to win and do it in grand fashion. Merchants and earls didn’t sponsor events centered around losers.
“I know.” Hayden reassured him. “It’ll be fine. Who knows, she might not even come back.” She’d been bristling when she’d left him and disappointed. Hayden regretted the last. Bristling was one thing. He’d had women mad at him before but not disappointed. He didn’t like to disappoint a woman no matter what the circumstances.
The door to the taproom opened, bringing a gust of cold winter night air into the warmth of the inn. The three of them looked up in reflex. Hayden froze. Carrick let out a whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned. I guess she came back after all.”
And in style. Jenna Priess was looking gorgeous and far too well put together for a place like this in her rich cloak, her hood thrown back, her chestnut hair gleaming as she searched the crowd for him.
Logan gave him a stony glare. “Of course she did. Hayden’s irresistible, as he well knows.” Even at his worst, apparently. He had been rude and audacious but Jenna Priess hadn’t scared. Hayden offered Logan an apologetic shrug.
Logan shook his head. “How can I compete with that? You always were one for a pretty face. Hayden, don’t think we’re done talking about this.”
“Just for the duration of our stay, Logan. No more, I promise.” Hayden grinned.
Logan looked skeptical. “I will hold you to it. Ice doesn’t wait. I can’t simply reschedule us for a later date.” They all knew that whatever was in the bank when the ice melted was what they lived on until the ice froze again. “Timing is everything.”
Damn right it was, with ice and with women. He’d better hustle if he meant to keep this one. Miss Priess had ventured no deeper into the room and now her face wore a resigned frown. Unable to locate him amid the crowd, she was starting to second guess the wisdom of coming. If he meant her to stay, he’d have to move quickly. Hayden shouldered his way past tables and bodies. His hand came down over hers as it pushed on the door. He was just in time. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He murmured.
She startled, taking a moment to recognize him in the unfamiliar setting. “Do what?”
“Leave.” He smiled, just for her, his flirtation rewarded with competitive sparks in her blue eyes.
“And why is that?”
He raised her hand to his lips, his eyes holding hers. “Because what you’re looking for is right here.”
“You never stop do you?” She rewarded him with a laugh, some of the earlier tension going from her face. He felt uncommonly proud at being responsible for it, for making her laugh. He wondered if she had much cause to laugh. What little he knew of her suggested she didn’t; a desperate woman burdened with a mill she couldn’t staff, probably didn’t spend a lot of time laughing.
He gave her a look of mock seriousness. “Never.” He wanted to make her laugh again, wanted to keep that smile on her face. Hayden maneuvered her away from the door. He had her firmly in his grasp now, the question of leaving resolved in his favor. His hand moved to the small of her back, guiding her through the throng. “I have a parlor waiting for us. It will be quiet there and we can talk.” Even through the heaviness of her cloak he could feel the slimness of her form, the rigid steel of her posture, a reminder that she was a lady in all ways that mattered and he’d presented her with a most unladylike dare in requesting she come here tonight for his answer.
The parlor he’d arranged was smaller, cozier than the one this afternoon. Tea waited for them in front of the fire. She looked around, taking in the room’s details, no doubt deciphering what they meant. “You were fairly certain I’d come back.”
Hayden smiled and helped her out of her cloak, letting his hands linger at her shoulders to reaffirm his message. “Hopeful. I was hopeful you’d come back.” He politely omitted mentioning her desperation. She would not appreciate the reference. “I’ve discovered the best way to make a wish come true is to plan for it. I call it the ‘assumption of success’.”
“Some might call it arrogance.” she replied drily, settling in a high-backed chair near the fire, the flames burnishing the chestnut of her hair to a deep russet. Lord, he was obsessed with all that hair. “Still, your preparations are very flattering, Mr. Islington. May I also be hopeful that your wishing I’d return means you’ve decided to take up my cause?”
She was direct, he’d give her that. They’d barely been in the room two minutes and she was already down to business. They’d not even had tea. He poured out two cups and carried them back to the fire.
Hayden handed one to her and took his seat, fighting the urge to reach for his flask and pour something stronger into his cup. He had a feeling he was going to need it. “I will need more information and of course I need you to understand the unorthodox nature of your request. You took me by surprise this afternoon simply because I don’t do this type of work any longer.”
She gave him a tight smile as if she had trouble believing anyone would choose ice racing over another profession. “Is that because ice racing has proven more lucrative?” Clearly, she did not think ice racing much of a professional calling.
“Lucrative and safer.” The last case he’d taken had nearly seen him dead. His side still bore proof of it. Two inches to the left had made the difference between life and death. It had been all the persuasion he needed to pursue another line of work.
“Safer? I can hardly imagine that after what I saw this morning.”
Hayden gave a wry grin. “Well, I’m not inclined to think of bobbin mills as terribly dangerous ground either and yet here you are awash with disappearing workers.”
“Touché, Mr. Islington.” She smiled a little at his comment, the sharp edges of her defense beginning to soften. The firelight, the tea, the intimate coziness of the room were starting to take hold. Good. If he was going to make short work of this he needed her to trust him with what she knew.
“Hayden, please. Jenna.” he corrected in low tones. “If we’re to work together, it would be best if we dispensed with unnecessary formalities.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Tell me everything and I’ll see what I can do to help.”
Hayden listened carefully, eyes watching her face for any tells that she was holding back or substituting a half-truth for the real thing. It was an expressive face with its fine bones and long, straight nose. Watching it was no hardship. She told him of the missing workers who had disappeared without warning, how none of them had returned or been found. She stumbled over that last part, an indication that in her opinion ‘found’ meant dead. She told him of the damage these disappearances were wrecking on production and of her genuine concern for the workers’ safety.
She told him other things too, without words. She was the one running the mill. He would bet the winnings of his last race on it. No one could speak so sincerely without being directly involved. That was an interesting mystery on its own. What was a beautiful, young woman doing running a mill?
“And now the situation has reached critical proportions?” Hayden surmised.
“Yes, another worker disappeared last week. He wasn’t much older than fifteen and his family lives here in town. They are distraught. Paulie was a good boy and there was no reason for him to go missing.”
Hayden decided to test his hypothesis about who was running the mill. “I must ask; why didn’t your father come to me?” It had entered his thoughts this afternoon that she was an odd ambassador with her request. It was occurring to him tonight that her father might be entirely unaware that she’d even made one. What sort of father let a lovely daughter come to a tavern to meet a stranger? Either one who didn’t care or one who didn’t know. He was beginning to suspect the latter.
She was silent for a moment, her green eyes weighing her options. If she was going to lie, it would be right now. “I won’t stand for any dishonesty, Jenna.” he prompted softly. “I will have the truth or nothing, I can’t help you otherwise.”
She faced him squarely, confirming his suspicions. “My father knows little if anything of this current situation. He’s been ill since October. He’s been to the mill perhaps twice. It would kill him to know he’s suspected of being involved in whatever is going on. My father is an honest man.”
“And his daughter?” Hayden eyed her carefully. “May I assume you’ve been running the place?” It certainly seemed so but he wanted her to verify it. Assumptions often led to trouble as he knew all too well.
“Yes.” She answered tersely. The question had put her on the defensive. He could guess why. She was waiting for him to demean the idea a woman could run a mill as well as a man.
“What about the day to day operations? Who oversees the place when you cannot be there?” Hayden went smoothly forward, not stooping to take the bait. He had no quarrel with gender equality to a large degree. In his experience, it made for better bed sport. If she wanted to run a bobbin mill, he had no problem with that either.
“My foreman. He’s competent but relatively new. My father hired him in October before he fell ill.”
Hayden chuckled. She didn’t like the foreman; that much was evident. She’d made it clear with her begrudging use of the word ‘competent’ the man had not been her choice. That would be interesting to look into. Disliking one’s foreman could lead to tension. What sort of tension? Tension purely over business or did it stem from a more personal, sexual attraction? Either way, it was bound to be uncomfortable. He couldn’t imagine a man working easily for her. One couldn’t be in Jenna Priess’s presence and not entertain thoughts of a certain caliber Goodness knew he was having some of those thoughts right now — thoughts he shouldn’t have, couldn’t have. Jenna Priess was not Miss Last Night, which meant she wasn’t his type at all.
Hayden crossed a leg over his knee and forged ahead with business. “Perhaps I’ll visit tomorrow and speak with the foreman. There might be something he can tell me that will offer some clues about your disappearing workers.”
Jenna shook her head, her tone brisk. “It will be a wasted effort. I’ve spoken with him several times. He recalls nothing new.”
“Still, new ears may pick up new insights.” Hayden insisted with a smile. Male ears. The foreman might not have told her everything simply because she was female.
She bristled at the implication, leveling shrewd eyes at him over the rim of her tea cup. “Do you doubt my ability to sift through information?”
“Not at all,” Hayden winked. “I’m doubting his.” In an unguarded moment with another male, without a woman present as a constant reminder of discretion, who knew what the foreman would let slip in the throes of an unexpected visit with no time to prepare himself. Hayden would make sure of it. He was not without his own persuasive tools.
“Very well then.” Jenna set down her empty tea cup and rose. She stuck out her hand for him to shake. “I’m glad that’s settled. Thank you again for taking the case.”
It wasn’t really a case, not yet anyway. He didn’t bother to correct her. He took her hand. She was prepared for a handshake but he had something better in mind. Hayden tugged her to him, drawing her close in surprise.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, the hint of breathlessness in her tone ruining the attempt at chagrin. It confirmed his suspicions.
“I am sealing our bargain with something better than a handshake.”
“I am not that girl from the crowd.” Jenna warned. “Someone whom you can kiss at will simply because you’re popular.”
For a moment he didn’t follow. Who? He’d been so intent on Jenna, all other thoughts had fled. “Oh, Miss Last Night.” He murmured as an afterthought, more to himself than to her.
She took umbrage with the comment. “Whoever she was, I’m not Miss Tonight, not by any stretch of your imagination.” She tried to pull away but he held her fast. He could see she was fighting the attraction. She should just admit to it as he had. Life was simpler when one admitted to such impulses.
Hayden grinned, thoroughly enjoying the chase. “I don’t know about that, my imagination can stretch pretty far and you haven’t exactly said no. Admit it, Jenna. You’re not arguing with me, you’re arguing with yourself.” Hayden had recognized the dilemma immediately. She didn’t really want to resist, she just thought she should. He solved the dilemma for her.
His mouth slid over hers before Jenna could even think to utter another protest over his latest audacity. They fitted together effortlessly as if he’d done this a thousand times, which, a remote part of her brain noted, he most likely had. The rest of her simply didn’t care. Unorthodox or not, the feel of his lips, the touch of his hand against her cheek, the caress of his fingers as they cupped her jaw, were positively electrifying against her skin, her lips.
It was quite unlike any deal she’d ever sealed before. This was no chaste peck of polite acknowledgment. It was bold, hot, assertive; very much like the man himself, and it struck at the core of her, invoking a fiery response that was part passion and part anger. She could not help but respond to the expertise of his touch, his kiss. Her body answered his. Her tongue engaged his when it teased her mouth, her body pressed against his where he had dragged her to him, drinking in the muscled planes of his masculinity.
That was the passion reacting. She was experienced enough to recognize it for it was. She was also experienced enough to know that Hayden Islington was getting precisely the response he’d anticipated. That angered her as much as the kiss itself inspired her. She’d taken the bait.
Jenna broke the kiss, her anger and her pride overpowering the passion, although not easily. Kisses of that magnitude didn’t happen every day and were not to be squandered. She took a step back. “I am not one of your women who can be bought with kisses and cheap flattery.”
The accusation did not have the effect she was intending. His gaze raked her. “No, you most certainly are not.” He was amused, damn him. It was etched in the brackets of his smile, the crinkling of his blue eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture that stretched the seams of his jacket enough to remind her how well-made he’d felt against her curves only moments ago as he fixed her with laughing eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you didn’t think about it. Tell me the truth, just for a moment you wanted to be her.”
“You’re quite possibly the most conceited man I’ve ever encountered.” Jenna replied drily, but something else came to mind. Maybe the word she was looking for wasn’t conceited at all, but intelligent, an admission she would make to herself only as part of calculating his character. She had felt a twinge of awe and envy for the woman he’d pulled from the crowd and kissed so hard, so thoroughly, Jenna had felt the power of that kiss even at a distance. She suspected every other woman there had too.
It was what he’d wanted, Jenna realized. He’d orchestrated that, perhaps even down to the type of woman he had chosen. It wasn’t envy she felt now for the girl. The girl had been blonde and dressed in a bright blue outfit that had stood out against the white of the snow and the darkness of Islington’s own attire. They’d made a striking couple to the onlookers and Islington had known it.
“You are a consummate showman, it would seem. Everything arranged precisely to the maximum effect. I will not tolerate being used in such a manner. I must remind you again that I am not that sort of woman.”
“I would wager you’re something better altogether.” His voice was low and intimate.
Jenna stiffened. The dratted man refused to give up flirting. “I was not looking for a comparison.” It was time to leave. Apparently, they were done discussing business.
“I know what you were looking for. You were looking for an apology.” He gave a wide grin. “Don’t worry; I recognize a set down when I hear one. In this case, I simply chose not to acknowledge it.” He winked and rested a hip on the edge of the sideboard. “That usually throws a quirk into the plans. I like to see what people will do when their usual avenues of response are detoured. It’s instructive as to their true natures.” He cocked his head to one side. “Would you like me to tell you what it says about your nature?”
He was far too arrogant for her tastes. Jenna grabbed up her cloak and gloves. “Hardly. You’ve not known me long enough to form any legitimate opinion. I’ve hired you to investigate my mill workers, not to investigate me.” If she had any authority, it was time to assert it.
Jenna swept past him, outerwear in hand, head held high. It was the most final exit she could think of. Nothing said an interview was over like departure. She was at the door when his words stopped her, his voice a quiet caress like the slide of silk on skin. “It’s Hayden, Jenna, and you would burn with the right man, that’s what it says about your nature.”
Jenna’s hand tightened on the knob. Her face forward, away from him so he could not see the heat such a comment raised in her cheeks. How dare he imply he could be the man who would make her burn? How dare he dare her to want to find out? But there was no mistaking that was precisely what he intended with his quiet challenge. “Goodnight, Mr. Islington.” She said with a coolness she certainly didn’t feel.
“I will see you tomorrow.” he called after her, a chuckle evident in his voice. “Sleep well, Jenna.”
Hah, as if there was any chance of that now.
Chapter Four (#u8fe957ca-ca02-55d3-aaff-ff55f49f6526)
That would make two of them facing sleepless nights. It only seemed fair to trouble her sleep if she was going to trouble his and he was damned sure she was. Hayden poured himself a drink, a wry smile on his lips as he imagined her stomping out of the building in high dudgeon, that gorgeous fur-collared cloak flying behind her. He was getting to her whether she acknowledged it or not.
Hayden settled into the chair near the fire, relaxing into a slouch. He took a healthy swallow and let the brandy burn down his throat. Logan would say something pithy about now. Something like no good effort goes unpunished. He was being punished aplenty. He never slept well after a race — too much adrenaline, and he never slept well alone — too much time spent with his more private thoughts. Now, both conditions would be in evidence tonight. He might have avoided the former if Jenna Priess hadn’t ruined him for the latter. Miss Last Night was more than willing to warm his bed but Jenna’s sharp tongue and chestnut hair had effectively cooled his ardor for the woman who was available. Eva? Elena? His mind and body refused to settle for her when a brighter flame burned. And burn it did, obliterating everything but itself. He didn’t know the last time he’d felt so immediately struck by a woman’s presence.
He could hardly remember Miss Last Night’s name and yet he could remember every little detail of the exchange with Jenna Priess; how the firelight had turned her hair a deep red the shade of autumn leaves in the woods near his family home; the way her sharp eyes had raked his form in a rather blatant perusal of his physique; even the small gold clip that fastened her cloak remained fixed in his memory. That was bad news for him if he didn’t stop this fantasizing immediately. Jenna Priess wasn’t for him. He had time for sex, nothing more. But she was the sort who would demand the ‘more.’ That was an infatuation he could not afford to indulge.
Hayden propped his boots up on the fender of the fireplace, his shoulders slouched in repose; hardly the posture of a champion. But why not? There was no one around to see. Celebrity had its perks, no doubt. But there were down-sides — there were fewer and fewer moments in his life where there was no one he had to impress — no women to woo, no men to court for business.
It was all fun, of course. He didn’t mind, not too much anyway. But sometimes it was nice not to be on display, nice to flirt with a woman the way he’d flirted with Jenna just because he wanted to, not because she was the local squire’s daughter and the key to unlocking her daddy’s purse. It was refreshing to run across a woman who was interesting for more than how she looked on his arm or for her daddy’s bank account.
Jenna Priess was that sort of woman for all the good it did him. She also just happened to be the sort of woman he shouldn’t mess around with. No good came of mixing business with pleasure. Hadn’t he learned that lesson already? Didn’t he bear the scars of having made the mistake? But Jenna Priess was no Baroness St. Martin and right now, that made all the difference. Besides, this was going to be a simple matter.
Hayden took a final swallow of his brandy. He would meet with the mill foreman tomorrow and afterward call on Jenna to report his findings. It was all very concise and conscientious. He’d get in, get out, help a damsel in distress to salve his own sense of obligation and Logan would approve. The plan was perfect.
As luck would have it, the reality was something less than his perfect imaginings — far from it in fact. Hayden strode through the snowy streets to the Priess home the following afternoon, roiling in anger. His findings had his emotions boiling and while that boil provided a convenient source of body heat it did nothing to conjure up friendly thoughts for the home’s inhabitants. To put it mildly, he felt taken advantage of. To put it more bluntly, he felt played. A woman had played him before and he’d thought he’d honed his instincts enough to avoid falling foul of such deception again.
He could hear Logan’s ‘I told you so’s’ already in his head. He had no one to blame but himself. If he felt hoodwinked, it was his own fault. He’d committed the eternal fallacy of men everywhere in believing that a pretty face harbored pretty intentions. Jenna Priess had some answering to do.
Hayden stopped before the wrought iron gates of the Priess house and surveyed the short drive and lawn that lay in prelude to the main home. An investigator always took stock of his surroundings before charging in. He took stock now. The Priess home was by no means on the same level as a nobleman’s estate, but it was an elegant manse for a nouveau riche industrialist.
The greystone façade rose in a dark silhouette of steep roof lines bracketed by pale winter sky above and a pristine white blanket of snow below. This end of Kendal, inhabited by the wealthy mill owners and wool and snuff manufacturers, differed from the dirtier south end with its workhouse and factory homes. Hayden grimaced. He’d spent enough time prowling the streets of York and other northern industrial cities to know how this sort of money was made and sustained. Homes like the Priesses’ were supported by the sweat of laborers.
Repetition of that reality didn’t make it any more palatable. Nor did it make his disappointment easier to swallow. He’d wanted Jenna with her sincerity and passion to be different. Apparently his usually infallible intuition had been wrong. About a woman. Again.
Hayden squared his shoulders, survey complete, and trod through the snow, leaving fresh, deep boot prints behind in his march to the door. He dropped the heavy knocker, a brass affair of a carved lion’s head, against the door, estimating the cost of such a thing as it fell. It would take two years’ salary for a mill worker to afford something as luxurious as this knocker which was nothing more than ornamental decoration to the wealthy.
The door opened, answered by a greying, dignified fellow who inquired about his business in quiet but authoritative tones. The hush of his tones took some of the power out of Hayden’s anger. “I’m here to see Miss Priess. She is expecting me.” Hayden handed the man his card and stepped inside, taking away the butler’s option to decide.
The first thing he noticed was the silence. It extended beyond the butler to encompass the entire house. There was none of the usual noise of a big home; no maids polishing bannisters and dusting mantels, no clink of silver being counted. There were a hundred casual sounds a house made and this home made none of them except one. Hayden could hear every tick of the long case clock tucked beneath the curve of the staircase.
The butler led him to a room near the stairs. Hayden could feel his anger dissipating with every step. Anger was a loud emotion. It didn’t fit in these quiet surroundings. The butler left him with the promise that Miss Priess would be down shortly and the encouragement to make himself at home. It wouldn’t be hard to do. The room was done in dark blues and creams and with all the necessary appointments of a sitting room — sofa, chairs, fireplace, a low table for serving refreshments, a sideboard with a decanter for the men, who likely made up the majority of callers in an industrialist’s home. But Hayden had no intention of remaining there no matter how attractive the room’s offerings.
Something was off. The pieces of this particular puzzle didn’t fit. Something was a lie, or someone was a liar and that liar wasn’t necessarily Jenna Priess. That did cause a spark of hope to flare up. Perhaps his intuition hadn’t failed him after all. Perhaps there was more at work here than he was aware. He wouldn’t know if he stayed tucked away safely in this room. Then again, his more cynical side asserted itself, maybe that was the function of this pleasant room with its fire and brandy and window overlooking the snowy lawn — to be so comfortable, so welcoming, one wouldn’t want to see what lay beyond the foyer.
A good investigator understood that truth was best discovered in its raw form first hand. If one waited for others to bring ‘truth’ to them, it was seldom unadulterated. Hayden took to the stairs. At the top of the landing, he picked up the sound of quiet voices further down the hall. He recognized Jenna’s. The other was hoarse and sounded as if it required effort to talk in long sentences. Her father maybe? Hayden edged towards the partially open door in time to catch the sound of a wracking cough and Jenna’s swift reassurances. He could hear the rustle of skirts and bed linens; pillows being propped, the sound of water being poured into a glass, a sigh of relief.
“There, there, take a deep breath, that’s it.” Jenna’s voice was soothing, gentle, a different variation of the tones she’d used with him. “Drink some more water and try to sleep. You’ll be fine.”
She was moving towards the door. There was no point in pretending he hadn’t been eavesdropping, or in making a run for the stairs. In a few seconds she would step out and see him. Hayden crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall to wait.
She showed only moderate surprise when she stepped outside the room and saw him. The softness went out of her eyes and they became the hard green jewels he’d seen last night. “I thought you were told to wait downstairs.” Her tone was harsh, no gentle soothing tones for him. But perhaps she knew what he’d seen and was already on the defensive. Suddenly, what he’d seen at the mill mattered less than the context of it. He wouldn’t get any information from her if he argued with her.
Hayden gave a nod in the direction of the door. “Will he? Be fine?” Coughs in winter could be deadly things and from her own indications yesterday this one had already outstayed its welcome.
“Yes.” She said without equivocation, her eyes daring him to challenge her response. She stepped in front of him and began the trip back downstairs with brisk purpose. He understood the desire to lead him away from that room, but he could not assume the motivation. Was she leading him away from her father out of desire to protect him in his illness from unnecessary stress or to protect herself? Perhaps she didn’t want news of what he might have seen at the mill to trickle to her father.
Hayden filed that bit of information away. Whatever else she was, Jenna Priess was a protector not unlike a lioness or mother bear looking after their young. While that sounded noble in theory, Hayden knew very well that protecting often extended to lying or other extreme measures. Whether she meant to be or not, Jenna Priess was dangerous. The sway of those hips as they marched downstairs was potent temptation — he was obligated to consider she might move like that on purpose. Would she stoop to seducing him in exchange for his silence? It was an interesting prospect and a tantalizing proposition even when he was supposed to maintain professional objectivity.
In the sitting room, a tea tray waited for them and Jenna took a seat on the dark blue sofa to pour. She might have been posed for a portrait, so well matched was the blue and green plaid of her wool afternoon gown to the décor of the room, and the neatness with which her hair was pulled into a chignon at the nape of her neck. Her chestnut hair shined with a healthy, well-kept sheen and she presented the womanly ideal of domestic tranquility as she presided over tea. Unfortunately for her, an investigator saw those efforts rather differently.
Perhaps she’d dressed purposefully for this interview knowing precisely the visual effect she would have on him — a feminine effect that would soften her conversational opener and perhaps derail any cynical thoughts he might be entertaining. Her ploys might have worked too except for the fact that he’d already been betrayed by a woman and had a certain level of awareness if not immunity. Today had proven Logan was right. He was susceptible to pretty faces; a pretty face was one of life’s little joys, but perhaps this time he would be wiser sooner to what might lie behind one.
Jenna gestured to the decanters on the sideboard and Hayden felt the stirrings of a thorough arousal. “There is brandy if you’d like something stronger with your tea than sugar and cream.” What man didn’t dream of a woman who anticipated even the slightest of his needs? And here one sat, looking like a domestic angel if one discounted those eyes and that mouth. Her eyes were too alive, too assessing and that mouth was too sensual with its full lower lip as proven. No, angel wasn’t quite the word to describe Jenna Priess.
She finished assembling her tea and waited for him to be seated after a trip to the decanters before she took a sip and fixed him with a stare over her cup. “How was your visit with the foreman?” If she knew what he would see and how it would affect him, she pulled the question off beautifully without any tell-tale signs of feigned nonchalance.
Hayden matched his response to hers, tamping down the initial surge of anger that had fueled him on the way over. “I did not speak with him.”
She set her cup down on the table and gave him a hard stare. “Why ever not?” It was said as more of a challenge than a question, as if she thought he’d might not have been resourceful enough to manage an unannounced visit.
Hayden met her stare with one of his own, both of them having forgotten their tea. “It turns out you were not entirely forthcoming with me and I felt any conversation I might have with the foreman would not be as beneficial in light of that oversight.”
Her stare became a glare. The implication that she might be a liar had hit its target. “That’s a very convoluted sentence, Mr. Islington. What exactly are you dressing up with your fancy language?”
Hayden leveled the full force of his gaze at her. “I am saying that I believe I solved your mystery. Your worker wasn’t spirited away by nefarious-minded kidnappers. He merely slipped away in the night because he lacked any incentive to stay.” He paused, studying her face, watching her brow knit before he delivered his final blow. “In blunt terms, Miss Priess, the men and boys working for you are treated as slaves, not free workers. I saw a man beaten with a club, a boy whipped for what appeared to be the slightest of infractions.” He held up a hand to stall the protest emerging on those lips. “I’m not saying that doesn’t happen in other mills, but you’d led me to believe your working conditions were different.” Hayden spread his hands on his thighs. “If you’ve hired me under false pretenses of concern to do nothing more than drag an unwilling worker back to his post, I will not do it.”
Her face had paled and her hands clenched in her lap but her gaze was even as she said the words. “I have no idea what you are talking about. My father is known for his humane working conditions.”
“So you told me. Your father is an honest man, you said. That may be but your father wasn’t there today nor has he been for several months.” Hayden cocked an eyebrow. “It seems those standards have slipped somewhat in his absence.”
Her eyes narrowed at the indictment. “Are you suggesting I have condoned such a standard?” There was heat growing beneath the cool façade she’d expertly cultivated. He could feel her temper rising. He was getting to her, and that meant he was getting to a place where truth might discovered in unguarded moments; when temper overrode good sense, when someone might say too much.
“You are the one who oversees the mill by your own admission. What else am I supposed to assume?” He resented having to push the proverbial blade further in the wound. She did look thoroughly aghast at his accusation. The paleness of her face could not be feigned no matter how great the actress. He’d insulted not only her father but herself as well.
She took refuge in the only ground available. “I don’t believe you,” came the staunch reply. But that wasn’t quite true. He could see the glimmer of doubt in her eyes, the fear of betrayal in the way her gaze moved downward for the briefest of seconds. She couldn’t know it but that doubt was the saving of her, the validation that she had not lied to him to the best of her knowledge.
“Yes you do. You believe at least the possibility of it.” Hayden rose and held out a hand to her. “Come and see it with your own eyes.” In those moments, his anger found a new outlet. Heaven help the foreman if he’d been bastard enough to betray her trust. And, whispered his cynical conscience, heaven help Jenna Priess if she was playing a double game with him. It happened once before. Pretty face or not, he would be damned if it happened again. He would know shortly exactly what he was up against. Her reaction at the mill would confirm all.
Chapter Five (#u8fe957ca-ca02-55d3-aaff-ff55f49f6526)
It had finally happened. She had failed in her vigilance. Jenna’s stomach was one giant knot of emotions, none of them good, all of them rotating around a bleak sense of failure. She had not been enough and now the man she’d hired to help her sat across from her in a carriage, accusing her with hard as sapphire eyes. Whatever was going on at the mill, he believed she condoned it.
She shouldn’t care what he thought. Her mind iterated all the reasons. First, he was a stranger. Second, she’d hired him. It was not his place to have an opinion about her methods. Third, he would be gone with the spring if not sooner, taking his opinions with him. Fourthly, he did not know her at all. He had no inkling of what she’d endured. He had no idea that she spent her days working with the church charity, or assisting with the never-ending needy at the workhouse, or running her own home, caring for her brother, nursing her father. All of this on top of visiting the mill two mornings a week. She was stretched thin.
And still, her efforts had not been enough. Had not been enough to protect her father’s good name, to protect his business interests, and, if Hayden Islington were to be believed, to protect his workers. By the time they reached the mill on the river, most of her feelings had transmuted into some form of anger; anger at herself, anger at the foreman, anger even at Hayden Islington for doubting her own credibility. Oh, there was plenty to go around.
At the mill, Hayden jumped down, boots crunching in the snow and set the steps for her. He reached a hand out to help her down. To his credit, he’d kept his accusations limited to his eyes. Whatever he was thinking, he’d remained silent giving her time to digest his revelations on the drive over. His hand stayed at her elbow, guiding her through the snow and over the icy patches. “There’s a good view through the high windows over here.” He helped her navigate a drift and positioned her at the vantage point.
The sound of the river and the turning water wheel made it impossible to hear but what she saw ate up the last vestiges of hope that perhaps Hayden was mistaken. The coarseness Davenport tried to hide from her was in full evidence here. His facial expressions and posture made it obvious he was yelling to excess at a young boy working the lathe used to hollow out the wood; his face in the boy’s face, his full grown body towering over the boy’s thin adolescent frame. An older man stepped forward, a restraining hand firmly but not violently closing over Davenport’s forearm only to be met with a blow to the shoulder from the club in Davenport’s other hand.
Jenna flinched at the impact of the blow and turned her head away in reflex. This was apparently commonplace. Hayden had seen it earlier today and now she had seen it too. Twice in one day. How dare Davenport abuse his authority when he knew what she expected, what her father expected. Her father had explicitly outlined his guidelines of conduct when Davenport had been hired. She and her father had relied on Davenport’s sense of honor to see those expectations carried out whether they were present or not.
Anger boiled over the betrayal. Her mind was made up. Even if such a violation had only happened once, her father would have Davenport removed from his position. She could do no less. Buoyed by her anger and by firm conviction that she must see justice done, Jenna whirled from the window and ran straight in to Hayden’s chest.
“Where do you think you’re going in such a hurry?” His gloved hands dug into her forearms as he steadied them both from the impact of collision. The sheer physicality of him made her acutely aware of his proximity. It was a potent reminder of how tall he was, how strong, how in her way.
“I’m going in there and relieving Davenport of his duties.” She made the mistake of trying to push past him. But he was a veritable fortress of masculinity that would not be moved. The harder she struggled, the harder he held on.
“Don’t be a fool Jenna, firing Davenport proves nothing, helps nothing.” He held her tight but those were fighting words. She kicked him in the shins. Didn’t he understand how important her father’s reputation was? How Davenport’s behavior undermined everything the Priess name stood for? How hard she’d worked to uphold it and her efforts still hadn’t been enough? Suddenly getting inside and confronting Davenport was the most important thing in the world.
Apparently, he was not above manhandling her when persuasion failed. Jenna let out a yelp of disbelief as she felt herself lifted off the ground and slung over one broad shoulder, an iron band of a hand imprisoning her failing legs. There would be no more shin kicking, or kicking of any other convenient body part. He didn’t put her down until they reached the carriage and even then it was done with little grace. He stuffed her into the carriage and climbed in behind her, slamming the door shut.
“I will not be treated like a child!” Jenna fumed, scrambling up on the seat and trying to arrange her tangled skirts all at once. Her dignity was in sore need of repair at the moment.
“Then don’t act like one.” Hayden growled. “I thought you were far more intelligent than that.”
The carriage began to move on its runners and she knew a moment’s frustration as she looked out the window. “We can’t leave! Davenport must be dealt with.”
Hayden shook his head, a booted foot angled against the door, against any further rash attempts on her part. “Not today, he doesn’t, and not by you.” His tone was firm, serious, so unlike the rather glib, devil-may-care man she’d met at the inn yesterday. How ironic that yesterday she’d been worried about that glibness impairing his ability to do a thorough job and today, when she had proof that he could take on a case, she wanted the glibness back. It was far easier to deal with.
“He is mistreating my workers.” Jenna argued.
“I am not insensitive to that and you know it.” Hayden reminded her. “But what does letting him go resolve? Does it keep your mill running? You’ve already seen how the loss of just a few workers can affect a mill. Where will you get a decent foreman if you’re desperate?”
The practicalities began to sink in. “I could hire a foreman from one of the other mills.” Jenna argued but there were no teeth to it. They both knew that was a feeble prospect at best.
“If you’re closed down, your workers are out their wages. Winter is a hard time to find work, an even harder time to find food to feed families. Who’s to care for them while you stand on your principles?” Hayden pressed his point. “It’s not ideal, but work is work and wages are wages.”
“Perhaps Davenport can be corrected.” Jenna argued.
“How could you enforce it this time when you couldn’t enforce it last time?” His voice was softening. He was taking pity on her, the very last thing she wanted. She didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her. “Short of going to the mill every day and overseeing him overseeing everyone else, I don’t see how you do it.” He made it sound absurd. “Besides, I don’t think it helps your cause to confront him. If he is willing to break one rule, what other rules has he broken? Rule breakers know other rule breakers. If there is something more insidious going on than workers simply sneaking off at night, he could be your best lead at the moment.”
Jenna could fill in the rest of that equation. If she tipped her hand and let Davenport know she was on to him, he would pull back and they would lose access to whatever he might know. Or worse, he might attempt to silence her. But surely that was her imagination running away. Davenport wouldn’t seek to hurt her or her family. That was a bit extreme.
“Alright.” she conceded with a sigh. “We’ll play it your way for now. But,” she let the caveat hang between them for a long moment. “If things get worse at the mill, I will not hesitate to reprimand him. Injustice should not go unpunished even when the greater good is at stake.”
Hayden gave a wry grin. “You are entitled to your ideas, just remember principles don’t pay bills.”
“You, sir, are a cynical font of wisdom.” But she couldn’t fight back a smile as she said it. He really was quite irresistible when he was being charming. Perhaps it was best to realize that upfront. It would make dealing with him easier, more predictable.
“I wasn’t aware you were paying me to be idealistic.” He was flirting with her now. Such behavior was second nature to a man like him. Jenna supposed there was no harm in it as long as she understood what he was doing, and she did. This was his way of forgiving her. He believed she hadn’t known. It felt surprisingly good to know she was acquitted. Apparently, whatever Hayden Islington thought of her did matter.
“I wasn’t paying you to kiss me either and that didn’t seem to stop you.” Perhaps she could flirt a little too as her way of saying she forgave him his accusations, just as long as she knew her limits.
He grinned and her stomach flipped at the sight. His smile was so full of life, so full of mischief. Jenna turned her attention out the window before the banter could degenerate into something more provocative. Forewarned was forearmed but that didn’t stop her mind from conjuring images of long kisses, or hard chests or well-muscled legs. It was far safer to focus on his opinions and cynicism. They turned a corner and she furrowed her brow. “Where are we going?” Wherever it was, it wasn’t back to her house.
“The stables. I have to see to my horse and we need to talk.”
Jenna sat back, relaxing into the squabs with a nod. This was good. Stables were safe places — hardly the most flirtatious of venues with their horsey smells and straw everywhere, not to mention the ever present horse manure. He’d be busy doing something else besides looking at her. And the reference that they needed to talk implied he had a plan about how to proceed. Next steps were good. She could feel as if they were making progress. After what she’d seen today, there was more urgency than ever.
Her spirits were lifting as they pulled into the stable yard. Hayden helped her down and kept a hand at her back as they navigated the stable yard with its slush and mud. Inside, the stable was warm, the expected smell of straw and horses cozy and inviting. Or was it the continued presence of his touch that made it seem that way? His hand had not left her since they’d arrived and while her mind flashed warnings that this was leading to something other than business, her body enjoyed the attention.
They stopped before a stall halfway down the long aisle and a big bay came to the door, pushing his long face into Hayden’s chest. This was met with a chuckle and some momentary pocket fishing before Hayden produced a slice of apple from his greatcoat. “The big beast knows I always have a treat for him.” Hayden stroked the horse’s face. “This is Guerre, my horse. We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?” He gave a few exaggerated nods of his head and Guerre copied him, shaking his great face up and down until Hayden laughed and gave him another slice of apple. “You’re a good boy.”
Jenna couldn’t help but laugh too, to see this grown man playing with a horse. There was no doubt great affection between the two of them and it did something warm to her insides to see it. A man who loved an animal so much couldn’t be all bad. Then again, maybe that was what he wanted her to think. It was certainly working despite all the warnings she gave herself. She had to stick to the basics. He was here to do a job, and he had a well-known reputation for womanizing. He’d already made one play for her with that kiss last night and countless innuendos.
Jenna crossed her arms and leaned back against the stable wall. It was time to talk business and then leave. It was when they strayed from the business conversation that she got in trouble. She had to concentrate no matter what diversions he threw in her way. “Do you have a plan?”
“Absolutely.” Hayden was still focused on stroking Guerre.
She was going to have to drag it out of him. “Do you care to enlighten me?”
He flashed her a grin, his hand halting on Guerre’s nose. She had all of his attention now. His eyes traveled the length of her in a slow perusal that left her warm as he drawled the words, “I have a plan and it starts with seducing you.”
She raised an eyebrow in cool consideration. “And where does it end, may I ask?” He was going to have to do better than that if he thought to startle her.
He leaned against the stable door, making her conscious of just how little space there was between them, his eyes lingering ever so briefly on her mouth. His voice was low and private. She was going to have to re-think the whole premise that stables were safe places. “Wherever you want it to, princess. Haylofts, carriages, bedrooms. You decide.”
Her mouth went dry. He meant it. That was his plan. She gave voice to the one thought running through her mind. “Oh my lord, you’re serious.”
He gave a wicked grin. “I’m always serious about seduction.”
Chapter Six (#ulink_8114cefe-27b2-596a-b8a4-5ddc8308bf55)
“It’s the ideal solution for inserting me into your sphere of influence.” Hayden paced the short length of the stall door, make an effort not to smile. It was too much fun teasing her, just to get a reaction to his audacious statements. He never knew what he would get in return; a heated scold that made her eyes flash, or a cool, raised eyebrow and a taste of his own audacity thrown back in his face. If it starts with seduction,where does it end? It was a delicious comeback worthy of London’s finest courtesans.
“This way, if I’m viewed as your love interest I have a reason to follow you around and go to the mill. After today, it’s clear I cannot simply walk in and introduce myself as an investigator. I could if the foreman was our ally, but his behavior suggests otherwise. If I tell him I’m an investigator, I won’t get any information out of him.”
She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Do you really think he’ll be more forthcoming with someone who professes feelings for me? Wouldn’t that person feel protective? Wouldn’t they want to defend me against any perceived harms?”
“Not necessarily if that person was moving on. I won’t be here long. I doubt he’d view me, a nomadic ice racer, as much of a threat.” Hayden gave her considering look. “Unless he fancies you for himself?”
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Bronwyn Scott
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 28.04.2024
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О книге: ‘Scott delivers a story reminiscent of Virginia Henley’s works with its naughty, bawdy overtones… Sexy, smart and delightfully sinful.’ – RT Book Reviews on ‘A Lady Risks All’, Harlequin Historical RomanceAs an illustrious ice jockey, Hayden Islington is never short of female company—wealthy champions rarely are. So when Miss Jenna Priess—the most exquisite woman he’s ever laid eyes on—turns down his seductive invitation, in favour of his detective abilities, he’s stunned and more than a little intrigued…Jenna is in trouble—her father is ill and her mill is failing due to her workers mysteriously disappearing. To save her world from ruin, Jenna needs help and Hayden is the only man she can turn to. But can she resist the heat of this handsome ice master’s touch?