Reckless Rakes: Hayden Islington

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

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.