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
“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 t
o 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.
Reckless Rakes - Hayden Islington Page 3
