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 swall
ow 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.
Reckless Rakes - Hayden Islington Page 4
