Allerton weighed the options as he walked back in to the mill: Two more workers in exchange for a bonus. Plus, he had a game of his own on the inside that was designed to bring Jenna to her knees all that more quickly. A mill couldn’t run without cash and he was doing his best to obstruct the cash flow. Soon, he’d have enough saved up. He could buy the mill from her with her own money. The risk of abducting two more workers would be worth it to see the look on Jenna Priess’s face when he offered to purchase the mill. He whistled a little tune. He just had to be patient a little longer. Good things came to those who waited.
This was bad. Jenna stared at the sums in the ledger. The numbers didn’t add up. Oh technically, they did. Two plus two always equaled four, but the reasons for the numbers didn’t. There should be more money coming in. She shifted her eyes to the column farthest left on the page where the topic of each entry was listed; incoming payment for a bobbin shipment to a textile mill in Lancaster; outgoing payment for timber delivery and so on. She tapped her finger on the desk. Something wasn’t right, but what was it?
“Miss, I am sorry to interrupt.”
She looked up at the butler’s quiet tone. “Yes, Andrews?”
“The doctor would like to speak with you.”
Jenna rose, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he had to say. Her father failed to progress. “Send him in.”
Doctor Whitely was a kindly man who did his best to serve rich and poor alike in Kendal. He was firmly entrenched in his middle years, greying beard and all. He’d served her family for eighteen years. In that time, she’d come to know him for his friendly eyes. Today, his eyes were friendly but they were sad too and the knot tightened.
“Jenna, how are you my dear?” He smiled at her as he entered the room and took the seat she offered by the fireplace. She would do him the honor of meeting with him as a friend and not face him from across the surface of her desk. This was not merely business.
“I am fine. How are you? Is the winter keeping you busy?” She took a seat in the matching chair opposite. “Coughs and catarrhs abounding?”
“As always, my dear. In the spring it will be babies coming. It’s always something.” He smiled but the smile faded. “Your father does not seem to rally. It has been four months now. It is a long time for a recovery even from serious pneumonia.” He shook his head. “His lungs are full of fluid, I can hear it when he coughs. You can hear it too no doubt. And his heart is not strong.”
“What can we do? Should I arrange to have him go to Bath or perhaps to the spa in Buxton which maybe closer? Buxton means crossing the Pennines but when the roads thaw… ” Her mind was already making plans.
Doctor Whitely reached a hand out to cover hers where it lay on her lap. “No, I don’t think a trip to a spa is the answer.”
“Perhaps the sea coast then. Brighton. It would be a lot of traveling, but the fresh air might help.”
“No, Jenna, listen. I don’t know that it will. I don’t know that anything will.”
Her mind quieted, her body stilled. “What are you saying?” Everything seemed to exist in sharp relief in those moments; the carpet threads brighter, the clock in the hall. She didn’t want him to say it. If he didn’t it wouldn’t be true.
“I’m saying this might be the end.” The doctor said simply. “There is nothing more I know to do. I’ve given him medicines, given him herbs when medicines failed, given him syrups. I’ve recommended steam treatments to clear his lungs. This is beyond medicine. I think it is a matter of will now. He may get better yet.” His tone was not encouraging, implying that perhaps the point of hoping had been reached and passed.
“I will hold on to your use of the word ‘might’, then.” Jenna said calmly, offering a half smile. She rose, her movement encouraging the doctor to do the same. Now that she had the news, she wanted time to process it on her own.
The doctor nodded. The debate to say something showed on his face but all he said was, “I ask that you are honest with yourself. You will be less disappointed in the end.”
Jenna waited until he was gone to call for her cloak and gloves. She rejected Andrews’s offer to have the carriage readied. Her frustration, her anger, was building. She wanted to walk it off no matter how miserable the streets. The doctor’s advice seemed laughable at the moment. How much more disappointed did he think she’d get? She’d been disappointed for some time now.
She needed to walk and think. She wanted time on her own before Daniel came home with his tutor from a field excursion to the canal. At least the weather was willing to cooperate with her today. The sky was a rare winter blue overhead and there was sun. She had no illusion that the sun would last more than an hour or two. She had no illusions either about what the doctor meant as she tramped up the main street, past small businesses; cabinetmakers, the apothecary, a tobacco and snuff shop.
If she was honest, she would have wished for none of this to happen, she would not have wished to be saddled with the running of a mill. If her father died, she would be. The mill would be their sole source of income. He couldn’t die and yet she knew he would. He would choose to. If it was up to will, Doctor Whitely was right. Hope had gone. Her father’s will to do anything but to join her mother had slowly been sapped in the intervening years since her death.
This was the point at which Jenna’s sadness always gave way to anger, the point at which the phrase “how dare he,’ became a never voiced litany in her mind. How dare he leave her with Daniel to raise? Daniel needed a parent, a real parent. How dare he leave her to run the business — a business she’d not chosen. No one had ever asked her if she wanted to a run a mill, or what her life’s calling might be. She didn’t know. She’d never had a chance to find out. The mill had always been there, dictating the skills she learned and applied.
She crossed Lowther Street and headed past the King’s Arms. She shouldn’t complain. The need to run the mill had left her far better educated than other women of any rank or background. She knew math for the ledgers, she knew physics and mechanics of scientific engineering in order to understand the operation of equipment and water wheels and all the new mechanizations. She knew other things too not necessarily taught in books. She knew how to negotiate a business contract, how to tell if a man’s handshake was enough or if she needed to call in a solicitor.
But there were things too she hadn’t learned — how to have fun, how to be courted by a sincere man, how to fall in love. Her one untutored foray in that venue had been disastrous as a result and now it seemed there wouldn’t be time to learn those lessons. Her life would be lived without them for the sake of the business, for the sake of raising Daniel, for the sake of preserving the family wealth so Daniel never knew want.
There were no options. Unlike peers of the realm who may have generations of wealth behind them, industrialists only had money from making money. Stop making money, and the money stopped coming in. There was no question of selling the mill. There would be no further income, just whatever was brought from the sale of the mill. She’d have to invest or buy something else and that would put her right back where she’d been just with a different property. As for investing, who would invite a woman to join the elite circles? Any investing would have to be done under the cover of an alias or a third party.
No, there were no options. She was facing her fate. She had been since October. Jenna stopped and stared about her. She’d come to the edge of the town, if there was an edge. The mills became less dominant, but were not eliminated while they gave way to the weavers’ tenterhooks where cloth was spread to stretch and dry. She should go back. But the lake that lay beyond drew her.
She told herself she had not come to the lake to see him. She’d come to the lake because she wanted to remember those magical moments on the ice, the one evening where she had been the center of her own attention. She’d worn a pretty dress, danced with a handsome man who’d whispered secrets at her ear. She’d chosen not to dissect those secret
s for alternative meanings or motives, just to treasure them for what she wanted them to be, and in light of today’s news, what she needed them to be; something to store up against the coming years.
She might not have come to the ice to see him, but she couldn’t stop him from being there. Nor could she ignore that she wasn’t the only one who’d thought to come out. The shore was lined with groups of girls who’d come to gawk. She should go and she might have if his voice hadn’t chosen that moment to carry across the lake, drawing her eyes to where he was mounted on Guerre surrounded by three other riders. He rose in his stirrups, demonstrating a technique. The breeze on the ice pushed his hair back from his face, throwing the sharpness of his cheekbones into relief.
Just the sight of him could make her body hum with desire in ways that had not been possible when she’d first met him. Then, he was merely a handsome face. It was far easier to resist him under that circumstance. Not so any longer. Her body knew him now; knew the feel of his touch, the press of his lips, the hardness of his thighs, the strength of his arms when they came about her.
She stood there watching him so alive, so vibrant, with not a care in the world so unlike her. The curious thought came to her again: what would it be like with him? Her body started to fire, started to remember his touch, his attention. This time there was nothing to stop her. Her usually logical mind became an accomplice, forming dangerous thoughts: What if she let him? No, she wouldn’t let him. This was her call. She would take what she wanted and in this moment, she wanted him; Hayden Islington.
Some might say she was being reckless, her madness the product of reeling with the news of her father. But she knew better. Hayden was a good choice. He would leave. He had no desire to marry, no desire to capture her fortune. He had money and women of his own. He would give her what she sought without exacting a price and what she sought was pleasure. She knew with shocking clarity that it was now or never. Life was too short. Jenna turned from the lake and headed towards the inn. Her mind was made up. She would steal a little pleasure to store up against a bleak future where it was always a winter of the soul.
Chapter Eleven
Jenna was waiting for him at the inn, a circumstance that didn’t surprise him as much as it pleased him. He’d caught a glimpse of her at the lake. Hayden stepped inside the private parlor, shaking frost from his great coat, a flicker of what he liked to call ‘interest’ flaring to life in his core at the sight of her. “I meant to come see you later this afternoon.” Hayden began. He’d wanted to lay out his hypotheses regarding her workers before he and Logan left for Derwentwater the next day.
Jenna turned from the fire at the sound of his voice, her eyes too bright as she shook her head. Something was off. She crossed the room with a determined stride, pressing a finger to his mouth before he could share his news. “Not now.” she whispered, stretching up on her toes to claim his mouth in a hard kiss. “I don’t want to talk, I just want you.” As if to prove it, her hands nimbly worked his cravat, yanking it free. Dear lord, she meant to undress him. In a public room. Well, that would be a first even for him.
A swallow went down the column of her throat. The air between them sparked electric, he was utterly conscious of the press of her body against his, of the rise of her breasts as she breathed, of his body’s own response. “I want you to take me to bed.”
“What? Here? Now?” His mind screeched to a stammering halt but in all fairness, he hadn’t expected those words to come out of her mouth any more than she likely expected to hear the words ‘what’ ‘here’ ‘now?’ come out of his. What did one say to such an invitation? He’d received such invitations before but not from a woman who had so recently declared ‘not in a million years.’ He was tempted to make a witty response about that. It would be the easy answer and the wrong one. With a woman like Jenna Priess, sex could not be handled lightly.
Jenna managed a tremulous smile, her hands resting on the buttons of his waistcoat. “I see I have rendered you speechless. My apologies, it was not my intention.”
His hesitation had embarrassed her. “Not, I assure you, for the reason you think.” He dipped his head to catch her eyes and bring her gaze up. He wanted her to look at him as he said the words. “Your request honors me. What has rendered me speechless is why.” Why now when your resistance has been clear from the start?
She played the coquette, drawing a finger down his chest, eyes slanting in flirtation. “You’ve made so many promises regarding your prowess in, um, certain areas, perhaps curiosity has gotten the better of me, as you no doubt intended.”
Hayden covered her hand and pressed it against his chest where it lay. Something had changed. She was lying. “What has happened to change your mind?” he asked quietly. Why do you care what the reason is? His conscience was in a state of disbelief. Why was he resisting? He had what he wanted, a beautiful woman seeking his bed. Not only that, the woman in question stimulated him on more than a physical plane.
Her eyes narrowed. Did she know she did that when she was trying to maneuver situations? “I have decided to take you up on your offer to burn. Beyond that, does it matter?” Now, this was interesting. She’d gone from professing great desire, I want you, to something more practical. What did she want from him that required sex?
“Yes, it matters a great deal if the woman asking does so with eyes as hard as emeralds.” Hayden said sharply. What the hell was going on? He decided to test the waters of her conviction. How deep did this supposed need of hers run? If he pushed, would she give up her secret? Could he bluff her into seeing reason? That was his plan at the moment. Jenna Priess was not a reckless woman by nature. She would come to her senses.
He let his eyes linger on her mouth, his hands dropping to her waist. “I do not negotiate for sex, princess. I do not trade sex for secrets or anything. Whatever it is you think to get from me, sex is not going to do it.” There would be no bartering for pleasure in cool tones as if it were a business transaction. There were words for that sort of sex. He didn’t like them nor did he like them being applied to him.
That made her mad but it did not make her retreat. Instead, it did the opposite. Jenna advanced. “You promised me pleasure, you said you could make me burn. I would like to know, unless you are nothing more than a braggart?”
The gauntlet had been thrown. He was more than a braggart when it came to the art of pleasure and maybe proof of that was what she required in order to back off of this madness. He captured her mouth in a hard, short kiss, his lips moving to her neck, nipping between words, his mouth taking her earlobe between his teeth. A little gasp escaped her. His hands slid up to cup her breasts, his thumbs rubbing over their peaks, feeling her tangibly rouse to him. Lord, she felt good against him, his own arousal fueled by the competition, the challenge of this moment. “Princess, have no doubt, I can make you burn. When I make love, it’s hot and spontaneous, the effort of the moment, not of plans and stratagems. If you want me, you can have me but that is all. I promise pleasure, nothing else.”
They were beyond his bluff now. This was not a game. She bit his neck, in challenge, in retaliation, in desire, a potent trio if ever there was one. She was mad, and aroused and it spurred him on to a rough recklessness of his own. Whatever negotiations had been intended, whatever she’d meant to trade this for, they were past it.
One glance about the room determined his destination. He lifted her, her legs wrapping about him in a tangle of skirts, and took two steps to the table. His arm swept the tea things to the floor in a barely noticed clatter. Her hands were at his face, cupping his jaw, her mouth claiming his in fevered kisses, her breath coming hard in pants and gasps.
His arousal was full-fledged now. His hands stroked up her legs, pushing back her skirts in their quest, finding her wet and ready at her core. His own breathing hitched, his desire pulsing rapid and hot through his veins as his thumbs stroked her. One look at her in the early throes of her passion nearly drove him mad. Her head was back, neck arched,
eyes shut, her hair coming down, her hands splayed on the table surface for anchorage. In that moment, Hayden knew what he wanted. He wanted to devour her, wanted to see the last vestiges of her control slip, wanted to see desire consume her.
“Open for me.” His own voice was hoarse. His hands pressed against her thighs, and he slid between them, taking her with his mouth before she could think, before she could find the wherewithal to protest. He drew his tongue along her furrow.
“Ohhhhh!” her body jumped in response but did not clench, her power of speech reduced to a gasping litanies of long drawn ohhhs, and sighing ahhhs. He moved upward, exposing her pleasure-bean, laving it with his tongue, tasting the salty feminine nectar of her until the litany became an incoherent sob. Her control was gone entirely now, her hips thrusting up to meet his mouth, to meet the pleasure at its source and it was his pleasure to give it, to watch it claim her, to feel it echo in the thrum of his own body although his cock throbbed from the effort of it. She shattered against his mouth, breathing fast.
Jenna fell back on the table and his cock knew its limits at the sight of her, skirts up, hair down, breasts rising with every breath beneath the fabric of her gown. She held his gaze with eyes turned dark with desire and his pulse ratcheted at what he saw there, her climax having created a fulfillment and a craving all at once. “Push down those trousers. You will not leave this pleasure incomplete.” His mouth went dry at the words. She wanted more. Now. God help him, he would supply it and gladly so. In the heat of the moment, it didn’t matter what had brought her here any longer, only that she was here.
Hayden freed himself and she sat up, reaching out a hand for him, drawing him to her, to the place between her legs that had renewed its throbbing mating call. Desire was riding her hard, spurred on instead of quenched by the extraordinary climax. This was madness at its most reckless, and she was using him shamelessly for it. She slid forward, letting him take her on the edge of the table, her legs coming up to wrap about him.
Reckless Rakes - Hayden Islington Page 10
