Reckless Rakes: Hayden Islington. Bronwyn Scott
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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