Читать книгу Reckless Rakes: Hayden Islington - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 8

“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 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.