Bronwyn Scott - Reckless Rakes - Hayden Islington

Hayden met her stare with one of his own, both of them having forgotten their tea. “It turns out you were not entirely forthcoming with me and I felt any conversation I might have with the foreman would not be as beneficial in light of that oversight.”

Her stare became a glare. The implication that she might be a liar had hit its target. “That’s a very convoluted sentence, Mr. Islington. What exactly are you dressing up with your fancy language?”

Hayden leveled the full force of his gaze at her. “I am saying that I believe I solved your mystery. Your worker wasn’t spirited away by nefarious-minded kidnappers. He merely slipped away in the night because he lacked any incentive to stay.” He paused, studying her face, watching her brow knit before he delivered his final blow. “In blunt terms, Miss Priess, the men and boys working for you are treated as slaves, not free workers. I saw a man beaten with a club, a boy whipped for what appeared to be the slightest of infractions.” He held up a hand to stall the protest emerging on those lips. “I’m not saying that doesn’t happen in other mills, but you’d led me to believe your working conditions were different.” Hayden spread his hands on his thighs. “If you’ve hired me under false pretenses of concern to do nothing more than drag an unwilling worker back to his post, I will not do it.”

Her face had paled and her hands clenched in her lap but her gaze was even as she said the words. “I have no idea what you are talking about. My father is known for his humane working conditions.”

“So you told me. Your father is an honest man, you said. That may be but your father wasn’t there today nor has he been for several months.” Hayden cocked an eyebrow. “It seems those standards have slipped somewhat in his absence.”

Her eyes narrowed at the indictment. “Are you suggesting I have condoned such a standard?” There was heat growing beneath the cool façade she’d expertly cultivated. He could feel her temper rising. He was getting to her, and that meant he was getting to a place where truth might discovered in unguarded moments; when temper overrode good sense, when someone might say too much.

“You are the one who oversees the mill by your own admission. What else am I supposed to assume?” He resented having to push the proverbial blade further in the wound. She did look thoroughly aghast at his accusation. The paleness of her face could not be feigned no matter how great the actress. He’d insulted not only her father but herself as well.

She took refuge in the only ground available. “I don’t believe you,” came the staunch reply. But that wasn’t quite true. He could see the glimmer of doubt in her eyes, the fear of betrayal in the way her gaze moved downward for the briefest of seconds. She couldn’t know it but that doubt was the saving of her, the validation that she had not lied to him to the best of her knowledge.

“Yes you do. You believe at least the possibility of it.” Hayden rose and held out a hand to her. “Come and see it with your own eyes.” In those moments, his anger found a new outlet. Heaven help the foreman if he’d been bastard enough to betray her trust. And, whispered his cynical conscience, heaven help Jenna Priess if she was playing a double game with him. It happened once before. Pretty face or not, he would be damned if it happened again. He would know shortly exactly what he was up against. Her reaction at the mill would confirm all.

It had finally happened. She had failed in her vigilance. Jenna’s stomach was one giant knot of emotions, none of them good, all of them rotating around a bleak sense of failure. She had not been enough and now the man she’d hired to help her sat across from her in a carriage, accusing her with hard as sapphire eyes. Whatever was going on at the mill, he believed she condoned it.

She shouldn’t care what he thought. Her mind iterated all the reasons. First, he was a stranger. Second, she’d hired him . It was not his place to have an opinion about her methods. Third, he would be gone with the spring if not sooner, taking his opinions with him. Fourthly, he did not know her at all. He had no inkling of what she’d endured. He had no idea that she spent her days working with the church charity, or assisting with the never-ending needy at the workhouse, or running her own home, caring for her brother, nursing her father. All of this on top of visiting the mill two mornings a week. She was stretched thin.

And still, her efforts had not been enough. Had not been enough to protect her father’s good name, to protect his business interests, and, if Hayden Islington were to be believed, to protect his workers. By the time they reached the mill on the river, most of her feelings had transmuted into some form of anger; anger at herself, anger at the foreman, anger even at Hayden Islington for doubting her own credibility. Oh, there was plenty to go around.

At the mill, Hayden jumped down, boots crunching in the snow and set the steps for her. He reached a hand out to help her down. To his credit, he’d kept his accusations limited to his eyes. Whatever he was thinking, he’d remained silent giving her time to digest his revelations on the drive over. His hand stayed at her elbow, guiding her through the snow and over the icy patches. “There’s a good view through the high windows over here.” He helped her navigate a drift and positioned her at the vantage point.

The sound of the river and the turning water wheel made it impossible to hear but what she saw ate up the last vestiges of hope that perhaps Hayden was mistaken. The coarseness Davenport tried to hide from her was in full evidence here. His facial expressions and posture made it obvious he was yelling to excess at a young boy working the lathe used to hollow out the wood; his face in the boy’s face, his full grown body towering over the boy’s thin adolescent frame. An older man stepped forward, a restraining hand firmly but not violently closing over Davenport’s forearm only to be met with a blow to the shoulder from the club in Davenport’s other hand.

Jenna flinched at the impact of the blow and turned her head away in reflex. This was apparently commonplace. Hayden had seen it earlier today and now she had seen it too. Twice in one day. How dare Davenport abuse his authority when he knew what she expected, what her father expected. Her father had explicitly outlined his guidelines of conduct when Davenport had been hired. She and her father had relied on Davenport’s sense of honor to see those expectations carried out whether they were present or not.

Anger boiled over the betrayal. Her mind was made up. Even if such a violation had only happened once, her father would have Davenport removed from his position. She could do no less. Buoyed by her anger and by firm conviction that she must see justice done, Jenna whirled from the window and ran straight in to Hayden’s chest.

“Where do you think you’re going in such a hurry?” His gloved hands dug into her forearms as he steadied them both from the impact of collision. The sheer physicality of him made her acutely aware of his proximity. It was a potent reminder of how tall he was, how strong, how in her way.

“I’m going in there and relieving Davenport of his duties.” She made the mistake of trying to push past him. But he was a veritable fortress of masculinity that would not be moved. The harder she struggled, the harder he held on.

“Don’t be a fool Jenna, firing Davenport proves nothing, helps nothing.” He held her tight but those were fighting words. She kicked him in the shins. Didn’t he understand how important her father’s reputation was? How Davenport’s behavior undermined everything the Priess name stood for? How hard she’d worked to uphold it and her efforts still hadn’t been enough? Suddenly getting inside and confronting Davenport was the most important thing in the world.