Bronwyn Scott - Reckless Rakes - Hayden Islington

“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.

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 swallow 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.