Starlight (25 page)

The blaze was massive. Heat blasted out from the building in a steady wave that created its own windstorm. The factory would burn. Hundreds of livelihoods would be lost. And the cycle of blame and violence would intensify.

With the mill locked up for the night, there would
be no ready witnesses. Accident or sabotage—a mystery. She had no doubt which option the constables and masters would assume. Even now, glancing at Alex, she found his face as grim as she’d ever seen.

The constables arrived.

“Alibi, Miss Gowan,” said Andrews.

A blush rivaled the heat surging from the building as the east wall toppled. “I was with Mr. Christie.”

“Is that true, sir?”

“Yes.” And yet Alex’s expression was not easy.

Polly feared for the future of Calton as she never had. If the masters did not rip the union to shreds, it would be torn apart by suspicion and radical opinions. And no matter her alibi, she would bear the burden of the investigation, as well as the responsibility for making sure no one went hungry. And now, Alex showed her no special regard, no hint of the quiet, amazing moments they had shared at the park.

He stood beside her, but Polly felt entirely alone.

With a booming crash, another wall sank into a swirl of flames. Firemen scampered back from the singed bulge of brick and wood. Polly caught the end of her mother’s shawl and pressed it against her nose to keep out the choking flush of smoke.

The police hustled her and Alex off the pavement, away from the blaze. They watched in silence.

George Winchester arrived. The lean, ungainly man’s expression darkened as he edged toward his ruined mill and surveyed the wreck of his enterprises. Firemen held him back as the constables converged and conducted what appeared to be animated
discussions, with Winchester losing his temper and Andrews signaling for calm.

“Go home, Polly,” Alex grated out. “Tell Griggs to take you. I don’t want you here.”

“I can stay and help.”

“No.” His eyes were icy and as distant as those of a stranger. “If I’m going to watch these flames crawl across the street and burn down my mill, I’d like to do it alone. Go.”

Before Polly could escape his coldness and make it to the carriage, a grim-faced constable whirled her around. “You’ll be coming to the station with me, Miss Gowan.”

“I told you, I haven’t done anything. Mr. Christie is my alibi!” She couldn’t help the note of panic in her voice. Her emotions were far too raw.

“I’m afraid that doesn’t matter tonight. Now, where are your friends? The rabble-rousers your father looks after.”

“At home, sleeping off twelve-hour shifts.”

“And six-hour drinking binges. Good. They’ll not be hard to find.”

Hair whipped across her face. She shoved it back. “But why would we do this? These are our jobs at stake.”

“Because you lot are none too bright, miss.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Simply hearing Alex’s words, invested with so much authority, eased the horrible strain in her chest. But she couldn’t depend on even that scant relief, as Alex growled, “In fact, she’s rather too bright for her own good.”

“Alex—”

“Constable, Miss Gowan will be taken to my home, where I will question her personally.” He glared at the man with the prominent white mustache. “I’m sure you have no objections.”

The constable nodded, a stark reminder that the law bowed to the industry masters. “No objections, sir. If you discover anything at all, please do your duty and report your findings. Whoever did this
will
be punished.”

Polly heard the words, the threats, but she looked only to Alex. Smooth brows. Placid lips. And detached hazel eyes that reflected an eerie orange. Star charts and the dials on his telescope were more accessible.

Fear blossomed in her stomach. From the first, she’d been able to suss little glimmers of where his mind dwelled. Now, when it was most important, she found the details of his handsome face but no emotion. She desperately wanted to see softness where he had none to offer.

The constable walked back toward where Mr. Winchester still ranted. Polly watched him go, if only to avoid looking at her cold rescuer once again.

“Return to my house and wait there. Do you understand?”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you won’t need to worry about the constables. I’ll hunt you down myself.”

A
lex
paid the cabbie and entered through the front door, mindful of possibly waking Edmund. There, he finally allowed his mask to slip. No longer the mill master, he was simply a man—an exhausted man whose future was only as certain as his next breath.

Stopping in the foyer, he yanked off his ascot and prepared for what was sure to be an impossible discussion with Polly.

Agnes Doward met him there first.

“Mr. Christie, sir, come with me. Please.”

He was about to protest. He reeked of smoke and needed food. But her pinched expression spoke to him on an elemental level.

Edmund.

He followed her down the hall. The panic that clawed up his chest burned like the flames that had consumed Winchester Fabrics. Christie Textiles had been spared. And yet he’d come
that
close to losing everything. Again.

As they rounded the corner into Edmund’s nursery, his panic intensified and lodged much closer to his heart, where thoughts of his son nestled. He shoved his fingers through his hair, then drilled both fists into his trouser pockets. It was all he could do to rein in his temper and keep from bellowing questions.

Just inside the nursery, he slammed to a halt. Even gripping the door frame wasn’t enough to abate his visceral shock.

Polly sat in the rocking chair, with Edmund in her arms.

“What are you doing?”

She looked from him to Edmund, eyes wide. Maybe he deserved her startled expression because his question had been a full-fledged shout.

But Polly Gowan was rarely powerless for long. Her back pulled straight and tight. “Agnes needed a break. She’s been up with him all night.”

“That’s her job.”

“Would you like to feel his forehead? Then maybe you’ll realize what a trial she’s endured.”

The certainty in her voice said he wouldn’t like what he found. Sure enough, Edmund’s skin burned with fever. The world dropped out from below his feet.

“Jesus. He’s ill?”

“Tell him, Agnes.”

“Since just after you left, sir. He was fussy and wouldn’t take a bottle.”

Alex knelt before the rocking chair. He touched his son’s brow. The staggering pounding in his chest
would not be quiet. “I should’ve been here. Why didn’t you send word, woman?”

The color drained from Mrs. Doward’s face.

But it only flushed brighter along Polly’s broad cheekbones. “How would she have managed that, you dunce? Quit acting a bully, blaming her. He was safe and cared for as well as could be. She deserves your thanks, not your temper. Do you want to run her off after such a short time in your employ? I’d like to see you manage without her. Agnes, dear, what have you done for the boy?”

After a pause, the woman straightened her spine. “The same as I would for any fevered wee child. Cool cloths to his forehead. Bathing him with tepid water. I made broth. Sometimes lighter liquids are easier on their upset tummies than milk. He’s kept it down with no trouble.” She met Alex’s eyes with much firmer resolve. “You hired me because of my experience, raising four babes of my own. His fever
will
break, Mr. Christie. Even ones as small as this are heartier than you’d think.”

Alex dropped his head to the rocking chair’s hard arm. She had been a godsend for Edmund. For Alex, too. He’d been freed to pursue all manner of terrible decisions.

He stood stiffly and offered a slight bow. “Forgive me. Of all the people who deserve my scorn, you are certainly not one. I ask that you accept my appreciation, instead.”

Mrs. Doward only nodded as if the praise was a given.

Polly began rocking again. “When I arrived here and saw how frazzled she was, I offered to take her place for a spell.”

The angle of her neck as she looked down at his son . . . Icicles of fear took a different turn. He wanted her. He wanted her beyond sense and good judgment. And he wanted to see that exact sight over and over—not just holding Edmund, but any number of babes they brought into the world.

“Now it’s off to bed with him.” Mrs. Doward took the sleeping boy from Polly and gently settled him into his crib. “Mr. Christie, I’ll wake you if he worsens. Trust that if he’s sleeping, he’s on the mend.”

“Again, I thank you.”

Feeling stiff and dazed, he left the nursery. A drink. He needed a drink.

A half hour later, he sat in his observatory with the lamps cold. The northern lights would be dimming soon, making the Orionids easier to see. But he couldn’t think past how fiercely his body twisted and tightened. He was a snake ready to lash out at the least little movement.

Of course, that movement would be Polly. The sound of her footsteps in the corridor should have been more tentative. They were not. As sure and exuberant as ever.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, he downed the last of his tumbler of whiskey.

Across the previous few weeks, the man he’d known had been replaced with a greedy creature. Curiosity compelled him to discover exactly how
hard she would push his crumbling boundaries—and just how hard he would push back. What, exactly, would it take to make a woman like Polly Gowan run?

He needed her to run. To leave him alone before he did them both an injustice.

“Alex?”

“Go away.”

“Edmund’s asleep now. I told Agnes to try to rest for a while.”

“Good. Now do as I say.”

But she kept coming. First it was her silhouette in the doorway, outlined by charcoal shadows.

“This is the last warning I’m giving you,” he growled. “Get out.”

“What about the fire? You were the one who told me to come here.”

“Circumstances have changed. Go sleep on the parlor settee. I’ll talk as rationally as I can in a few hours.”

She stepped closer. Alex tightened his hand around the crystal tumbler, but the jagged facets didn’t bite deeply enough into his palm. “Things
have
changed. You’re worried about your son.”

“Don’t do this.”

“What? Offer my sympathies? Or my assurances? Outside yourself, you have the most attentive person in the world caring for him right now. He’s a lot stronger than you credit him.”

She crossed the floor and stood behind him. The beat of her body pulsed against the back of his neck. He wanted them both stripped bare, to feel her heat,
skin to skin. Clamping his back teeth together, he prayed for strength—strength to behave as a man ought.

“If we’d been able to return here, with no fire to interrupt—”

He flinched. “Again, circumstances have changed.”

Gentle fingers brushed the hair back from his ears. She placed her hands on his shoulders and stroked, slowly, deeply, working out the tension. It was all he could do to keep from moaning. “But if they hadn’t, what would you want from me? Right now?”

“I’m not playing this game, Polly.”

She kept up her steady massage. Clever fingers dug into his aching tendons and impossibly tight muscles. The rhythm of her caresses didn’t increase, but the intensity did—until she was slightly out of breath, and the huff of each exhale gusted against his nape. Alex was stretched between anger and the most exquisite erection he’d ever known. All he could do was hold still. Perfectly still. Lest he haul her to the ground and pound away his frustrations.

She leaned in closer and brushed a kiss on his ear. “Tell me. What do you want?”

“You,” he ground out. “Between my legs.”

Her hands stopped. Alex’s heart stopped. Every caution he’d ever known burst to nothingness.

He’d wanted her to go, and that must have been the perfect thing to say, because she stepped away.

Only, she didn’t leave.

She simply walked with measured grace to stand before him. Her knees nudged his apart. He wanted light, to better see her expression, but that would
mean breaking the spell. Instead he reminded himself to continue taking in oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide. He was capable of nothing but that control—a gift to them both.

Polly pried the tumbler from his clenched hand and set it on the desk. She sank to her knees. Any blood remaining in his brain fled south. That rush was like downing shots of whiskey until the stars spun, fell, crashed.

A glance of moonlight from the window caught her profile and illuminated her soft half smile. “I like that you told me.”

“Polly.”