Once Connor was in some dry clothes, some broth warming his belly, he was almost the same, spirited boy he’d been before his rather unfortunate tumble into an icy pond. It never failed to amaze Cornell how resilient children were. Now, he cleared his throat, rather uncomfortable with her praise. “There’s no need for that, Mrs. Hill. I’m just glad I was able to help.”

Aine ushered Niall and Fiona back upstairs to see Connor, while Pleasant was left alone with him. She walked him to the door, where they paused, right underneath the mistletoe. He glanced up and his lips twitched. “How convenient, wouldn’t you say?”

She blushed slightly. “It’s just a silly tradition. You don’t have to—”

He cut her off by pressing his lips to hers.

Her response was instant. She melted into the embrace, and a rush of desire fled to his nether regions. He imagined laying her down on his bed, her gorgeous red hair spread out across his pillow, her naked body tempting him beyond all reason…

He pulled away with great resistance. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Cornell huddled in the warmth of his coat as he walked back to his shop. No doubt, the long walk in the cold would do him some good.

However, when he arrived, he was greeted with a surprise guest.

“Frank,” he acknowledged curtly. Reluctantly, he unlocked the door and let the man inside. Mr. Frank Ottfield was a warden of the Worshipful Company of Tylers and Brickmakers. He was a large brute of a man and carried a lot of influence due to his massive size.

“Reed,” was the clipped response, as the man entered and stomped the snow from his boots. “I ’ope ye have somethin’ to drink on this bugger o’ a night.”

Cornell snorted, but after he’d removed his outerwear, he gestured for the man to follow him upstairs to his suite of rooms. The area was open and plainly furnished, with a fireplace in one corner of the modest sitting area. A single door led off of the main room to the left, into his private quarters, while a simple kitchen area was off to the right. He went to grab an extra glass and then returned to the table where a half bottle of brandy sat.

He often enjoyed a dram of brandy before bed, but now he poured a second draught and handed it to Mr. Ottfield who had taken a chair by the fire. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Frank didn’t respond right away, but drank slowly from the tumbler. “I was tasked wit’ gettin’ yer vote.”

Cornell sat down and propped his booted foot over his knee. “With over a hundred livery companies in this city, you’re worried about mine?”

“Many men in this city look up t’ ye after yer service in th’ wars. They respect ye an’ that makes ye valuable.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I told you before that I don’t care for politics.”

“Even when it puts yer trade in jeopardy?” Frank countered. “London is movin’ past our boundaries. Trade is growin’ past our reach, so if we want t’ continue t’ be taken seriously, it’s time we did somethin’ about it. There needs t’ be a reform t’ protect th’ workin’ class people.”

He tapped his finger on the glass. “What exactly is it that you’re proposing we do? Start a revolt? Sign a petition?”

“If it comes down t’ it.”

In that instant, Cornell knew that this situation could get rather serious if left unattended. While he understood Frank’s point of view, neither could he ignore his conscience when it came to betraying his half-brother’s involvement in the guilds.

He tossed back the rest of his drink, relishing the burn. He’d faced many adversaries in his years on board a ship, but this might be his most difficult. But then, even he knew that when a man was fighting for a cause he believed in, the stakes were much higher. He rose to his feet. “I’m afraid that I’ll have to regrettably decline.”

Frank also stood, his mouth turned down at the corners in disappointment. “Ye’re makin’ a mistake.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Cornell mumbled; as he headed back downstairs, putting an end to the meeting.

As Frank was getting ready to head out the door, he turned back to Cornell with a grim expression. “Ye might be makin’ several enemies by choosin’ t’ decline our offer.”

His eyes instantly narrowed. “I don’t appreciate threats, Mr. Ottfield,” he said softly.

Frank shoved his hat on his head. “Then consider it a friendly warning to change your mind.”

Cornell uttered a curse as the man left. This entire uprising was going to get out of hand unless he contacted someone who had enough power to nip this revolution in the bud.

It looked as though he was going to pay a call on Lord Haverton after all.

Chapter 6

After a relatively mild day, Pleasant awoke to a light snowfall the next morning. By the time she made it to work, her bonnet and cloak were covered in white. But as she walked into the warm shop, she was instantly enveloped in a sensation that wasn’t far from the feeling when she greeted her family.

After yesterday, Cornell Reed was quickly becoming much more to her than just an employer. The kisses he’d given her had turned her knees to jelly, and she found that her dreams were filled with thoughts of him. She had taken this position as an apprentice to try and give her siblings and her stepmother a deserving holiday, and yet, she was the one who was finding something altogether different in the process.

However, when she walked in the shop, Mr. Reed was pacing the floor, almost impatiently. He glanced up when she entered. “Good. I’m glad you’re here. I have something to ask you,” he announced brusquely.

She slowly removed her outerwear and waited for him to continue.

He hesitated, shoved a hand through his hair, and then blurted, “I have accepted an invitation from Lord Haverton for a private dinner this Saturday.”

Pleasant smiled. “Oh, but that’s wonderful! I’m sure you’ll have a fabulous time, but I don’t see what that has to do with—”

His eyes nearly bored into her. “I’d like you to come with me.”

Pleasant’s mouth fell open, but she quickly snapped it shut. She glanced down at her serviceable, woolen dress and her cheeks instantly warmed. “I’m not sure that I have anything appropriate to wear,” she demurred.

He waved a hand. “I’ll take care of it. Just say you’ll come.”

“I—” She swallowed, ready to refuse again when she saw the abrupt swirl of emotion in his green eyes. It was a combination of determination and…something else, something almost…yearning. Unfortunately, when her siblings gave her the same look she was helpless to deny them anything. She clasped her hands together. “Of course, Mr. Reed. I’d be honored.”

Relief flooded his face and he walked toward her. “I’m indebted to you, Miss Hill.” He lifted his hand and she steadied herself for another kiss, but suddenly, the little bell above the shop tinkled. His arm fell as a customer walked in.

Pleasant used the interruption to duck into the back of the shop.

For the rest of the morning, she threw herself into her work, desperate to push Mr. Reed out of her thoughts.

It wasn’t until lunchtime that he approached her again. “Do you know where Madame Caron’s shop is?”

Pleasant set down her tools and wiped her hands on her apron. “Yes. Mother does quite a bit of seamstress work for her.”

He handed her a slip of paper. “Good. These are my instructions for your gown. Tell her if she has any questions to contact me directly.”

She visibly swallowed. “About that, Mr. Reed.” She paused. “It seems I spoke rather hastily earlier. I’m sure Mama can alter one of my current dresses so that it’s acceptable—”

His mouth kicked up in a grin. “I’ll see you shortly, Miss Hill.”

With that, he promptly turned on his heel.

Twenty minutes later, after a short walk, Pleasant entered the modiste’s shop. A middle-aged woman who was slightly plump with deep red hair and wearing a fashionable empire gown of burgundy velvet turned. She looked Pleasant up and down and scrunched her nose slightly; as if she was disappointed Pleasant wasn’t some well-to-do lady upon whom she might wait.