Again the Magic (Wallflowers 0.5)(20)

Shaw smiled slightly. “They call him ‘King’ McKenna in Manhattan. It’s entirely because of his efforts that the Shaw foundries have begun to produce locomotive engines instead of agricultural machinery.”

“That is seen by some as an unnecessary risk,” Marcus commented. “You are already doing quite well with the production of agricultural machines…the mowers and grain drills, in particular. Why venture into locomotive manufacturing? The principal railway companies already build their own engines—and from all appearances, they supply their own needs quite efficiently.”

“Not for long,” Shaw said easily. “We’re convinced that their production demands will soon exceed their capability—and they’ll be forced to rely on outside builders to make up the difference. Besides, America is different from England. There, most of the railways rely on privately owned locomotive works—such as mine—to provide their engines and parts. Competition is fierce, and it makes for a better, more aggressively priced product.”

“I would be interested to learn why you believe that the railway-owned foundries in England won’t be able to maintain an acceptable pace of production.”

“McKenna will provide all the figures you require.” Shaw assured him.

“I look forward to meeting him.”

“I believe you already have, my lord.” Shaw’s gaze did not stray from Marcus’s as he continued with studied casualness. “It seems that McKenna was once employed here at Stony Cross Park. You may not remember him, as he was a stable boy at the time.”

Marcus showed no reaction to the statement, but inwardly he thought, Oh, bloody hell! This McKenna was indeed the same one whom Aline had loved so long ago. Marcus felt an immediate urgency to reach Aline. He had to prepare her somehow for the news that McKenna had returned. “Footboy,” he corrected softly. “As I recall, McKenna was made a house servant just before he left.”

Shaw’s blue eyes were deceptively guileless. “I hope it will cause you no discomfort to receive a former servant as a guest.”

“On the contrary, I admire McKenna’s achievements. And I will not hesitate to tell him so.” That was half the truth. The problem was, McKenna’s presence at Stony Cross would certainly cause Aline discomfort. If so, Marcus would have to find a way to deal with the situation. His sisters meant more to him than anything else on earth, and he would never allow either of them to be hurt.

Shaw smiled at Marcus’s reply. “I see that my judgment of you was correct, Lord Westcliff. You are as fair and open-minded as I suspected.”

“Thank you.” Marcus devoted himself to stirring a spoonful of sugar in his own coffee, wondering grimly where Aline was.

Aline found herself walking quickly, almost running, to her favorite place by the river, where a wildflower meadow sloped down to tall grasses alive with meadow-brown and marbled-white butterflies. She had never brought anyone here, not even Livia. It was the place she had shared only with McKenna. And after he had gone, it was where she had cried alone.

The prospect of seeing him again was the worst thing that could happen to her.

Still clutching the embroidered handkerchief, Aline lowered herself to a patch of grass and tried to calm herself. The sun struck off the water with brilliant glints, while tiny black beetles crawled along stalks of spiny gorse. The pungency of sun-warmed thistle and marsh marigold mingled with the fecund smell of the river. Numbly she stared at the water, tracking the progress of a crested grebe as it paddled by industriously with a slimy clump of weed clamped in its beak.

Voices from long ago whispered in her mind…

“I’ll marry no man but you, McKenna. And if you ever leave me, I’ll be alone for the rest of my life.”

“Aline…I would never leave unless you told me to go…”

She shook her head sharply, willing the tormenting memories to go away. Wadding the handkerchief into a ball, she drew her arm back to throw it into the gentle river current. The movement was stayed by a quiet sound.

“Wait.”

Six

Aline closed her eyes, while the word tugged gently at her shrinking soul. His voice…only deeper and richer now, the voice of a man, not a boy. Although she heard the sounds of his feet treading closer, crushing the moor grass, she refused to look at him. It took all her strength just to keep breathing. She was paralyzed by something that felt like fear, a kind of incapacitating heat that pumped into her with each frantic beat of her heart.

The sound of his voice seemed to open pathways of sensation inside her. “If you’re going to throw that into the river, I want it back.”

As Aline tried to loosen her clutch on the handkerchief, it dropped completely from her stiff fingers. Slowly she made herself turn to look at him as he approached. The black-haired man she had seen in the courtyard was indeed McKenna. He was even larger and more imposing than he had seemed at a distance. His features were blunt and strong, his bold, wide-bridged nose set with perfect symmetry between the distinct planes of his cheekbones. He was too masculine to be considered truly handsome—a sculptor would have tried to soften those uncompromising features. But somehow his hard face was the perfect setting for those lavish eyes, the clear blue-green brilliance shadowed by thick black lashes. No one else on earth had eyes like that.

“McKenna,” she said huskily, searching for any resemblance he might bear to the lanky, love-struck boy she had known. There was none. McKenna was a stranger now, a man with no trace of boyishness. He was sleek and elegant in well-tailored clothes, his glossy black hair cut in short layers that tamed its inherent tendency to curl. As he drew closer, she gathered more details…the shadow of bristle beneath his close-shaven skin, the glitter of a gold watch chain on his waistcoat, the brutal swell of muscle in his shoulders and thighs as he sat on a rock nearby.