by Caroline Lee
“Why are ye smiling, girl? Ye’ve been walking around with yer head in the clouds for the last two days. Dinnae think I havenae noticed.”
Shite.
Ember schooled her expression and turned to face her stepmother. “I’m happy, milady.”
“Clearly.” Machara sniffed. “Were ye humming? Who hums as she folds linens?”
“Only those with addled brains,” Ember murmured under her breath.
“What?”
Finishing the sheet she was folding—and mentally cursing at the acrobatics required to fold a sheet by herself—Ember tossed it atop the pile and shrugged at her stepmother. “So I’m smiling and humming. It offends nae one.” Mainly because she was relegated to duties which didn’t put her into much contact with the guests, so no one saw her anyway. “It matters no’.”
“Nay, but it’s suspicious.” Machara peered at her. “Why are ye so happy?”
Likely, “Because I flirted with a handsome guest and he looked as if he wanted to kiss me and we’ve each searched the other out a few times in the last few days to flirt some more,” wouldn’t go over well, Ember thought fast.
“Vanessa told such beautiful stories of the ball, milady.” There. That made her sound just pitiful enough Machara would surely appreciate it. “I’m enjoying imagining it.” Like a complete nitwit. “All those gowns,” she added with a sigh, hoping it didn’t sound as fake as she imagined it.
To her delight, her stepmother sniffed haughtily and drew herself up. “Aye, well, just remember stories are all ye’re likely to ken. A grand ball is no’ for the likes of ye.”
Ember’s good mood dimmed. Machara was right. Not in terms of worth—Ember had looked as grand as any of the ladies there that night, and she’d danced with the guest of honor—but she was a simple lass with simple wants, and none of them included catching a Prince.
Although it might be nice to only have to clean up after one person.
See? Simple wants.
Over the last few days, she’d seen Max several more times, and she was beginning to think he might be the reason she’d been thinking more and more about what Mrs. Oliphant, the cook, had said about finding a man.
Her stepmother was already sweeping from the room. At the door though, she paused. “When ye’re finished here, take a set of sheets to the blue room. The guest requested they be changed today, and Annie is late to work.”
Of course she is.
But Ember merely inclined her head. “Aye, milady.” It was easier to agree than argue most days.
As Machara disappeared down the hall, likely to find something else which needed Ember’s attention, Ember stifled a sigh and reached for the next sheet to be folded. And as she did, her thoughts slid to Max.
So what else is new?
Max. She’d been thinking about him—and those smiles they’d shared—since the moment their hands had met. She’d felt a spark, a warmth, similar to the sensation she’d felt when he’d touched her hand that day in the hall after she’d run into him.
She’d never experienced anything like it before or since, except perhaps that electrifying waltz with Mr. DeVille—but that feeling was likely the result of the gown and the masks and the splendor of the ball.
When Max touched her, she’d felt as if he’d touched her soul. Her heart even. Or at least, her libido. That spark had wrapped around her chest, causing her to shiver as her nipples had hardened, then reached lower and caused a sort of ache between her thighs.
Last night, as she’d gotten changed for bed in her tiny garret room, she’d placed her palms on her bare breasts and lifted them, caressed them, while trying to imagine what it would be like to have a man touch them.
What it would be like to have Max touch them.
Then she’d scoffed at herself and tugged her nightgown over her head, embarrassed to be thinking about a man, she’d only just met, in that way…even if she were the only one who would know.
At last, she finished the folding and collected all the linens to place in the closet down the hall. Once that was taken care of, she picked a set off the top, draped them over her arm, and headed for the blue room.
Machara’s not around, so nae need to bustle.
It was the sad truth of her life that, over the years, she’d just begun to bow to her stepmother’s demands because it was easier. Oh she knew she was talented, and she knew she could make a place for herself if she needed to…but where? She’d been so young when Papa had married Machara, she didn’t consider any place other than the inn her home. If she defied Machara too openly, she’d have to leave Oliphant Land in order to find work.
But soon, if she could finish the set of shoes she was working on, she’d find a way to approach Mr. DeVille. She knew he must be settled into the work at Oliphant Engraving by now, so maybe he’d have some time for her. Could Max help her with that? He was an American who knew about the factory and had likely come to the Highlands with Mr. DeVille. She’d have to remember to ask him for help once she finished the pair of shoes.
These shoes would be another silver pair, since steel was the easiest to buff to a shine. She’d finished the base but still required the lathe to turn the heels before she could begin to engrave those, much less attach them.
If everything went well this week, she’d have some free time in the evening the day after tomorrow. Bonnie had already agreed to cover for her if Machara asked about her whereabouts, which would allow Ember to sneak over to Oliphant Engraving to use the lathe there. The foreman has known her since she was a little lassie and still let her use the bigger machines when—
“Oh.”
She stopped short as she stepped into the blue room, her hand still on the door handle. She hadn’t expected the room’s occupant to still be there.
But when he turned and saw her, his face lit up, and she sucked in a happy breath. “Max,” she whispered.
“Ember!” And then he was beside her, taking the linens from her unresisting hands. “I gotta confess I was hoping you’d be the one to bring these. That’s why I requested them.”
Then he took her hand in his and pulled her into the room, and Ember sighed with pleasure at the jolt of awareness which passed between them. His accent was just as delightful as it had been the other times they’d spoken. Were all American men’s voices so—so—so drawly? Or just his and Mr. DeVille’s? She remembered the manager’s cultured tones as they’d danced, although underneath them had been a twang she’d liked listening to.
“I haven’t seen you since yesterday!”
She sighed dreamily again—he was still holding her hand—and nodded. “Baroness Oliphant doesnae like me to work directly for the guests. Often I’m cleaning upstairs in her own chambers.” And Vanessa and Bonnie’s, although Bonnie was neat as a pin most of the time. “And sometimes I’m working behind the scenes. One of our regular maids is late today, so she had me bring these for ye.”
When she nodded to the linens he still held in his free hand, he smiled again. “Well then, you can help me so the trip isn’t wasted. That way, if she stops by, she can see you are working. I won’t be the cause of getting you in trouble!”
As he spoke, he tossed the clean linens atop a chair and began stripping the bed. Amused, she stepped up to the other side and began to help him. She’d never seen a man jump into domestic chores so easily, and it solidified her impression of him: he was a simple man with simple wants.
Like her.
Well, not the man part.
But she was a simple woman with simple wants, and one of those wants was for a simple man very much like Max.
Och, ye’re thinking of a future with him now?
Well, why not? Were there rules against her finding a good man and making a future with him? That didn’t interfere with her plans to sell her designs to Mr. DeVille and support herself with her art, did it?
They worked together well, she had to admit. And she couldn’t help but admire his efficiency when it came to making a bed, as if he’d done
it many times before.
Definitely no’ the lordly type then.
Distracted, she fumbled with one of the pillows as she rounded the end of the bed, and the thing flew from her hands to land beside Max’s feet. Mortified, she lunged for it, but he got there first, scooping it up and brushing it off.
Slowly, she straightened, now unnervingly close to him. If either of them were to take half a step, they’d be within a hairsbreadth of the other. As it was, she was close enough to see his pupils grow larger and his nostrils flare when his gaze dropped to her lips.
Oh. Oh my.
Who knew a man’s gaze on her lips—and the sight of a man’s aroused interest—could make her thighs clench this way?
Ember tried to relax her muscles, but the yearning had her breaths coming closer together, and she realized she was leaning toward him.
Closer…closer.
His lips parted, and she could see the tip of his tongue pressed against his upper teeth. Who knew a tongue could be quite so exciting? At least, judging from the way her heart was pounding, some part of her considered it exciting.
The flood of warmth to the junction of her thighs gave her a good idea exactly which part.
“Ember…?”
His whisper startled her, and she blinked as she jerked upright. They were standing beside a bed—his bed—in a bedroom with an open door. Even ignoring propriety—which, apparently, they were both quite comfortable doing—this was certainly no place for a kiss.
If kissing had been on his mind that is.
It had definitely been on hers.
Take the pillow, ye idiot.
Ember did as commanded, snatching the pillow from his hands and stepping back. Was that a flash of disappointment in his eyes before he turned away? And was she mistaken, or had he just discretely adjusted his trousers, before clearing his throat and bending to tuck the sheets under the mattress?
Right. Work.
But she was smiling as she finished fitting the linen pillowcase in place. Aye, she’d forgotten her work there for a moment, but it was obvious he’d been just as affected by their almost-kiss as she had been.
In no time, with both of them working together, they were finished, and she fluffed his pillow an extra time or two before placing it carefully on the bed. She looked up to see him watching her, a heat in his eyes she hadn’t expected.
“What?” she blurted.
“Nothing.” His shrug didn’t look entirely convincing. “I just liked the way you did that. You’re good at taking care of people.”
Her chin rose, not sure if that’s what she wanted him to think of her. “Maybe it was just because it was yer pillow. Maybe I was thinking of ye lying here tonight, yer head on that pillow, thinking of me.”
Had there been heat in his eyes before? In a blink, his expression turned downright molten. “I can guarantee you I’ll be thinking of you tonight, Ember,” he growled. “Lying in bed right here, thinking of you.”
Oh.
Oh.
Had he touched himself and wondered what her hands would feel like on his body, the way she had?
Ember swallowed hard, suddenly not at all interested in the pillows, except in the very general way that they were on the bed, and he would be on the bed, and she was now thinking of him lying there…
Thinking of me.
Well that was going to be a distraction tonight, wasn’t it?
He’d winked at her, then turned away and began gathering up the dirty sheets from where he’d tossed them. Definitely a man who’d done that before, and the ease with which he’d dismissed the topic told her he’d been teasing her.
As Ember fought to gain control of her body’s reaction to him, she turned to the small table which stood in the middle of the room, a pair of chairs on either side. Papers covered it, and she stepped over to arrange them into neater piles, more to give her hands something to do than anything else.
But as she moved the papers around, a design caught her eye, and she held it up to study it.
“You like it?” Max’s deep drawl rumbled behind her. “Those are the designs for my house. It’ll be finished any day now.”
“It’s…lovely.”
“It’s simple,” he corrected.
He was right. The house was only two bedrooms, with a parlor in the front and a dining room on the opposite side of the house. The kitchen wasn’t fancy, but perfectly serviceable, and there was even a bathing chamber with pipes for running water directly to the tub.
Her first thought was, It’d be so simple to keep a place like this clean! She immediately knew, if given the choice, she’d want to live in a home just like this. Not because it looked easier to keep clean than the inn, but because it appeared to be cozy and comfortable.
“It’s perfect,” she breathed, meaning it.
He cleared his throat and reached for the design, his fingers brushing against hers as he did so. Instead of putting the plans away, he stared down at them for a long moment.
“I’ve always wanted a little house like this for myself. Until I came to the Highlands, I’d lived my whole life in my father’s house. I’m ready for a chance to get out from under his thumb and make a name for myself.”
Ember nodded. “I ken exactly what ye mean.”
His expression cleared into another easy-going smile as he slid the design into a folder on the table. “You live with your overbearing father, do you?”
She chuckled. “Sort of. I am hoping to be able to make my own way in the world soon.”
When his fingers brushed against hers, she startled, but didn’t hesitate. She clasped her hand around his, shivering at the electrical sensation, and held his gaze.
“It’s exciting, isn’t it?” he whispered. “Finding where exactly you belong?”
Her fingers tightened around his. “Aye, tis, Max.” Right then, if someone had asked, she’d have said she belonged with him.
He swallowed. “I’m beginning to suspect figuring out a future might be more fun, more satisfying, with someone else.”
Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Unconsciously, Ember leaned a little closer to him. “Ye might be right.”
Just as he opened his mouth to reply, a call came from down the corridor. “Ember! Where are ye, girl? Have ye finished changing those sheets?”
With a sigh, Ember sank back on her heels once more, and he winced.
“Baroness Oliphant, huh? I’ve heard her calling for you at all hours—seems as though she treats you worse than the other servants.”
“Och, aye,” Ember began, with an exasperated roll of her eyes, before stepping away from him. “I’m her own personal slave.”
He sucked in a breath on that word, and her gaze flitted back to his.
It was impossible to miss his wince, or the way his expression shuttered as she stepped toward the dirty linens and scooped them up.
“Ember!” came the screech from down the corridor, and Ember sighed once more.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, meeting Max’s eyes, although she wasn’t exactly sure why she was apologizing.
His chin jerked in acknowledgement, but he didn’t say anything as she hurried out the door, heading for the laundry closet, and feeling as if she’d somehow ruined something very special.
Chapter 5
“When is he getting the shoe? He hasnae tried the shoe on her yet.”
“Willa is correct, ladies. This story has taken a detour somewhere. Mr. DeVille has spent quite a lot of time with our Ember, but not because he’s looking for the mysterious lady from the ball.”
“Yer ‘narrative causality’ isnae helping much this go-round, is it?”
“Oh, be quiet, Broca. Besides, tonight she’s going to Oliphant Engraving, which is where he’s been keeping the shoe, remember? In his office.”
“Ooh, which means this is the good part, eh?”
“What do you mean, Grisel?”
“This is the halfway point, right? That means this is where
they finally kiss. No more dilly-dallying!”
“Finally. Push the ball over this way, would ye? I want to see this part!”
There was someone in the engraver’s studio.
That in itself wasn’t unusual of course, but it was after suppertime, and Max had thought he was the last person in the building. He’d brought his own lunch, but had eaten it late, which allowed him to work later in the evening.
He was hunched over his desk in the manager’s office on the second floor, when he realized he was hearing the sound of machinery below him. Which was odd, because everyone else—including the foreman, Lawrence Oliphant—had left for home nearly an hour ago.
Maybe Lawrence had returned to finish up a project. One thing Max was really coming to admire was the devotion of the men who worked for Oliphant Engraving; this wasn’t just a job to them, it was art.
While this place was sometimes referred to as a factory, it was so much more than that. Sure, there was the big, well-ventilated machine shop downstairs, where burly men in thick aprons poured molten metal into molds or beat sheets of it into submission. The receivers and plaques which would eventually grace custom Prince firearms were lovingly crafted right here in this building. The lathes, milling machines, and drill presses downstairs were used to ensure each piece fit the exact specifications.
Once the gun component was perfect, it was handed over to the engravers. These were the serious men up in the engravers’ studio, who sat at large desks with bright lights in front of big windows. They each had access to tools from the company, but most preferred their own and would carry the scribes and gravers and sharpeners back and forth to work each day in little black cases. It took various lengths of time to complete each project, but whoever ended up with that firearm would know the Oliphant engravers had given it their closest attention.
Max was a little in awe of them and their skill. Apparently, sometime in the middle ages, the brother of one of the lairds—a Duncan Oliphant—had been a famous silversmith. He’d set up a school for the art right here on Oliphant Land, and for generations, everyone in the Highlands had known the best jewelry came from the Oliphants. The skill had been passed from father to son, and when Oliphant Engraving was created, the manager had a whole pool of applicants and was easily able to hire the best of the best.