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
