Fortunately, with Prince Armory’s reputation, most clients expected the creation process to take a long time; each piece was engraved to the buyer’s specifications after all. Max figured his favorite part of the job was studying the order forms and trying to guess what he could about the eventual owner.
The ones who wanted big game animals carved into their receivers were likely hunters, and the religious symbolism was likely self-explanatory. But why did some buyers choose flowers or vines? And a surprising number included photographs to be reproduced by hand onto the metal plaques—photographs of themselves, or women, or children. One had even sent along a fingerprint and a set of dates to be included.
What must the engravers themselves, such serious men, think of these requests?
The sounds from the engravers’ studio had stopped, but now Max heard the sound of the lathe start up downstairs in the machine shop.
Curious.
Reaching for the last stack of invoices he needed to sort, he blew out a breath and started reading.
To his surprise, the lathe was still going when he finished, and he had to admit he was a little proud of himself for recognizing the sound, even from up in his office. Yeah, he decided, coming here to the Highlands had been the right choice.
Especially since you got to meet Ember.
He grinned, unable to deny that perk. Yesterday, in his room, it had been torture to hold himself still as she’d leaned toward him, her lips all but begging to be kissed. God Almighty, but he’d wanted—needed—to touch her, though he had been determined to give her control.
But then something had stopped her from taking what he’d known she’d wanted. However, the thought—the scent—of her had kept him occupied well into the night.
Well, cowboy, if you’re sitting here thinking about how you got so lonely you had to play with yourself, it’s probably time for a break.
Tossing the last of the invoices into the correct pile, he stood with a groan and stretched his back. Time to get back to the inn, and maybe he’d even get the chance to see her again. But first, he’d go check on whoever was down in the machine shop.
With his coat slung over his shoulder, he trotted down the stairs and rounded the corner where the machines were set up. As the lathe came into view, he saw the figure in front of it.
A figure in a dress.
Max frowning, knowing there were no female employees. “Excuse me?”
The figure didn’t turn; she likely couldn’t hear him over the sound of the machinery. She was leaning forward as she focused her attention on whatever bit of turning and adjusting she was doing. Each movement sent her dark red braid swaying.
Why did that hair color seem so familiar to him?
She straightened and seemed to study her work. Then, with a satisfied nod, she removed her foot from the pedal, and the lathe began to whine to a stop. The noise lessened as the machine slowly stopped spinning, and she wiped her hands on the leather apron she was wearing. She was just reaching for her work when he raised his voice and tried again.
“Excuse me?”
This time, she whirled around, surprise on her face, and he saw her for the first time.
Ember. His face split into a grin. “I’m glad to see you!” If fairly surprised.
But she frowned. “Max. How’d ye ken I was here?”
“I…I heard you?” He’d been upstairs after all.
Her eyes darted about the big room. “Did ye follow me from the inn? I didnae expect to bother anyone, ye ken.” She wiped her palms on her apron again, but this time looked as though it were more of a nervous gesture. “Lawrence was close to my father, and he gave me permission to use the machinery for my projects. I ken I’m no’ supposed to be here.”
Wanting to put her at ease, Max tried for a charming grin as he slid his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. “What projects?” he asked, hoping it might distract her from her worry he was mad about her being there. Granted, she wasn’t an employee, but if Lawrence had given her permission, it meant the foreman vouched for her, and Max would find out more information before making any changes.
Besides, she was clearly skilled at using the lathe.
Her eyes had narrowed, and she took a deep breath. “I’m— My father was a skilled engraver, and he taught me everything he kenned. Sometimes I come here after hours to turn a piece, then work on it back at the inn.”
“In that little workshop where I met you.” Max was already nodding. “That makes sense.”
It seemed she finally realized he wasn’t going to yell at her for being there, and her shoulders began to relax. She reached up to pull the heavy apron over her head, and the motion pulled her braid across her shoulder.
Why was he so fascinated by that braid?
“Baroness Oliphant doesnae approve of my hobby, so I have to sneak out. That’s why I was so defensive,” she explained, as she crossed near him to hang the apron up in between the lathe and the press. “Ye’re likely here on yer boss’s behalf, aye?”
His boss’s behalf…? Oh, she must mean Andrew Prince.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his attention still caught by those dark red strands of hair lying against her simple blouse.
When she was done with the apron, she didn’t return to the lathe and her project. Instead, she halted near him, near enough to touch. When she lowered her chin, she watched him through her lashes, and he found himself already leaning toward her.
“Are ye going to tell yer boss ye found me here, Max?” she asked in a low voice.
He had to clear his throat to get his voice to work, although he kept it low to
