The Lass Who Lost a Shoe Lee, Caroline (great novels .TXT) 📖

both into an envelope to be delivered that afternoon. He could move into his house if he wanted to, but suddenly, he was more motivated to find out if there was a collection of so-called godmothers in the Highlands. Was it possible groups like that—groups of meddling old ladies—were universal?

And if there were a group of them here in the Highlands, would they be able to tell him the truth about Ember? Was she a lady…or a simple hard worker like himself?

“So is this what ye do all day without me?”

At the interruption, Max looked up and smiled at seeing Roland saunter into his office. “You’re looking dapper. Were you successful in Inverness?”

“Aye, of course.” Roland dropped into one of the two chairs across from Max’s desk. “But ye’ve clearly been wasting away. What is this? Work?” He sniffed dismissively as he picked up an invoice, then dropped it into a different pile.

Max chuckled as he moved the paper back to its correct place. “You can play at the spoiled lordling all you want, Roland, but I’ve seen your estate and how hard you work to maintain it. It’s like my father’s ranch back home.”

“Nay, it’s better than yer father’s ranch, because I’m no’ an arse.”

“True.” Max slid a stack of invoices into a folder and turned to drop them into a drawer of the cabinet behind him. Over his shoulder, he asked, “So what brings you to Oliphant Engraving today? Just wanting to make sure I was working hard?”

“That, and I just adore the sounds of heavy machinery. What is that constant pounding noise? Do ye ken half yer engravers are wearing hearing protection?”

“Yep.” Chuckling, Max turned back to his friend. “I’m considering hiring a fiddler for them to listen to. I think it’d be good for morale.”

“No’ with that pounding—”

“That’s the press. It’s only used once a week or so to turn the sheet metal into plaques for the rifle stocks. Depending on the need, we either start with sheet metal and pound it, or raw ingots, which are melted and poured into molds. Tomorrow will be quieter, but will smell worse, because the metal will have to be filed and sanded.”

Roland cocked a brow. “Remind me no’ to visit tomorrow.”

“I’m still not sure why you visited today.”

His friend’s grin flashed brightly. “Because ye promised to come with me to the inn. Baroness Oliphant has invited me to tea with her daughters.”

“Hm. I don’t remember promising you.”

“Max.”

“You’re certain you want to get to know Vanessa better?” From what little Max had seen of her, she seemed spoiled and vain to him.

“If she’s my angel in pink, then aye,” Roland sighed.

Max shrugged. He hadn’t intended to return to the inn for a few more hours, but he had accomplished most of his tasks already, and since he’d stayed late the previous night, he was mostly caught up on the organization.

Better not think about what came of staying late last night.

Her lips, her breast in his palm, her heat…

He felt himself growing hard beneath the desk.

What part of ‘best not think about it’ did you not understand, cowboy?

When Roland slammed his palm against the desk, Max startled. “What?”

“Ye looked dreamy there for a moment. So are ye coming with me or no’?”

Max shrugged sheepishly, willing his arousal under control so he wouldn’t embarrass himself when he stood. “Alright, I’ll join you.”

Going back to the inn early would allow him plenty of time to pack his things to transfer to his new home.

They stepped out of his office, and Max turned to lock the door. He hadn’t seen any reason to distrust any of the employees, but now he knew Lawrence had a habit of giving permission to random Oliphants to use the equipment, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Not that Max would begrudge Ember using the lathe—it was clear she knew how to turn metal, if she truly were the creator of the remarkable shoes she’d worn to the ball. Shoes she wanted to try to talk him into producing, here in this very building.

The idea was intriguing.

Remembering his early question, Max tried for nonchalance when he asked his friend, “I’ve been looking for someone.”

“Someone in particular? A lady someone?”

“Well…yeah.” Max’s lips twitched as they stepped out into the afternoon sun. “But the one I’m asking about would be older—maybe a group of older ladies, ones who seem to always know what’s going on, and maybe meddle a bit more than they ought to?”

His friend hummed as they both shoved their hands into their pockets and headed for his curricle. “Aye, I can think of a few possibilities, and I willnae even ask ye why.”

The ride to the inn—though close enough to walk, but Max didn’t mind giving his legs a rest—was spent discussing the possibilities. When they arrived, they were met by a stable hand who took the horse’s bridle and assured them he’d take care of the animal and equipage.

“Being a lord gets you all sorts of special treatment, eh?” Max murmured.

Roland shot him a grin as they stepped inside. “It has its benefits.”

“My lords!” They both turned to see Baroness Oliphant—her graying hair pulled up in an ornate style likely intended to make her seem younger—hurrying toward them with her arms open. “So good of ye to grace our humble abode!”

Concerned she intended to embrace them, Max actually took a hasty step in retreat. But instead, when she reached them, the woman sunk into a deep curtsey. Max saw Roland glance at the deep decolletage on display, then quickly look away, flushing in embarrassment. Likely embarrassment for the woman.

Roland cleared his throat. “Aye, well, thank ye for inviting me.”

“How could I no’, milord?” Baroness Oliphant asked breathlessly as she stood. “When I received yer note expressing interest in meeting my beautiful, perfect daughter, I was thrilled. I deeply regret I cannae escort ye to the parlor, but if ye’ll follow Oliphant here—Oliphant, lead my lords to the private parlor—my daughters and I will join ye