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

didn’t pause, didn’t let him deny it. “Ye’re friends with the Princes; ye’re their guest of honor!”

“I’m just me,” he said quietly behind her. “I’ve been staying at the inn while I’m waiting for—”

“For yer house to be finished, aye,” she snapped. “I thought ye were staying here, while yer boss stayed at Newfincy Castle with the other lords, because ye’re a simple man!”

“Ember…” His voice changed as he moved up beside her. “I am a simple man.”

“Nay! There’s naught simple about ye!” Frustrated at her own anger and tears, she hurled the graver across the workbench, where it skidded to a stop among the neatly arranged tools. “I cannae believe I thought I was falling in love with ye!”

She heard him suck in a breath, but she was too knotted up inside to even look at him.

“Were ye using me, Mr. DeVille? Was I just a serving lass to dally with?” Her voice caught on a sob. “Was I?”

“Ember!”

His hand closed around her forearm, but she yanked herself out of his hold and stumbled away, finally turned to face him again, her fists hovering at her side, because she was too angry to know what to do with them. “I let ye kiss me, Mr. DeVille! And I kissed ye, because I thought we had a connection! But ye’re too high and mighty to think that way about a mere serving lass—”

“Listen to yourself, Ember!” he growled, but made no move to reach for her. “However poorly you think of me, I’m not going to let you talk that way about yourself! You’re a remarkable woman, Ember.”

“I’m a serving lass, Mr. DeVille.”

“Dammit, stop calling me that! I’m Max.” He was breathing heavily now, and she saw his own hands had curled into fists. He was still the most handsome man she’d ever met, but with the fire of anger flashing in his light brown eyes, he was downright mesmerizing. “I’m just a cowboy.”

Just a cowboy. Just a serving lass.

But that wasn’t true, was it?

“Nay, ye’re no’ just a cowboy. Ye’re a fancy manager of a fancy business endeavor. Ye’re friends with the Princes, and ye’re practically a lord yerself. Ye were the guest of honor at the ball—” Ember gasped so loudly she almost choked as she stumbled back against the workbench. “Ye’re the one I danced with!”

He didn’t deny it.

“Ye kenned, did ye no?” She gasped again, her eyes widening in realization at what she’d just stated and what he hadn’t denied. “Ye kenned it was me all along?”

“No.” He lowered his eyes, sounding almost…sad? “I realized only last night.”

Her palms scrabbled for the edge of the workbench behind her, desperate to feel anything solid, as her breaths left her in great heaving gasps and sobs. The tears were no longer flowing, but her chest felt tight, and her mind was in turmoil.

Was this anger, shame, or something entirely different?

“Wh-what do ye mean?” she finally managed. He realized she’d been his partner for the waltz only since last night?

Is that why he’d shut down and hurried away?

She didn’t want him to have a reasonable explanation. She wanted to stay angry at him.

But when he turned, giving her his shoulder, as he raked his hand through the tight dark curls close to his head, she felt confusion settle over her. Aye, she was still angry. But he seemed sad, and she ached to comfort him.

Which was stupid.

Love can be stupid.

Nay, she couldn’t love him, not after the way he’d lied to her.

But did he truly lie?

“I’m sorry, Ember,” he said quietly, tugging at the hair at the back of his head. “It wasn’t until yesterday, when I saw your hair for the first time—you’re always wearing that cap—that I guessed. Not at first, but when you handed me that shoe, I knew.” He peeked sideways at her. “You see, I have the other one.”

Suddenly, all the anger seemed to drain from Ember’s chest, leaving her feeling…empty. “Ye have the other shoe? The one I lost?”

He nodded, dropping his hand to rest on the same workbench which was holding her upright. “I’ve been saving it. I’d hoped to find you again.”

“Nay,” she snapped, bitter. “Ye hoped to find that lady again.”

He only hesitated a moment, then dropped his chin in acknowledgement. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I thought she might need help. She ran away so fast.”

Hollowly, Ember tried to explain, though wondering why she bothered. “I ran away because I wasnae supposed to be there. My stepmother had forbidden me to go.” She took a deep breath and shrugged. “When I saw her readying Vanessa and Bonnie to leave, I realized I had to get home first.”

“Last night, when I realized who you were,” he began quietly, “I wasn’t sure how to treat you. You’d been acting like a servant, but I’d danced with you as a lady.”

As his words sunk in, Ember’s gaze snapped up to his. There was something in those lovely brown eyes, a sort of—

She gasped. Was he accusing her of lying to him?

Anger flashed. “I’m nae lady, Mr. DeVille. I’m just Ember. I’m a—a drudge,” she bit out.

He didn’t back down, but she saw the muscles in his jaw flex as he thought about his answer. “I found out today you’re the stepdaughter of Baroness Oliphant. If Vanessa and Bonnie are ladies, so are you.”

Her harsh bark of bitter laughter surprised even her. “Impossible!” She held out her hands, palms up, as she said sarcastically, “Are these the hands of a lady?” Those hands plucked at the heavy leather apron she’d once again slipped over her serviceable gown. “Is this the dress of a lady? I’m the one who keeps this place running. I’m the one who, when I’m able, steals a few moments to myself so I can bang on metal.”

There. That summarized her life, didn’t it?

And why in the world did it sound so…empty?

He was studying her. “If you had a choice between being a servant and being a lady, which would you