Chapter 7 #2
But before he could push for more, Lysander’s head suddenly swung toward the door. “They’re coming!” he hissed, as he threw himself into the chair beside Max’s. “How do I look?”
Max’s brows rose, amused at his brother’s flustered actions. “Like a man anxious to meet a woman.”
Lysander’s chuckle sounded rueful. “That about sums up humanity, eh?”
From the corridor, two different voices drifted into the room. “Oh, do stop fussing, Tiffany. You look lovely.”
“But do I look lovely enough for him? He is here!”
Max watched Lysander’s lips curl upward proudly.
“You look lovely enough to intrigue a duke.” That must be Bonnie, the other daughter.
Tiffany’s chuckle was throaty and low. Neither of them likely realized the door was open and they could be heard. “I know Mother wanted me to seize the attention of the Duke of Cashard, but I am quite delighted with the outcome of the ball. A viscount is the perfect catch for me!”
The sound the other woman made was rather indelicate. “Then you are lovely enough to catch an earl.”
“Oh, Bonnie, I am not interested in the laird.”
“Then you look lovely enough for an earl’s heir.” This sounded teasing.
“Goodness, not him! Did you see him at the ball, Bonnie?” Tiffany chuckled again. “All scarred and scowling and brutal. He was wearing a kilt, Bonnie, like some kind of—of—”
“Barbarian?”
“Yes, a barbarian! Can you imagine having to sit across the table from—from that at meals?” Tiffany’s tone had hardened. “Or worse, listen to him talk. Hmm, do you think he can speak reasonably, or does he just shout cold commands? And letting those hands touch you—”
“That is enough, Tiffany,” came Bonnie’s hushed voice, sounding hollow. Max wondered what her expression must look like.
But he didn’t have to guess about Lysander’s because he was looking right at the man. His brother had paled as Tiffany had spoken, and now Lysander’s lips were pressed together in anger. His pale eyes cut toward Max, who shrugged apologetically.
Okay, so he could’ve told Lysander that Tiffany’s beauty made her prideful, but even he hadn’t realized how cruel she could be. She clearly was only interested in Lysander for his title, and had judged Leonidas on his appearance…
“She needs to be taught a lesson,” Lysander hissed.
Max’s brow twitched in question. “What do you have in mind?”
“I dinnae ken, but I’ll think of something. A taste of her own medicine perhaps.”
Max nodded. “Do you want to make excuses and leave?”
Lysander’s gaze darted to the door. “Too late.”
“There you are, my beauties!” Baroness Oliphant crooned from the corridor. “Come along, we must not keep our honored guests waiting!” As she swept into the room first, Max saw Lysander school his expression into polite interest and tried to mirror him. “Are you ready for tea, milords?”
Both men had stood as they’d entered, and as the three ladies settled themselves—Bonnie looking embarrassed, and Tiffany preening as she tried to catch Lysander’s eye—they sank stiffly back down.
Lysander cleared his throat. “Tea would be excellent, thank ye.”
“Wonderful. My Tiffany is skilled at pouring and will do the honors as soon as it arrives.” How much skill did it take to pour tea? “I had to fetch a servant myself to bring it, if you can believe it.”
“Good help is so hard to find these days,” Lysander agreed stiffly.
Baroness Oliphant turned to include her daughters in the conversation. “She was in her father’s workshop of course. I told her to stand by in case we needed anything, but you know Ember.”
Ember…was a serving lass then?
Max cleared his throat. “Her father’s workshop? The inn’s servants also work in workshops?”
Baroness Oliphant waved her hand dismissively. “Ember is a…special case. When I married her father—he was quite wealthy, despite being common, you understand—his fortune revitalized the inn, so I allowed him a small room near the kitchens for his workshop. Ember tries to escape her duties there.”
Lysander didn’t seem impressed. “So this lass is yer daughter?”
Max was grateful, because he couldn’t seem to form words, as he listened to his Ember’s background unfold.
Tiffany leaned forward, her fingers rising to rest delicately against her neck, likely to draw attention to her bare skin. “Stepdaughter, milord. She has always worked as a servant at the inn.”
“Except she is paid less,” murmured Bonnie.
Max sat back in his chair, trying to process this new information. Not only was Ember actually the serving lass he’d always believed her to be, but she was also the stepdaughter of a lady? Did that not make her a lady herself?
Is that why she’d gone to the ball?
You were at the ball, and you’re no lord. Maybe she just wanted an evening of fun like you did. It was a masquerade.
Max’s thoughts were interrupted by her arrival. Ember stepped into the parlor, her bright hair tucked under that silly cap, and her hands still bearing traces of the oil the engravers used. She was carrying a large tray with a silver tea service and a plate of what looked like small cakes.
“Tea, milady,” she intoned in a hollow voice. “Where would you like it?”
As Max leaned forward, trying to catch her eye, her stepmother waved airily. “Set it down beside Mr. DeVille so Tiffany can reach it.”
If he hadn’t been looking right at Ember, he might’ve missed the way she jerked in response to the command. Her face paled, and her gaze swung around to meet his. “Mr. DeVille?” she squeaked.
“Yes, you stupid girl. Put it down beside him. Surely you know the man; he has been our guest for ages!”
Ember’s dark eyes were wide as she stepped toward him, her hands shaking enough to cause the silver service to rattle. He stood and reached for the tray.
Their fingers brushed, shooting that strange electric spark up his arm again, even as she flushed and dropped her gaze to her feet.
“Allow me,” he murmured, taking it from her. She didn’t look up again, but dropped a hasty curtsey, her cheeks flushing red, and hurried from the room.
“How strange,” said Tiffany. “Ember is usually so calm.”
Yeah, she usually was. So what had caused her to react that way?
“Mr. DeVille, do set the tea down.”
Mr. DeVille.
As he complied with the command, Max thought back over the last few minutes. Mr. DeVille. It had been his name which had made her shut down like that. But why?
“Tiffany, dearest, do pour tea for our guests. Milord, would you care for a cake?”
As Lysander managed to agree that, aye, perhaps a cake would be enjoyable, Max stood there in the center of the room, feeling like a fool. He needed to set things right with Ember, but how?
He didn’t know, but at least he knew where she’d be.
“Um, if you’ll excuse me…” As he began speaking, all eyes in the room turned to him.
The expressions ranged from concerned—Bonnie—to excited—Tiffany, likely at the thought of having Lysander’s undivided attention, even though Lysander just looked irritated.
Max sent him an apologetic glance. “I’ve just recalled something I need from my room. ”
“Of course,” murmured Baroness Oliphant with a smile.
Max sent a shrug to Lysander, promising himself to make it up to his brother, then hurried out the door.
He needed to get to her father’s workshop.