“By the way, Mr. Rourke,” said O’Reilly, “we must use crucible steel. It’s more expensive but higher quality.”
Zachary ran his hands through his hair. “More expense I wasn’t counting on.”
“We must for these specialty applications. And we must obtain a great deal of it. Wells and Company manufactures crucible steel in Pittsburgh. Too far. I’ve heard about a new company in Syracuse, a lot closer, and using the same established techniques in Europe.”
Zachary nodded. “I don’t like it, but if we must, we’ll do it.”
As O’Reilly tamped more tobacco into his pipe, he spouted the merits of what they had accomplished. Elizabeth strolled through Zachary’s plant. Strictures of society forbade someone like her to be at a venue like this, but she was like a child experiencing Christmas for the first time. She let the rest of them continue, waiting for Zachary to come up beside her. “I apologize for our intrusion. Mrs. Merriweather corralled me into coming. She is a force.”
“I gathered that.”
Amidst the smell of oil and hot machinery, she swept a gloved hand over his factory. “You designed and built all of this?”
He nodded his head, his gaze never leaving hers.
She glanced farther to where smoke belched from forges. “There are so many complicated moving parts to consider. You are a genius,” she whispered. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
“It’d be faster if you asked for the things I couldn’t do.”
She gave him a sideways glance with the tiniest hint of a smile. What a rogue he was, endearing him to her more than when they’d met in the Fitzgeralds’ gardens, an experience possessing danger, citing an ambiguity that anything to do with Mr. Rourke held potential for failure and risk. She shrugged and allowed him to guide her to a new machine.
“This, for instance, moves the pistons at greater speed, using less oil. Much more efficient.” His hand moved up and down the machine once, caressing it, as a man would touch the neck of a favorite horse.
Tools dropped behind her and she jumped into him. He caught her and set her straight. “I’m fascinated with everything I see.”
Zachary grinned. “The problem is I’m good at everything.”
“I’m overcome with your humility.” Elizabeth laughed, and on tiptoe amid the earsplitting clamor, bang and clatter of machines, the bellows of workers, she made her inspection into dark recesses occasionally lit by lanterns and spurts of flame. “I must admit your factory possesses a soul, music and retains a dance to it. What you are doing is good for the world sustained by your creation.”
Her pulse kicked with the undisguised pride in his dark, burning gaze. Time stopped. The hammering and clanking and shouts of men stilled and then vanished. Were they travelers on a cosmic journey, stardust, twirling and swaying in the eddies and whirlpools of eternity? A precious moment, a little parenthesis in infinity. He had done it again. Pulled her into his mystic universe.
Self-preservation told her to step back from the fire of the illusion before she was burned. Hand on her chest, she was unable to quell her breathing.
Desperate to seize control, she said, “You have not told me the name of your intended so I may invite you and her to tea.”
He narrowed his eyes into an intense cobalt blue. “Ah, that. I suppose she is off to greener pastures…perhaps a duke?”
Was he talking about her? She wanted to look away from that intense gaze and, conversely, let herself get lost in it. “Your scrutiny is affronting, Mr. Rourke.”
He bestowed an abbreviated bow. “Admiring, not scrutinizing. There is a difference.”
Her gaze still on his, she pointed to an observation balcony that spanned the width of the plant, connected to a staircase rising to a second story. “What is that room?”
“That’s my office and where I sleep.”
Where he sleeps.Her brain faltered. Why did his growl sound like a sensual force that licked through her body? Cheeks burning, she turned from him, her skirts brushing his leg. Fire skittered to her thighs. “I thought you were staying with the Fitzgeralds?”
“I work most nights and prefer to not waste time in transit.” He offered his hand to assist her in stepping over a pile of tools and empty pallets. Tremendous heat and energy. Did she want to invite that intensity? He cleared his throat, an innuendo that roared a dare. Staring at his hand, her fingers shaking, she accepted the challenge offered to her.
She placed her hand into his.
Had she set her touch to fire and steel? After stepping over the encumbrance, she drew her hand away, but he held it with his larger one.
He inclined his head and with a seraphic smile, said, “In case there might be something else to stumble over. I promise not to carry you away.”
Was he completely unfazed by what he’d put her through? With a cool expression pasted on her face, she goaded him. “Is there a reason to be concerned?”
He laughed in a rich baritone she would brand in her memory. A warm glow flowed through her. Her hand felt at home in his. He was chivalrous for sure. Hadn’t he come to her rescue with the birth of her child? With the sugar baron’s assault? His men were watching. She dropped his hand, stepped around a pile of wood shavings that were scattered to soak up a pool of oil. She nodded her head to two Chinese women serving food to a line of Chinese workers.
