“I’m going for a walk,” he said.
“Now? It’s dark and freezing out there.”
He smiled. “That’s kind of the point. I’ll see you at dinner, princess.”
He was almost through the door when she found her voice. “Wait,” she said.
He hesitated before turning around, and when he did, his expression seemed anxious.
“I…Uh…” She didn’t want him to leave thinking she hadn’t enjoyed what had just happened or that she hadn’t been a very willing participant. She also couldn’t bring herself to talk about it. “Thank you. That was quite illuminating.”
His face softened in relief. “Let me take you out tomorrow,” he said. “I want to share something with you.”
Chapter12
Benedict took a deep breath as he dismounted. Bringing Amelia to Asterly, Barnesworth & Co. shouldn’t be a terrifying prospect. They would walk in, he’d introduce everyone, do a quick tour, and she could say what she liked about the place and wrinkle her nose in whatever manner she wanted. The firm would survive without her approval.
He took her by the waist and helped her off her horse, the scent of jasmine and pear oddly helping to calm his frayed nerves. He held on a fraction longer than he needed to.
“So this is where you…work.” Amelia surveyed the collection of colossal stone buildings in front of them. There was no open expression of distaste; it was more a look of suspicion, maybe a touch of uncertainty.
From inside, his beloved engine let loose a shrill squeal, ear-piercing even through the wall of rock. Amelia covered her ears—her expression of uncertainty devolving into alarm.
“What in heaven’s name is that?” she yelled over the noise.
He bent close to her, putting a hand to the small of her back to let her know that he was right behind her. And also because he just liked touching her. “You’ll see.”
Drawing her hand into the crook of his arm, he pulled her close, taking pleasure in the way she pressed up against him. A streak of protectiveness shot through him.
He paused when they reached the door, allowing her the room to change her mind, to back out if she wanted to.
But damn, he was glad she didn’t. He’d never had the occasion to show the firm off to anyone. Cassandra had practically grown up in it, and taking potential investors through was more about business than pride. This was the first time he was emotionally invested in what someone thought about the place he’d spent a lifetime building.
One glance at her face made his stomach flip. Gone was the often-present detached façade she kept in place whenever she was uncomfortable. Instead, she looked around with curiosity as she walked in, her interest roaming from the scaffolding that covered the walls and the roof to the workers grouped around evenly spaced workbenches.
He tried to see it as she might—crowded, busy, definitely filthy. A layer of coal dust coated everything. He’d designed the rooms with large windows for maximum light and ventilation, but dust still hung in the air. Black rivulets ran down his workers’ faces where it mixed with sweat. They wore damp cloths over their noses and mouths to prevent breathing in the dust.
“It’s…busy.”
It became less busy as men noticed them. His comrades, most of whom were bent over workbenches, stood to watch them with an uncertain stare. His attire likely wasn’t helping matters. He’d never come to the firm in formal wear. His boots were never this pristine. And only a fool wore a white shirt when working with coal. But today, he’d be a fool. If he was going to take his wife on an outing, he’d do it as properly as he could manage, clothes and all.
“Don’t mind us. We’ll stay out of your way,” he called.
The men turned back to their work, except for Oliver, who shed the thick leather gloves protecting his arms and strode toward them. Amelia shrank backward—most people did when faced with the giant.
“My lady,” Oliver said. He grabbed Amelia’s hand and pumped it in a forceful handshake.
She tensed, but her smile remained polite.
“This is my foreman, Mr. Johnson.” Benedict grabbed Oliver’s hand, ostensibly to shake it but really to free Amelia.
She flexed her fingers, checked the white satin of her gloves, and then clasped her hands firmly behind her back. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Johnson,” she said.
Oliver grinned like a half-drunk idiot. “You’re a right pretty one. You’ve got spun gold hair Rumpelstiltskin would want.”
She shot Benedict a questioning look, and he tried to contain his laughter. His foreman was a man’s man who told it like it was in plain terms. This flowery speech was unexpected. It was no wonder he was unmarried if this was how he spoke to women.
“You’re a veritable poet. What a delight.”
