She snorted. “Whisky would be better.”
His lips curved. “I will send for some.”
Then he forced himself to step back. He consciously opened his fingers so that he no longer felt the hard bone in her arm, the strong muscles, or her soft skin. He released her and stepped away though it nearly tore him apart to do it.
Damnation, what was happening to him? He was accounted a decisive man. He’d never lingered over a woman like this. And he’d never struck a friend over one.
He turned for the stairs rather than face his aunt’s intrigued smirk. She was guessing at things he’d rather kept secret. So he jerked his head at the ladies.
“See to them,” he said. “Then bring them upstairs.”
“You take care of yourself,” his aunt said. “Then I’ve got words we need to exchange first.”
Bloody hell. Could this day get any worse?
Chapter Thirteen
Reuben stomped upstairsand performed his ablutions as fast as possible. He wanted to use this time to think dispassionately about his plans. His world was a complicated chessboard of people and possibilities, and every time he tried to sort through them, his thoughts veered back to Iseabail surrounded by blood and yet remaining untouched.
It was a metaphor, he was sure. Any soul who remained in her circle would be steeped in disaster while she remained intact. She might sport torn clothing, perhaps, or a bit of dirt on her gloriously pale skin. But the only red would be in her hair and her lips.
God, what a firebrand she was. She’d wielded that dirk with purpose. Even now he had no idea where it was. Somewhere on her person, no doubt, secreted away between her breasts or strapped to her thigh.
The image was arousing. How stupid he’d been to think of her as a naïve debutante whom he could exploit. The only distinctive thing about her then had been her height. But she’d surprised him at every turn, and now she proved she had clearer sight than he.
What you want is no longer possible. You must readjust.
Was it true? Were all his plans of marrying into the aristocracy over?
“Are you finished yet?” His aunt’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Near enough,” he said as he ruined yet another cravat. Damn it, his hands were sweating and had softened the starch. What the hell was wrong with him?
“Turn around. I’ll do it,” his aunt huffed.
He did as he was ordered. He’d been conditioned since childhood not to argue when she took that tone. He didn’t always obey her, but never argued. This time he allowed her to set his cravat in a complicated style.
“Well done—” he began, but she clucked her tongue to make him silent.
“There,” she said as she stepped back. “I’m going to hire two more girls.”
“What? You told me that business was off.”
“It is. Which means it’s the perfect time to train two new ones. I’ve the time to teach them now.”
“But not the money to pay for them or the room to keep them.” Young apprentices cost only what it took to feed and house them, but sometimes that was the difference between money for coal and not. He’d be damned if he let his aunt freeze in winter.
“You leave that to me,” she said. “I know what I’m about.”
He shook his head. “Let me see the records. Girls can be expensive.”
“An’ when will you do that?” she pressed, her hands on her hips. “I’ve been asking you to come by for months now.”
He winced. It was true. But there had been so many other things to do. His brother’s gaming hell alone took up half his time. The money that flowed through there needed to be tightly controlled. “Bring them to me now—”
“And then when do you talk to the ladies? You said something about a new plan?”
“Don’t listen in to my conversations.”
