Page 62 of His Spirited Lady
Amelia was awaketo see the sunrise, which would have been ideal if she’d slept at all.
Instead, she’d tossed on a bed made from rocks until the sheets were tangled around her legs, which left her cold. When she straightened them and covered, she was warm, but when she closed her eyes, she was back in the library with Richard’s arms around her, his lips on her skin. Just thinking of it had made her nipples harden, which had restarted the cycle.
The sun made the fog go from white to silver. “Time to get started,” Amelia whispered, her words making mist on the window. She turned toward the bed and banged her ring on the edge of her dressing table.
“Drat.” She lifted it to the sunlight and smiled at the prisms it cast over the curtains and the wall. It hadn’t been damaged, which was a relief, but it reminded her to leave it behind. It was loose, and she didn’t want to lose it on her ride or in the mash. Her finger already felt odd without it.
She shrugged into a topcoat and slipped down the back stairs, ignored by the staff getting started with their day. Outside, the chickens huddled in a feathery pack, clucking unhappily about the temperature. The newest litter of kittens stared shyly from behind a miserly stack of hay.
The stable was warmer, but wisps of steam rose from Molly’s back as she waited, and her breath came out in giant puffs. It was easy to imagine that she had created the fog with her impatience to be off for the day.
The chill prodded Amelia to hurry to the distillery, but hurrying made the air bite harder. By the time she arrived, her fingers were stiff.
She lifted Molly’s saddle, wincing as her back twinged. Just like that, she was in the library again with Richard’s fingers on her bare skin. Heat poured through her, pooling in mysterious places so that Amelia was surprised steam wasn’t rising from her coat.
After seeing to her horse, Amelia hurried into the distillery, ignoring the temptation of the barrel room in favor of the bottling room stacked with crates of wine. A movement to her left pulled her up short. “Hello?”
The young girl spun on her stool, her dark braids flying behind her and her eyes large in her freckled face. Her palm was flat against her plain white blouse. “Oh!” Ledgers lay open behind her.
“Florence?” Amelia hoped she was right. Otherwise, she was facing a burglar—or a spy—with nothing but her straw hat for defense.
“Yes, Miss Chitester.” She hopped to the floor and dropped a quick curtsey. “May I help you? Mr. Fletcher said you might stop by seeing as you’re Mr. Brewer’s landlord.”
“Yes, er, do you mind if I walk through? I’ve not been here since Mr. Brewer began operations in earnest.”
“Certainly. I’ll go with you.” The young lady held open the door to the still room. Her clothes were tidy and well-tailored, but there were spots where the pattern had worn almost white. If she thought anything of Amelia’s more casual clothes, she didn’t show it.
“Is Mr. Brewer a good employer?” Amelia asked as they walked through a room which she could navigate blindfolded. “Does he require you to be at work this early?”
This damned ruse was trying.
“Yes, miss. Though he keeps odd hours. We come in to work, and it’s obvious someone’s been here in the night,” Florence whispered as though she was in church. “But he pays us well and the building is always warm when it’s supposed to be.” She leaned in. “Mr. Fletcher is dreadful scary until you get used to him.”
“He is rather like a giant raven.” Amelia chuckled. “But why are you here so early? Alone?” The irony of the question was not lost on her.
“I wanted to review my figures,” Florence said. “A great deal of the wine has been sold very quickly, and Mr. Fletcher says the percentages are important to Mr. Brewer. Plus, I worry after Caspar up here all alone.”
The marmalade tabby looked up from his breakfast of roast beef and potatoes. Amelia would swear he smirked.
“Will you have enough for lunch yourself, Florence? Because I’m sure Caspar could find some mice.”If he could waddle away from his dish.
“He catches plenty, but I’d get tired of eating the same thing every day, wouldn’t you?” Florence shrugged. “And Mother sends me extra since I go to work before school.” She led them back to the door. “I need to go. Mr. Fletcher says we aren’t to leave anyone in here.”
Amelia would have to discuss that rule with him. “Of course. Thank you for your help, Florence.”
She went back to the stable and Molly, making a show of saddling the mare while the girl locked the door. She waved goodbye before taking off over the hill toward the road.
“What are we waiting on?”
The hoarse, deep whisper sent Amelia’s heart to her throat and her hand to her chest. The laughter under the words, however, had her spinning on her tormentor.
Richard’s wide smile stole her words for a moment, but only just. She pushed him backward and kicked his shin. “You are awful.”
He dissolved into laughter. “Fine thing to say to your betrothed. Especially since I brought you firewood.” He motioned to the cart behind him. “Where would you like me to put it?”
A few unladylike suggestions sprung to the tip of her tongue.
His eyes twinkled as he leaned closer. The kiss was so quick and light she didn’t have time to respond. “Why don’t you get to work? I’ll put it where you and the children can get to it easily.”
