Page 10 of Highland Renegade
“Aye.” When his father had refused to give up his surname, he’d had to turn the distillery over to Donovan and Broderick. That might be to his advantage now. “My uncles run the distillery.”
“Do they own it?”
He drew his brows together. She was obviously trying to find out if it went with the deed. “Nae completely.”
“Are there shareholders?”
His frown deepened. Women weren’t supposed to know anything about business. “’Tis more of a clan operation.”
“Who reaps the benefits? Apart from consuming the product, I mean.” She rose and walked closer to him. For a moment, he wondered if she were going to try and seduce him…but she only reached past him to pick up the bottle. “I am not familiar with this label. Where do you distribute it?”
He was distracted by the faint floral scent wafting from her hair. She must have washed it in rose water. He had the oddest urge to bend his head and bury his nose in the curls atop her head. Luckily, she set the bottle down and turned away, allowing his good sense to return.
“Mostly just to Glasgow.”
“Well, then. The first thing we will need to do is increase production. I would wager a number of gentlemen’s clubs in London would buy all you have immediately.”
He stared at her. “Do ye have any idea of how long it takes to produce Scotch?” Then he went on before she could answer.“Years.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “All the more reason to increase production now.”
By the devil’s own horns! Was Emily Woodhaven thinking to take over the distilling process? His uncles would be fit to be tied. He needed to change the subject.
“Perhaps we can. However…” He swallowed hard. “I believe I owe ye an apology.”
Her brow lifted again. “For what?”
The woman was going to make him spell it out. “Yesterday’s meeting was a wee bit awkward. We were nae expecting three young women to arrive. Thought was nae given as to which rooms would suit ye best.” When her brow rose slightly higher, he rushed on, not allowing time for her to criticize. “Now that ye’ve seen the rest of the castle, ye can be the best judge of which rooms would suit ye and yer sisters.”
“I told you last night that Ilikedmy room.”
“Aye, but ye had yet to see the rest of the castle. In the light of day, ye must prefer one of the other rooms.”
“Not really. The one I have will make do quite nicely.”
He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. What woman wouldn’t want the luxury the more modern rooms afforded? “I’m sure yer sisters will want ye all to move.”
“If my sisters wish to move, they may do so, but Fiona was kind enough to have a tub delivered to my room, so I will be content.”
“But…” If he couldn’t get her to accept his offer, how was he going to get her to agree to staying quiet about the deed ownership? This wasn’t going the way he planned. “Tell me if ye change your mind, then. Meanwhile, I will have a maid assigned to meet yer needs.”
“That is not necessary. The gowns I brought do not need assistance to don.”
Was the blasted woman not going to accept any of his help? “As a countess, ye must have all sorts of servants to do yer bidding.” An odd expression crossed her face, one he couldn’t read, and it was gone before he could ponder on it. “I am sure a village girl or two would be glad to come here to assist ye.”
She shook her head. “I did not seek you out to discuss servants. What I want to know is when can I tour my—the—holdings? I would like to see what opportunities there may be for me to improve things.”
Ian swallowed his pride at that remark, remembering how he’d deliberately sent in reports that didn’t tell the whole story of just how profitable the lands were. And now, if he were going to convince her that he would be the perfect steward, he’d have to show her. And perhaps that could be an advantage, since offering a better room hadn’t worked.
“I can arrange that in a day or two,” he said, “but mayhap it might be wise nae to divulge that ye have the deed just yet. The clansmen will need a wee bit of time to get used to the idea that an English countess is wanting to ken their business.” He gave her a beguiling smile, one that usually worked. “MacGregors are a bit wary of strangers, given our circumstances.”
Emily tilted her head to one side to consider him. For a long moment she didn’t speak, then she nodded. “I suppose there is a benefit in letting your clansmen get to know me first. To realize I am not a ninnyhammer who needs smelling salts when something goes awry. I agree to withhold the information. For now.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank ye. I am sure ye will nae regret it.”
She smiled as she turned toward the door to leave, but she looked like the cat who’d just discovered the door to the creamery open.
Ian wondered if the imaginary comment he’d thought of Rory making might not be true, after all. That she’d been sent from hell to bedevil him.
