Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

A rchibald was stunned insensible as Izzie threw herself into his arms. Which was more or less how he always felt when he found himself in close proximity with her.

But today, it was particularly hard to think about anything other than touching her, with her delicate curves outlined by her borrowed breeches and her hair tumbling down her back in raven-dark waves.

His frazzled brain registered that she was speaking. “This is the kindest, the most thoughtful… the absolute best present anyone has ever given me.” She pulled back enough that he could see her face, and although her eyes were damp, she was smiling. “I’ve always dreamed of having a library just like this. Thank you.”

“Good,” he said gruffly. “And you’re very welcome.”

So, they were happy tears. He’d been worried for a second there.

God, but it was gratifying to have done something right, for once, where a woman was concerned.

Izzie kissed him on the cheek, then skipped out of his embrace. It seemed that the crying spell had passed. She tipped her head back to the vaulted ceiling and twirled in a circle.

He wanted to take her shopping for the books she would need to fill her floor-to-ceiling bookshelves personally, especially if there was any chance she would look at him like that again…

He cleared his throat. “I’ll bring an architect in to start working on the gallery. And whenever you’re ready, we can go to Chippendale’s, or any cabinet maker you prefer, and you can select the designs you’d like for the furniture.”

He’d expected her to be excited at the prospect, but her face fell. “I would love that, but I’m not sure I can go. Leastwise, not until they catch whoever’s trying to kill me.”

Well done, Archibald. Just when she was feeling happy again, you had to go and remind her about her problems .

He rubbed the back of his head. “Hopefully that situation will be resolved in the next few days. And if it’s not, the furniture makers can come here with their design books.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” She laughed. “I’m just eager to get started. It’s going to be perfect .”

Archibald smiled, relieved. “Almost perfect. It might be a little loud.”

She tilted her head. “I haven’t noticed any noise.”

“Not right now, no. But seeing as my workshop is across the hall—”

“Your workshop?” She grabbed his hand and towed him toward the door. “I can’t wait to see it!”

Shit . Why had he gone and said that? The last thing he could let her do was see his workshop. For one, he was supposed to be concealing the grimy nature of his work. But what was even worse, it would all be over if Izzie discovered that his notion of a passion project involved making screws .

“You wouldn’t want to go in there,” he said as they stepped into the hall. He saw that the door was standing ajar. Perfect .

“Of course, I would.” Her smile was dazzling. “I’m eager to see all of your machines.”

He managed to slip in front of her and block the doorframe. “There isn’t much to see,” he said, reaching behind him for the knob. “Besides, it’s”—he cast about for an excuse—“very dirty.”

She laughed. “Then today is the perfect day for me to go in,” she said, gesturing to the boys’ clothing she still wore.

“Umm.” He managed to lay his groping hand upon the knob and pulled the door shut behind him. “There isn’t really that much to see. My main machine shop is over at Nettlethorpe Iron. So that’s where I do most of my building. This is just a hodgepodge.”

This wasn’t strictly true. The reason Archibald had a workshop at home was so he could put things together whenever inspiration struck. And it happened that he had an advanced prototype of his screw-cutting lathe on the other side of that door.

Not that he was about to let Izzie see it.

Pulling the ring of keys the footman had brought him earlier from his pocket, he turned and hastily locked the door. “I’ll take you to my proper workshop sometime.”

Sometime in the distant future, he added silently.

He turned to face her. Izzie looked… crestfallen. Damn it . He knew he had just disappointed her, but if ever there was a critical moment, this was it. He couldn’t take the chance that anything he showed her today might put her off from marrying him.

He could tell she was trying to tamp down her disappointment. “When will I be able to visit your other workshop?”

“That depends on when it’s safe.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “I hope it will only take a few days, but what if it’s longer?” She leaned around him to gaze longingly at the door to his workshop. “Could I not just—”

It was time for another diversion. Offering to build her a personal library had been an inspired thought when she’d started to ask about his work. He wasn’t going to come up with something better than that .

But maybe he could try something similar…

“There’s something you need to do,” he said, taking her hand and tugging her gently but firmly down the hall.

“Can it wait?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. “I would very much like to—”

“Your bedroom,” Archibald said in what he hoped was an enticing voice, leading Izzie to the stairs and climbing toward the second floor. “You need to pick which one you’d like.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Surely that will keep for ten minutes. We still need to discuss… Oh!”

Having reached the second floor, Archibald pushed open the door leading to the first bedroom, which was salmon pink with Gothic motifs outlined on the walls in crisp white plasterwork.

She swallowed as she drank in the room. “This… this is lovely,” she said reluctantly.

God bless his mother and her florid taste. Izzie wandered, entranced, over to the mantelpiece, her request to see his workshop momentarily forgotten.

Archibald was breathing a sigh of relief when Rory McPherson, the office manager at Nettlethorpe Iron, stuck his head in the door.

Archibald frowned. McPherson wasn’t one of the men he’d brought over to guard the house. “What are you doing here, McPherson?”

McPherson clutched his hat in front of his stomach. “Apologies, Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy, sir. But could I have a quick word?”

He nodded, holding up a finger for McPherson to wait, then crossed the room in three strides. “Izzie. Izzie!” He jiggled her arm until she glanced up at him, dazed. “The two rooms at the far end of the east wing belong to my parents. But any of the others, you could have. All right?”

“Not the two at the end of the hall,” she repeated. “Very well.”

“I have some business to attend to. Have a look around. I’ll join you momentarily.”

“All right,” she said, then squealed as she spotted an elaborately carved mirror.

Archibald stepped out of the room and walked up to his office manager. “What is it?”

It turned out that the King of Salaria had turned up at the forge today. They had signed a contract with the former monarch, his brother Charles Frederick IV, for the delivery of fifty cannons last month and another fifty come spring.

Now that he had seen the quality of the cannons, the new king was demanding delivery of the additional fifty his brother had ordered, effective immediately.

“Well, he can’t have them now,” Archibald explained. “We’re fully booked working on orders for other customers. They’ll be ready when the contract says they’ll be ready, and likely not a minute before.”

“That’s what I tried to tell him,” McPherson said, twisting his hat. “He, uh… he didn’t like that answer very much. He’s been asking to speak with you.”

Archibald suppressed a groan. “Did you tell him that I’m dealing with an emergency? That someone tried to kill my betrothed?”

“I did.”

“And that I’m getting married tomorrow?”

“I told him that as well. But you know how it is—royalty doesn’t like to wait.”

Archibald scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ll meet with him just as soon as I’m back at work.”

Hope flared in McPherson’s blue eyes. “When will that be, sir?”

Archibald had hoped to take a few days to enjoy his status as a newly married man. If things went well, he was hoping he wouldn’t be leaving whichever of these bedrooms Izzie selected for several days.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “It could be a few days.”

McPherson’s brow creased. “But Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy, sir—”

Archibald reached out and squeezed McPherson’s shoulder. “Put him off as best you can.”

McPherson nodded, swallowing thickly. “I’ll do my best, boss.”