Page 135 of The Dravenhearst Brides
“These barrels are relatively light. We’ll be lucky if they’re even half full of usable product. After twenty years, the devil’s cut and angel’s share rise higher than fifty percent. Higher still in the top racks, where aging accelerates due to heat.”
“I see.”
“We’ll concentrate on the lower floors today, the ones with the highest yield.”
Hours slipped away. Every barrel rolled was a grain of sand slipping through an hourglass. Time sifted and fell through Margot’s fingers. There was a ticking in her mind, keeping time. Every second, relentless. Ticking.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Counting down,she realized, raising a woozy hand to her forehead, damp with sweat.
Counting down to what? What would happen here when the sand ran out?
What happened here twenty years ago when the music stopped?
By the time dusk fell, half the rickhouse was emptied. Xander and Julian were dismissed.
The lower-level ricks were empty, ghostly bare save five barrels lined up on the floor. One from each level of the rickhouse.
Merrick handed Margot the whiskey thief, the long cylindrical tool used to steal bourbon from the barrels. The copper was dense in her hands, heavier than expected.
“Want to try?” he asked, pulling out the cork stopper in the nearest barrel.
She did.
He showed her how, his fingers gliding over hers. Less than a thimble-full of deep amber liquid in each glass. Enough to taste but not to waste.
Merrick lifted his glass, assessing the color. She held her breath, watching him. He sniffed gently. Swirled the liquid in the tumbler. Paused to smile at her. “Ready?”
“Ready.” She gave a delicate sniff of her own. The scent of oak was undeniably strong.
“Twenty years in a barrel,” Merrick said, reading her mind. “A long marriage.”
Margot tipped her glass to her lips. A symphony of flavors exploded across her tongue. She was flooded with woodsmoke upfront, sharper than sharp. But its power dulled, settling into a wash of botanical liquid heat that finished sweet. Lighter and smoother than any bourbon she’d ever tasted. So painfully, beautifully smooth.
Merrick watched her, awaiting the pronouncement. She licked her lips, not wanting to waste a drop. Fiery warmth swelled in her chest.
“Well?”
“Smooth. Rich,” she replied. The burn lingered. “I’ve never tasted anything like it before.”
“It’ll sell for a pretty penny.” Merrick smiled. “There’ll be nothing like it on the market, nothing to rival it.”
He kissed her, slow and sure. She slipped her tongue in his mouth, gently grazing his teeth, tracing his lips.
“I love the way it tastes on you,” he groaned.
She loved how it tasted on him too. She always had.
Margot ended the day with a smile on her face and bourbon on her lips. Determined once more that this family could bloom where it had once bled.
Margot waited until Merrick was sound asleep to make her move, for there was still one final thing she needed to do.
Her feet led her downstairs and across the foyer, one hand dragging along the ebony wood of the serpentine banister. Her fingers knocked theslats as one plucks the strings of harp. She paused at the small table that held the manor’s telephone.
