Page 11 of Mending the Baron's Sins
It broke Horace’s last bout of iciness. He laughed with his friend and they smiled at one another, once again the close friends they had been.
“I am glad you accept my apology,” Walter said hurriedly. “And I will not make such an investment again without your approval.”
“Thank you.” Yet Horace was uneasy with the words. Could he truly trust Walter not to do such a thing again?
“Now, for the true reason I have come here today.” Walter shifted forward in his chair.
“Which is?”
“I have made progress with the investment you wished us to make. I have purchased that milliner’s shop in London we spoke of.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out some paperwork, handing it to Horace.
“You did?” Horace felt excitement ripple through him. He discarded his book beside him and opened the papers in his lap, looking through them swiftly. Yet the sheer effort of moving his arms so much made him tired again, and he grunted under his breath in irritation.
“You are not pleased?”
“No, no, I am. Thank you, Walter. This is what we needed for our business endeavors.” Yet that jealousy curled in his gut once more. How he had longed to go to London and see the shop for himself first, but such a trip would have been completely out of the question.
“Now, there is one other thing we must speak of—” Yet Walter broke off as there was a knock at the door.
“Come,” Horace said to the door.
It opened and in walked Orla.
Startled, Horace stared at her, for he had been expecting a maid to rebuild the fire. She swept into the room fast, carrying a tray of what appeared to be hot, steaming tea. When she reached the table beside him, she picked up the book from it, read the title, and smiled a little, then returned it to a shelf and used the table to place the tea upon it.
“What is this?” he said with a wrinkled nose, noting at once that the tea was not normal. The scent that wafted from it was different, and incredibly fragrant.
“Tea. You know, my Lord. Tea leaves with hot water upon it.”
“Your dryness does not help matters, Miss Byrne.”
“Your objections do not help either.”
Their tartness with one another made Walter cough beside them. It took a minute for Horace to realize Walter was covering up his laughter with that cough.
“Here,” she said as she poured out the tea. “Drink this.”
“This is not laudanum.”
“And one does not have to live on laudanum. Not if they’d like any quality of life at all.” She held out the cup toward him, but he still looked at her with suspicion.
“Your place is to give me laudanum,” he said tartly.
“My place is to help you.” She spoke so emphatically, staring him in the eye, that he could not answer. He was looking back at her in alarm, once more angry at her appearance.
Wouldn’t it have been so much easier if Mr. Byrne’s assistant had been a young man? Or even an old woman with haggard skin and no charms at all? Orla’s beauty and her challenging tone were not helping matters.
“Please,” she whispered and pressed the cup toward him.
Slowly, he took it, their fingers brushing together. He jolted at the touch and purposefully avoided her gaze.
“What’s in it?” He wrinkled his nose as he sniffed the tea.
“You have complained about feeling tired. This will help. It’s restorative herbs.” At her words, he looked up, plain suspicion in his gaze. “Trust me, my Lord. I know what I am doing.” Then she took the empty tray and swept back out of the room.
In spite of knowing he should not do it, he watched her go, his eyes lingering on her back, the long willowy figure and the curves made all the more noticeable by the plain gown she wore. Then she was gone, and he was sighing as he sat back in his chair.
“Who was that?” Walter said after Orla’s footsteps had faded away from the corridor.
