What the Hart Wants - Fiona Davenport Page 0,39

London merchant as to when he can expect delivery.”

“You’ve been productive,” Fraser said. “Are the employees settling in?”

“It’s never easy with such a rapid expansion, but folks are grateful for the work.”

“Good,” Fraser said. “I’d like to meet them today when I show Miss Hart round.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Ye’d show a lady round the factory?”

“You forget your manners, Hamish. Some ladies, even English ones, do more than sit indoors and embroider cushions. Now, lead the way.”

The building was humming with activity. Everywhere Lilah looked, she saw men and women working together. As they passed, the employees hailed Fraser as if he were a long-lost friend. He stopped and spoke to each one, praising them for their industry and promising they’d be rewarded for their dedication.

“You employ women?” Lilah asked.

“As you see.”

“That’s unusual.”

“But not unfair,” he replied. “A woman toils as hard as a man. Most of them are widows with no source of income, or wives of men incapable of working through illness or injury. I would not see them destitute by virtue of their sex.”

“What about the ones with children?” Lilah asked.

“Family needs are provided for,” he replied. “We grant them a stipend for life when they’re too old to work, and a nursemaid to take care of their children until they’re old enough to attend the local school.”

“A school?”

“We fund a school on the estate,” he said. “The surest way to lift a man out of poverty is to give him the means to do that himself. And the best way to achieve that is through education, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Hart?”

“I find myself agreeing with you more than I’d expected.”

“Excellent!” he said. “I have a mind to discuss it with your Mrs. Forbes when I next see her.”

“You think she could advise you on how to run a school?”

“No, but some of her women seeking a fresh start, particularly those with children, may wish to come here. I’ve already suggested it to her.”

“You think a woman would wish to travel so far from home?”

“I’m certain of it,” he said. “There are many women looking for a new beginning, away from their pasts. Why not come here? Despite what you hear about my countrymen, we welcome newcomers. Fresh ideas, new people… It’s how we grow.”

“Then it seems as if your education is complete,” Lilah said.

“My education?”

“The plight of the disadvantaged, a greater understanding of the world. You recall our bargain?”

“Ah, yes, our bargain.” He met her gaze, hunger in his eyes. “But I must still complete your education, must I not? I believe we’d agreed on five lessons in pleasure. Four yet remain.”

She dropped her gaze to his lips—those full, sensual lips. She had only to move forward a little, and she could taste them.

He smiled and drew back. “I believe we must add another lesson.”

“Which is?”

“To show you that I am more than an uncouth Scot or a libertine lord.”

She had judged him unfairly.

“I believe my education with regard to you has already begun,” she said, “but I’m eager to learn about your whisky, even if I don’t like the taste.”

“Then you have set a challenge, Miss Hart,” he said. “I must persuade you to taste it again.”

“I can’t see myself enjoying it a second time.”

“There are many different forms of whisky,” he said. “The taste depends on many factors.”

“Such as?”

“The water is an important part,” he said. “Our water is collected from the burn, which comes straight from the mountain—fresh and clear, almost sweet to the palate. One must also consider the barrels in which the whisky is aged. We’re experimenting with different barrels, including sherry casks. The sherry should infuse a level of sweetness. But I’m also eager to experiment with different barrels to impart a variety of flavors. However, I must stay my enthusiasm until we can reap the rewards of our efforts. And for that, I have Hamish to thank. He acts as a steady hand to prevent me from sinking too much of my assets into the venture.”

“Hamish seems a sensible fellow,” Lilah said.

The man in question gave her a stiff bow. “I do my best for the master.”

“Come,” Fraser said. “Let me show you the whole process from start to finish.”

He ushered her into the main part of the building.

A dry, acrid smell caught at the back of her throat, and she coughed. “What the devil is that?”

“The peat smoke,” he said, laughing. “Only a Sassenach would choke at the most beautiful aroma in the world! I once heard tell