Page 24 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

He lowered himself back into the carver and pulled her until she was seated across his lap before resuming the kiss. When he finally angled his face away from hers, he arched a teasing brow. “You either sold a lot of books, or—”

“I did. Seventeen pounds worth. To an aristocrat, I think. He didn’t blink an eye when I told him the price.”

Darius’s eyes widened in awe. “Congratulations,” he said. When she continued fairly bouncing with excitement, her gown and petticoats crushed between her thigh and his growing manhood, he grinned. “There’s more?”

“I found an assistant,” she blurted.

Blinking several times, he feared he had not been listening at some point in the past day or two—he couldn’t recall her mentioning she was in need of an assistant. If she had mentioned it and he claimed he wasn’t aware of it, she might be cross with him.

Given the way she had her arms wrapped around his shoulders and her head nestled into the space between his head and shoulders, the very last thing he wanted to do was ruin the mood. He opted for a query that might save him either way. “I thought you were looking for a clerk?”

“Well, they’re the same,” she replied.

“Is he—?”

“She.”

“—one of your customers?”

Stella straightened and brushed her thumb across one of his brows, apparently to smooth the errant hairs into place. “She is not, but she does know how to read. Not only that, but she is also a flower girl at Covent Garden Market.”

Darius furrowed his brows. “There must be a dozen of them in that place,” he remarked.

“Closer to a hundred, I think, but she’s the only one who works for Jones’ Nursery.”

Darius straightened in his chair, the move nearly unseating her from his lap. “Is she quitting to work for you?” he asked in alarm.

“No.”

“Because when I delivered the seedlings to Mr. Jones this morning, he mentioned he planned to have her help sell the trees at the market.”

“I told her the same thing,” she claimed, grinning.

Momentarily stunned, Darius furrowed the brow she had been stroking. “How much will you have to pay her?”

“That’s the best part of this arrangement. Yesterday, her brother died of influenza—”

Darius hissed. “Has she got it?”

Stella shook her head. “I don’t believe so. She seems in good health, other than…” She rolled her eyes. “Well, she cries easily, but I think that’s because she is so overwhelmed by his death and then by the issue with the bank.”

When she didn’t elaborate, he leaned back in his chair. “Issue with the bank?” he prompted.

Glancing over at the sideboard where a crystal decanter and glasses were arranged on a silver salver, Stella said, “I think I could use a drink. Would you like one?”

Darius scoffed at the sudden change of subject. “Ferguson is due to serve the soup course at any moment,” he warned, referring to the footman. “But I would not turn down a glass of gin. Not a whole pint of it, though.”

Although public houses served it by the pint, most were still selling the rotgut made in the old style.

“I paid a call on the distillery that’s using a Coffey’s Still,” he commented. The new and efficient column technology allowed for a high-proof, neutral spirit that didn’t require turpentine to mask poor quality. “Quite an operation they have going. The column must be two stories tall.” He motioned to the sideboard. “It’s in the green bottle.”

Stella wrinkled her nose but poured him a half glass, the juniper scent and fumes of alcohol causing the air to seem to waver above the top of the glass. “It’s a good thing you can’t get too drunk,” she remarked, giving him the glass.

He chuckled before he took a sip. “I bought you a bottle of your favorite Branntwein.”

Inhaling softly when she found the bottle of German Weinbrand on the salver, Stella grinned. “Wherever did you find it?”

“Berry Brothers on St. James’s Street,” he replied. “Not far from the gentlemen’s clubs.” He rose from his chair and held hers when she returned to the table with her brandywine.