Legacy of the Clockwork Key Read Online Free PDF Page A

stumble. Finally, I composed myself and stepped around the corner with a confidence I didn’t feel.
    “What’s your name, lass?” He grabbed a cloth from the bucket and rubbed the gelding’s face.
    “Margaret Whitlock. Everyone here calls me Meg.” Assoon as I said it, I questioned the familiarity of letting him use my given name, but this was hardly proper society. He was the groom. I was the maid. There were different rules in this world.
    The beginning of a smile pulled at his wounded lip. “William MacDonald. No one here calls me anything at all, but you can call me Will if you want.” He wiped his hands as he approached.
    I fought the urge to step back as he strode toward me. He didn’t stop until he’d forced me to look up at him. A lock of his dark hair had fallen over his forehead and he pushed it away from his eye with his knuckle.
    “I brought your shirts and some of the treacle tart from yesterday’s tea.” Why did I find it so hard to speak? I had to force myself to remember that he’d been rude and insolent to me the last time I’d seen him. I thrust the bundle of shirts toward him with stiff arms, but he didn’t move back a step.
    “Treacle?” He smiled fully, and I almost dropped the shirts. They slipped out of my hands and I bent forward to catch them, crumpling them together until his hand caught mine.
    I held my breath.
    Slowly he helped me rise. Then he took the small rag-wrappedtart that I had crushed somewhat inelegantly against my chest.
    My gaze met his. “Consider it a kindness,” I mumbled. He just stared, his dark brown eyes so deep, I . . .
    I dropped the shirts on the floor and retreated toward the door. My face felt on fire as I heard the heavy beat of my heart in my ears.
    “Meg, wait,” he called.
    His voice stopped me, trapping me in the spot like a wild bird in a snare. My heart fluttered, beating wildly as I clung to the heavy latch.
    He crossed the distance between us. With a gentle touch, he lifted my hand from the door. “Let’s take a look at your watch.”
    I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. “Mrs. Pratt will be home soon.”
    Will smiled. “Aye, but Old Nick knows when Little Nancy is near. He’ll give us fair warning.” He winked, then pulled me deeper into the carriage house, leading me back toward the stables. “Come, Meg. Share a bit of tart with me.” He motioned to a worn chair by a small fat-bellied stove in the corner.
    I perched on the end of it but found my toe tapping ina rapid and unladylike way. I stepped on it with my other foot. He only wanted to help. It’s what I’d asked of him. I gathered my skirts, bunching the fabric over my apron. Will rolled over a barrel that had been cut in half to form a large tub and turned it down to make a small table near the stove. He grabbed a stool with a mismatched leg and eased down beside me.
    We sat in silence as I watched him break the tart and hand me a piece. It was a bit of a mess without any proper plates or utensils, but it tasted heavenly.
    I closed my eyes. “This is good,” I murmured through my mouthful, then immediately looked at him abashed, until I noticed his cheek overstuffed with tart. I laughed.
    “Aye,” he agreed, eating what remained of his portion with another single bite. “You’re lucky.”
    “You think so?” I broke off a dainty piece of mine and tried to look elegant while eating in such a barbaric manner.
    “You get to eat this every week.” He shrugged. “I get left over beef scraps and whatever I can manage on my own.”
    “I’ve never had this before,” I admitted.
    “Why not?” He picked up a cloth and wiped his hands.
    “We’re not allowed to eat it. The cook makes one every Thursday, and I have to throw it away uneaten every Friday.”I finished the last of my piece then wiped my hands on my apron.
    “Why?”
    “I thought you’d know.” I certainly couldn’t find an excuse for such a waste of food and effort.
    He looked down and scuffed the