Of course, such a fanciful idea hinged on Bryony wishing to have anything to do with Max at all.
He would not force her to associate with him. But he would do as she had done for Frances, and give her an opportunity. One she could choose to take or to leave. One she had earned.
He strode from the Cloven Hoof and hailed the first passing hack. There were two stops to make before heading to Bryony’s house and handing her the keys to her own future. Before she had given him the deed to the Cloven Hoof, he already owned the empty storefront next door.
Not for long.
She would soon be in possession of the deed.
It meant giving up on his dreams for the Cloven Hoof. For her.
He didn’t expect accolades. It didn’t even mean she would forgive him. He wanted to do the right thing. To surrender the possessionhemost cared about in all the world.
What Bryony would do with the property, he had no idea. She was certainly clever enough to establish an even better club and put him out of business. Or she could sell the deed to anyone but him if all she wanted was to purchase her Stradivarius back.
There was no way to know. It didn’t matter. Her life and her choices were up to her. As they should be.
Within the space of an hour, Max presented himself at the home of Lord and Lady Grenville.
A place he’d sworn he’d never go.
A place he knew he was not welcome.
He might well be turned away at the door. Thrown into the street like so much rubbish.
It didn’t matter.
All that mattered was Bryony. He would beg forgiveness from her, and her hand from her father.
No matter the odds, he needed to try.
He banged the gilt knocker.
An impassive butler answered the door. “Calling card?”
Damnit. Max stared back at him in consternation.
“Who is it, Prate?” came Bryony’s voice from just around the corner.
“Maxwell Gideon, here to deliver an apology,” Max announced in a voice loud enough to carry.
Silence reigned.
He would not yet tell her about the property next door to the Cloven Hoof. It was irrelevant.
She would get the deed whether she forgave him or not.
He needed her to know he loved her without conditions or expectations. Exactly who and how she was.
That was, if she allowed him to cross this threshold.
Chapter 27
Bryony’s fingers tightened on her book in disbelief.
She was alone in the family drawing room, an untouched pile of samplers at her side. Instead of embroidering, she was engrossed inThe Castle of Otrantoby Horace Walpole. She had filched the volume from Max’s office.
And now he was here. Why? What else could be left to say?
