“Yes.”
They were silent a moment, her staring at the flower shop, him burning a hole in the back of her head with the heat of his gaze.
“I do understand,” she said finally. “Peoples lives are more important than one woman getting her flower shop. It still doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
She rapped on the ceiling of the carriage, and they lurched into motion. The driver turned down Duke Street. Their pace slowed, the street congested with carts and horses, and by the time they reached the shell of her old home, they were at a crawl.
She gasped and poked her head out the window. “It’s gone!”
“I know.” Max rubbed her back. “I had it demolished so a new building can go up. I should have done it months ago.”
She stared at the square lot of dirt. The flat space bordered by two high buildings looked forlorn. Out of place. Colleen rubbed her hands down her skirt, twisting them in the stiff fabric.
“Are you upset?” Max asked. “I thought, not having to see it every time you went past, that it might be better for you.”
She sank back into her seat. “No, it’s fine. It’s time it was rebuilt.” She tried to figure out what she was feeling. Relief? The void of the lot matched the hollow feeling in her chest. That void had been filled with guilt and regret for the past six months, so the emptiness was a reprieve. The blank lot rolled to the edge of the window and out of her sight.
Max snuck his hand into hers, and she instinctively clutched it. Even through the thin layer of leather, she could feel his warmth.
“I want to show you something.” Max edged closer, his thigh brushing hers. “Will you let me?”
Colleen stared out the window. She should go back to the club. Even though she’d decided to give him her body, she couldn’t give him her soul, not if she wanted to live happily alone back in Wapping. Max was already coming to mean more to her than he should.
“Yes.” She sighed. She was weak; she freely admitted this. But her need for a connection with Max overrode her disappointment in herself. Her husband had slept next to her, worked beside her, and never once asked her opinion. Never tried to determine what made her smile or laugh. She didn’t fault Mr. Bonner. She had been little better as a wife. But now that she knew how it felt for a man to truly take an interest in her, she wanted to cling to that feeling a little while longer. “Yes, if you’d like to.”
Leaning over her, Max shouted an address up to the driver. He settled back, keeping hold of her hand, pressing it to his thigh. They rode to his destination in silence. The only communication they had was the stroke of his thumb against the patch of bare skin between her glove and her sleeve.
They stopped before a large five-story townhouse in Mayfair. The sun slanted low in the sky, casting the bottom half of the honey-colored stone building in shadow.
Max handed her out and turned to the driver. “You can return to the club. I’ll take Mrs. Bonner back.”
“This is your house?” Colleen shouldn’t be surprised a baron had such an elegant residence, but she’d thought Max’s home would be a bit rougher around the edges, like the man himself.
“Yes.” He guided her up the steps to the front door, and it swung open before them. A footman clicked his heels together and dipped his head.
“Good afternoon, Jackson. Have I received any correspondence?” Max handed his hat over to the young man.
“Not since you left this morning,” Jackson said. “But I do believe the Marquess of Dunkeld is expected in a couple hours for dinner.”
Max pursed his lips. “I’d forgotten.” He glanced at Colleen. “I’ll have taken Mrs. Bonner to her home and returned before then.”
Jackson nodded. “I’ll take your spencer and gloves, Mrs. Bonner, if you’d like.”
Her fingers fumbled on the buttons. The footmen at the club held the doors for her, of course, but she was a working woman, of a servant’s level. She’d never been a guest in such a grand house before, and it wasn’t a comfortable feeling. Max helped her slide the garment from her shoulders.
Jackson’s eyes flared when he took in her man’s shirt and waistcoat, but he remained ever polite, taking her spencer with a small bow.
Max lead her through a grand foyer and down a wide hall. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor. The swirling mosaic on the ceiling matched the tile pattern on the floor, and Colleen stumbled against Max’s back, taking it all in.
He steadied her and threw open the double doors to a large sitting room. The back wall was made entirely of glass framed in diamond-shaped iron trusses and looked out onto a tropical jungle.
Colleen’s step faltered. “What on earth …?”
“Since you admire flowers so, I wanted to show you my conservatory.” He cleared his throat. “This sitting room and the conservatory are my favorite rooms. I read in here most afternoons, enjoying the feeling of being among nature.”
“I can see why.” She drifted to the sheer wall and pressed her palm against the cool glass. She was facing another world, one of towering palm trees and wide ferns interspersed with explosions of colorful plants and bountiful citrus trees. Gravel paths wound through the lush garden, and the sun shone down through the clear ceiling, exposing the wildness and beauty of the space.
