“Do you want me to continue managing The Black Rose?” She couldn’t imagine a relationship as his mistress, installed in an apartment, waiting for him to come to her. She needed honest occupation. If her flower shop was no longer available, perhaps staying on at the club wouldn’t be so bad. The place had grown on her.
“If you want. You are a superior manager.” His reflection closed in on her. He stood directly behind her, raising his hands to hover over her shoulders, but never touching. “I know my wishes. But I want you to find your happiness. What is it that you want?”
Colleen stared into the conservatory. The moonlight threw strange shadows of blues and greys amongst the plants. What did she want? She’d thought she’d known. But her desires had taken a new direction since meeting Max.
Stepping to the side, Max pulled the door to the greenhouse open. “Come. Let’s take a stroll.” He held out his uninjured hand, his gaze rock steady.
Her stomach fluttered. She stared at his hand, big, rough, capable. Inviting. Sucking in a deep breath, she slid her palm into his and followed him into the humid heat of the conservatory.
“Have I told you about the amaryllis at my greenhouse at Meadowlark?” He tugged her close. “This time of year they’re nothing more than shoots poking from the dirt, but in a couple months the plants will explode with color. It’s one of the most beautiful sights in the world.” He stopped under the shadow of a palm tree. “I hope to show it to you.”
A bead of sweat slid down Colleen’s spine. “How would I go to Meadowlark? As a business acquaintance? A mistress? A …?” She couldn’t voice it. It was too absurd.
Max had no such qualms. “My wife, should I be so fortunate. I wish to marry you.”
Colleen heard every thud of her heart. The scent of the nearby jessamine overwhelmed her senses. The idea was fantastic. Absurd. “The baron and the woman of business? It sounds like a bad novel.”
“The story of Max and Colleen. It sounds wonderful to me. But”—he reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper—“before you answer, I want you to read this. You should know all your options. I want you to pick me because you want me; not because you feel like you have no other choices.”
She snatched the parchment from his hand, rolling her eyes but knowing he couldn’t see it in the dark. He was offering her a life with the man she loved. What option was better than that? “The moonlight isn’t strong enough for me to read this. And I don’t need to. Of course—”
Flint sparked against steel. Kneeling on the path, Max blew a small flame to life on a dried palm leaf. He held the light up to the paper. “This won’t last long, so read quickly.”
Shaking her head, she snapped the paper open. Beautiful, stupid man. How he thought she’d—
“What is this? A bill of sale?”
“For your flower shop.” Max cursed and dropped the leaf, stamping out any lingering flame. “When I reneged on our deal for your premium, I knew I couldn’t let my decision steal your dream. So, I struck a deal with Mr. Ridley.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and cupped her neck. “It was your money I used. The money you’d earned. The deed is in your name. No one can take it away from you.”
Even though she could no longer read the words, she stared at the paper. Her flower shop. Her dream.
She looked up. Moonlight limned the firm jawline of the man who’d made it happen. “You think I’d choose this shop over you? Maybe we shouldn’t marry. I don’t want to be joined forever with a blockhead. But—”
His whoop cut her off. Grabbing her about the waist, he swung her in a circle. “I heard yes.” He covered her lips with his own, and their tongues tangled. He tasted of whiskey and heat, the spirit sweeter coming from Max’s lips.
Breathless, she pulled back. Tried to regain her previous thought. “Besides, I don’t have to choose. I can have both. You are a man of business. I see no reason your wife should be any different. If a baron having a Cit for a wife doesn’t destroy your reputation, I don’t see why having a wife who also runs a flower shop should do you any worse.”
He nuzzled her neck. “Trust me. Of my friends who’ve married, you are by far the most respectable bride. Like Montague and Rothchild, I care not how society regards me.”
She dropped her head back, exposing more skin. Loving the way he took advantage. “Of course, if we marry, I’ll no longer own the flower shop. Everything becomes yours. Blasted, idiotic law,” she muttered.
Max growled against her throat, and she patted his arm. “I didn’t say that would change my mind. But it wouldn’t go amiss for you to bring up the issue with your fellow lawmakers in the House of Lords.”
“Duly noted.” He raised his head. “But you do know that what’s mine is yours, too. Everything I am, everything I have.”
She melted. Threading her fingers in his hair, she nipped at his throat. “And I will manage everything of yours with economy and efficiency.”
“I have no doubt.” He cupped her neck then slid his hand down lower.
Her breast tingled under his caress. “But with all the time we’ll be spending at Meadowlark, I’ll have to find a local manager for the shop. With so many delightful ways to occupy our time, I wouldn’t want to waste every day working.”
Dipping his head, he sucked her earlobe into his hot mouth. “Leisure time is one of the many benefits of marrying into the gentry,” he agreed. Softly, he cupped her cheeks between his hands and stared down at her. He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “You’re an amazing woman, Colleen Bonner. Just as you are. Do you understand me?”
She understood. She saw the self-recrimination in his eyes. The regret for their fight.
The love.
He loved her. Not because she maintained the ledgers for his business. Or in the hopes she’d bear his children. This would be a marriage so unlike her first.
