“Don’t you look lovely?” she said. “Reed and Lord Helton are finished in the study. Your Max is waiting in the drawing room now.”
This time the butterflies swarming her chest might as well have been full-sized birds. “Do I look all right?”
“You are stunning.” Her mother’s mouth curved into a proud smile. “Are you sure you want to go down?”
“Positive,” Caroline said. “I feel like I’ve waited a lifetime for this.”
YES
Maxwell Black stood near the fireplace, his typically unyielding countenance softened by the weight of the moment. He had her brother’s permission—something he had not taken for granted.
Now he needed to ask his prospective bride herself.
The possibility of being rejected turned his veins to ice.
He’d admitted to loving her, and she’d returned the sentiment. But she might well have been in shock. Max removed a handkerchief from inside his jacket and dabbed at his forehead. Why was it so hot in this godforsaken room?
He only hoped he’d kept her from seeing the worst of that ghastly scene—something no lady should ever witness. Something no human should ever witness.
He should have sent her home earlier. He could have protected her better.
The scene he’d left in his print room the night before slammed into him. He’d not blame any of his employees if they never came back.
And although earlier that morning he had received a dispatch from Winterhope saying Malum’s men had cleaned up the mess at the offices, Max was in no hurry to see for himself.
Which was just as well. He had far more important business. Personal business.
When the door finally opened, he stuffed the linen cloth into a pocket and pivoted to face her. And immediately forgot the little speech he’d rehearsed in his head.
This woman.
Even after the ordeal she’d gone through the day before, Caroline was a vision. The emerald day dress clung to her figure in all the right places, and her chestnut hair had been arranged in intricate curls, framing her face like a halo. She wore no jewels; she didn’t need to because her eyes sparkled. And as she stepped into the room, a rush of emotions threatened to overwhelm him.
"Max," she greeted him. Her eyes held a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty, as if she, too, didn’t know what to expect.
"Caroline," he replied, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability only she could provoke.
He took a step toward her, closing the distance between them. "I hope you slept well."
She grimaced. "As well as one can, under the circumstances."
Circumstances Max ought to have prevented.
“You shouldn’t have had to see that.” He shook his head. “I should have taken you home earlier.”
“I’m not sure I would have allowed that,” she said. “Besides, you protected me from most of it.”
Not enough, though. But… “It should have been me. Your poor neck.” Imagining her injury beneath the scarf she wore was like a punch in his gut.
“I’m fine.”
Of course, she wouldn’t complain or blame him.
“Is that why you’ve come this morning? To apologize? Or do you have something else to say to me?”
Max nodded. It was hard to ignore the ordeal she’d suffered—because of him. But she was right. He had come here for a different reason.
“I do.” He tugged at his cravat.
