“Will you be there?” Her confidence seemed to falter. Did her eyes look a brighter blue than normal? “At the musicale?”
“I avoid that sort of thing.”
“But you attended the Darlingtons’ ball.” It was practically an accusation.
Maxwell removed his spectacles and used his handkerchief to remove the smudges he’d made while working on the press. “Against my better judgement.”
“Hmm,” she answered thoughtfully, leaving Maxwell feeling curious.
Curiosity was common for him. He was a newspaper man, after all. But it wasn’t something he’d ever experienced while conversing with one of Mayfair’s ubiquitous misses.
And he found himself keeping silent, waiting for her to elaborate.
“I don’t understand,” she finally admitted. “You seemed to enjoy yourself the other night.” She licked her lips. “I’d imagine anyone who dances as well as you would enjoy mingling in society.”
“What does one have to do with the other?”
She shrugged and, rather than answering his question, surprised him yet again.
“You are Mr. Black,” she said. “But you are also the Earl of Helton. Not even my brother, who never wanted anything to do with my uncle’s title, goes by his given name.”
Maxwell made a scoffing sound. “Good for him.”
“Why haven’t you taken your place in parliament?”
He refused to answer that one.
“Is it true you never visit your country estate?”
“Are you interviewing me for a story?” Maxwell demanded.
“Of course not. Unless you want me to?”
This time, he only shook his head. She might make a good reporter, after all… She certainly had the tenacity of one.
“Did your father go by his title?”
He wasn’t about to discuss this with her. “Don’t you have stories to write?” Maxwell glanced around.
“Oh, yes.” Her eyes flew wide and she took a step away from him. “A new orphanage is being built by the docks, and I thought I might cover some of the fund-raising efforts—perhaps acknowledge the more generous patrons.”
“That’s fine. Wonderful.” Maxwell stared at the press, clenching his jaw.
But before she disappeared into the stairwell, she turned around. “Mr. Black?”
“Yes?”
“You’re sure you won’t be attending the musicale this evening?”
It was a mistake to look over—to meet her stare. Because her blue eyes damn well nearly mesmerized him. She tilted her head, causing a strand of hair to escape and curl along the base of her neck. Maxwell swallowed hard.
She looked all too appealing and a little forlorn.
“I suppose miracles happen.”
Her mouth stretched into a smile that rivaled the flickering lights that reflected off Matilda when she was running at full capacity.
“In that case, I shall hope for a miracle.”
