“We need to talk,” Maxwell began, fully prepared to explain that this wasn’t going to work. But rather than moving away from him, she rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh.
“I don’t know why I did that. My mother always says I’m in too much of a hurry. It’s why I fell down the stairs at my come-out. I didn’t like everyone looking at me. Did you know that the debutante is supposed to pause at the top of the stairs for all the guests to inspect her? Well, I didn’t. So, of course, I kept right on walking but Reed… didn’t.”
“He let you fall.” If Maxwell had been the one to escort her, she never would have fallen.
He wouldn’t have allowed her to.
Caroline shrugged beside him. “It wasn’t his fault. I was just… nervous. He cannot have realized I was going to throw myself down the steps like that.” She groaned a little. “Although it didn’t surprise anyone.”
Max very nearly kissed the top of her head.
Good Lord. He couldn’t fire her now.
She made a little sniffling sound. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I keep doing this…”
Maxwell cleared his throat.
“Give it a few weeks. After Lady Mann’s daughters’ recital, I’d wager your less-than-perfect come-out is already old news.”
“Ha!” But she was smiling now.
Maxwell stretched his legs out in front of him and then sighed. “I’m not all that keen on large gatherings myself.” He chuckled. “I’d avoid the ton completely if not for my mother.”
“The things we do for family.” She turned her head to meet his eyes and Maxwell expected her to bring up the Scotland Yard article again.
But in turning her head, she brought her mouth inches from his. Her eyes darkened, the black of her pupils edging out the blues. If her lashes weren’t so very thick, he could almost have counted them.
Maxwell cleared his throat.
“Is there anything you wouldn’t do for your family?” Maxwell hadn’t thought the question through before uttering it but was genuinely curious to hear her answer. Aside from an elderly cousin on his mother’s side, Maxwell’s mother was his only living relative.
What would it be like to have sisters and brothers?
“I’d do almost anything for them.” Her voice came out low and determined, and her stare never wavered. “If you love someone, you put their needs before your own.”
He understood that. He had a mother, after all.
“What about your needs?” Another question he’d not thought through.
Her throat moved as she contemplated her answer and then winced. “I don’t think about those,” she said. “Ever since… the fire, all that really matters is protecting what’s left of my family. Reed, and now Goldie, my mother, and Melanie and Josephine are my world.”
Maxwell had known, intellectually, that the fire had brought great tragedy, but he had been mostly concerned with the political and financial fall-out. For those reasons, he’d made sure the Gazette covered every new piece of evidence that emerged. Maxwell tore his stare away from hers.
Was he really so ruthless that he’d not imagined the pain involved for the old earl’s family?
He clenched his jaw. He had the newspaper to worry about. The resulting aftermath of stories printed in the Gazette weren’t his problem.
“But they aren’t your responsibility. It’s your brother’s duty to protect them,” Maxwell said.
“In theory,” she agreed. “But Reed didn’t grow up expecting to inherit. He wasn’t prepared for any of this.”
Maxwell grunted.
“Do you have any siblings?” She carried on before he could answer. “According to my sister-in-law, I ought to have memorized the family trees of every titled gentleman listed in Debrett’s. Such information might come in handy occasionally, but to me, it seems contrived. If people want you to know about them, they will share that with you. Wouldn’t you agree?” She touched her head. “Now I’m rambling. That blow must have been harder than I realized.”
He needed to get back to the pressroom but was oddly reluctant. Maxwell turned to her again and studied the angry red mark on her forehead. “I’m afraid it’s going to bruise. How do you feel now?”
“Foolish.”
