“No. How does your head feel?”
“Fine.”
He lifted his brows.
“It only hurts a little.” She held his gaze, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have barged in like that.”
He wouldn’t chastise her now. It seemed she’d chastise herself enough for the both of them.
“You're forgiven.” He gave her a little smile, trying to ease her embarrassment. “Maybe try knocking next time?”
Sometime while they’d been sitting together, the office seemed to have gotten smaller—intimate.
Although the voices of his workers and the distinctive sounds of his printing press floated around the main floor, Maxwell had the oddest sensation that only the two of them existed. He shook it off.
“I’ll escort you home.” Maxwell was going to have to trust Wallace to put the paper to bed tonight.
This time, when he took her hand, she allowed him to pull her to her feet. Once vertical, she swayed a little.
“But I was going to help—”
“You can try again tomorrow.” Apparently he wasn’t going to fire her after all. Not tonight, anyhow.
She may have kept her brother from knowing about her employment this long, but Standish would find out. And he wouldn’t be pleased.
Hell and damnation, by morning, she’d be sporting a noticeable bruise. Maxwell reached for his coat.
“You mustn’t—"
“But I must.” He fastened the top button of his jacket. At least partially decent, he then glanced around for his hat and gloves. Before she could argue any more, they were interrupted when Wallace appeared at the door. In his hands, he held a copy of one of the galleys.
“These are final. Did you want to take a look before I give Fergus the go-ahead?”
Maxwell accepted the oversized sheet of paper and skimmed the copy. “You’ve read through this?”
“At least four times.”
Not catching anything glaring, Maxwell nodded. “Good enough.” How many times had he made just such a declaration only to be bit in the ass the following morning?
Wallace glanced over at Caroline, and then frowned.
“I’m going to escort Miss Smith home.” Maxwell pinned his stare on his newest employee, who looked prepared to flee on her own. “Collect your reticule and I’ll meet you out front,” he ordered.
She shot him a wary glance but then dashed off.
“I’ll send word to Black Hall if you’re needed,” Wallace said, studying Maxwell curiously.
Maxwell didn’t appreciate the look in Wallace’s eyes. “What?”
“You’re sweet on her.” Wallace and Maxwell rarely discussed anything personal. Strike that, in the last year since Maxwell had purchased the Gazette, never once had they discussed anything personal.
“Not at all. Miss Smith, as you’re well aware, is not a miss at all, but a lady. I’d be asking for trouble to send her off by herself—in the dark, no less.” The last thing Maxwell needed to deal with was a brother wanting satisfaction. Not that Maxwell shied away from that sort of thing, but he wasn’t so foolish as to invite it.
Or perhaps he was.
“If you say so,” Wallace mumbled before looking up. “For what it’s worth, her articles for the society section are promising. She writes with more flair than those idiots downstairs.”
“I noticed.” Maxwell extinguished the gas lantern he’d lit earlier and locked the door behind him. Enough moonlight shone through the windows to illuminate the way to the steps.
