If he were to list the characteristics of the perfect woman, she’d have all of Caroline’s qualities.
If such a woman existed.
And so, he’d kissed her.
Twice. If they had any privacy, he may very well have kissed her a third time. Hell, he might have succumbed to urges he had no business entertaining.
Max frowned and shifted in an effort to subjugate his blasted jolly whacker. Just contemplating all the things he’d like to do with Caroline Rutherford wasn’t just making his trousers uncomfortably tight, but also impeding him from making the repairs he’d set out to finish. The next time he was alone, he’d settle for his own hand—a thought which would be laughable if it wasn’t so damned pathetic.
Malum had reminded him that morning that Max was always welcome at the emporium. And that was all well and good. Many gentlemen would have taken the duke up on such an invitation. But not Max.
He didn’t want just any woman, he wanted this one.
Worse than that, he liked her.
Which was all the more reason to leave her be, step away so an authentic gentleman could court her.
But the thought of that was so utterly repulsive, he was shaking his head.
“Hell no.”
“What?” Wallace shot Max, who hadn’t realized he’d spoken the words out loud, a curious glance.
“Just getting this bolt on here…” Now he was talking to himself—in front of his other employees, no less. He clamped his mouth shut and forced all his concentration on the task at hand.
Over the next few hours, the compositors finished setting their pages while Wallace and the reporters waited for the galley proof. Just as Max considered going upstairs to check on her, Caroline entered from outside.
“I thought everyone could use a little nourishment,” she announced, but the appearance of the picnic basket had already captured the attention of everyone who wasn’t hard at work and a few who were.
She met Max’s stare from across the room. “If that’s all right?”
Max dipped his chin. “Will you meet me in my office?”
“Now? Of course. Just give me one moment.” She’d opened the basket and removed two items wrapped in linen from a pile of several similar bundles. Of course, she wouldn’t arrive with food only for herself.
But, to get it, she must have left without telling him. Alone. Something he wasn’t at all pleased about. It seemed that for now, anyhow, he was taking on the role of her protector.
Max wiped the oil from his hands and, since he couldn’t stand around waiting for her, marched out of the room alone.
And then heartily approved when she quickly followed.
“It’s not anything special.” She went about clearing off a section of his desk and then proceeded to lay out the spread she’d pillaged from the basket before coming up. “Pigeon pies, some bread and cheese, some summer cabbage. Oh! And Mother sent pastries, so we’d have something sweet…”
“So you didn’t leave to fetch it?”
“No, Mother sent it over.” Her words loosened his chest. This woman… He was beginning to believe she’d be the death of him.
Caroline sent him a smile that had him forgetting his own name, and then went back to opening the pies—and setting out cutlery, even.
She looked quite pleased with herself and even though Maxwell ought to argue that she was bound to be exposed if her mother continued sending banquets to the office, he didn’t have the heart to.
Furthermore, he was hungry. Both for her company and the food.
After she’d set out a tempting meal, she stood up straight and clasped her hands behind her back. “Did you need me for anything particular?”
He stared at her, distracted by the purplish bruise on her forehead and around her eyes. “Good to see it’s fading.”
When she looked confused, he pointed at his own forehead. “From the door.”
