“No, madam. Newspaper business.”
The lady of the house sat for what felt like an entire minute, taking his measure, but then she nodded. “Very well.” She walked to a corner and tugged on a bellpull. When the butler appeared almost immediately, she conveyed the situation.
“I will inform Miss Eloisa,” Mr. Long said.
“Miss Eloisa?” Max asked.
“Her maid, my lord.”
Mrs. Rutherford took a seat in a high-backed chair. “You might as well sit down. It could be longer than an hour.”
“I understand.” He’d told the woman it was urgent, hadn’t he? He resisted the urge to continue pacing and sat on the loveseat adjacent to his hostess.
“I’ve met your mother, my lord. Delightful lady. I might have met your father a time or two as well.”
“He passed just over ten years ago.” His father was not one of his favorite topics of conversation.
“I remember. He traveled a good deal when he was younger, didn’t he?”
“That is my understanding, madam.” When she continued staring at him, he added, “Even when he wasn’t abroad, he was rarely at home.” That was all he would say on the matter.
“Some men never settle down.” Was she speaking from experience?
“Not all of us do,” he said.
“But you have.” She spoke confidently, her expression calm.
He hadn’t really.
“You don’t believe me?” she asked. Max interpreted the question as rhetorical. “You’ve been living in London for how long now?”
“Nine years.”
“You’ve lived in the same house, in the same city, for nearly a decade, and now you own a promising business. That is the very definition of the life of a settled gentleman.”
“Except for one thing,” Max said, shifting in his seat at this turn of conversation.
“You will marry.” A secret smile danced on her lips. “And I believe you’ll make an excellent husband and father. You don’t seem the type to accept anything less from yourself.”
“Perhaps. When did you meet my mother?” He’d steer this conversation away from the topic of matrimony. It didn’t matter how good of a husband or father he could be, he refused to saddle anyone else with his lie.
“She was one of my first visitors when we came to town. She is a special lady.” Mrs. Rutherford spoke a little more of their friendship, and then, after peppering him with questions about the estate he’d left his manager to handle, his schooling, and his plans for the newspaper, Max sent up a silent prayer of gratitude when the door finally opened. Not that she was being bothersome, but he needed—
His thoughts jarred to a stop.
Good lord, Caroline was stunning.
Her gown, a rich indigo color, matched her eyes almost perfectly and her hair was braided and pinned more elaborately than usual.
Last night he had tangled his hands in those silken tresses. He had watched her eyes flutter while she experienced the little death.
He rose, as did her mother, and Caroline pressed her hands against her abdomen, her cheeks pink as though she’d hurried to meet with him.
Max very nearly stepped forward to slide his hands around that waist but caught himself in time.
She licked her lips and then glanced away.
Any rational person would not have hired someone like her—beautiful, vulnerable, but with far too much courage for her own good—but Max didn’t consider himself completely rational. He wouldn’t have purchased the Gazette if he was.
