And sometime over the past week, where she was concerned, he’d lost any remaining rationality.
The men of the ton were fools to have been dissuaded by her less-than-perfect debut. Because of one misstep, they considered her graceless. Until recently, they’d written her off. They’d ignored her—something he’d found impossible since that fateful day in the park.
He was aware of her… simply being, anytime she entered his vicinity. When she was absent, little things constantly reminded him of her. The sway of a woman’s hips. A rose about to bloom. A notebook. A pencil.
The Gazette.
She reached out a gloved hand and Max didn’t hesitate to take it, and then she curtsied, for her mother’s benefit, no doubt.
“My apologies for keeping you waiting, my lord.”
He hated being called that. And yet, she could call him whatever she pleased.
“It is I who should apologize.” But his stare shifted to where her mother stood. Was he going to be forced to have this conversation with the older woman present? Impossible.
“Mother. If you wouldn’t mind excusing Lord Helton and myself for just a moment. We’ve business to discuss.” Caroline, apparently having sensed the need for privacy, made the request as politely as one could do while asking someone to go away.
Or perhaps she simply wanted to be alone with him—a promising thought.
When the door closed behind Mrs. Rutherford, who’d sent them both warning looks before relenting, Caroline tugged him to sit on the settee beside her.
“The paper is perfect today. So, why are you here?” she asked.
Max answered with his own question. “Why are you so beautiful?”
TROUBLE
Why was she so beautiful?
If Caroline had been breathless before, she was even more so after his startling question.
She swallowed hard. She did not know how to do this. Because she liked him. She liked him very much. What had initially been more of a crush was turning into something deeper—for her, anyhow. His feelings remained a mystery to her.
Even if he had just called her beautiful. Or had that been more of an accusation?
And then she realized. It was because she’d dressed—for him. But that wasn’t something she could admit. He might think she was angling for an offer. And she wasn’t. Really.
She wasn’t. Even if that had been her first thought when she’d heard he was here—waiting to speak with her.
So she dropped her gaze and grimaced at her gown. “Because of this old thing?” Her very favorite gown. “I need to go to a… a garden party before I go into the offices.”
He blinked back at her. And then seemed to remember his purpose. “Of course.” He looked toward the door, which had been left cracked open, and then reached into his jacket.
It was a different jacket than he’d worn the night before. And although shadows were etched beneath his eyes, his face was freshly shaven and his scent clean and spicy.
“When I arrived at the office earlier, I discovered this.” He handed her a folded note, his emerald gaze somber. “I came right here. Seeing as the threat involves you, you need to be aware…”
“Leave the errors or else.” Knowing full well her mother was near, Caroline kept her voice low. “If you do not comply, I shall expose your secret and hers.” She jerked her head up. “What secret? What’s he talking about?”
“I imagine your story about Dankworth? Only…” He winced. “It’s possible that whoever wrote this was still in the office after the press shut down.”
After the press shut down.
While he’d… While she’d… Because his office had interior windows. Anyone who was there could have looked inside.
Her blush crept up her neck, hotter than usual, and suddenly her skin felt too tight.
“But he can’t. No one can know!” Caroline struggled to organize her thoughts, let alone offer up a possible solution.
