Caroline was nodding. Maxwell had said the secret was not his to tell. The man she knew would take his mother’s wishes to heart. And if Caroline’s mother was correct, he’d never do anything that would threaten Lady Helton’s position in society.
“I think,” her mother said, “Maxwell Black would reveal this secret if it was up to him. But he won’t marry as long as he thinks he’s an imposter.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’d be making his wife an imposter too.”
SAVING THE DAY
Caroline wanted to be angry with Maxwell. She was the one who had convinced him he had a problem. She was the one who had narrowed down the window of time during which the sabotage must be taking place. He really ought to consider her capable of helping him catch their troublemaker.
At the same time, she conceded that she knew nothing about capturing criminals and had never willingly harmed another human being—not even Josephine when she was being her most annoying.
And more important than any of that, the London Gazette was Maxwell’s newspaper. He was the boss, the publisher. He had every right to tell her not to come in.
But she did anyway, of course. Having gathered just enough evidence to support her stories, she wrote her articles and left for the Gazette offices late in the afternoon. She did not walk on this occasion, but relied on her household’s coach and driver to deliver her. She had promised Maxwell that she’d be careful, after all.
Her plan was to deliver her stories to Mr. Wallace, check in with Max, and have Coachman Nicholas take her back home after. But inside, she arrived to what could only be described as chaos.
The two reporters, both of whom hadn’t shown any interest in associating with her, were working frantically at one of the tables. And Mr. Jones was in Mr. Wallace’s usual spot, holding an article up to his face to read.
At the sound of the door closing behind her, Maxwell peered out of his office.
“Wallace’s mother died,” he explained and then ran a hand through his hair. “And Matilda locked up earlier. I’ve got her running again, but we’re behind on edits.” The top buttons of his collar were undone, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and he’d removed his waistcoat. Black smudges of ink stained his white shirt.
“Give me one moment.” She slipped back out the door, her decision made. Maxwell joined her on the pavement a moment later, just in time to watch Coachman Nicholas driving away.
“You didn’t have to do that.” He sounded grateful and sorry at the same time.
Caroline touched his arm and, feeling his tension, she squeezed. This man…! “I’d go mad, you know, sitting at home knowing you could use help.” He winced over at her, then combed a hand through his hair again.
Nothing about him resembled an aristocrat. No arrogance and none of the entitlement she’d grown accustomed to from her uncle and cousin. Maxwell was simply a man doing all he could to fulfill his responsibilities.
And in Caroline’s eyes, that made him even more handsome—if that was possible.
“I’ll be careful.” She covered her heart with one hand. “I promise.”
Max's arm moved as if to encircle her waist, but he hesitated, his actions tempered by the appearance of a passing carriage. Leaning closer, he breathed a soft plea. "Do not wander alone."
"Not even with you?" She couldn't resist a teasing smile.
He emitted a low, masculine growl. "Only with me.”
Caroline’s heart fluttered, but, unfortunately, over the next several hours, neither had a chance to test his promise. Since Caroline was the only writer who’d worked with Mr. Wallace, she ended up doing most of the editor’s job—reading, editing, and proofing, but also determining which stories would be cut.
Which she was perfectly comfortable with. Until she came across a story written for the Scotland Yard section—about her brother.
This was her opportunity to accomplish the task which had led her to apply in the first place.
New Evidence in Standish Fire.
She read through the article. There was no new evidence, really. Only a few old accounts brought up—one by a local villager, a merchant, who’d held a grudge against Reed for calling him out for price gouging. Another by an old acquaintance of her cousin.
The article had been put together with old information, and even that was all hearsay. But would Mr. Wallace have cut it?
This was her chance. Reed was innocent. This story would only cause people to question that all over again.
And killing it would be as easy as tossing it into the trash.
