Max could not speak, his tongue tied by the otherworldly vision she had become, his eyes still feasting on all of the details of her appearance.
Caroline frowned. “Are you so cross with me that you cannot say anything? I did not think I wasthatlate.”
“I am not cross,” he replied huskily. “I am… waiting for my wife.”
“Pardon?”
“She is up there somewhere,” he said, clearing his throat. “I apologize, but it would be improper of me to converse with any other woman, even a queen like yourself, for I am a married man. Please, continue to the king who is assuredly waiting for you in his gilded carriage.”
It took a few moments before Caroline burst into laughter, her hand covering her mouth in that way she always did. Every part of Max wanted to reach out and pull that hand away, so he could see her laughter, her mirth in its full glory, but he did not trust himself to touch her at all. If he did, he was sure she would cast a spell upon him; rather, weave a stronger spell upon him, that he would not be able to resist.
I said she was a sorceress. I was not mistaken.
“What if I were to grant you Royal permission to escort me to this evening’s revels?” she teased, her cheeks flushing with such a pretty shade of pink that it made his skin feel suddenly feverish.
Max bowed his head. “I would not be able to refuse a Royal decree.”
“Very well, Duke of Harewood, lead me to the party,” Caroline said, clearly delighted by the response she had gained from her husband.
With a steadying breath, he offered her his arm, for though he wanted to take her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers, he could not risk the intimacy of it.
She looped her arm through his and leaned into his side as he escorted her across the entrance hall. All around, in the hallways, in the doorways, on the landing above, the smaller cohort of servants had come to spectate. They were restrained in their delight, but Max could feel their excitement, and see the enchantment on each of their faces.
But he had little time to concentrate on them, as the scent of Caroline’s perfume struck him like a kick to the chest: sweet and spicy and exotic, applied more liberally than the fashion of the day dictated. It was overwhelming in the best possible way, infiltrating his senses until he was dizzy with the scent, sight, and touch of his wife at his side.
She was almost hugging his arm, leaving no gap between them, her giddiness apparent in the spring of her step and the light in her eyes as she began to tughimtoward the carriage. The bubble of Harewood Court had popped—evidently, she was ready to shuffle off the quiet countryside life and launch herself into society again.
Once inside the carriage, Caroline surprised him by choosing to sit on his side of the squabs with him. She perched delicately, pressed up close against him, and though he would have been content to keep his hands to himself, she suddenly grabbed his hand and squeezed it.
“I never thought I would be looking forward to spending more time in London,” she confessed. “I adore the Season in Bath, I adore house parties at country manors, I adore the Countess of Grayling’s London gatherings, but I have never actually been excited to reside in London for any considerable length until now.”
Max stared down at her hand in his. “That… surprises me. I assumed you would look forward to London the most.”
“Oh, do not mistake me, I relish the social events, but London itself has never been a favorite of mine,” she replied, chattering with a new confidence. “But… it is like I am seeing it for the first time, and I cannot wait to see what it is like now that I have greater freedom to explore. I suppose I was always aware that my every move was being watched, whether by society or by a chaperone, but that is no longer true—not the chaperone part, anyway.”
He let his hand relax, sliding his fingers between hers to better hold hers. “Are you nervous, Caro?”
Her breath caught, though he did not understand why. “Nervous? Not exactly,” she replied, lowering her gaze. “Apprehensive might be a better word. You know, we really must scold that postman for not delivering the papers and scandal sheets to us. I might know what I am about to face if I had scoured them for any news of me.”
“No one will say anything,” Max insisted. “No one will so much as whisper behind their hands to one another with me at yourside. I can have quite the glare when I choose to use it, and it has been known to stop gossip in an instant.”
“Is that so?” She chuckled, peering up at him. “Let me see it.”
He shook his head. “I could not. It might frighten you.”
“I am not so easily scared.”
But as long as she was gazing at him like that, with eyes so bright and warm, with that winning smile upon her face, there was no possible way he could scowl at her. Not even as a pretense.
Instead, he reached his other hand up to cradle her cheek, brushing his thumb lightly across the rosy apple. His heart began to race, his teeth grazing his lower lip as if to bite them into submission, punishing them for what they suddenly desired to do. He could not—would not—kiss her, for if he did, it would undoubtedly alter the course of the future that they had both decided to walk upon, separately.
“Tonight, you will silence anyone who would even think of saying anything unkind,” he told her. “And anyone who still has something to say will only be speaking from jealousy. I know this was not your dream, Caro, but what youwillbecome is only just beginning. That dream is not over. It starts now.”
She echoed him, chewing anxiously on her lip. “What do you mean?” Her gaze was a whirlpool of temptation, pulling him in while he fought to swim against it. “What starts now, husband?”
Husband…Of course, he knew that was what he was to her, but she had never spoken that word so softly, so enticingly before. It had always been said with a note of sarcasm or teasing.
“Everything you have ever wanted,” he replied, his throat tight. “And if part of that is still love…”
