The constant commentary put Max’s mind at ease, and after a glass of port or two, he began to relax. Conversation flowed between him and his wife, they had not circled back to the matter of his parents, and whenever he met her gaze, he still thought her to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Better yet, she had madequitethe impression on the gentlemen who had come to speak with Max about matters of business. She was intelligent, quick-witted, with as keen a mind for enterprise as her brother.
“Spices, silks, and muslins will always be in demand,” she had said to one gentleman, Lord Pocklington, when he had suggested that it was impossible to know what would make money. “The gentlemen of a household might control the finances, that is true, but one must consider who purchases more. That would be the lady of the household, and a lady will always buy the finest fabrics and wish to impress guests with dinners that are talked about for weeks afterward. It is how a lady gains a reputation as an exemplary host, or as exceptionally fashionable, and other ladies will emulate anything that garners the good kind of gossip.”
Lord Pocklington had stared at her for a moment, before giving her a round of applause. “My goodness, she is right! I have never heard it spoken so… clearly before.”
Max had never been prouder of her, or more impressed. Indeed, he had a feeling he should have allowed her to help him when she had offered it weeks ago. Perhaps, he would invite her to assist him from now on.
But as the hours wore on and the guests imbibed too much, he could see his wife flagging. It had been a long day for them both.
“Do you wish to leave?” he asked, bending his head to whisper in her ear.
She stifled a yawn, shaking her head. “Not at all. I will leave when you are ready to depart.”
“You look half asleep, Caro,” he said, smiling.
“It is the warmth in here,” she protested. “Perhaps, a wander in the fresh air would revive me.”
He slipped his hand into hers. “I quite agree. The gardens here are beautiful, though I doubt we shall see much in the dark.”
“That does tend to be a problem with the dark, but I shall let my imagination substitute what I cannot see,” she replied, allowing herself to be led through the crowded ballroom to the French doors on the opposite side.
The autumn air was a shock, an icy wind whistling across the terrace, nipping at the cheeks of the weary couple as they stepped out. There was no one else outside, everyone choosing to bear the humidity of the ballroom instead of risking the cold. But Max found it rather refreshing as he closed his eyes and inhaled a deep lungful of the crisp air.
“It is colder than I thought,” Caroline said quietly, after a few minutes of companionable silence.
He glanced down at her, his hand still holding hers. In the silvery moonlight that pierced through the wispy clouds, he noticed that she was trembling a little, trying to be brave.
“Do you want to return indoors?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It is too stifling. I would rather shiver for a while.”
“There is no need for that,” he assured, as he quickly shuffled off his tailcoat.
He did not ask her to turn, instead putting his arms around her so he could drape the warmer garment over her shoulders. With one hand, he pinched the lapels closed over her chest, but his other arm remained around her, his hand lightly resting on her back.
“Is that better?” he said thickly, knowing he should not be so close but unable to draw away.
She peered up at him. “It is as good as any blanket. It is… still warm.”
“I have more warmth to share,” he told her, pressing her even closer, until there was nary a hair’s breadth between them.
Beneath the tailcoat, he felt her palms turn toward him, resting against his chest. Instinctively, he let both arms wrap around her, pinning the tailcoat shut with the pressure of his body instead of the pinch of his hand. And as they stood there on the terrace, whipped by the cold wind, they just gazed at one another, not saying a word.
Her eyes searched his face, and the air around them seemed to shift, like there was some magic woven into the chilly gusts. Max glanced at her lips, saw them part slightly, and his head dipped until he was but an inch away from changing everything between them.
Her warm, frantic breaths seemed to whisper an invitation to kiss her.
Do not give her false hope; she wants a rare, forever love, not the bare minimum a husband can offer,his mind whispered back.
“Your lips are turning blue,” he said, loosening his hold on her. “Come, let us return inside before the gossips begin their whispering again.”
Her brow creased, her mustered smile a sad, resigned one. “And not a moment too soon,” she said flatly. “I believe your tailcoat has lost its warmth.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
It is a character, nothing more. Like the plays we used to perform when I was younger, I shall convince everyone watching that my words, my actions are true.And in doing so, Caroline would protect herself, never forgetting again that it was not real.
