Max caught her hand to his lips, then turned it over and pressed his lips for a longer kiss on the inside of her wrist. “’Til then, my love.”
She smiled and touched his cheek. Yes, she did love him. No one else made her smile like he did.
Max watched her go, his chest brimming with love—and tight with longing. Bianca had been kinder and more compassionate to Greta than he could have ever hoped. If he’d thought himself in love with her before, now he realized how boundless and deep it was, to love someone the way he cared for his wife. After a lifetime of keeping everyone at arm’s length, warding them off with caustic humor and rakish wildness, he had found someone who stood by him even at the risk of madness and lunacy. He desperately wanted to see her turn to him with that warm, glowing smile on her face, the way she had after the cricket, when he could swear love had been hanging in the air between them, unspoken but real nonetheless.
But he’d made a mistake not telling Bianca about Greta, and a bigger one by asking her to trust him before impulsively haring off after Leake instead of biding his time in Stoke. Leake’s message said only that he’d discovered where Greta was; he’d told Max to wait for him in Stoke, while he made a rescue and spirited Greta there. He hadn’t said where she was being held, or how he meant to get her. And like an idiot, Max had bullied the information out of Leake’s man and taken off after the thief-taker, both from impatience and from panic that he’d not had time to arrange what to do with Greta when he found her.
In one way, he was glad he’d gone and seen for himself the bleakness of Mowbry Manor, the private hell where Greta and several other people were confined. It had persuaded him fully that he would indeed kill Croach, prison be damned, if the man tried to send her back to a place like that. The screams of the poor souls locked up there would haunt him forever.
But going had turned out to cost him any chance of breaking the news delicately to the Tates. Leake had handily bribed one of the keepers to sneak Greta out, and then he’d brought her to Stoke—and then right into Perusia Hall, without any warning at all, because Max had not been waiting for him at Stoke, where he should have been.
Well. He could not change any of that. His only choice was to continue onward, proving himself a hundred more times if he must. It had been such a terrible mistake, he deserved to suffer. He meant to atone for his stupidity by being the husband Bianca deserved, and proving he’d meant his apologies in every way. And he would wait, to the last iota of his patience, for her to trust him again, no matter how hard it was to keep from professing his love every day.
As Bianca’s footsteps faded, Max reviewed some of his notes, and went back to work on the Fortuna plan. This was the only way he knew to restore Samuel Tate’s confidence. After Bianca’s, Samuel’s was the faith he craved most. His father-in-law hadn’t spoken to him since that dreadful night, which had been a sharp reproof. It was too late to undo the marriage, but Samuel could easily push him out of Perusia, not to mention deny him a chance to launch Fortuna.
He had worked for some time when the door burst open and Greta flew in, her face a mask of terror. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, leaping to his feet.
But he knew.
The keeper at Mowbry Manor had screamed at him, as Max strode away after punching the man in the face, that Mr. Croach would see to him, see if he wouldn’t. Max had been waiting every hour since then for Croach to appear in some way, staying in Perusia Hall protectively near Greta, working in the sitting room instead of going down the hill to the offices. Now it appeared the viper himself had come.
Announced only by the sound of a footstep outside the door, Silas Croach appeared. He had once been a handsome man, tall and lean with an oily charm to him. He looked a bit older than Max remembered, but his eyes were the same icy pale green, and his thin smile was as cold and threatening as ever. Greta flung herself behind Max with a low moan.
“Mr. St. James.” He made a slow bow that was somehow ominous. “I began to fear for your health, when you did not reply to my letters.”
“As you see,” replied Max, “I am in perfect health. I simply had nothing to say to you.”
“Hmm.” Croach smiled wider. “One hopes you will continue to enjoy such excellent health, in Newgate. Kidnapping a woman is a serious offense, particularly when that woman is in desperate need of the care she was receiving.”
“A point of fact,” said Max. He widened his stance and let his hands curl into loose fists. “I did not kidnap her. Nor, I believe, did anyone, as she came away quite willingly.”
“She has no free will,” said Croach sharply.
“Not when dosed with laudanum,” agreed Max. The local doctor, who had come yesterday morning, said Greta showed signs of poisoning, including laudanum. “And something else that made her see horrific visions. Belladonna, perhaps?”
From Croach’s small twitch, Max thought the doctor’s guess had been right. “When she flies into madness, laudanum is the only way to calm her. Don’t interfere with what you don’t understand, my boy.”
Greta, who had gone stone-still at the mention of the drugs, now poked Max in the back. He put his hand behind him, trying to reassure her without diverting his attention from Croach. Where had Frances Bentley gone? Bianca had said the two of them were making cheese toast this morning. “You’re lying.”
Croach simply smiled at this accusation. “She was under a doctor’s care,” he said. “I only gave her what she needed.”
“Close your mouth,” he growled. Greta’s fingers dug into his back, as if preventing him from attacking Croach. “I promised I’d kill you if you hurt her, and I’m a man of my word.”
The other man’s gaze was chilling. “Are you? I suppose you might try. If you strike me, it would look very unfortunate to the court. But then...” He looked past Max to Greta, and his face grew terrifying. “Madness does run in your blood. A fit of violence is to be expected in these lamentable circumstances. Your aunt is the same way when she becomes overwrought. Perhaps you should both be confined, for the safety of all.”
Greta wheezed. Max reached behind him to comfort her, wishing Bianca or Frances were here to take her away. Not only should she never have to see Croach again, she was clinging to his back with a grip of iron. “Get out of this house,” he told Croach in a low voice.
The other man raised his brows. “As you wish. I shall take my wife with me, of course.” He held out his hand and Greta shrank behind Max, shaking like a leaf. “I expected you would be troublesome about it,” he said to Max. “Some men from Mowbry Manor are waiting outside, to convey her safely back to her room there. And I expect Dr. Hawes will have something to say about your attack on him as well, to the magistrate.”
“Summon him. I shall appeal for assistance from the Duke of Carlyle,” replied Max. “My cousin.”
For the first time Croach seemed to understand that he did not hold an unassailable position. He advanced on Max furiously. “She’smywife,” he snarled. “Either she’s mad, and should be confined for her own safety and that of everyone around her, or she’s recovered, in which case I demand her return, so she can fulfill her wifely duties.” He smiled at Greta, poisonously. “Come home with me, my dear.”
“Nahhhhh,” cried Greta.
“Try it.” Max spread his arms invitingly, ready to make good on his promise. “Come take her from me.”
“Get out!” screamed Greta, suddenly lurching out from behind him. “Get out!”
