When Helena’s portion of the talk was finished, she traded places with Sir Phineas, who stood before them all and gave a short speech about how impressed he was with her initiative before thanking them for coming. He seemed to have kind words and offered praise to the great works each woman present had accomplished from an advice columnist to a woman who sat on the board of a museum. The women, all middle-aged aside from Helena and his sisters, affluent, and simpering in their enthusiasm for the man, applauded politely and thanked him for arranging the meeting.
Inside, Max felt himself splitting in two. He was happy about the opportunity the man was presenting Helena but seething in envy that he had not been able to present the same advantage for her. The whole point of their masquerade was so that he, as her approving betrothed, could attract this sort of approval from potential donors, and now it turned out she didn’t need him at all. What was he supposed to do with that? She had already told him in no uncertain terms that one night with her was all he would have, and now she didn’t even need this.
He rose and paid his respects to each woman as befitted his place as her suitor and assumed fiancé. Yes, he was proud of the work Lady Helena was doing. Yes, she was tireless in her efforts. No, he had not assisted her in preparing for her presentation. Yes, she was wonderful.
After an endless round of goodbyes, the door finally closed on Sir Phineas and his sisters, the last of the guests to leave. Despite the jealousy roiling inside him, Max could only smile at her as she returned to him in the room. “You did well, Helena.”
She was practically glowing, her face flushed with joy and excitement, as she came up and grabbed his hands. “We did, didn’t we? I already have two meetings arranged for after the house party.”
There was no mistaking that the we referred to her and Sir Phineas. “Wonderful news. I bet you’ll hear from more of them in the coming days.”
Mrs. Huxley and the maid hurried into the room to clean it but paused when they noticed him. Still in a daze of pleasure from her triumph, Helena kept hold of his hand as she led him from the room and into her drawing room. One of the bouquets of lilies he had sent her was set on the mantel. His eyes were drawn to the rug before the hearth where he had been inside her not even a week ago. His cock stirred in fond tribute to the act that he very much wanted to repeat. She didn’t seem to notice the direction of his thoughts as she guided him to the settee. The moment she sat she released his hand. It automatically curled into a fist as if to hold on to her heat.
When she finished recounting some of the words of encouragement from the women, he said, “I never knew you had such a well thought-out plan.”
She smiled at him but cocked her head to the side in question. Her lips parted slightly, the bottom looking as soft as he remembered. “Whyever not? You heard me tell Sir Phineas over dinner. Did you think I had spent the last year simply not planning?”
“No . . .” But his voice trailed off, because he realized he hadn’t actually given it much thought. “I suppose at dinner I was too concerned with my own objectives to listen.”
Her grin flattened, but she nodded. “I know. Crenshaw Iron is a burden, but you bear it well. I understand how consuming it can be.”
In the face of her immense compassion, he understood very clearly what he had failed to even consider before. He was willing to make her his wife based on superficial standards that she herself had rejected. She fit his life so well that he had never actually considered how well he might or might not fit hers. He had seen taking her to New York with him as a minor inconvenience for her that she could easily overcome, never fully understanding how she would not want to be uprooted by someone who might only have a vague, passing interest in her life.
Now he knew why she hadn’t invited him to this. She had likely and reasonably assumed that he’d either be uninterested or too busy to come. He was left with one damning conclusion: he had been a terrible fiancé.
“Helena, I greatly admire the work you’ve done with the orphanage and the women and children you’ve taken under your wing. I don’t know that I’ve adequately expressed that to you.”
She smiled. “Thank you.” But she couldn’t hold his gaze because she looked down at where their hands rested, close together but not touching.
“I want to know more about what you do.”
Her smile fled completely as her brows came together. “Why?”
“Because I’ve just realized that there is very much I do not understand. Have dinner with me tomorrow? You can tell me more.”
She stared at him, her gaze scanning his face as a tender sort of realization began to dawn. Her eyes, so filled with joy earlier, were now filled with wariness. “There’s no need for you to understand more.”
Bridging the inches between them, he covered her hand with his. “The work you’re doing is commendable and important. I can offer my experience, if you think it will help. Crenshaw Iron has built several apartment homes that I’ve overseen.”
A hesitant smile returned, and she squeezed his hand. “I appreciate your offer, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“What isn’t?” he asked.
“Us spending more time together than necessary. It will only lead to heartache.”
Aware that pushing her on this issue would only result in her holding him further away, he said, “If we only have tonight, then why don’t you show me the drawings Sir Phineas did for you? I didn’t get a very good look at them.”
“You came over here unannounced to ask to see Sir Phineas’s drawings?” She raised a skeptical brow, and her lips curved in a teasing smile.
“I came because . . . I received some harsh news from New York.”
“Oh no—”
“Business,” he quickly clarified. “The workers are making demands. Nothing you should worry about, but I . . .” He didn’t know how to say that he wanted the comfort she brought him, so he simply said, “I needed to see you. My father and I disagree on so much these days with the business and family, I think I . . . needed to be with someone who would understand me.”
“He believes you shouldn’t give in?”
He nodded. “I think we must negotiate.”
“Max . . .” She reached up and stroked a lock of hair off his forehead. The barest hint of her fingertips touched his skin, so he closed his eyes to savor it. “I’m sorry you have to bear so much alone.”
“It’s not terrible, usually.” Her eyes were so full of understanding that he wanted to pull her onto his lap and lose himself in kissing her. Touching her made everything else fall away. Made it bearable.
“How are you . . . ?”
When her voice trailed off, he prompted, “How am I what?”