She followed the butler to a drawing room facing the street and declined his offer of refreshments. She had eaten a light supper back at the hotel and could not imagine forcing more food down past the nerves swirling in her stomach. As she waited, she took a tour of the room, admiring the paintings, mostly landscapes, and the few pieces of decoration he had out on the shelves, marble miniatures of great works of art. She forgot what they were almost as soon as she inspected them. A steady rain began to fall, trickling against the front windows. A carriage clattered down the cobblestone street, setting her heart racing, but it continued past. She found a book on a low table on the far side of the comfortable-looking chair by the fireplace. A bookmarker stuck out the top as if he had been reading it only last night before retiring for bed. She sat in the chair and reverently ran her fingers over the title: The Gilded Age: A Tale of Today. With nothing to do but wait, she picked up the book and began to read.
Some time later, the butler poked his head into the room. “I believe Mr. Crenshaw has arrived.”
She hurried to her feet and placed the book back on the table. The front door opened, and she could hear the man greet his employer and Max’s reply, something about the rain—she could hardly make out the words over the buzzing in her ears. Straightening her shoulders, she hurried to the door of the drawing room, wanting Max to see her before the man could announce her presence. She made it there just as Max was taking off his rain-soaked coat, having already handed his hat and gloves to the man. He reminded her of the night he had come to her drawing room in the rainstorm. Rain dripped from the ends of his hair. Greedy for the sight of him, she let her gaze take in his wide shoulders, emphasized so beautifully in the frock coat.
The butler made to speak, but then cleared his throat and nodded in her direction. “You have a visitor, sir.”
Max turned, his brow furrowed in surprise and not a little displeasure that someone would come calling so late, but the moment he saw her, his expression changed completely. His face went slack in surprise, and then joy lit his eyes. “Helena,” he whispered as if afraid that she might disappear if he said her name too loud. Then he smiled, and her heart seemed to swell two sizes in her chest.
“I came to . . .”
“Could I bring refreshments for you and the lady, sir?” the butler asked.
“No, thank you, Charles. That will be all for the night,” Max said without taking his eyes from her.
“Very well, sir.” The man disappeared down the hallway carrying Max’s drenched outerwear.
Once they were alone, she said, “Sir Phineas has made it known that he would be interested in a courtship.” Why she chose to begin with that she didn’t know.
His eyes immediately clouded. “You came all the way here to tell me that?”
“No . . .” She wrung her hands together before her. “I simply want you to understand that there are options.”
His frown deepened. “Options for what, Helena? I don’t understand.”
Why would he? She hadn’t actually said what she meant to say yet. “I told him that I was flattered by his affection, but that my heart belonged to another.”
He let out a breath.
“I saw your letter before I left home.” She rushed ahead. “I know that you might not feel the way that I feel anymore, which is why I wanted you to understand that I will be fine if you no longer . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. If Max refused her, she would not choose Sir Phineas, but he didn’t need to know that.
He walked slowly over to her, but she held her hands up between them to stay him about a foot away from her.
“I wondered why I didn’t hear from you,” he said. “Thank you for coming to tell me in person. However, while I admire Sir Phineas, I would be obliged to track him to the ends of the earth if he laid one hand on you.” He grinned.
She smiled, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. While relief flooded her, she had to ask, “You still want to marry me, even knowing there will be no children?”
His eyes, solemn and earnest, stroked her face. “I have thought of little else. I admit that at first there was sadness, knowing that we will never have children born of our love, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting you. From loving you. I even made myself consider the children I might have with some other woman, and Helena, I cannot even imagine it. Those children are not mine because their mother is not you.”
A sob lodged in her throat at how perfect his words were. She never expected him to not feel sadness. Indeed, if he did not, she would have to wonder if he had sufficiently pondered the prospect. She managed to stifle the sob, but not before a tiny sound slipped out. He moved to embrace her, but she stepped back against the doorjamb and kept her hand on his chest. He obliged her but only barely kept his distance.
“What about Amelia Van der Meer?”
“Amelia?” He frowned as if he hadn’t heard the name for ages. “Violet’s friend?”
“Yes, Violet said that you had begun escorting her. That she had advised her to come to an arrangement with you similar to ours to avoid going to London next month. If you truly wish her, then I will not stand in your way.”
“Violet is making mischief. I haven’t talked to Miss Van der Meer since she chased me around the ballroom at her parents’ Christmas party.”
“Are you saying Violet invented the story?”
He nodded. “I am saying that my sister has envisioned our marriage since June. I think she would say whatever it took to make it happen.”
She couldn’t help but feel relief. “And what of your . . .” She couldn’t say the words, but she had no choice. “Your . . . mistresses?” When he looked at her as if she had lost her mind, she said, “I’m certain you must have women—”
“You little fool.” He grinned and pulled her against him, his arms going around her so tightly she thought she might meld into him and that she might like it very much. “I haven’t seen any woman since I returned. I keep telling you and you keep not believing that I only want you.” He kissed her before she could respond to that, and her knees very nearly fell out from under her. His taste and smell were so familiar that she wanted to curl up in his arms for days. No, weeks.
“Then where were you?”
“At my club. Stupidly and regretfully at my club while you were here.” He kissed his way down her neck before burying his face there, his breath coming in short, erratic pants. “I can’t believe you’re here.” Finally, he pulled away enough to look down at her while still holding her against him. “You’ve come to marry me. Tell me you have?”
“I have, but I have a condition.”
“God, anything.” He smiled.