Chapter Nineteen
Colleen tapped her fingers along the rim of her glass, the brandy within untouched. She’d sat with the same glass of liquor for the past two hours, ensconced in a chair in Max’s sitting room, as government men came and went. Each of Max’s three friends had given statements of the events, all glancing her way when they came to the end of their tales.
She’d killed someone. And this time, it hadn’t been an accident. She’d found a weapon in the man’s pocket, pulled it free, and aimed at Molly’s head. When it had become apparent that she was going to shoot Max, Colleen had pulled the trigger. Without hesitation. Without remorse.
What kind of person was she?
Max had placed her in the chair when he’d brought her to his house. Had given her a drink ‘to settle her.’ And had left her alone since. Probably too disgusted to even look upon her face.
The Earl of Summerset took a seat across from her and crossed one leg over the other. He fingered one of the artfully coiled locks of hair that curled across his brow. “That was a nice shot. Have much practice with weapons?”
Colleen pursed her lips. “I was aiming for her head. I think I hit quite a bit lower.”
“Still.” Picking up a decanter from the low table that lay between them, the earl poured himself a glass. “How are you faring?”
What an odd question. “I am unharmed. Molly’s the one who’s dead.”
“It’s never easy.” He leaned forwards. “I only wish I had taken the shot, saving you from it.”
The backs of her eyes burned. This conversation didn’t make sense. Why should she be saved from anything?
Summerset raised his glass. “To the living.” He lifted it to his lips and paused. “I made a toast, now you take a sip.”
Colleen followed suit, ignoring the fact she detested the taste of brandy. The liquid burned a path down her throat and cleared some of the fog from her mind.
Tossing his drink back, Summerset slammed his glass on the table. “You might not think it now, but everything will look better in the morning.”
The Duke of Montague and the Earl of Rothchild joined them. “Trying to get the poor girl half-sprung?” Montague asked. “I think she’s had it rough enough without you pursing her. Sutton won’t appreciate it.”
Summerset smoothed the tail of his cravat down his chest. “Sutton isn’t here, and she is.” He gave a pointed look to the duke. “Alone.”
Tracing the rim of her glass with her thumb, Colleen sighed. “You don’t need to keep me company. I’m all right.”
“Of course, you are,” Rothchild said. “But that doesn’t mean that after an evening like tonight, you wouldn’t want some companionship. I think we all need another drink after tonight.” He fixed the duke and himself glasses and topped up Colleen’s and Summerset’s. “To the end of Zed.” He held his glass up.
“To friends having one’s back.” Montague raised his glass.
Summerset crossed one leg over the other. “To adventures that come out right in the end.”
They looked at her expectantly. She was supposed to come up with a toast now, too? She had a hard enough time just sitting there quietly, not turning into a puddle of sniffles and tears. Now they expected poetry?
She lifted her own glass, her hand trembling. “To lucky shots.” To saving Max. Even if that confirmed in his mind just the type of woman she was. She threw back the liquor and bent over coughing.
A warm hand rubbed her back. Max’s hand. She jumped out of her chair in surprise.
“Sorry.” He lifted his palms, his left one wrapped in a thick bandage. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She coughed a couple more times into her sleeve. Clearing her throat, she said, “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I’ve never been far.” Max poured a glass of water and gave it to her. “Just dealing with business in another room.”
She swallowed the cool draught, but it did nothing to alleviate her sudden thirst. Why was he looking at her like that? Gone was the indifferent stare of the night before when he’d told her to leave. She’d expected disgust. Perhaps gratitude at saving his life. Not … admiration?
“Well, I think it’s time we all went home.” Montague clapped his hands together. “I know my wife and Rothchild’s will be worrying.”
Summerset settled back in his chair. “There’s no one to worry over me. I think I’ll have another drink.”
The duke grabbed Summerset under the elbow and yanked him to his feet. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
“Well, I should at least see if Mrs. Bonner needs an escort home.” Summerset turned to her and dipped his head. “My carriage awaits, madam.”
Max growled. “What the devil—”
“Thank you. I was on my way to my cousin’s house in Wapping when I was taken.” Colleen put her glass down. “It’s long past time he expected me.” Fatigue tugged at her eyelids. She desperately needed a good night’s sleep. Maybe then she could understand what Max was about.
“You’re going back to your cousin’s?” Max planted himself in front of her. “You detested that man’s house.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Planting his hands on his lean hips, Max bent over her. “I could just tell.”
“And now his home seems like the better alternative.” Swaying slightly, Colleen tried to gather her strength. Every muscle in her body drooped, aching for rest. Even the two-foot space on her nieces’ bed seemed appealing. She’d sleep so deeply she wouldn’t even feel Mary’s nightly kicks. Head down, she stepped around Max and gave Summerset a weak smile. “I’m ready when you are.”
Max glowered. “I need everyone to get out of my house, right now.” He gripped her elbow. “Except you.”
Staring at the carpet, Colleen waited until the men filed out. The door to the sitting room clicked shut behind them. “I’ve asked Lucy to run the club until you find a new manager. Although I’d recommend you give her a try. She’s impressed me with her competence.”
“I couldn’t care less about The Black Rose at the moment.” He circled around her, his very nearness making the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
“No, I don’t suppose your club is at the top of your concerns. Not after a night like tonight.” She could scarcely meet his gaze, glancing everywhere but at him directly. “Even in your line of work it can’t be every day you witness a woman murder another.”
He stopped behind her, his chest brushing her shoulders. “You hold a strange definition of murder. Molly was about to shoot me.”
“And instead I shot her.” An act she couldn’t regret. Not like the fire that had killed her husband. But now she was responsible for the loss of two lives. Max hadn’t been able to forgive the one. “I’m sure you’re grateful, but I don’t need any thanks. I don’t want to prolong our farewell any longer than it needs to be.” She turned and looked up at him. He hadn’t shaved that day and a thick stubble darkened his cheeks and jaw. A hint of the man she’d first met. Her fingers tingled with the urge to reach up and stroke his face. Instead, she raised her hand chest high. “Let’s shake goodbye and part as friends.”
Max looked at her hand, eyes narrowing. “Friends?”
Oh, God, he didn’t even want that. A giant fist grabbed her around the middle and squeezed, wringing the air from her body, crushing her until it felt as though her heart would burst.
He despised her.
Trembling, she lowered her hand.
Max grabbed it before she could turn tail and run. Encircling her wrist, he whipped it behind her back and pulled her body snug against his. “Are you so daft as to think that we could only ever be friends? That I’d let you walk out that door and out of my life?”
The vise around her chest loosened, and a sob burst from her lips before she could control it. Blood pounded behind her temples. “But you wanted me to leave. Last night, you said—”
“Don’t repeat it.” One hand held her in place against his body, the other skimmed up her spine. “And if we’re to have a successful future together, you’ll have to learn to ignore half of what I say. I can be a bit of a numbskull. Ask any of my friends.”
“Are you saying you forgive me?”
“When I thought about it, I realized there wasn’t much to forgive. Your husband’s death was an accident. It was a mistake not to tell the magistrate, but you must have been scared.”
She bit her lip. “I should have told you. Not let you believe you were responsible.”
“Yes, but when?” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You wouldn’t tell me something like that until you trusted me completely. I should have taken your admission as the honor it was. I’ll regret till the day I die how I reacted.”
Hope reared its head and stole her breath. But she’d been here before. Laid her heart bare. His touch was clouding her mind when she needed to think clearly. Stepping away, she turned to the glass wall separating the conservatory from the sitting room. She walked forwards until she felt the cool glass against her palms.
“Do you want me to continue managing The Black Rose?” She couldn’t imagine a relationship as his mistress, installed in an apartment, waiting for him to come to her. She needed honest occupation. If her flower shop was no longer available, perhaps staying on at the club wouldn’t be so bad. The place had grown on her.
“If you want. You are a superior manager.” His reflection closed in on her. He stood directly behind her, raising his hands to hover over her shoulders, but never touching. “I know my wishes. But I want you to find your happiness. What is it that you want?”
Colleen stared into the conservatory. The moonlight threw strange shadows of blues and greys amongst the plants. What did she want? She’d thought she’d known. But her desires had taken a new direction since meeting Max.
Stepping to the side, Max pulled the door to the greenhouse open. “Come. Let’s take a stroll.” He held out his uninjured hand, his gaze rock steady.
Her stomach fluttered. She stared at his hand, big, rough, capable. Inviting. Sucking in a deep breath, she slid her palm into his and followed him into the humid heat of the conservatory.
“Have I told you about the amaryllis at my greenhouse at Meadowlark?” He tugged her close. “This time of year they’re nothing more than shoots poking from the dirt, but in a couple months the plants will explode with color. It’s one of the most beautiful sights in the world.” He stopped under the shadow of a palm tree. “I hope to show it to you.”
A bead of sweat slid down Colleen’s spine. “How would I go to Meadowlark? As a business acquaintance? A mistress? A …?” She couldn’t voice it. It was too absurd.
Max had no such qualms. “My wife, should I be so fortunate. I wish to marry you.”
Colleen heard every thud of her heart. The scent of the nearby jessamine overwhelmed her senses. The idea was fantastic. Absurd. “The baron and the woman of business? It sounds like a bad novel.”
“The story of Max and Colleen. It sounds wonderful to me. But”—he reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper—“before you answer, I want you to read this. You should know all your options. I want you to pick me because you want me; not because you feel like you have no other choices.”
She snatched the parchment from his hand, rolling her eyes but knowing he couldn’t see it in the dark. He was offering her a life with the man she loved. What option was better than that? “The moonlight isn’t strong enough for me to read this. And I don’t need to. Of course—”
Flint sparked against steel. Kneeling on the path, Max blew a small flame to life on a dried palm leaf. He held the light up to the paper. “This won’t last long, so read quickly.”
Shaking her head, she snapped the paper open. Beautiful, stupid man. How he thought she’d—
“What is this? A bill of sale?”
“For your flower shop.” Max cursed and dropped the leaf, stamping out any lingering flame. “When I reneged on our deal for your premium, I knew I couldn’t let my decision steal your dream. So, I struck a deal with Mr. Ridley.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and cupped her neck. “It was your money I used. The money you’d earned. The deed is in your name. No one can take it away from you.”
Even though she could no longer read the words, she stared at the paper. Her flower shop. Her dream.
She looked up. Moonlight limned the firm jawline of the man who’d made it happen. “You think I’d choose this shop over you? Maybe we shouldn’t marry. I don’t want to be joined forever with a blockhead. But—”
His whoop cut her off. Grabbing her about the waist, he swung her in a circle. “I heard yes.” He covered her lips with his own, and their tongues tangled. He tasted of whiskey and heat, the spirit sweeter coming from Max’s lips.
Breathless, she pulled back. Tried to regain her previous thought. “Besides, I don’t have to choose. I can have both. You are a man of business. I see no reason your wife should be any different. If a baron having a Cit for a wife doesn’t destroy your reputation, I don’t see why having a wife who also runs a flower shop should do you any worse.”
He nuzzled her neck. “Trust me. Of my friends who’ve married, you are by far the most respectable bride. Like Montague and Rothchild, I care not how society regards me.”
She dropped her head back, exposing more skin. Loving the way he took advantage. “Of course, if we marry, I’ll no longer own the flower shop. Everything becomes yours. Blasted, idiotic law,” she muttered.
Max growled against her throat, and she patted his arm. “I didn’t say that would change my mind. But it wouldn’t go amiss for you to bring up the issue with your fellow lawmakers in the House of Lords.”
“Duly noted.” He raised his head. “But you do know that what’s mine is yours, too. Everything I am, everything I have.”
She melted. Threading her fingers in his hair, she nipped at his throat. “And I will manage everything of yours with economy and efficiency.”
“I have no doubt.” He cupped her neck then slid his hand down lower.
Her breast tingled under his caress. “But with all the time we’ll be spending at Meadowlark, I’ll have to find a local manager for the shop. With so many delightful ways to occupy our time, I wouldn’t want to waste every day working.”
Dipping his head, he sucked her earlobe into his hot mouth. “Leisure time is one of the many benefits of marrying into the gentry,” he agreed. Softly, he cupped her cheeks between his hands and stared down at her. He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “You’re an amazing woman, Colleen Bonner. Just as you are. Do you understand me?”
She understood. She saw the self-recrimination in his eyes. The regret for their fight.
The love.
He loved her. Not because she maintained the ledgers for his business. Or in the hopes she’d bear his children. This would be a marriage so unlike her first.
The back of her throat ached. “Even now you know I’m not perfect? Are you sure you still want me?”
He rested his forehead against hers. “Perfection is overrated. You’re smart, and determined, and have completely captured my heart. Who needs perfection when I have all that?”
Well, when he put it that way. “You know that leisure time you spoke of?” She smoothed a hand down his cravat, over his flat stomach, and lower. “How about we go enjoy some of that?”
A growl reverberated up from his chest. “Your wish is my command.”
She danced back, dodging his exploring hands. “I’ll meet you in your room. Give me ten minutes.” She’d need at least that to make herself somewhat presentable. Not that Max ever seemed to mind how she looked.
He stalked after her, matching her step for step. “I always considered myself a patient man. Until I met you. Ten minutes is too long.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.” She paused at the glass door, enjoying the sight of Max in his conservatory. Taking in her new world. A world of life and love. Fire and heat. “Oh, and Max?”
He raised an eyebrow, his stubble making him look rough and dangerous. “Yes, my love?”
“It’s a bit chilly tonight. I hope you can think of some way to warm me up.” With one last look at her man, Colleen sauntered from the room, knowing he was but a step behind.
She smiled. Burning the midnight oil had taken on a new meaning for her. And every delicious, red-hot second of it was going to be amazing.
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A Note from Alyson
(This was so important I have it in the front AND the back of this book.)
WARNING: This book contains scenes of fire play, a highly dangerous activity. My characters are trained professionals. Also, they’re fictional, so they can’t actually get hurt. So, what I’m trying to say is, DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME!!!
Seriously, all I did was a little internet research on the subject of fire play. This is definitely not a how-to guide on how to heat up your love life. (Hee hee. I love my puns. *clears throat* But enough of that; back to the serious warning.) I did try to play my own game of snapdragon, to see if I could actually stick my hand in a bowl of flaming liquor without getting burned. And I have to say, it hurt. I don’t know how those Regency ladies were able to grab that raisin. So, if I can’t even play a parlor game safely, I’m not someone to listen to when it comes to instructions on lighting a loved one on fire. If fire play interests you, go to classes. Do you own research. Do not read this book and decide to experiment. And, if you learn any neat tricks, feel free to email me with any tips. :)
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Coming soon, Sin Archer’s, the Marquess of Dunkeld’s, story, tentatively titled:
MAD FOR THE MARQUESS
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