Page 74 of The Lady Tempts an Heir
She went to bed with those words in her head, imagining his impatient and gruff voice saying them against her ear as she fell asleep in a cloud of his scent.
Chapter 25
I can live alone, if self-respect, and circumstances require me so to do.
Charlotte Brontë
MARCH 1876
Today marked three months since Max had seen Helena. Three months since he had touched her skin, tasted her kiss, and smelled her perfume. They had been three of the longest, most hellish months of his life. Aside from battling Crenshaw Iron’s demons—convincing the board to support his solution to dealing with the workers’ demands over his father’s more authoritarian approach had not been easy—he’d had to battle his own personal devils. Helena had yet to choose him, and he didn’t know what to do with that. He’d managed to convince himself that if he gave her time alone, she would come to accept that his love for her wasn’t going away. Now he wondered if perhaps she was the one who had moved on.
His second telegram demanding a timeline had gone unanswered. Instead, a letter had arrived several weeks later in which she had studiously avoided addressing thetopic as she gushed about the success of the training program she and August had implemented for the female residents of her charity. He hadn’t pressed her again, preferring to congratulate her on the accomplishment and resign himself to the fact that she would need more time. Now he wondered if not pushing harder had been a mistake.
Violet’s child had been born a couple of weeks ago at the end of February. Christian’s telegram had alerted him of the baby’s arrival and assured him of the good health of both mother and child. Max had immediately thought of Helena and how she might be feeling. It had to be difficult for her to watch someone she cared about go through the birth of a child knowing it was something she would never experience for herself. He’d sent a telegram asking how she was doing. Her reply had been quick and to the point—Good. Thank you.
He hadn’t heard from her since, but hefeltsomething was changing. An ache had taken root in his chest, and he’d found no relief from it no matter how many hours he worked a day.
“What do you say, Maxwell? Another round?” Walter, the man who spoke, was one of the board members who had taken Max’s side in the debate against his father. He gestured at the half-filled tumbler before Max.
Max blinked, forcing his mind back to the table in the private room at Delmonico’s and the five men he’d had dinner with. They were men of industry Max had known for years, and they met every month to discuss business and current events. “Actually, I was thinking of retiring early,” Max said.
Suddenly, the thought of spending another hour out was exhausting. He usually enjoyed these dinners but tonight wanted nothing more than to sit in front of his fire at home sipping a brandy and remembering the night in Helena’s bed at Claremont Hall.
“Are you ill?” Walter asked, concern clouding his features.
“No, a bit tired.” He pushed back from the table and stood; the others rose to wish him a good night. “Good evening, gentlemen.” A waiter hurried away to retrieve his coat, hat, and gloves.
The streets were dark, and winter hadn’t yet loosened its grip on the city. By the time he got home a quarter hour later, his fingers were numb and that brandy sounded even better.
“Evening, Charles,” he greeted his butler after hurrying inside.
“Good evening, Mr. Crenshaw,” Charles answered, helping him out of his coat. “The day’s post is in your study.”
“Anything interesting?”
“A letter from London.”
A lump of anxiety churned in his stomach. He didn’t have to ask who the letter was from. Somehow, he already knew.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” Charles asked.
“No, thank you. That’s all for tonight.” Max couldn’t seem to look away from the open door of his study, the letter calling to him.
“Very well. Good night.”
“Good night.” As Charles disappeared down the hall leading to the back of the house, Max managed to get his legs to work and made his way to the study.
A pile of correspondence sat waiting on the corner of his desk. He ignored it briefly to pour himself a bit of brandy and take a swallow. It warmed him on the way down, giving him the strength to approach the stack. As he’d suspected, a letter from Helena sat on top. Her beautiful, flowing script stared back at him.
Taking another swallow, he picked it up and sat in the armchair before the fire, staring at the envelope the whole time. Judging from the date, she had written it the very night of the child’s birth. This would be the letter. The onethat let him know if she wanted him for her future or not. There was no sense in prolonging things. He tore through the sealed envelope and read.
My dearest Maxwell,
I am writing to convey my happiness on the birth of your niece. You will no doubt have been apprised of the particulars by the time you receive this letter. Violet was gracious enough to ask that I attend to her, along with August. The labor was as straightforward as such a thing can be and ended in the small hours of the morning. Violet was strong and brave during the entire ordeal. I confess it was Christian that I worried for near the end. I have never seen a man so distraught and agitated as he. He refused to leave your sister’s side and was there when the sweet little creature made her debut. Rosalie Violet Halston is a perfectly healthy baby girl, and her mother is well.
The joy she brought to both Violet and Christian confirmed that my decision in regard to us is the right one. You deserve every happiness, and that includes children and securing your legacy. I think it’s best that we do not correspond anymore.
Yours affectionately and forever,
