Page 93 of About a Rogue
“I told you,” Bianca panted, shaking in his arms. “Someday we would shout at each other...”
Max gave a wheezy laugh. “Our servants must be huddling under the table in abject fear.”
“Oh goodness, let them.” Eyes glowing, she kissed him. “I love you,” she said softly. “I love you, Max, I do. Cathy caught me off guard—”
“I know.” He kissed her back.
“I should have told you sooner,” she went on as his mouth drifted over her eyebrows and temple. “I was so hurt you didn’t tell me about Greta, and I was so frightened those two days you were gone—”
“I was entirely at fault. I will never do that again.”
She pulled his face level with hers. “I was wrong to be so cold to you in the beginning. I agreed to the marriage on impulse, but once it was accomplished, I ought to have made the best of things. Instead—”
“I do not hold anything against you,” he said, laying a fingertip on her lips. “Nothing. I have no stones to cast, having kept a large secret of my own.”
She smiled hesitantly. “Then we shall start anew?”
“Anew?” Max quirked a brow. “And lose all the ground we’ve gained? No, I think we should continue on from this moment, mindful of our own faults and considerate of the other’s sensibilities. What do you say, love? Will you carry on with me, in spite of our faulty marriage license?”
A slow, enchanting smile curved her lips. “I will. This time pledging my whole heart to you in true love and honesty.”
“And I do pledge my whole heart and honesty to you.” He rested his forehead against hers. “’Til the end of time.”
She kissed him. “That’s a fine start.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Five weeks later
Carlyle Castle
They saw the castle long before they reached it.
Bianca alternated between hanging out the window in astonishment and stealing amazed glances at him. Max, who had seen it before, was content to enjoy her awe.
“And you’re really heir to all this?” she finally asked, settling into the seat beside him. They had been on Carlyle property for almost the last hour, and the castle itself still loomed ahead of them.
“Second,” he said. “A distant cousin, an army man, outranks me. The chances of my ever sniffing a dukedom are vanishingly small, love.”
“This is a vast deal closer than I ever thought to come to one.” She looked out the window again. “We’re here.”
Up close, the castle was even more impressive. The gray stone walls towered above them, and they drove through a narrow stone arch into a courtyard so large, there was a neatly kept garden in the center.
Max stepped down, waiting for the onslaught of tension or apprehension at facing the duchess again, and felt... nothing.
Well—not nothing. He felt a burst of pride as Bianca stepped down in her beautiful cream gown from London. They had stopped at an inn a few miles ago to refresh themselves, and Max had had a hard time keeping his hands off her since. She was breathtakingly beautiful, even before she sent him a mischievous glance and wrinkled her nose ever so slightly and sniffed.
He could only smile back at her.
Her hand on his arm, they walked up the shallow steps to the butler standing at the open doors. After showing them to a more handsome guest chamber than the last one Max had inhabited, the butler conducted them through elegant corridors quieted by lush carpets, through a paneled great hall lined with tapestries and paintings, and up a grand staircase of intricately carved stone into what Max privately referred to as the Audience Chamber.
The duchess was waiting there, as plump and gray as Max remembered. Her companion sat quietly behind her, a large ginger cat on her lap. “So,” the duchess remarked, after the introductions had been made, “you certainly did not waste any time, Mr. St. James.”
He bowed. “No, Your Grace.”
Her gaze transferred to Bianca. “You must know about your husband’s connection to Carlyle.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said Bianca. She stood erect and gazed forthrightly back at the intimidating duchess. “I was very sorry to hear of your son’s passing. My heartfelt sympathies on your loss.”
