There was so very little he could do to relieve her distress.
The landau came to a halt and Max descended first, holding out his hands to receive Miss Whitmore and bring her down safely. With a glance around the street to assure himself of no prying eyes, he at last gave in to temptation and swept her into his arms.
Her head rested against his chest as he cradled her to him. Could she hear the riotous beating of his heart?
‘To lose thee were to lose myself,’ his mind quoted.
It was true, he owned. The truth of it was impossible to deny, as he held her in his arms.
She was everything good he had ever thought her to be, and more. She hadn’t a frivolous bone in her body; how could he have ever thought anything so ungenerous? The lady was desperate—surely even the scandalous moment he had observed as she hastened along Piccadilly alone might be explained somehow as well.
‘How can I live without thee, how forego
‘Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined...’
Madness. He was losing his mind.
Max pushed himself to move, to carry her up the stairs to the facade of her home.
I cannot love her. I cannot. It is a match no one would condone.
Unless I was truly Henry Milton.
A shock of realization made him hesitate even as he was about to cross the threshold of her door.
To give up his identity and title forever—might he consider it?
He must consider it. For love.
Miss Bromley opened the door and Max passed into the foyer, where the butler met them and began sputtering in alarm.
Ignoring the man’s questions and entreaties Max carried Miss Whitmore up the stairs, two flights. Miss Bromley followed a step behind. She indicated the lady’s bedchamber and he went in, laying Miss Whitmore carefully on her bed.
The bonnet she wore caused her head to rock to the side and he hastened to tug the ribbon, undoing the bow. The act sent a rush of desire through him even as he gently supported the back of her head and with the other hand, pulling the bonnet free.
These feelings are scandalous, Maximilian, he reprimanded himself, but to no avail.
The polite thing to do would be to leave immediately, but he could not.
Max stood, looking down at Miss Whitmore, whose ragged breathing was the only sign she gave of life.
At last he turned to her companion, handing her the bonnet. ‘I shall never forgive myself for so distressing her. If she has truly taken ill...’
Miss Bromley shook her head. ‘It is her nerves, my lord,’ she said. ‘It is not the first time.’
Some of the panic eased from him. He glanced back at Miss Whitmore’s pale face. ‘I have asked for too much. Please tell her when she wakes that I no longer require her to return to Ceastre. ‘Twas thoughtless of me to involve her in my troubles.’
‘No!’
It was Miss Whitmore. Max caught his breath and turned to her.
Her dark eyes opened and she regarded him. ‘It has been my honour to attempt to assist you in clearing your name.’
His throat tight, Max swallowed and shook his head. ‘You owe me nothing, Miss Whitmore.’
I could tell her now of my feelings, he thought wildly. Of my idea—to become Henry Milton forever.
And what could you offer her, as Mr. Milton?
The question arrested him.
Not what she needs. A paltry living from the interest of your small savings would not begin to pay for her father’s care, much less the needs of her estate.
Max prevented himself from grimacing as the understanding dawned on him. His romantic notion, to give up his life as earl forever, was nothing but a foolish dream.
‘Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.’
Once again the words he recalled from Paradise Lost seemed very fitting.
The only way that Max could ever help Miss Whitmore was to finish what he returned to England to do: regain his title and his wealth. Perhaps it might mean he could never marry her, but at least he would have the means to rescue her.
He gazed at her now, thinking. The urge to stroke her forehead seized him and his fingers curled into his palms as he resisted it.
How can I at once dream of saving her, while also yearning to dishonour her so? What confusion. She deserves better than such mistreatment. She deserves peace, and security.
It could be discreetly done. He could purchase the land that she had sold, perhaps, and then simply gift