Perhaps a little bit,” she admitted, for after all she did want him mad for her. She could hardly deny it.
He laughed, the sound low and rather thrilling. “It’s working.”
“It is?” she said doubtfully, frowning as she noticed him turn her hand and undo the row of tiny buttons.
“It is,” he agreed, his voice brooking no argument.
She watched, still puzzled, as he worked each button in turn. “You’ll never manage without a button hook,” she said.
He looked up at her, such a fierce expression in his eyes her breath caught. “Do wish to wager upon that, my lady?”
“I’m n-not your lady,” she protested weakly, as it appeared he was making short work of the buttons, hook or no.
“I wouldn’t wager on that either, if I were you, angel,” he murmured, the endearment sending a thrill of astonished pleasure through her.
Angel?
Her?
Was he mad?
Perhaps she had addled his brain.
Now the buttons were undone, he had exposed a triangle of skin over the inside of her wrist. Max stared at it for a moment and Phoebe held her breath, wondering what on earth came next. Everything stilled; even the carriage jolting over the dreadful road they were on did not register in her mind. Slowly, he lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the small area. Phoebe gasped, startled by the intensity of sensation that jolted through her. His lips were warm and soft, and she could feel his breath flutter against her wrist. He looked up at her then, and she wondered why he seemed so nervous. Surely it was only her heart jumping around like a landed fish? He was an experienced man, sophisticated and worldly, and… quite obviously anxious.
“Phoebe?”
Her name was spoken like a question, and Phoebe groped about for an appropriate answer.
“Y-Yes?” she stammered.
“Have I shocked you?”
“Y-Yes.”
His expression fell, and he set her hand free. “I beg your pardon, Phoebe, I ought not—”
“What? Oh, no, Max, don’t….” She grabbed hold of his hand again in both of hers and held on tight. “Don’t think… I didn’t mean….”
“Didn’t mean what?” he whispered, staring at the way she clutched at his hand.
“I didn’t mean it wasn’t a nice shock,” she said, wishing she wasn’t so wretchedly clumsy. Perhaps she should have paid more attention when men had tried to romance her. “Only that it was a shock. You see, I thought….”
He lifted his gaze to hers and she couldn’t think of anything at all, lost in the soft darkness of his eyes, like brown velvet flecked with gold and bronze and copper.
“What did you think?”
Phoebe swallowed and tried to concentrate on the question as the carriage thudded into another pothole.
“I thought you didn’t approve of me, t-that you thought I was dreadful and a terrible nuisance.”
He gave a choked laugh.
“You are dreadful and a terrible nuisance,” he said, but with such warmth that it did not sound like an insult. “I never meant to feel this way for you. I knew you thought me too old, too dull, that I would never be your choice, that you would never want me but… but you….”
His voice quavered with emotion and Phoebe felt as if her heart would explode with anticipation if he did not finish the sentence, but then the carriage lurched sharply to one side, throwing them to the right. Max hit the side of the carriage with a thud that made him groan, and Phoebe tumbled against him. He held her tight to her until everything went still.
“Phoebe?” he said, his panic audible. “Phoebe, are you hurt?”
Phoebe blew a tumble of curls out of her face and shoved her bonnet back up. “No. I’m fine,” she said, though in truth she was shaken. “What happened?”
“I don’t know, a broken axle would be my guess,” he said sourly.
“What wretched timing.”
He laughed then and she looked down at him and smiled, a little embarrassed to discover she was almost lying on top of him.
“It was wretched,” he agreed. “We shall speak of this again, though. Very soon, yes?”
“Yes, please.”
He reached out and touched her cheek, and she covered his hand with hers. Max let out a shaky breath and then laughed again, wonder in his eyes. Phoebe marvelled at it, never having thought Max would look at her that way. Max? Good heavens.
“Princess?” Jack’s worried voice came from outside as he wrenched the door open.
“I’m fine, Jack,” she said, taking the hand he offered her and clambering out of the carriage with difficulty, hampered by her voluminous skirts. “Are the horses