“Oh bother your heart,” Francesca interrupted. “Really, I think you worry too much about getting it broken. You can’t go about with it wrapped in tissue paper like a family heirloom, Marietta. Take it out, dust it off and give it another try.”
“But how can I face him alone? Perhaps his father has spoken to him and persuaded him to withdraw his offer? What if I say y-yes and he’s changed his mind!”
Vivianna hugged her. “We’ll all go,” she said firmly. “Francesca, too. If he has anything to say to you, dear sister, then he can say it to all of us.”
Marietta laughed shakily, but Lil rolled her eyes. “You’d better hurry then,” she said dryly. “He looked like the sort of gentleman who’d only wait so long before he came storming up here after you.”
When she opened the door, the first thing Marietta thought was that Lil was right. Max looked capable of anything. His face was taut and pale, the healing scar standing out dramatically on his temple, and his dark hair blown into wild curls by the wind. He must have walked here from Bedford Square—she did not put it past him. But it was his eyes that caught and held her attention.
They were burning with raw emotion.
“Max?”
“Marietta.” Relief softened his expression briefly, until he saw the other two women behind her. Vivianna and Francesca edged into the room and stood silent and watchful.
“My sisters.” She answered his unspoken question. “Lady Montegomery and Miss Francesca Greentree.”
Max bowed politely, and she smiled to think that he was so much the gentleman that even in circumstances like these he must do the right thing.
“Can we speak alone?” he asked.
“I…no, if you have anything to say I think it should be said before my sisters. Your father has already called here today.”
Max sighed. “My father, yes, I see. He has never had any common sense when it comes to dealing with other people’s emotions. He thinks it is enough to say sorry.” He shook off his melancholy. “I do not ask you to forgive what he said to you, only to consider it in the light of his misguided affection for me.”
“He needn’t worry,” Marietta said stiffly. “I won’t marry you, Max. You’re quite safe from my unsavory reputation.”
Max groaned and looked as if he’d like to tear his hair out.
“Marietta, I don’t care about your reputation! We can be happy together. This other nonsense…I can’t bear to think of you throwing yourself away like this.”
“I’m not throwing myself away,” she said quickly. “I’m protecting my heart, Max.”
“I love you.”
There was a tense silence. Francesca caught her breath, and Marietta could imagine what she was thinking—Max as the perfect Byronic hero. Vivianna said, softly, “Lord Roseby, do you know what you are proposing?”
Max’s eyes did not leave Marietta. “I want to marry you. I love you.” He lifted his arms. “What else can I say?”
Tears were stinging her eyes but she held them in. She had the terrible urge to tell him she loved him, too, and throw herself against him. As she teetered on the edge of the precipice, she remembered Oliver and Vivianna’s words, about happiness not being something she should lightly throw away. She had made a bad choice last time, and she had suffered for it, but that did not necessarily mean she would make a bad choice this time. And Max didn’t feel like a mistake; he felt completely and utterly right.
Perhaps the time had come to trust her heart once more.
Tentatively Marietta took a step forward, and it was easier than she had imagined. So she took another. Max was watching her, holding himself still, waiting to see what she would do. When she reached him he still didn’t move, and now it was as if he was afraid of frightening her away.
She reached up and touched his cheek, the most tender of caresses.
“Yes, Max,” she said. Just for a moment it was as if she was falling to earth with a crash, but then the sensation changed and she was floating with happiness.
Max smiled his gorgeous smile. “Marietta,” he breathed, and drew her into his arms in front of her sisters as if he had forgotten they were there. Or perhaps he didn’t care. “You’ll never regret it,” he murmured in her ear.
“I hope you never regret it,” she said in a little voice. “I’m glad you’re not going to be a duke, Max, because if you were we would never have met, and I could never have married you.” And then she gasped as he held her tighter.
As if he would never let her go.
Vivianna cleared her throat. “Lord Roseby, I think you should release my sister now.”
He looked at her, his eyes dazed.