There was no time to see Max alone, but becoming acquainted with his background told her more about him than what she had learned before. He had been born superior and saw nothing unusual about his life, even though he was the family maverick. He was a Conroy of Hayden-Prescott. The earldom was a rich one, and his family estate had not been opened to tourists in an effort at survival. Max’s inheritance made him independently wealthy; it was only his own restless genius and drive that sent him first to Canada then to the States to take on the challenge of high-level corporate dealings. Centuries of aristocratic breeding ran in his veins.
She couldn’t fit into his world. A man in his position needed a wife who was comfortable in society, and Claire knew that she would always prefer a far more private life. She had driven herself into the ground trying to be suitable for the Halseys and had failed. How could she possibly measure up to the standards of the Conroys of Hayden-Prescott? They were the elite, and she was an assistant from Houston, Texas.
The celebrations going on around her took on an unreal, circus quality, and she went through the motions, doing as she was told, going where she was guided, while the certainty grew inside her that it was all a mistake. Max would soon come to see how unsuitable she was, and he would be impatient. She knew all the stages well, having suffered through them before. First he would be impatient because she wasn’t living up to expectations; then would come indifference, when it no longer mattered. And, finally, he would pity her. She didn’t think she could bear that, to have him pity her. Isolated from him, without even the reassurance of his passion, Claire withdrew as she had always done in an effort to protect herself. Their marriage wouldn’t have a firm base even under the best of circumstances, with only a lopsided love holding it together. Max’s reasons for proposing to her weren’t clear. Perhaps he thought she would be suitable; perhaps he was ready to begin his own family. But he hadn’t proposed out of love. Even during all the times when they had made love, with passion burning so high between them that sometimes she felt she would shatter in his arms, he’d never said anything about love.
She had to call it off before it went any further. When she thought of what she was about to do, of the scandal it would cause, Claire went cold, but she couldn’t see any other alternative. The marriage simply wouldn’t work, and it would destroy her if one day Max despised her for her inability to be what he wanted, what he expected, what he deserved.
She reached that conclusion the day before the wedding, but she had no opportunity to talk to him. They were always surrounded by family, both his and hers, and Rome and Sarah had arrived to add to the crowd. The wedding rehearsal went off without a hitch. Everyone was in high spirits, laughing and joking, and the ancient enormous stone church echoed with their joy. Claire watched it all with dark, stricken eyes, wondering what they would all think of her when they knew the wedding had been called off.
Dear God, she couldn’t just leave him standing at the altar. His fierce pride would never forgive her for that, and she couldn’t live if he hated her. Determined to talk to him, Claire threaded her way through the crowd and caught his sleeve. “Max?”
He smiled down at her. “Yes, love?” Then one of his cousins hailed him, and she lost his attention. Her nails bit into her palms as she stood beside him, trying to smile and act normally when she felt brittle inside, as if she would shatter at the slightest touch.
“Max, it’s important!” she said desperately. “I have to talk to you!”
Max looked down at her again, and this time he saw her pale, taut face, the tension in every line of her body. He covered her hand with his, holding her fingers to his arm. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
“It’s private. Can we go somewhere we can talk?” Her eyes begged him, and automatically he put his arm around her as if he could shield her from whatever was bothering her. “Yes, of course,” he said, turning to walk with her to the door.
“Oh, no, you two lovebirds!” someone called. “You can’t sneak out on the night before your wedding!”
Max looked over his shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, ushering Claire out the door. “Of course I can.”
He led her outside into the cool English night, and the darkness folded around them as they walked down the lane toward Prescott House, leaving behind the brilliantly lit church. Their steps crunched on the loose gravel, and Max pulled her closer in an effort to keep the chill from her bare arms. “What is it?” he asked quietly.
She stopped and closed her eyes, praying for strength to get through this. “It’s all a mistake,” she said in a muffled tone.
“What is?”
If only he didn’t sound so patient! Tears blurred her eyes as she looked up at him in the darkness. “This is,” she said, waving her hand at the church behind them. “All of it. You, me, the wedding. I can’t go through with it.”
He drew in a sharp breath, and tension invaded his muscles. “Why is it a mistake? I thought everything was going along well. My family likes you,
and you’ve given the impression that you like them.”
“I do.” Tears were making her voice ragged, and she wondered how long she could hold out before dissolving into sobs. “But can’t you see what a mismatch we are? I told you the first time we went out together that I’m not in the same league with you, but I didn’t know how right I was! I don’t fit in here! I can’t be more than what I am, and I’ll never be the aristocratic wife you need. Your…expectations are too high.” She choked and couldn’t say anything else, but perhaps it was just as well. Wordlessly she pulled off the pearl-and-diamond ring and extended it to him. He didn’t take it, only stared down at it as she held it out in her shaking hand.
Claire couldn’t hold back the sobs any longer. Grabbing his hand, she put the ring in it and folded his fingers over it. “It’s for the best,” she wept, backing away from him. “I love you too much to disappoint you the way I would.”
She fled down the dark lane, too blinded by tears to be able to see where she was going, but she knew that Prescott House was down the lane, and she would eventually get there. Misery choked her; she didn’t hear the running footsteps behind her. A hard hand grabbed her, swinging her around, and a small scream broke from her throat. She had a glimpse of his face, hard and furious, before he tossed her over his shoulder and started back up the lane.
“Max—wait!” she gasped, startled out of her tears. “You can’t—what are you doing?”
“Taking my woman away,” he snapped, his long legs eating up the distance as he strode toward the church.
People were milling around in front of the church, chatting before going on to Hayden Hill for the after-rehearsal party. When Max strode into view, there was a moment of dead silence, and Claire buried her face against his back.
“I say,” his brother Clayton drawled. “Isn’t there time enough for that tomorrow?”
“No, there’s not,” Max snapped, not even looking around. “I’m taking your car.”
“So I see,” Clayton said, watching as Max opened the door of a Mercedes and put Claire inside. Claire dropped her face into her hands, so miserable that embarrassment was only a small part of her woes.
Rome Matthews grinned, thinking of a time when he had carried his woman away from a party.
Standing on the steps, elegant in an oyster-white linen suit and pearls, Lady Alicia watched her son drive way with his intended bride. “Do you suppose,” she mused, “there’s any point in waiting for them? No, of course not. We’ll have the party without them,” she decided.
* * *