Free The Love Match (Entangled Scandalous) by Lily Maxton

and he’d let her down.
    But he’d asked her to marry him, something he’d never thought he would ask any woman, and she hadn’t even considered the possibility because he couldn’t bring himself to say the words she wanted to hear. She’d had no right to look at him that way. So hurt and disappointed. He should be the hurt and disappointed one.
    That’s what he tried to tell himself. It was just that, sometimes, he felt as though he’d let himself down, as well as her.
    He tipped back the last of the night’s brandy, left some coins on the dirty, scratched-up tavern table, and stumbled unsteadily to his feet. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat, braced himself against the chill in the air that signaled the approach of winter, and stepped out into the street.
    Everything exploded into chaos. He heard a shout, the shrieking whinny of a startled horse, the thud of hooves.
    He didn’t realize it until later, but in that one flash of grim expectancy, it was Olivia’s name that had been on his lips. Her face in his mind. A silent prayer.
    He threw himself backward, and a coach shot by, missing him by mere inches. He could smell the overworked animals, feel the air that whipped him as the vehicle barreled past. His teeth rattled from the vibrations.
    He scrambled back onto the pavement and nearly retched. It took a long time for his racing heart to settle. When it did, he sat there—or more aptly sprawled there—and tilted his head to look at the night sky.
    No stars in London. They were drowned out by the soot and the gaslights.
    The realization came to him gradually—perhaps because he couldn’t accept it all at once—that he had nearly died just now. If he hadn’t reacted quite as quickly, he would have been flattened by that carriage, his life snuffed out in an instant.
    And what would his legacy have been? What had he accomplished in his nearly thirty years? What would his life, and his death, have meant?
    Nothing.
    Absolutely nothing.
    And that answer had him stumbling to his feet and racing toward his townhouse. He had no idea if Olivia could forgive him, and he probably didn’t deserve it. But he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t try to win her back.

Chapter Seven
    The calling card embossed with William’s name trembled in Olivia’s hand. “He’s here,” she whispered.
    But why? Surely, they didn’t have anything to say to one another. Unless he’d changed his mind… But she didn’t want her heart to hinge on the whisper of that hope.
    Elizabeth knew instantly whom she meant. “Do you want us to stay?”
    Olivia stared at her, barely able to understand what she was saying. Then she shook her head. “No. Thank you.”
    Under her oldest sister’s charge, her entire family filed out from the sitting room as obediently as soldiers, leaving Olivia by herself. She rested her hands in her lap, looked down at the pattern of small roses that dotted her muslin dress. And forced her thundering heart to slow.
    She didn’t hear him come in, but the toes of his Hessian boots came into view. She glanced up. Her gaze flicked from his bloodshot eyes to the stubble that lined his jaw, to the disheveled appearance of his clothing. “You look dreadful.”
    His lips curved humorlessly. “I feel dreadful.” He held something out to her, something a bit bigger than her hand, and rectangular, wrapped in brown packaging.
    She took it and untied the string, revealing a book with dark leather binding. She frowned at the title.
    Poems
    by William Cross
    “Open it,” he murmured.
    With trembling hands, she did, pausing at the inscription on the next page.
    For Olivia
    And the inscription had her flipping through the book to see what exactly he’d written for her. Her lips parted as she read the first lines of one of the poems—
    Breathe into Me
    Let me steal your breath
    And your life, and your heart, and your hands, and your kiss
    Let me be yours
    As bound to you as the earth