“Sure. No problem.” Janine flicked her a glance. “Easy on the eyes, too.”

Max chuckled. “You noticed.”

She checked her monitor. Said to her lighting tech, “There’s a shadow on the right side of his face. Can you fill a little bit?”

When she was satisfied, she nodded to Simon, who started rolling. She watched in her monitor. Simon did his wide, establishing shot of Janine and the earl. He then went in tight on Janine for her intro.

“I’m here in the great room of Hart House,” Janine said to the camera, “with the ninteenth Earl of Ponsford.” She talked about George and his ancestry, including his American mother, of course, and then turned to the earl.

George, Max was pleased to note, looked relaxed and urbane. He’d probably learned interview protocol in nursery school.

The second camera was trained on George.

“You trained as an architect, I understand, and until recently worked for a London firm.”

“Yes, that’s right. I’m still employed by the firm, but I’m on a leave at the moment. Since losing my father last year, I’ve had to step in and run the estate.”

“That must be a lot of work.”

George had obviously read the questions carefully, for his answers were smooth. He gave enough detail about the estate, but not too much. So far the whole interview was going so well there’d be little editing needed.

Max left the monitor and moved around until she was standing behind Janine’s chair, but out of camera range. From here she had a clear view of George and the leisure of staring at him without being thought crazy. Or crazy in love.

“You were named by Hello! as one of England ’s twenty-five most eligible bachelors,” Janine said. “How did that make you feel?”

Whoa, Maxine thought. Good one, Suz. Hah, she was sleeping with one of England ’s most eligible bachelors. How did she feel about that?

“Bashful. And a little nervous.” Here he gave a glance around, as though being pursued by a bevy of female Hello! readers, that made Maxine smile. It would go over great in the broadcast.

“What do you look for in a woman? In a future countess?”

“Well, obviously, I’m looking for the woman first. We’ll worry about her being a countess later.” He paused, crossed one leg over the other. “What am I looking for in a woman? Humor, intelligence, someone I can laugh with and be myself with.” He glanced at Janine with his naughty boy, flirty eyes. “I’ve always fancied the idea of someone who worked in television.”

Janine was an old pro, and she handled him perfectly. You could feel the warmth and the slight older woman- younger man thing batted between them like a badminton birdie.

“Of course, any woman who married me would have to give up a lot. I’m running the estate now, and so I can’t go off and live in London, say, or Los Angeles. She’d have to be willing to live here a great deal of the time.”

L.A.? Odd he should mention L.A. He might have been talking about Max.

Janine waved her hand graciously at the antiques and magnificence of the great room, and smiled. “I think a lot of young women would be willing to live in Hart House.”

“It’s not all garden parties and spreads in posh magazines,” he said. “This is a working estate. The livelihood of one hundred and eighty-two people depend on it, the village depends on it. Frankly, it’s a lot of work.”

“You wouldn’t give it up?” Janine sounded alarmed. She’d gone way off the script, Maxine was fairly certain, but it didn’t matter. Janine was a born interviewer. She knew instinctively when to follow a line of questioning and when to revert to her script.

“No, of course not. I was born and raised to be the Earl of Ponsford. It’s my duty as well as an honor, but for a woman who wasn’t born to it, it might be a bit more than she bargained for.”

“Is there a special woman in your life?”

Oh, no, Max thought. If only she’d had time to check the script over, she’d have cut that line. It was personal, impertinent, it was…

George’s eyes drifted over Janine’s shoulder to rest on her. He’d been following her movements, then; he knew exactly where she was. “Yes,” he said. “There is.”

Through the bright lights, the cables, the technicians, the whirring cameras, she felt that gaze and they could have been alone. She shivered as she realized he had been talking about her. She didn’t realize her hand had moved to her chest until she felt her own heart pounding against her palm.

“So the estate may get a new countess fairly soon?”

“That depends on whether she’ll have me,” George said. His eyes had never left Maxine.

She wanted to run forward and throw herself into George’s arms and yell, Yes! Cameras and all. Wouldn’t that make a dramatic scene for Grand Titles, Great Estates? At the same time, she was conscious of an equally strong desire to turn around and run the other way. Out of the great room, out of Hart House, out of England as fast as commercial air service could take her. She was from L.A. She had a job she loved, a life. George was right, he couldn’t be the kind of modern man to follow his woman even if he wanted to. He was stuck here.

That meant that if they were serious about each other, she was the one who would have to move.

She loved George. The feeling was still new and tender in her chest, but it was undeniable. But did she love him enough to give up her job? Her life? Her country?

When the last question had been asked, Janine removed her mic and the assistant producer unhooked George. They both rose.

Max joined them, trying to act as if her world hadn’t tilted slightly.

“Well,” Janine said to Maxine, when she joined them, “I thought that went really well, didn’t you?”

“Ah, yes. Absolutely. Yes. Really well, really, really well.” Shut up, she told herself. Quit babbling. The quick smile George sent her was as intimate as his answers to Janine’s questions had been.

And she felt as unsettled as she had listening to him.

“Well,” she said, “I’d better get down to the pub and see how things are looking. We shoot there tomorrow.” And with a wave, she was gone.

The ornate walls, priceless, irreplaceable furniture, paintings, carpets, the thirty-foot painted ceilings seemed to oppress her. Even the marble floor glared up at her as she clacked across it on her way out. Once she’d made her way outside she felt the great weight of the building behind her, grimacing at her back, as though telling her she didn’t belong. She strode down the long, oak-lined avenue, her mind in turmoil, her heart the same.

“Max.”

She heard George shout out her name but didn’t turn. Maybe he’d go away. She wasn’t ready to be alone with him. Didn’t know what she wanted, what she felt, what she ought to say.

The unmistakable crunch, crunch, crunch of a man running on gravel came to her ears. He was getting closer. Unless she tried to run away-and his legs were so much longer than hers, he’d catch her anyway-she might as well face him.

So she turned.

His muted tie flapped as he ran, his polished shoes were getting dusty, but he still looked aristocratic, elegant, and yet sexy. His long-legged stride was athletic, and he ran like a guy who’d run a lot of miles in his time, whether on the tennis court, the soccer field, or-like now-running after women.

“You scarpered off awfully fast.”

“I did.”

They walked on in silence. She was aware of him looking at her face, but she kept her gaze resolutely forward. “You’re a natural on camera, you know.”

“I wasn’t thinking about the camera. When she asked me those questions, I was thinking about you.”

Max looked out at the acres of land and the lines of ancient trees. There was the tree he’d dragged her underneath when he first kissed her, only a week ago, and it seemed like years. If she’d known that she’d wind up falling in love with him, would she ever have let him kiss her? Would she have kissed him back? Made love with him?