Impossible, page 16
The gentlemen’s side, he supposed. But which one was that?
Max loitered for a moment, hoping for some sort of divine indication. Except he didn’t believe in divinity. Not after what he’d seen and done.
Scowling, he was about to march toward the door on the right side of the building when he saw a trio of ladies walk up the short steps. They were quickly admitted inside.
Not that door, then.
Veering left, Max made his way up the steps. The door opened, and a green-liveried footman held it while Max moved inside.
Immediately, he was greeted by another fellow in dark green livery, but this one had gold on his collar. He seemed to be someone of import.
“Good evening,” he said to Max, his voice even with an edge of curiosity. “Forgive me, but I don’t recognize you. Are you a member?”
“Not officially.”
The man’s eyes flickered with surprise and dismay. “Then I’m afraid I can’t admit you.”
“I’m the Viscount Warfield.”
“Ah, yes, however, I don’t recognize that name from the membership roll.”
Max tamped down his annoyance. “Fetch Lord Lucien.”
“I’m afraid his lordship is exceedingly busy. There is an assembly this evening.”
“I am aware of that as I’ve come to join the bloody assembly,” Max growled. “If you don’t fetch Lord Lucien this instant, I guarantee he will not be pleased.”
The man, who was perhaps a few years younger than Max’s thirty years, blanched. Still, he hesitated until Max growled again. Max may also have turned his scarred face toward the bloke and bared a few teeth. The man took himself off at last.
Occasionally, being a beast had its advantages.
While Max waited, he studied the large entry hall. Hung above the staircase, a massive painting of a bacchanalia was the focal point. The more he studied it, the more he seemed to recognize some of the figures portrayed within it. There was Pan, of course, and Dionysius. But in the lower right, it seemed Lucien and Dougal laughed with another pair of gentlemen. Another figure caught Max’s eye—just up the same side of the painting, a man arrived at the feast on horseback. Max recognized both man and beast—it was him astride Arrow.
He was completely unprepared for the sweep of emotion that stunted his breath.
“Good God, Warfield?” Lucien’s voice broke into Max’s haze of befuddlement.
Blinking, Max turned his head and focused on Lucien. “What the bloody hell is that?” He jerked his head toward the painting.
“I had it commissioned. Isn’t it marvelous?”
“You’ve no right to put me in a damned painting. Especially like that.” Seeing himself on Arrow… Max still couldn’t breathe properly.
“I like it,” Lucien said coolly. “It’s a wonderful reminder of my old friend.” He moved closer, lowering his voice. “Let’s not begin this way. I’m so very pleased to see you. What on earth brings you all the way to London and to my club of all places?”
Max grunted. He definitely should have climbed back into the hack. He wasn’t sure this aggravation was worth seeing Ada or meeting his half sister.
“I came to give Prudence her dowry.”
Lucien gaped at him. “Come to my office for a moment.” He led Max up the stairs. As they ascended, they passed a few gentlemen. Max didn’t know any of them, and to a man, they registered Max’s face and quickly averted their gazes.
At the landing, Lucien went to the right, and Max followed. Once they were inside, Lucien closed the door. “Brandy?”
“I understand you have Irish whiskey.”
Lucien stared at him. “You are full of surprises,” he murmured. “Yes, but it’s in the library.”
“Take me there,” Max said, recalling it was the place Ada had said he might like best.
With a nod, Lucien led him from the office back past the staircase to the front of the club, where a long rectangular room overlooked Ryder Street. Though the room was large, it was inviting with dark wood bookshelves and several seating areas. A sideboard with a varied collection of liquor atop it stood between the windows.
“How did you know about the Irish whiskey?” Lucien asked as he went to pour the alcohol. “It’s primarily for Wexford, and he likes to hoard it.”
“Miss Treadway told me about it. She thought I might enjoy it.” Max took the glass and inhaled the scent of the whiskey. There was sweetness with a bit of fruit and vanilla. Honestly, it reminded him of Miss Treadway in a subtle way, not that she smelled like whiskey.
Lucien poured himself a glass of brandy. “I am utterly baffled by whatever happened during Miss Treadway’s visit.”
“She didn’t tell you?”
“Should she have?”
“She drafted a report, which you’ve surely read. She also likes to talk.”
“That she does,” Lucien said with a chuckle. “Her written report was quite extensive, and I read every word. We also spoke, and she mentioned your resistance to change, but that you eventually came round. I’m still in awe as to how she did it.”
“Can we not belabor this?” Max asked wearily. He realized he was tired from the journey and annoyed by a number of things, namely that asinine painting. “I came tonight hoping I might meet Prudence. Is she here?”
“In fact, she is, along with her husband. I will warn you that Glastonbury may be angry with you.”
“That’s to be expected.”
“I continue to be astonished by the fact that you are well aware of your surliness and yet you do nothing to change it. Except apparently you did with Miss Treadway.”
“She said that?”
“Not entirely, no. I just assumed you’d mellowed since you’d agreed to hire a steward. And a woman to boot!”
“Assume nothing,” Max said tersely. He took a drink of the whiskey at last, finding it spicy yet smooth. He could see why it was Ada’s preference.
“What prompted you to give Prudence her dowry?” Lucien asked skeptically.
“Miss Treadway was a rather strong proponent on that front.”
“So, she wore you down about this where I could not. Amazing.” Lucien shook his head, and while Max recognized that his change of heart and mind on these issues was astounding, he didn’t appreciate how bloody flabbergasted Lucien continued to be.
Max glowered at him. “You’re still carrying on.”
“My apologies. I don’t wish to drive you away. I am delighted you’ve come to your senses when it comes to my cousin. You will like her immensely. She’s a lovely woman with a great deal of sense and wit.”
In response, Max drank more whiskey.
Lucien took a quick sip of brandy. “Your Phoenix Club membership is official. I apologize for the head footman. His job is to ensure nonmembers don’t gain entry, and you are an unfamiliar face. Furthermore, you didn’t officially accept the invitation I sent over a year ago.”
“I will remain an unfamiliar face as this is likely the one and only time I will visit. Don’t be surprised—or harass me—if I allow my membership to lapse.”
Lucien’s expression dimmed. “Does that mean you won’t be in London long?”
“A few days, I suppose. I should like to spend a little time with my half sister.” Unless he met her tonight and found her completely irritating. He was also considering meeting with her mother—his father’s lover, Lady Peterborough, who was Lucien’s aunt. Max thought back to the handful of times he’d met her in his youth, never realizing her link to his family. That ignorance ate at him. He’d been friendly to this woman who had heartlessly stolen another man from his loving wife.
“I’m so glad to hear it. We’ll organize a family dinner—”
Max lifted his hand and cocked his head with a grimace. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not attend a large event. I’m certain we can get along on our own.”
Lucien couldn’t seem to stop from meddling. Max could see why he’d hired Ada and found her so valuable. They shared that annoying trait. Except Max had come to accept her meddling and even appreciate it. Could he do the same with Lucien? Perhaps it was time. He was just trying to be a good friend. And perhaps he was trying to make up for what he’d done—saving Max when he hadn’t wanted to be saved. Not that Lucien would ever regret doing that. Max believed he would defend his actions, both what he’d done in the moment and what he’d done afterward to ensure Max was seen as a hero, with his dying breath.
“Of course. I just thought it might be nice to get together as a family.” Lucien looked him in the eye. “We are family now, Max.”
That hadn’t occurred to him, and Max didn’t know how he felt about it. He’d gotten rather accustomed to being alone, to accepting that and perhaps even using it as an excuse to remain apart from everyone. What an uncomfortable thought.
“Just because I want to meet my half sister and give her the dowry she deserves doesn’t mean I want to join a family.” He drank more whiskey.
Lucien appeared briefly disappointed, but nodded to cover that up. “Understood. I don’t know where you’re lodging, but if you’d prefer maximum privacy, I invite you to stay here. We’ve excellent rooms on the second floor just above me, and the kitchen is quite good, if I may say so.”
Max had gone to the Stephen’s Hotel on Bond Street. It was the only place he thought he might be remotely comfortable since it was where military men lodged. But the lure of a place where he could be relatively alone was too attractive to ignore. “How many gentlemen lodge here?”
“At the moment, none.”
Perfect. “Can someone fetch my things from the Stephen’s Hotel? I’ll also need to notify my coachman. His name is Francis Ogden, and he’s situated in the mews nearby.”
“I’ll have someone take care of everything.” In this case, Lucien’s managing was bloody helpful. Max would try to remember—and appreciate—that. “But first, I’ll take you downstairs to meet Prudence.”
Max twitched. The idea of going into the assembly and seeing so many people all at once was a bit distressing. He nearly asked for Lucien to bring her upstairs, but didn’t want to seem a coward.
Except he was. Or wanted to be, anyway. But since he’d come all this way, he’d brave the stares and the murmurs. “Let’s go.” He finished his whiskey and set his empty glass on the sideboard.
Lucien tossed back the rest of his brandy, and when they started toward the door, Dougal MacNair blocked their path. Broad shouldered with ink-black curly hair, Dougal possessed the ability to look both imposing and approachable at the same time. The latter was due to his brilliant smile, which was not currently on display.
“Max?” Dougal shook his head. Then came the smile, or at least a hint of it. “I mean, Warfield. I apologize for the many times I will likely forget.” His features creased with genuine joy, and Max was hard-pressed not to feel a rush of sentiment. “It’s been too long, my friend.” His Scottish brogue was thick with emotion.
Then Dougal embraced him, and Max froze. He’d barely touched anyone the past few years. Only Ada had gotten this close.
Giving Max’s back a thump, Dougal stepped back. “It’s so good to see you.” He looked to Lucien. “Did you know he was coming and not tell me?”
Lucien shook his head. “He surprised me as well.”
Dougal looked from Lucien to Max. “Would it be boorish of me to suggest we abandon the assembly and go directly to the Siren’s Call?”
Laughing, Lucien said, “No, but I can’t leave my own damn club in the middle of an assembly. I haven’t thought of the Siren’s Call in years. Tomorrow night?”
“I think we must,” Dougal said, grinning. He gave Max a pointed look. “Don’t try to refuse. I won’t allow it.”
“I haven’t been out in years.”
Lucien’s gaze was earnest and sympathetic. “If you’re uncomfortable, we’ll leave.”
Max was torn. Facing people—exposing himself—made him anxious. But he’d come all the way to London, so perhaps it was time he tried.
“We’ll force you if we must,” Lucien said with humor, but Max recalled the numerous visits he’d paid to Stonehill over the past few years and how he’d tried to force Max to do any number of things. The last time he’d done that, they’d come to blows.
“You won’t force me to do anything,” he told Lucien with a considerable chill. “I’ll go.”
Dougal clapped his hands together. “Brilliant!”
“We were on our way downstairs,” Lucien said. “Care to join us?”
“In a while,” Dougal said. “I just came from there, and after dancing with Miss Jones-Fry, I find myself in need of a large glass of whisky.”
“Are your feet all right?” Lucien asked with a faint grimace.
“They will be.” He grinned toward Max once more, then gave his arm a quick, firm clasp before going to the sideboard.
Max continued from the library. Lucien caught up with him, and they made their way downstairs.
“This way.” Lucien led Max through a wide arched doorway cloaked with dark green draperies. They stepped into the large, sparkling ballroom. Along with the windows across the far wall, mirrors reflected the flames of hundreds of candles in the chandeliers overhead. Dancers glided across the parquet floor, and nondancers were gathered at the opposite end—the ladies’ side. The musicians were situated above them in the mezzanine. It was a marvelous scene, and in that moment, Max was rather proud of Lucien’s accomplishment. He’d always worked to bring people together, both for good and…not so good purposes.
“They’ll likely be on the other side,” Lucien said. “Unless they’re dancing, but I don’t see them. Come.” He walked along the edge of the ballroom.
Max trailed him, trying to keep his attention focused on Lucien’s back so he wouldn’t see people looking at him. Or more accurately, he wouldn’t see their reactions.
He did an excellent job until they were nearly to their destination. Then his gaze strayed to a group of four ladies huddled together, their attention fixed on him. They stood to Max’s left, so of course they could see his scarred face. Two of them wore matching expressions of revulsion while the third looked away. The fourth studied him intently as if she wanted to remember every ripple in his flesh so she could draw it later.
Somewhat repeating what he’d done earlier with the footman, Max sneered before he snapped his teeth together, lips bared, as if he would take a bite from them. All four recoiled, and he nearly smiled.
“Here we are,” Lucien said, stopping. He turned, his expression darkening. “You’re ready? I confess I feel a trifle wary surprising her like this.”
“I’m not going to be rude, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Well, I wasn’t actually, but you make a good point. Though, you seem to be on your best behavior tonight. Or at least better behavior.”
“I’m trying.”
A brief smile flitted across Lucien’s mouth. “I can see that, and I can’t tell you how happy it makes me. Truly.”
“None of this is for you.” Max realized he sounded cruel, but it was the truth. He wasn’t sure if he and Lucien could ever return to the friendship they’d shared before the incident in Spain. If Max thought deeply about it—and when did he ever do that—he might realize he hated knowing Lucien had seen him at his very worst, that it was easier to keep his distance from the one person who had witnessed the worst day of Max’s life.
More than that, Lucien had interfered where he shouldn’t have. Never mind the fact that he’d saved Max’s life. Max hadn’t wanted to be saved, and he certainly hadn’t wanted to be recognized as a hero after what he’d done. “If you please, introduce me to my half sister.”
“Very well.” Lucien frowned slightly before turning once more and leading Max to an alcove with chairs. Two ladies were seated, and Max recognized the brunette as Lucien’s younger sister, Lady Cassandra. She was Lady Wexford now.
She, in turn, recognized Max, the color draining from her face before she reached for the other woman’s hand. She had to be Prudence. Pale skinned with blonde hair and light moss green eyes, she possessed an almost ethereal beauty. He now recognized her too—as the woman who’d come to his house seeking employment. And whom he’d tossed out with considerable vitriol.
She’d caught him on a particularly bad day.
Max bowed without waiting for anyone to introduce him. “Good evening, Lady Glastonbury. I am Lord Warfield. Maximillian, I mean. Or Max,” he added quietly, wondering why he suddenly felt nervous.
Perhaps it was the cool, furious way in which she regarded him. She’d not forgiven his horrid behavior, and he didn’t blame her.
“You’ve a great deal of nerve.” This came from a gentleman to Max’s left. Also blond with an athletic build, he stepped close to Max, his hands fisting. His gaze trained on Max, he gritted his teeth. “Lucien, I apologize for the scene I’m about to cause, but I think I must hit Warfield in defense of my wife.”
“Don’t.” Prudence had stood and now moved between her husband and Max, her back to Max. “Ben, you aren’t going to make a scene. Furthermore, it wouldn’t be fair. You’re a pugilist, and Warfield looks as if he couldn’t last ten seconds in the ring.”
Max’s pride stung, but she was probably right. He’d never gained back all the weight he’d lost after being so severely wounded, and he certainly didn’t get enough exercise. He suddenly wanted that to change too.
Prudence pivoted, her eyes glittering as she looked up at Max. “Besides, if anyone is going to hit him, I think it should be me.”
“On that we agree,” Max said. “If you’d like to go outside, I will suffer whatever you wish to do to me.”
“What the devil is going on here?”
Everyone turned. Max knew that voice. His heart leapt.
Ada stood with one hand on her hip. “No one is hitting anyone.”
Ada could scarcely believe her eyes. Max was here. In London. At the Phoenix Club. She immediately assumed something was wrong even as giddy emotion swirled inside her.
