Impossible, page 18
Max didn’t know whether to be offended or complimented. He preferred the latter, so that was what he decided to be. “Thank you.”
Dougal leaned toward her and spoke in a low, gravelly voice. “He’s dangerously dashing. Spread the word.”
Becky snorted. “Hunt never had trouble turnin’ heads, and he won’t now. Nothin’s changed—we still aren’t offering services,” she added with a touch of sternness.
“He’s the Viscount Warfield now,” Lucien said with mock authority.
Her eyes widened, and she sank into a deep, overwrought curtsey. “Your lordship. I am honored to be in your presence.” When she rose, she surveyed the three of them. “Ye lot want a table? Ale?”
“That would be most welcome,” Dougal said, rubbing his hands together.
She showed them to an empty table near the middle of the room. Max nearly protested in favor of something on the periphery, but there wasn’t much available. Besides, he didn’t want to be difficult. He tugged his hat a little lower on the left side.
Becky went to fetch their ale.
“You aren’t going to cover your scars doing that,” Lucien said.
Max glowered in his direction. “Mind yourself.”
“What was the name of the actual brothel we went to after we discovered we weren’t getting shagged here?” Dougal mused.
Lucien drummed his fingertips on the table briefly. “I don’t recall.”
“Madame Helene’s.” Max remembered it quite well.
“Holy shit, I’d forgotten that!” Lucien slapped the table. “I wonder if she’s still in business.”
“Thinking of going there later?” Dougal asked slyly.
Before Lucien could answer, Becky returned with the ale. She stayed to chat for a few more minutes before moving on to another table.
Dougal lifted his mug. “To old friends and new memories.”
“Hear, hear.” Lucien raised his ale.
Max said nothing, but held his mug out before taking a long drink. Being here was like a dream. He could almost forget the pain of the past few years, imagine he was the carefree young man who thought he was invincible.
So why not do that for one night? Couldn’t he pretend he hadn’t gone to Spain? Hadn’t suffered tremendous loss and committed terrible acts?
“Ho, there, look what the wind blew in!” A jolly voice carried over them, prompting Max to look up at the new arrival.
Oliver Kent stood behind an empty chair at their table, his dark blue eyes piercing as he looked at each of them in turn, ending with Max. “Warfield, haven’t seen you in London in some time. A year at least.”
Max stiffened, wondering if he would mention the unanswered letters he’d written. “Evening, Kent.”
Kent greeted Lucien and Dougal, who invited him to sit. The older man set his glass of port on the table and took the empty chair in front of him. “It’s a coincidence to see you here tonight, Warfield. I was just talking about you earlier.”
“Oh?” The back of Max’s neck prickled. He expected people to talk about him, whether he was in London or not, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear about it.
After taking a sip of port, Kent set his glass back on the table, keeping his hand around the stem of the glass. “There’s talk you’re to be elevated to earl. Well deserved, wouldn’t you say, gentlemen?” He lifted his glass again and took another drink.
Max gripped his mug as if he had to hold on to it to keep from drowning.
“Excellent news!” Dougal said, grinning toward Max. “I can’t think of a man more deserving after what you did in Spain.”
“It wasn’t just me,” Max muttered. “If they’re handing out peerages or elevating peerages, Lucien should get one too.” He sent a glower across the table at Lucien.
“Honestly, it seems egregious to award either of us for committing the atrocities of war,” Lucien said quietly. He took a long drink and kept hold of his mug after setting it down, as if he might need to swallow the remainder of the contents at a moment’s notice.
Max realized he was doing the same.
While he agreed wholeheartedly with what Lucien was saying, the only reason they were lauded was because of Lucien. Without his interference, Max would probably have died. And he’d been ready to do so. Without Lucia and knowing how she’d died, he hadn’t wanted to continue on. More importantly, he’d wanted to punish those who’d brutalized her.
“You’re too modest,” Kent said with a wave of his hand. “We love to celebrate war heroes, and that’s what you both are, whether you like it or not.”
Max didn’t like it at all. He finished his ale and abruptly stood. His hopes for the evening had been completely dashed. There was no putting the past out of his mind now. Not tonight.
“Evening, Kent.” Max looked to Lucien and Dougal. “I’m fatigued. No need to cut your evening short. Enjoy yourselves.” With a nod, he started toward the door.
He didn’t make it out before Dougal was beside him. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.
“After my time as a hermit these past years, I find this…difficult.” That wasn’t it exactly, but it was close enough. He thought of Ada and her conjecture that he actually was the hermit living in his folly at Stonehill. While he didn’t live in the folly, he absolutely was the Hermit of Stonehill. Perhaps he could convince whoever had suggested his title change that he should be Hermit of Warfield instead of earl. That he could live with.
Max walked out into the warm night intent on finding a hack to take him back to the Phoenix Club.
“Max, wait!” Lucien called after him. He hurried past Max and moved to block his path. “Don’t let Kent’s gossip ruin our evening.”
“This was a mistake. I can’t pretend I’m a green lad without a care in the world.”
Lucien’s jaw clenched. “No one’s asking you to do that.”
Dougal had stopped beside Max. He pivoted so that he faced both Max and Lucien. “Ignore Kent. We can always go back to the Phoenix Club and enjoy ourselves there.”
“Capital idea,” Lucien said.
“Did you know about the title?” Max asked, his voice low and raw.
Lucien’s response came fast and terse. “I’d heard.”
“And failed to mention it, to warn me.”
“It’s just talk as far as I know.”
Max hoped that was all it was.
Dougal looked to Max. “Why does this bother you so much? It’s just a bloody title, which you already possess. So what if it’s an earldom instead of a viscountcy?”
“I don’t want it. Or the celebration or the notoriety. I don’t want to remember why I received it.” The scars on Max’s face burned as if he’d just been scalded. He hadn’t experienced that in some time. He pinned Lucien with a bitter stare. “Just as I didn’t want your help. You had no right to interfere.”
“You’d be dead if I hadn’t.”
“I’m supposed to thank you for that?”
Lucien threw his hands up, his voice spiking with anger. “It would be nice.”
Max lunged forward, his hand already making a fist.
Dougal grabbed his arm and hauled him backward as he positioned himself between Max and Lucien. “People are staring,” he whispered urgently.
“People always stare,” Max shot back, his lip curling. He felt Dougal release him.
Lucien held his gaze. “I won’t apologize for saving you, nor will I regret it. I will always be here for you, whether you want me to be or not. If you want me to try to stop the elevation, I will. I’ll speak to my father and anyone else who will listen.” He edged forward, his features creasing with sympathy. “Your life wasn’t over when Lucia died, and it’s not over now.”
“You know what I did.” Max barely heard the words he murmured. “Try living with that.”
“I do, because I helped you,” Lucien said simply, and Max couldn’t tell if he carried the same weight of remorse and self-loathing. He certainly didn’t seem to with his successful club and his ever-increasing popularity. He sailed through life with a wide, self-assured smile and a surfeit of magnetic charm, while Max could barely eat or sleep.
Max stared at him, feeling as desolate as he ever had. “How are you not fucking broken?”
Lucien swallowed, his frame stiffening. “How do you know I’m not?” He turned and stalked off toward the Haymarket.
“Well, hell. Who am I supposed to go with?” Dougal asked. “You’re both bloody messes.”
“Go after Lucien. He will always be better company than me.”
Dougal clasped his shoulder. “I don’t want that to be true, Max. I’ve missed you. I don’t want us to lose this chance—I believe you should be here. Not just in London, but with us. With friends.”
“I’m not leaving yet.” Neither was Max promising anything. He hadn’t come here to renew friendships or forgive past mistakes, including the ones he’d made, which were far worse than anything Lucien had done.
“I’ll go talk to Lucien,” Dougal said, taking his hand from Max’s shoulder. “Are you going back to the Phoenix Club?”
Max nodded. “To sleep.” If he could. “I’m meeting with my half sister tomorrow. I have to think of what to say.”
“Just be yourself.” Dougal smiled. “Mostly.”
“Good night, Dougal.”
“Night, Max.”
Dougal hurried toward the Haymarket, and Max crossed over to Piccadilly, where he caught a hack to the Phoenix Club. By the time he stepped out of the vehicle on Ryder Street, he was annoyed with himself.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have left. Before Kent had interrupted them, Max had glimpsed a night where he could have let go of everything that kept him bound up and tethered to the past. He briefly considered going back and trying to find Dougal and Lucien, but the hack had pulled away.
Frowning, Max started toward the door to the club, but stopped. Was Ada here this evening? If so, she’d be on the ladies’ side, of course. Or perhaps in her office, wherever that was located. He suddenly wanted to find out.
In his youth, he might have garbed himself as a woman and stolen into the ladies’ side. Since he couldn’t fathom where to come up with a costume of women’s clothing, he’d have to settle for just stealing into their sanctuary. There had to be a servants’ entrance.
He pivoted and walked around to the side of the club. There it was. Stairs led down to the kitchen level below the ladies’ half.
Anticipation curled through him in a way it hadn’t for quite some time. This was incredibly unusual for him—or at least for who he’d become.
Max crept down the stairs and slipped inside. This area was quiet as he made his way along a corridor. Sounds of the kitchen came from his left, and he noted a staircase on his right. Where would Ada be? He couldn’t very well stroll up the stairs and find her.
Hell.
A woman dressed in smart livery came toward him, her brow furrowed. Max had never seen such a costume for a woman. It was a feminine version of something a footman might wear. It occurred to him that the ladies’ side might not have footmen but instead employed footwomen. Extraordinary and brilliant.
“You shouldn’t be down here,” she said.
“My apologies,” Max said smoothly, angling himself so that she could see his best side—or more importantly, not see his scarred side as well. “I am looking for Miss Treadway. I’m lodging on the other side of the club, and I require her assistance with something. I don’t suppose you could deliver a message to her?”
“Certainly.” The footwoman appeared skeptical.
“I assure you, Miss Treadway knows me and will be eager to help. Can she meet me in her office?”
“I’ll ask her, but if she refuses, you’ll need to return to the other side. This is highly inappropriate.”
“I do beg your pardon.” He flashed her a smile that used to draw the ladies to him like magnets.
Her features softened, and he felt a heady rush of victory.
“Where is Miss Treadway’s office?” he asked.
“Second floor, front.” She nodded toward the stairs that were now just behind him. “Take those straight up.”
“Thank you.” He turned and dashed up the stairs, moving faster and with more intent than he had in a very long time. With excitement, even.
What did he plan to do once Ada came upstairs? He had no idea and that unknown only added to his anticipation.
Chapter 14
Saturday evenings during the Season at the Phoenix Club always felt subdued after the potent excitement and bustle of the assembly the night before. Ada enjoyed the quiet, however. It was unlikely she’d be called upon.
This was the night she typically went to the ladies’ library to find the book she would read over the next week. She’d just replaced her last book on the shelf—the one she’d started before going to Stonehill and inadvertently left here. It was another romance, and she couldn’t help but think that Max would find fault with it.
Instead of scowling or otherwise reacting with disdain, she smiled. Even when he’d been insufferably aggravating, she’d enjoyed their banter.
She wondered where he was tonight. Was he in the library on the other side? Sipping Irish whiskey, perhaps? Or was he already abed where nightmares awaited?
Now, she frowned. She hated to think of him struggling. And she wasn’t around to help him.
Except she was around…
“Miss Treadway?”
Blinking her reverie away, Ada turned from the bookshelf to see one of the footwomen standing with her hands clasped. “I’ve a message from a gentleman. I forgot to ask his name.” Pink crested her cheeks.
“That’s all right, Joanna. Is there a problem?”
“He said he needed your help and would meet you in your office. He’s waiting there now.”
“You let him into this side of the club?” Ada couldn’t imagine how Joanna had come to encounter him in the first place, unless she’d needed to fetch something from the men’s side.
“He was already here—downstairs. I told him he shouldn’t be there. He said he’s staying on the men’s side.”
What was Max up to?
“Thank you, Joanna. I’ll take care of this.” Ada stalked from the library and went to the backstairs. If he was in her office, he’d discover that she also lived there.
She went into the apartment, but found the main room, which included her desk, a table, and a seating area, empty. “Max?”
He appeared in the doorway to her bedchamber, then leaned his long, lithe figure against the frame. “You live here.”
“Yes.”
“You failed to mention that last night.” He perused her lazily and thoroughly, making her feel as if she wasn’t wearing any clothing. “I have to ask why.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” She licked her lips, too aware of how attractive he was and how much she wanted him. There was something different about him tonight. Dressed in dark blue with a light blue waistcoat, he made her mouth water with desire.
“I’m not sure it is.” He pushed away from the doorframe and moved toward her. “Perhaps you’d enlighten me?”
Ada’s heart began to pound a steady, hungry rhythm. “I thought it best for both of us if you didn’t realize we were sleeping under the same roof.”
“You didn’t want me asking you to sleep with me again.”
“I didn’t want to have to tell you no.” More accurately, she didn’t think she could have. “You make resistance difficult.”
He smiled slowly, seductively, and Ada couldn’t breathe. “I’d apologize, but I feel no remorse about that.”
“You’re not being at all fair,” she croaked, her body quivering with need. He’d stopped a foot away from her, and she took the respite to grab hold of what little sanity she currently possessed. “What is wrong with you tonight?”
His brow pleated. “Something is wrong?”
“Not wrong. Different. You are behaving in a wholly unusual manner. You’re flirting.”
“You don’t like it?”
“You are making resistance nearly impossible.”
His gaze dipped over her again, setting her entire body aflame with want. “I like impossible.”
Ada was moments away from abandoning all restraint and sense. She fought to keep them talking. “Did something happen tonight?”
“I went out with Dougal and Lucien. We went to the Siren’s Call. Do you remember me telling you about that?”
“I do, the not-brothel. How was that?”
“It didn’t go well, and I came back here. I realized I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to enjoy myself. The damned past keeps rising up. I’ve since decided it might be best if I could pretend the last five years hadn’t happened. Just for tonight.”
She saw a brief battle in his eyes, as if he were reconsidering his decision, or perhaps his ability to forget. She stepped toward him, finding it imperative that he win this battle, that he spend a night in which he would not be burdened by all that weighed upon him. “How can I help? I was told you needed my assistance.”
He just stared at her, and she wasn’t sure he was winning the fight within him.
“What would you be doing if it were five or ten years ago?” she asked. “We could return to the Siren’s Call. Or go someplace else.”
He shook his head. “Five or ten years ago, I’d be right here shagging you.”
Oh God. She nearly threw herself into his arms.
A knock on the door interrupted them completely, momentarily disorienting Ada. She ought to have been thankful. Instead, she wanted to murder whoever stood outside.
“Ada, are you in there?”
Bollocks, it was Evie. Ada gestured toward her desk and urgently whispered, “Hide under there!”
Max scrambled to do her bidding. When he was stuffed underneath, Ada took a steadying breath and went to the door.
Opening it, she summoned a bright smile. “Evie.”
