Lady Whistledown Strikes Back (40 page)

“Me? Oh! No! I mean, I didn’t know you were there, but I had thought that—”

She stammered to a halt. “I suppose I
am
surprised.”

“You shouldn’t be.” His gaze dropped over her, lingering here and there. “How are you today? Tired from your mad dash down Bond Street?”

Though she wore a very proper gown, fashion still permitted some skin to show—her neckline was scooped, her arms practically bare except for light gauzy puffs of sleeves. Under Max’s deliberate gaze, every inch of exposed skin tingled and heated, as if he!d dared to touch her. Sophia smoothed her gown nervously. “Bond Street? Whatever do you mean?”

Amusement glinted in his silver eyes. “You know what I mean. I saw you, dragging some poor mousy woman the entire length of the street.”

Sophia lifted her chin. “I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about. Not that it signifies. Why are you here, anyway?”

He tilted his head to one side, his lashes dropping to shade his eyes from silver to stormy gray. “I’m not sure. I’ll tell you when I reason it out.”

Jacobs appeared behind Max, pure shock on his thin face. “My lord! Where did you come from? How

did you get inside?”

“Simple,” Max said, imperturbable as ever. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a large brass key. It swung gently on his finger, the sunlight sparkling on the filigree.

“The key?” Jacobs looked at Sophia, obviously shocked.

“Where did you get that?” Sophia demanded.

Max smiled, his teeth white against his tanned face. “It was with the papers I signed on purchasing the house.”

It must have been a spare key. “You should have returned it.”

“I returned the one I had for the house we owned when I left.” His gaze narrowed. “A house that was

not good enough for you.”

Her cheeks heated. “It was good enough for me! I simply could not bear the memories. So I wrote and asked your permission to sell it, and you agreed.”

“Yes, I did.” He looked around with an appraising eye. “I must give you credit, my dear. This house is much brighter than our last one. Larger, too.”

Sophia tried not to look too longingly at the key he held. It was a wretched idea for Max to have access

to her house day and night. Especially night.

Max tucked the key back into his pocket. “So here I am, with a key.”

Jacobs stepped forward, outrage in every line of his thin body. “My lady, shall I call the footmen and remove Lord Easterly?”

That was a tempting thought. Sophia caught Max’s eye. He grinned, an easy shrug moving his wide shoulders. “They could try,” he said softly.

He was right, the footmen
could
try, and they might even succeed. But only for the moment. Max would just come back once the way was clear again. That was Max’s way— if he decided on a course

of action, he followed it, regardless of the consequences. She sighed and gestured to the chair opposite hers, saying crossly, “Oh very well. You might as well stay.”

“Thank you,” Max said, a faint smile on his lips.

Jacobs frowned, but he could not disagree with his mistress. He bowed stiffly.

“Very well, my lady.” Head held high, he sent Max a quelling look, then turned on his heel and left.

It was exactly what Max wanted. Ever since the grand ball, he’d been yearning for another taste of Sophia. A long, lingering taste this time. Once he’d re-memorized the taste of her kiss, he then wanted to see if his other memories were just as true to the mark. The feel of her skin beneath his fingers, the curve of her hips, the warmth of her leg thrown over his while she slept. All things he remembered in painful detail, now within reach. It was agonizing.

He walked forward, noting how she nervously wet her lips. The afternoon sun caught the moisture and glistened appealingly. Good God, what had he been thinking, to leave a woman like this? But then, it hadn’t been that simple. With Sophia, it never was.

“Pray have a seat,” she said.

Max sat, his long legs brushing against her knees. She jerked as if the faint touch had burned.

“What do you want?” she asked bluntly.

“I came to see what schemes you were hatching.”

A delicate flush touched her cheeks and made him yearn to follow it with his lips. “What makes you

think I am scheming?”

“You cannot help it; it’s in your blood. Like using my uncle’s diary against me.”

Her cheeks bloomed with more color. “I may have been willing to use that diary to get you to return for the annulment, but for no other reason.”

It was difficult to believe it had been twelve long years since he’d allowed himself the pleasure of seeing her. Funny, it didn’t seem so long now that she was sitting before him, her skin flushed a becoming pink, her blue eyes sparkling with suspicion, her golden hair pinned onto her head in a profusion of temptingly soft ringlets. Blast it, but she was beautiful. Beautiful and intelligent and something more… something that had held him enthralled since the first day they’d met. What was it? he wondered. What made every woman he met fade to insignificance beside Sophia? He saw her gaze drop to the pocket that held the key. “I will not use it without permission.”

Her lashes lifted, and she regarded him with suspicion. “Oh?”

“If I really wished to enter this house, I wouldn’t need a key. I could break in, or trick the servants into thinking I’m a coal scuttler or some such thing.”

“No one would think you were a coal scuttler,” she scoffed.

“No, just a thief.”

Her lush lips turned down at the corners. Max found that he could not look away from her face, from

the transparent emotions that flickered through her eyes.

She grasped her hands in her lap. “Max, I am sorry—”

“Don’t. I do not want you to be sorry.” He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but it wasn’t her pity or concern. “It’s over and done with and I don’t wish to speak of it again. Like Lady Neeley’s accusations, it is stupid talk from stupid people, best left unnoticed and unanswered.”

That lit her fires. “As if such a thing could go unnoticed and unanswered!” she returned hotly, her eyes flashing daggers. “Everyone is discussing it and condemning you, all without a single scrap of evidence.

It is more than I can bear!”

That was it, Max suddenly realized, a sense of wonder filling him. That was what had attracted him to Sophia from their very first meeting—her passion.

And not just for him, but for everything she considered right, for everything she valued. There was color to her soul, color and a richness of texture that made his heart sing in response. The ultimate irony was that what had attracted him to Sophia, what had captivated him so completely, had eventually led to the end of their union. Her passionate loyalty had led her to champion her brother Richard at the expense of her own husband. “Ah, Sophia, we are foolish, both of us.”

“Balderdash. Speaking of which, we never did resolve the issue of the key.

Please return it at once.”

He lifted a brow. “The key was delivered to me and I shall keep it.”

“Why on earth would you want it?”

“Ah,” Max said tightly. “Why do I want a key to the house where you live?

Could it be because I am

your husband? Isn’t that reason enough?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned forward until their noses almost touched, her chin jutted to a pugnacious angle. “We are married in name only, and you are not allowed the full privileges of a husband. Return that blasted key!”

Moving with deliberate slowness, he pulled the key from his pocket and placed it on the table.

“Thank you.” She reached for it, but just as her fingers grazed it, Max placed his large hand over hers and held her there. Sophia could only stare down at her hand, engulfed in his.

She noted absently that he had a paint smear along the edge of his thumb. It reminded her of when they’d first been married and she’d had to inspect his hands and shoes for paint splatters before they went anywhere. It had always amused her that Max, usually so neat in person, could be so careless when he painted.

But that was long ago. Heart aching, she tugged on her hand, but he wouldn’t allow it, holding her

fingers tight. “Stop it,” she hissed.

He smiled then, a slow, wide, teasing smile that reminded her of other smiles, other times, dark and whispered moments between the sheets, of thudding hearts and entwined legs. She shook off the memories and gasped out, “Stop that!”

He lifted his brow. “Stop what?” “Stop all this… taunting. I will not take it.”

“Very well. Perhaps we can trade. The key for—”

“The diary.”

“No. For a kiss.”

“A kiss?” She was aghast. “You
must
be teasing.”

“I am not. One kiss and the key is yours.” She bit her lip. It was tempting, really it was. But before she could speak, Jacobs knocked on the door and entered. “The Earl of Standwick.”

“Max, let me go,” Sophia muttered under her breath, all too aware of the butler’s sharp gaze. Max’s large, warm hand was still pressed over hers, and she could not move an inch. “My lady, is everything well?” Jacobs said, faltering a little. “It’s nothing,” Sophia said. “Please see Standwick in.” As soon as the door closed, she turned to Max. “You must let me go.”

“No.”

“But John will see and—” The door opened and John entered, the door closing behind him.

“There you are, Sophie! I just—” John blinked. “I say, don’t you two need to oh, you know, get up or take a walk or something?”

“No!” they answered as one.

John laughed. “You should see yourselves, holding hands and yet glaring at one another like mortal enemies.”

Sophia tossed her head. “John, he has the key to this house.”

John looked at Max. “Do you?”

“The house is in my name,” Max said imperturbably.

“Oh.” John rubbed his chin. Finally, he said, “Soph, I think he has you there.”

She stiffened. “How can you side with
him!”

“I’m not siding with anyone. He owns the house, therefore it makes sense he must have a key.”

“While I’m in it?”

He looked at Max with a narrow gaze. “Will you use it?”

“Only if she invites me.”

John looked at Max a bit longer, then seemed satisfied at last by the serious expression in Max’s eyes. “Sophia, he promises not to use it. And he’s a man of his word, as we all know.”

She flared a look at Max guaranteed to scorch his stockings, then tugged on her hand. “Blast you! Just keep the key. I shall have the locks changed in the morning.”

“And I shall make use of any window with a loose latch, should I wish to visit.”

“You said you’d ask first!”

“That was if I had the key,” he said with a smug smile. “If I don’t, then any window will do.”

“Try it and you will be shot. I shall arm all of my servants.”

“Balderdash,” John said. He took a large plush chair near the tea tray, sitting in a full slouch and crossing his legs at the ankle. “You have said a thousand times that you don’t believe in having weapons—said they cause more harm than good.”

She shot him a dagger glance, wishing Max would release her hand so she could box her brother’s ears. “Did anyone invite you into this conversation?”

“Actually, yes. You did when you asked me—”

“Don’t make me sorry for it, then.” She turned to Max. “I offered to trade you the key for the diary.”

“I named my price.”

“Price?” John asked.

Sophia sent him a baleful glare. “Max makes no sense. If that diary leaks out, his family name will be

the topic of conversation in every salon and sitting room in town.”

Max shrugged. “That will be nothing new.”

“Then why did you return to England if not to get the diary?”

“I returned because you asked me to.” She looked at him, too startled to even speak for a moment.

“That’s all it would have taken?”

“Yes.”

“Oh!” She stomped her foot, tugging even harder on her hand. “I hate that!”

Max’s brow lowered. “You hate what?”

“How you’ve made it all my fault! Not only did you leave because of me, but now,
you
return because of me! Maxwell, you are—you are—” She snapped her mouth together, took a deep breath, then burst out, “You are a beast!” She yanked her hand free, jumped up, and marched from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Max looked at the door in astonishment. All he’d done was tell the truth.

“Whew!” John said, sitting forward to peer into the half empty tea tray.

“Your sister is stubborn to an inch.” John picked up a tea cake and munched it thoughtfully. “Two of a kind, I’d say. You’re not known for your mild manner, yourself.”

Max’s face flashed darkly, but then he caught himself. “I daresay you are right.

Sophia and I are not known for our level temperaments, even under the best of circumstances.”

“No,” John said. He poked another tea cake and scrunched his nose. “Raspberry. Never could abide that.”

Max glanced at John from beneath his brows. “I didn’t come here to upset her.”

“I know. Sophia’s just a bit touchy when you’re about. She has no sense, which is why I’m worried

about her chasing after that damned bracelet.”

“Chasing?”

“She wants to catch the thief and clear your name.”

“Bloody hell! Who asked her to do that?” Of all the impulsive, quitoxic, Sophia-like things to do … how like her.

“No one. I think she’s just trying to make reparations.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is to Sophia.” John sighed and rested the tips of his finger on the folded piece of paper that rested beside Sophia’s abandoned teacup. He fingered the edge thoughtfully. “This is her list of suspects. I fear she could end up in a hell of a situation if she might be right and one of them did indeed steal that bracelet.”

Max muttered an oath. “She’s an impetuous fool.”

“Indeed,” John said, leaving the list to pick up a crustless sandwich hardly larger than his small finger.

He eyed the morsel uncertainly, sniffing at the edge.

Max raked a hand through his hair. “Even if there is no danger, she is likely to start a new scandal while trying to put a cap on this one.”