by Julia Quinn
“But no one has seen him for days.”
“He’s probably painting,” John said, cracking another nut. “You know how he gets when he does that.”
“But what if he’s hurt? Or if he fell? At least just go over there and just see—” John’s frown made her sigh. After a moment, she brightened. “I know! Take him a gift of some sort. Then he won’t think it is strange that you stopped by.”
“A gift? You have gone soft in your head.”
“No, no! It’s the perfect excuse.” Her gaze flew about the room, landing finally on a new bottle of port. She brightened and scooped up the bottle. “Take this! John, please do this. For me.”
“No.”
“I’ll have Cook prepare lamb with mint sauce. And plum pudding.”
John threw the last nut back into the bowl and then stood, giving her a disgusted look. “Give me that damn bottle. I swear, but you and Max are the biggest set of gudgeons I’ve ever met.” And off he went. He returned a remarkably short time later with a very unsatisfactory report. Yes, he’d gone to Max’s. And yes, John had seen the man, but only for a short time. “And let me tell you, a bottle of port was not the thing to take him. He was already properly shot in the neck, and loading his guns was not a good idea at all.”
Sophia grabbed the back of the settee, her knees suddenly weak. “Shot?”
“No! Not like that.” John pinched his nose between his finger and thumb, then said in a voice of long suffering. “Sophia, Max was drunk.”
“Drunk?”
“Ripped. Soaked. Bedeviled.”
“But he never drinks!”
“Drew me up short, too,” John said. He shook his head. “Better leave him alone. He’ll come out when he’s good and ready.”
Sophia was forced to be content with that. She thought of visiting Max, but the idea of facing him in his own lodgings while he was tipsy did not seem to be a very logical thing to do. So she instead planned a huge, very busy day that would keep her mind occupied.
To her satisfaction, she found herself crawling into bed that night completely exhausted. A good sleep followed by a nice long visit from her cousin Charlotte would shake her doldrums. But though she could barely keep her eyes open, Sophia did not sleep well. Every time sleep teased her mind, an image of Max would rudely shove its way into her thoughts, where it would linger, dancing on her lids and taunting her in the most annoying manner. Sometimes it was a memory from when they’d first met and their passions had run hot. Sometimes it wasn’t a memory, but a new, yet-to-happen moment, as sensual as her most fervid reminiscences.
Sophia struggled to stem the flow and tried her best to fall asleep. She grew more and more annoyed until she finally sat up, gathered her plumpest pillow, and spent a vigorous ten minutes pretending it was the entirety of her life with Max as she pounded the stuffing from it. Feathers flew, yet still she pounded until, finally exhausted, she fell back in bed.
She brushed away the down and pressed her fingers over her eyes. Heavens, they had almost made love, right there in a closet. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t seem to remember that she was angry with him, that he’d all but abandoned her?
She sighed and dropped her hands from her eyes. Somehow, over the years, she’d forgotten the strength of the physical pull between herself and Max and remembered only the pain of being left behind. But there was something else she’d forgotten—how much she’d enjoyed those moments of raw passion, of damp skin and hot mouths, the feel of his bared shoulder pressed to her cheek as he thrust inside her…. She moaned, then kicked off the blankets. No more, her mind shouted.
Sophia took a deep breath and began counting backwards from a thousand. She might have to count all night, but she didn’t care. Anything to keep from thinking about Max. It took her an hour and several counts of a thousand and more, but finally Sophia managed to drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The sun rose, and with it, Sophia’s eyelids. It was horrid to be awake so early, but there was nothing for it. So she climbed from bed, bathed, dressed, and made plans for the day. She’d shop. And perhaps she’d make some calls, as well. She owed Lady Sefton a visit. Surely she could stay busy until Charlotte arrived.
Hours later, Sophia returned home just in time to greet her cousin. Charlotte looked pretty as a picture in a blue visiting gown and hat with matching ribbons. Sophia barely waited until the footman had taken Charlotte’s things before she swept her into a hug. “I’m so glad you could come! I am in dire need of good, logical, feminine conversation. Are you hungry yet? I ordered a light dinner to be served at seven.”
“That’s fine,” Charlotte said. “I just had tea and couldn’t eat another bite.”
“Excellent. I’ll have it brought to my room. I’ve been so looking forward to seeing you, but I must tell you that I have set a rule for this visit.”
Charlotte’s brows rose, and she looked at Sophia inquiringly. “A rule?”
She had really grown into a beautiful woman, Sophia decided, hugging her cousin impulsively. “Yes, a rule. We can discuss clothes, hats, gloves, hemlines, jewelry, shoes, carriages, horses, balls, food of all sorts, women we like or don’t like, and which of the latest dances we most enjoy, but we are not going to say one word about men.”
Charlotte appeared relieved. “I think I can do that.”
“Perfect!” Sophia took Charlotte’s arm. “Come and see the new gown I just purchased. It is blue with Russian trim, and it’s just the loveliest thing. Oh, and I have a pale pink silk gown with delightful red rosettes that I think would be just the thing for you.”
“For me? I couldn’t—”
“You can and will. I purchased it on a whim last month, but it is just not for me, and I so hate to waste things.” Still chatting, Sophia took Charlotte to her room to look at the gowns.
That was the beginning. They spent several delightful hours discussing fashions, what they liked and couldn’t abide among the latest trends, and who among their acquaintance had the worst taste. They were both shocked when the housekeeper came to announce that supper was being brought up, as it was almost seven.
A half hour later, Sophia sighed contentedly as she poured tea into the cups, their finished plates still on the table before the fireplace. It truly was lovely not to have to talk about, wonder about, or in any way bother herself with thoughts of Max, rude, vain, foolish man that he was. Really, it was galling to think of how he’d allowed his pride to ruin their relationship. She could almost find it in herself to pity the man. She opened her mouth to say as much to Charlotte, but then she remembered their rule.
Charlotte must have caught her expression, for she paused in taking a sip of tea. “Yes?”
“Nothing. I was just—it was nothing.”
Charlotte looked as if she might disagree but thought better of it. She continued to sip her tea. The silence grew. Sophia decided that not having to think about Max was doing her a world of good. Heaven knew the man had occupied far too much of her thoughts of late, especially after her battle with all the memories she’d somehow saved over the years.
It really was amazing how vivid her memories were. But only of certain things. For example, she couldn’t remember the color of the flowers she’d held at the wedding or what he’d said when he’d first asked her to marry him, but if she closed her eyes, she could clearly see the burnished brown of his hair as he bent to say something to her while riding through the park. She could remember the exact curve of his lips when he grinned up at her after lifting her to sit on a rock during one of their many forays into the countryside.
Sophia sighed and opened her eyes, her gaze focusing slowly on Charlotte, who sat staring blankly into her own teacup, a rather wistful look on her face.
Sophia replaced her cup in her saucer with an audible clink. “What are you thinking about so seriously?”
Charlotte’s gaze jerked to Sophia, a faint color staining her cheeks. “I was thinking of—” She bit her lip. “Nothing really.
I was just daydreaming.”
“Your parents are at it again, aren’t they? Trying to wheedle you into marrying. I vow, I would shake my Aunt Vivian until her teeth rattle.”
“Oh, she means well, but—”
“They all mean well, but that doesn’t mean they are right. Perhaps I should speak with Aunt Vivian and Uncle Edward about the dangers of being wed too soon. Do they not see my sad state of affairs as a warning? That every woman should wait until she is at least twenty-five to make such a decision?”
Charlotte blinked. “Twenty-five?”
“Or older.”
“Older? Than twenty-five? But that would be six years! Surely—I mean, if you met the right person, that is, if you thought you’d met the right person, there would be no reason to wait.”
Sophia digested this. Something about Charlotte seemed…different. Older, somehow. “No, I don’t suppose there would be any reason to wait if you’d met the right person. The problem is that there are no guarantees. I married for love, you know. Sometimes even that is not easy.” It didn’t seem as if that was strong enough to warn of the pain she’d suffered. “Perhaps we should suspend our rule and speak frankly about—a man, a particular man, just to give an example.”
“No names, though. You know how my mother hates me gossiping.”
Sophia instantly felt sorry for her young cousin. The poor girl was tethered in words as well as action. It was a wonder Charlotte hadn’t exploded into a welter of rebellion, for Sophia was certain she would have. Still, there was much to be said in not naming names. Max would make an excellent lesson for all young women of the world, and by not having to say his name aloud, she wouldn’t have to deal with that annoying little jump her heart did whenever the word rolled off her lips. No names it would be, then. “Agreed.”
Charlotte grabbed Sophia’s hands and smiled almost mistily. “How nice to be able to speak frankly!”
“So it is! I believe that is why men manage to dupe us poor women so often; we do not share our feelings about them in an honest and frank manner.” Sophia met Charlotte’s gaze with a meaningful look. “But you know what I mean when I say that men are prideful, difficult creatures.”
“Yes, yes, they are.”
“All of them,” Sophia agreed. Max was the absolute worst. He wore his pride like a mantle. He was even proud that he was proud, the cur. “And stubborn men are the worst.”
Charlotte nodded enthusiastically. “Especially those who refuse to listen to reason, even when they have to know you’ve been completely logical.”
It was amazing how much Charlotte understood Max. “You are so right!”
“I also believe that some men enjoy causing disruptions simply so they can charge in to set things right again. Or think they can,” Charlotte added, as if warming to the topic.
“That is certainly true.” It was horrible the way Max had returned, and not to assist her by offering an annulment. No, he’d come to upset her peace. Now look at her—she couldn’t even sleep without thinking of him. Why was that? she wondered. Surely it wasn’t possible that she…that she cared for him still. That she loved him? No. It was simply a physical attraction and nothing more. “I also hate the way some men are forever trying to get us to—” She caught Charlotte’s wide gaze. Sophia’s cheeks heated. “I’m sorry. Perhaps—”
“No, you’re right.” Charlotte’s cheeks glowed to match Sophia’s, but she continued nonetheless. “They are always stealing kisses. And in the most inappropriate places, too. And all you have is their word that it means anything at all.”
A desolate feeling pressed against Sophia’s chest, and she stood in an effort to shake off the moribund sentiment. “I’d rather have Lady Neeley’s horrid parrot than any man I know.”
“Or that monkey Liza Pemberley is forever carting about. I heard that it bites.”
“Does it?” Sophia asked, momentarily diverted.
“I’ve never seen it do so, but it would be lovely if it did,” Charlotte said musingly. “I can think of at least one person I’d like that monkey to bite.”
Sophia looked at her younger cousin with surprise. For all her composed ways, Charlotte had far more wit than Sophia had realized. “It would be quite handy to have a trained attack monkey at one’s command.”
“Better than a dog, because no one would see it coming.”
Very true. Why, Sophia could just imagine Max’s face if, the next time he tried to seduce her, her seemingly tame monkey jumped on his shoulders and ripped off a piece of his ear.
Charlotte sighed. “I daresay the monkey doesn’t even really bite. It always seemed quite a docile creature to me.”
“Yes, but one never knows with monkeys. Or men.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Charlotte said, her brow lowered as if deep in thought. “I’ve often thought that…men…always seem to think they know best.”
“Pride. They are swollen with it, like the Thames after a rain.” It was so nice to be able to say such things about Max to someone without being taken to task for being unreasonable, or being looked at with pity.
Plink!
Sophia glanced at the window. Must be a tree branch. She turned back to Charlotte. “I also hate it when certain men refuse to admit when they are wrong. I—”
Plink! Plink!
Charlotte frowned. “Is it raining? What is that?”
Plink! It came again, only this time it was louder. More insistent. “That is not rain. It sounds more like a fool standing outside my window, throwing rocks.”
“Ah, it must be Mr. Riddleton. He’s quite infatuated with you, isn’t he?”
“I don’t believe he is as infatuated with me as you might think.” But even as she said the words, another shower of pebbles rained against the glass.
“Goodness!” Charlotte exclaimed, frowning at the window. “He sounds a bit determined. I think he is using larger pebbles.”
Sophia sighed. “Perhaps I should see what he wants, before the window—”
Crack! Glass shards rained against the curtain and tinkled to the floor, followed by the thud of a rock. It hit the rug and rolled to Sophia’s feet.
“Blast it!” Sophia snatched up the rock and made her way through the broken glass, careful not to step on any of the shimmering pieces. She reached the window, tossed back the curtains, and undid the latch. “I cannot believe Thomas—” She leaned out, then stopped, her fingers still curled around the rock.
“What is it?” Charlotte asked.
Sophia opened her mouth to say, but then couldn’t seem to get the words out. Standing in the road below, another rock in his hand, stood Max. He was hatless, the wind ruffling his hair, his cravat hastily tied, his chin unshaven. She leaned out. “What in the name of Hades do you think you’re doing?”
He looked strangely relieved to see her. “There you are.” Then, as if he hadn’t just broken one of her bedroom windows, he dropped the rock into the street and dusted his hand on his coat, wavering unsteadily as he did so.
“You are drunk.”
“No, I am good and drunk.” He grinned, his teeth white in his tanned face. “That’s even better.”
She made an exasperated noise. “You just broke my window!”
“I noticed. Some of the glass fell this way. It’s a wonder I didn’t get cut.”
Astonishment warred with anger. Anger won. “Look, you! I don’t know who you think you are, but—”
“I’m your husband. And I came to talk to you, but that blasted butler of yours would not let me in.”
“That is because it is late and I am entertaining someone.”
His face hardened. “In your bedroom?”
“My cousin, Charlotte.” Sophia heard Charlotte give an encouraging flounce on the bed. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“It is my business. Everything about you is my business.”
“Not when you come here like a ruffian and throw rocks at my windows.”
He shrugged dismissively. �
�You really should get better quality glass.”
Blast it, she did not want to hear that she had an inferior grade of glass in her windows. What she wanted to hear was…she frowned, aware of a hollow ache in the region of her heart. What did she want to hear? Soft words? Pleas of undying passion?
At one time, she’d have denied she wanted anything like that. But now, looking down at Max, thinking of how he’d spent the last few days with her, searching for that blasted bracelet, she had to admit that something had changed in that time. Something…important. She noted the circles under his eyes, the disarray with which he had come to her house…. The kernel of anger that was lodged deep in her heart loosened just the tiniest bit more. He looked so forlorn in a way, so very…dear, standing in the street beneath her window, his head uncovered, his eyes dark and serious. “Max,” she said softly, shaking her head. “I cannot believe you.”
“And I cannot believe you,” he returned promptly. “Sophia, I want to apologize for my flippancy the other day.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “It’s difficult, coming back and—” He broke off as a man walked by, a common laborer from the looks of his clothing, craning his neck. The man’s gaze widened appreciatively when he saw Sophia leaning out the window.
Max flexed his shoulders, his gaze narrowed as he faced the intruder. “What are you looking at?” he snapped.
The man paused, suddenly uncertain. “Nothin’, guvnor! I was jus’ walkin’—” Max took a threatening step forward, and the man threw up his hands. “But I’m gone now, see?”
“You’d better!” Max glared until the man was out of earshot before sending Sophia a burning look. “Damn it, this is no good. Tell your butler to open the bloody door.”
Sophia glanced over her shoulder, but Charlotte was no longer listening. Instead, she was lost in a brown study, her gaze fixed on the silk gown Sophia had given her, her fingers absently twirling one of the rosettes. Sophia leaned back out the window and said in a lowered tone, “Max, you know what happens when we ‘talk.’ It will be just like the broom closet.”