by Ava March
“Yes.” Max passed a sandwich to him. “And you were correct. I was wrong.”
“About what?”
“Him. The reason why he left me, or at least one of the reasons. After he came to live at the Park, I rarely saw him outside of the bedchamber. I came to love him, and even though he gave me those three words countless times, I never once returned them. I thought he knew. I’d never invited another to live with me at the Park. Figured it was obvious—” With a shake of his head, Max cut himself off. “I don’t know how he tolerated me for so long. In any case, I apologized for being such a selfish bore.”
“How did he react to that?”
“When he opened the door, he thought I was there to do him in.” Max took a bite of his sandwich. “I might have thrown a few threats at him the last time we spoke.”
“Might have?” He had seen Max livid with anger before. Add heartbroken and hurt to the mix, and Max had surely been terror brought to life.
“All right. I did. I was very upset with him at the time,” he added by way of explanation. “I will never forgive him for sending me that letter, but I can now at least somewhat understand what drove him to do such a thing. And...it is reassuring to know I was not played the fool.”
“He wasn’t lying to you.” The realization hit Tristan. The pieces connected in his head. The source of Max’s extreme vigilance for anything that remotely resembled a lie.
“He wasn’t lying to me,” Max repeated, with a shade of something that looked suspiciously like regret in the depths of his eyes.
“Do you regret that your relationship with him ended? Not how it ended, but that it did?” He had to ask. Had to know.
“I regret being too absorbed in myself and my responsibilities to notice I was making him unhappy. I do regret hurting him. But I do not regret the fact that relationship ended. It worked out for the best. Led me to you. You suit me. Balance me. He didn’t have the ballocks to disagree with me. Instead of demanding I treat him better, he left and took a coward’s road to strike back at me.”
“He might have been intimidated by the Duke of Pelham.”
“You aren’t, though.”
Tristan smiled. “No, I’m not. Well, not anymore. You can be quite intimidating to someone who doesn’t know you.” He tipped his head toward Max’s chest. “The lavender helps though.”
A chuckle shook Max’s chest. “I’m glad you approve.”
A companionable silence fell over them as they finished their meal. The lightest of breezes, the sun warming his cheeks, and Max beside him. If only forever could be like this.
Though the sky remained purest blue, it was as if a cloud formed over his head, blocking out the sun, casting a shadow on the lightness, the joy, in his heart.
The longer he indulged himself with Max, the more it would hurt later. Perhaps he should have stood firm, refused to give Max another chance. That would have been the wise thing to do. But he couldn’t regret this fortnight he’d shared with Max. Would never regret even a minute he’d been able to spend with Max.
As if sensing his thoughts, Max turned his shoulders toward Tristan and pushed the saddlebags, which contained the remnants of their luncheon, off the blanket. “I love you,” he said, solemn and grave.
“I love you, too, Max.”
“I did not invite you here to discuss Jonathan. That wasn’t the reason why I wanted to spend the day with you.” His shoulders went stiff, his attention focused solely on Tristan. “A fortnight ago, you had a plethora of concerns about a relationship with me. I believe I have addressed all of them but one—your not feasible concern.”
Tristan nodded.
“I gave you my word I would handle that as well. I have given the matter considerable thought and have devised a solution. If you would hear me out and give my solution due consideration, I would appreciate it.”
“All right.” It was the least he could do. He owed it to Max to hear him out.
Yet Tristan now knew how Max’s business associates must feel. To be on the receiving end of Max’s intense gaze, his strong features practically cast in stone. The force of his unwavering resolve poured off him.
Morgan had had it right. Max wasn’t stubborn, per se. He embodied determined.
Tristan had given Max a challenge, and Max was hell-bent to overcome it. Unfortunately, it was one challenge against which neither of them could come out the victor.
A crisp, single nod, and Max got to his feet. Tristan remained seated on the blanket as Max began pacing, hands clasped behind his back, the length of his long, dark greatcoat slapping against his leather riding boots with each step he took.
“The obvious solution is for you to live at Arrington Park again.” Without looking to Tristan, he held up a hand to stay him. “While I believe it would not raise any suspicions from the neighborhood, you would not deem it acceptable. ‘I do not want to be your guest anymore,’” he said, proving once again he possessed an excellent memory. “I could argue you would not be my guest. That the house would be as much yours as mine. That we would be living together. But I doubt such an argument would be successful with you.”
“Correct.”
“I could rearrange my schedule, spend most of my time in Town with only occasional visits to Hampshire. Manage the dukedom from the town house versus the country house and continue to visit you at your rooms. It is an option, but one I am not fond of because I don’t believe it would satisfy your requirement of being a part of my life. Or mine of yours.” He paused midstride, caught Tristan’s eyes. “I do want that, Tristan. To be a part of your life.”
Tristan had not thought of it that way before. He’d wanted Max to include him in his life, but he hadn’t considered Max would truly want to be a part of Tristan’s. He had demanded Max do so much to prove he could be a good partner, yet he was suddenly aware Max had not demanded anything of him in return except to give him a chance. A fortnight of chaste suppers, of compromises on Max’s part. The Duke of Pelham had willingly bowed to an ex-prostitute’s will, and he hadn’t required even a kiss in return.
It was almost too much to believe. But Max’s actions over the past two weeks held all the necessary proof to turn inconceivable into fact.
Max really did love him. Max had told him so enough times for Tristan to believe it. And it wasn’t as if he’d doubted Max loved him. Max wasn’t the sort to give those three words easily. Hell, Tristan was as certain as could be that he was the only man who had received those words from Max. Yet still, he couldn’t help but marvel at the knowledge Max wanted to be a part of his life.
“Thank you.” The words popped out of his mouth.
“For what?” Max asked, taken aback.
“For everything you’ve done of late. For wanting to be a part of my life. It means a lot to me.”
Max gave him another crisp, single nod, yet this one held a shade of self-consciousness. He resumed his pacing. “After much deliberation, I’d landed on what I believe is the best solution for our circumstances. Your primary concern is how others, not you or I, would look upon a lasting friendship between us given I am a duke and you are the son of a farmer, and therefore others would question the true nature of our relationship.”
“Well, my mother was a gentleman’s daughter, though the daughter of a poor gentleman. She was of the Campbells of Lincolnshire.” He did not know why he had to inform Max about that. Wouldn’t make a bit of difference, but it did make him feel a little farther away from the stews than Max might believe him to be. “But yes, a duke and a common farmer’s son would rouse suspicion. Under normal circumstances, a man of your standing would not associate with someone like me. I...” There was no point in not saying it, so Tristan plowed onward. “I also worked at Rubicon’s for two years. While I never asked, I’m certain some of the house’s patrons move about in Society. It would be an un
comfortable situation which could prove disastrous if one of your acquaintances recognized me. Your title protects you, insulates you. You can do as you please. I don’t have that liberty.”
“I cannot do as I please. If that were indeed the case, we would not be having this conversation.”
Tristan rolled his eyes skyward. “You can do almost as you please. Your title and your wealth permit you much more freedom than I have ever had or will ever have.”
“My title has placed us in this situation. But in general, it does give me more options. Agreed. In fact, my solution to our dilemma relies on my bank account and the weight of my title. Two things you do not seem to much care for, but two things for which I am thankful, for they can allow us to be together in a matter which will hopefully please both of us.” He stopped and faced Tristan. A deep V had formed between his dark brows, his mouth set in a grim line.
Suspicion formed in the pit of Tristan’s stomach.
Please, no. Please don’t let Max’s solution include that.
Yet he kept his mouth shut, held back the protests. He’d given Max his word he would hear him out.
Max passed his gaze over Tristan’s face. “Aside from our arrangement, aside from me, did you enjoy living in Hampshire?”
That wasn’t the question Tristan had expected. “Yes, I do believe I did.”
“Did you feel welcome by the neighborhood? Did you feel welcome when you went into the village?”
“Yes. Your neighbors are quite a friendly bunch.”
“You don’t care to live on a farm again, do you?”
Where was Max going with these questions? Perhaps that ugly feeling in the pit of Tristan’s stomach was for naught. Perhaps Max’s solution did not include the one thing Tristan dreaded above all. “Correct. Tilling the fields is not my preferred way to spend a day.”
“Do you really want to be a tailor? Do you wish to one day own your own shop?”
“It’s not my lifelong ambition. But as I’ve told you before, it is respectable work and work I somewhat enjoy.”
“Somewhat?”
“Mr. Foster gives me the work he dreads. Understandable. I’d prefer to construct the garments I want to versus being relegated to monotonous tasks, but I’m learning the trade and it is called work for a reason.”
“When you lived with me in Hampshire, the neighborhood accepted you because you were my friend. The neighborhood is small. The village is small. There aren’t even enough respectable families for a proper assembly. Something I bemoaned as an adolescent, but something that works to our advantage. The residents also don’t move about in Society. In Hampshire, our friendship is not questioned. It does not rouse suspicion. You are not questioned. We are not questioned. Do you agree?”
“Yes. And yes, Max,” Tristan added, answering the next question before Max could ask it, “I agree your title and my friendship with you granted me a standing in the local society I would not have had without you.”
“Thank you...for not arguing that point.”
“It is the truth.” Would be more than churlish of him to attempt to argue against it.
Clasping his hands behind him, Max lifted his chin a tad. If Tristan wasn’t mistaken, Max was nervous. The man was trying to hide it but... The stiffness of his stance, the hint of worry in his determined gaze.
Dread fell into Tristan’s gut like an iron weight.
“The Dawsons used to reside a little ways outside the village. A nice-sized house. Not too large, not too small. Ideal for a gentleman but not enough for a family of five, complete with a bit of property though no farmland,” Max said, voice carefully neutral, as if he were merely discussing the particulars of a business proposal. Tristan fought back the cringe. “It’s perhaps a mile and a half from the Park. It’s currently for sale. I’ve already inquired, and they will accept a lease or an outright purchase.”
He could see where Max was headed. Could now see why Max had asked all those questions, how they had led them to this point.
Max hadn’t been manipulating him exactly. The man had been trying to take away potential arguments. Had been giving Tristan a brilliant show of his negotiation skills.
But Tristan was not a business deal that needed to be negotiated.
And the fact Max was treating him as such, treating their future as such...
It wasn’t anger that washed over him, but disappointment. Acute and sharp.
Disappointment that must have been reflected on his face, for Max said, “Now remember, Tristan, you promised to give my solution due consideration.”
Tristan could only nod.
“What I am proposing is to gift you enough money for you to purchase the Dawsons’ property and live comfortably for the rest of your life. To the neighborhood, you would simply have decided to purchase a property of your own in the country. We are already established friends in their eyes, so our continued friendship would raise no concern or suspicion. You could spend your days as you please. With me, making clothes, tending to your garden, visiting the village. However you please. You would not need to work again. You would be free to be with me, and we would be as free as practicality would allow to be together.”
“You want me to continue to lie to your neighbors?”
Max opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. “In what way would you be lying to them?” he asked, sounding more than a bit off balance. “Aside from hiding the fact we share a bed.”
“I’m not your friend from London. I’m not from the ton.”
“You are my friend from London. You currently live there. And I never told anyone you moved about in Society. Is that what you told them?”
“No. I was sufficiently vague. Just mentioned my mother’s family.”
“So why does it bother you to have the neighborhood assume there is no reason to wonder why you and I are friends? When you secured your position at Mr. Foster’s, did you tell him you once worked at Rubicon’s? That your father is a poor farmer in Yorkshire?”
“No, of course not.”
“So why are you fighting me on this? Everyone has their secrets, Tristan. Hampshire allows you to start over, to not be defined by your past. How is that so bad?”
“It’s not,” Tristan grudgingly agreed. He disliked the idea of pretending to be something he wasn’t, but as Max had pointed out, that was exactly what he’d done when he’d secured his position with Mr. Foster. Hiding his past was simply the price of starting anew. “But what would happen when you need to go to Town on business? Would you leave me behind again? I couldn’t go with you. London is not Hampshire. What would your friends think? They’ll know I’m not an acquaintance from Town. Or would I be one of your secrets?”
Max’s jaw tightened. “You would have your own home in Hampshire. You could stay there or you could come with me when I go to London, which I don’t do with any frequency. It would be your choice. You would simply be my neighbor from the country who decided to spend a bit of time in London—which would be the truth—and be my guest while you are there. You cannot claim it is uncommon for friends to travel together or be each others’ guests. Quite honestly, I’m a horrid bore when I’m in London. I only leave the Park when necessity demands it, and I return as soon as possible. And I have one friend in the ton. He already knows I had a guest at the Park. Already knows about you, and he’s simply happy I’m not alone anymore.”
“Max, don’t exaggerate. You have more than one friend. Dukes move about in Society.”
“I’m not exaggerating. I have acquaintances, and if anything, it’s exaggerating to call them acquaintances. I do attend a handful of social events when I’m in Town. And yes, it would likely not be wise for you to attend with me. But they are more often than not dinner parties given by other members of the Lords. I attend for business reasons, not for social reasons. If I go to
White’s for dinner, I typically dine alone. On occasion, Rawling, my sole friend in Society, will make himself at home at my table. I’ve never been one to have a plethora of acquaintances I’d deem friend. I was educated at home, and after I inherited, I spent most of my waking hours behind a desk. Your concern about my friends questioning my friendship with you is nothing at all to be concerned about, and definitely not a reason to keep us apart.”
No siblings to keep Max company. An extended family he’d kept at arm’s length. A massive house full of only servants. Nothing but his ledgers and the guilt that had once driven him to remain behind his desk. Tristan’s heart ached for Max, for how absolutely alone he had been in the world. “You must have been very lonely.”
“Yes.” Max didn’t elaborate, didn’t explain. The short answer spoke volumes.
Tristan pushed to his feet. “I’m sorry about that, Max. Truly I am.” And he was. “I admit your solution holds merit, but I can’t agree. I’m not taking your money. I can’t be your whore again.”
Max didn’t stagger back a step, but he definitely flinched. “I never said anything about paying you. I don’t want you to be...that to me again. That’s not what this is about. A gift is freely given with no expectation of anything in return. You could take the money and leave the next day, choose never to see me again, and there would be nothing I could do about it.”
Tristan crossed his arms over his chest. “I will not accept your gift.” Max could wrap it up in a neat package, give it a polite name, but nothing could make Tristan agree to accept money from Max again.
He wouldn’t do it. Could not do it. Absolutely refused. The risk was much too great.
Max threw up his hands, and with that gesture, all the patience he’d been displaying went out the window. The determined businessman long gone. “Then what do you propose? All you’ve had are complaints and obstacles. Problems I—” he stabbed a finger at his own chest, “—needed to solve. I have solved them all. If my solution isn’t acceptable, then provide one of your own.”