“If you’re certain.” Mrs. Bancroft considered her for a long moment, hesitating before leaving Aurelia alone. “Is there not something specific you’re seeking that I could help you with? You seem different from your last visit . . . troubled perhaps?” She folded her slim hands in front of her with an air of patience. As though it were her custom to listen to the woes of her patrons. And it likely was, Aurelia realized.
Troubled? She winced at the apt description. She mulled over the well-meaning question. Was she seeking something specific? She supposed she was. Only the same mind-numbing passion she had felt in Max’s arms. Not too much to ask. She swallowed back a derisive laugh, accepting that it might not be something she could likely replicate.
She scanned the large room. Conversation and laughter buzzed in the crowded space. “I should have no difficulty finding what I need, thank you.”
Her stomach grew queasy as she assessed the various men. Several who now looked her over with speculation . . . as though she was a piece of horseflesh to be appraised. None of them enticed her in the slightest, and it occurred to her that she might have a slight problem even permitting anyone to touch her.
“Very well, then. Send for me if you need anything. The staff can locate me at a moment’s notice.”
“Thank you.” She forced a smile for Mrs. Bancroft.
“It’s simply good to have you back.” With an elegant bob of her head, the proprietress turned and made her way back up the stairs.
Alone, Aurelia stared out at the room. Loud laughter in one corner snared her attention. She looked that way and gasped. A woman sat on a man’s lap, halfheartedly batting his hands away as he tugged her bodice down to reveal one ripe breast. She squealed as he lowered his head to suckle her.
Mortification burned through Aurelia and she suddenly became self-conscious of her breasts in her low-cut gown.
She knew she shouldn’t be shocked. It was not her first time here, but she recognized several faces among the room’s occupants. The Earl of Hedderfeld, an old friend of her father’s, sat at one of the tables with a girl who couldn’t be older than herself snuggled up beside him. Aurelia’s skin crawled as she watched him feed her grapes like she was some kind of pet. Hm. Perhaps she should keep him in mind for a future sketch.
She continued to scan the room, pressing a hand over the stomach of her tight bodice. Any time she made eye contact with anyone, she quickly looked away as though she were staring down the barrel of a rifle. Her stomach knotted and she glanced behind her toward the door. Perhaps this had been a bad idea. It did not seem nearly as enticing without Rosalie for company. Last time, the experience had been adventurous. Now it just felt . . . tawdry and uncomfortable. Max’s face flashed through her mind. She could only envision him across a table from her in this very room, stripping his clothes off to the titillation of onlookers. Her flesh warmed at the memory of his body, all long lines and hard angles
A tray passed her and she lifted a glass of champagne off it and downed it in one fortifying gulp, hoping it would supply her with some courage. The last thing she wanted to do was return home right now and endure Cecily’s well-meaning I-told-you-so stare.
Someone suddenly stepped beside her. She looked sideways and then quickly stared straight ahead again, her pulse hammering in her neck. She pressed her hand against her throat, pushing her fingertips to her warm flesh there in an attempt to still the flutter. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. She knew the man.
Struan Mackenzie. The very man who had sat beside her this evening at her family’s dining table now stood here beside her. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt inside her rib cage.
Please don’t recognize me. Please don’t recognize me.
“Hello, there,” he murmured in his deep brogue.
She didn’t dare glance at him. Relieved for the protection of her domino, she fixed her gaze on Lord Hedderfeld’s balding head. When her eyes started to sting, she realized she hadn’t blinked for several moments. With a small shake of her head, she blinked several times. Behave normally, she told herself. Say nothing. Not a word. Give him no encouragement and he would move on.
His brogue came at her again, heavy and deep with a ring of satisfaction. Or perhaps that was just her own doom she heard in his words. “I said hello there.”
“Hello,” she finally returned, her voice a shaky whisper.
“Ah, she speaks. I knew it.”
She inhaled thinly. Did he not recognize her, then? Perhaps he simply toyed with her. If she continued to treat him with aloofness, he would go away and she could somehow escape this night without being utterly ruined. At least she hoped so.
He plucked her hand up and placed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. Panic jolted her at his touch.
“You know what else I know?”
She shook her head fiercely, processing the sensation of his mouth on her skin. A warm little flutter sifted through her. It wasn’t unpleasant precisely.
“I know ye . . . my lady . . .”
He looked up, his moss green eyes holding her gaze in a knowing manner that made her stomach knot.
“You must be mistaken,” she whispered.
A slow smile curved his lips as he lowered his head to kiss the inside of her wrist again, this time lingering and letting his teeth scrape the sensitive flesh there.
She sucked in a sharp breath. “You are too bold, sir.” She attempted to tug her hand free, but he held fast.
He lifted his head, gazing at her as if he could see her face clearly . . . as though a domino was not covering half of it. His stare moved, roaming over her in her gown. She flushed, aware more than ever that it was a size too small and the bodice indecently low-cut. It might be pink, but it was not demure by any stretch of the imagination. Suddenly, she wished she was somewhere else. Wearing something else.
He leaned in closer. “Is this place not for the bold? Lady Aurelia?”
All hope died. She gulped at the very deliberate use of her name. There was no doubt now. He knew it was she beneath the mask.
“I had hoped we would grow better acquainted.” His voice whispered for her ears alone. “I simply did not imagine it happening here. What a curious little minx you’ve turned out to be.”
She considered insisting he was mistaken, that she was not who he thought, but that would be pointless. He could rip off her domino if need be. Or he could follow her home. There were any number of ways to verify her identity. “How did you know it was me?”
“Not many English girls have yer coloring . . . or impressive . . .” His voice faded, but she could guess his meaning.
The heat was back, flooding fire to her face. “You’re too bold, sir.”
“Am I? I would not think anything too bold for a girl who frequents Sodom.”
She clashed eyes with him. “Rest assured, this is not customary for me.”
He nodded. “I surmised as much. I would have remembered ye here.”
“So you often frequent this establishment, then,” she shot back. She supposed she should mind if a suitor spent so much of his free time at Sodom. If she cared for that suitor even a fraction, she should care.
She gazed at the Scotsman looming over her with fresh eyes. He was certainly handsome . . . and yet she didn’t feel anything for him. Blast! It would be exceedingly convenient if she did.
“It’s all professional, I assure ye. I like to keep an eye on the competition.”
She shrugged. “It is none of my business.”
“No? Well, I confess I’m surprised to find ye here tonight, Aurelia. What else might I learn of ye?” He trailed a fingertip against her collarbone.
She met his gaze directly. “What are you going to do with this knowledge, Mr. Mackenzie—”
“Struan,” he corrected, his deep brogue practically purring the sound. Strewan. “I believe we can use each other�
�s Christian names at this point.”
“Struan,” she amended. “Will you inform my family?”
He angled his head thoughtfully. “I dinna think I need to do anything so hasty, lass. I can be discreet.” He dragged his fingers from her neck over her shoulder and down her arm. “Especially when it concerns a friend.”
She echoed numbly. “A friend?”
He inclined his head and the motion caused the chandelier light to gild the gold-brown strands. “We’re friends, are we not? Although I confess I’m interested in something more than friendship from ye . . .”
“Take your hand off her.”
Chapter 14
Aurelia whirled around, her mouth parting to find Max standing there. He was hardly attired fittingly. His hair was wild and untamed around his head. He wore no vest beneath his jacket and his shirt was rumpled and open at the throat, minus a cravat. And his face. Good heavens. He looked like a pirate. Clearly he had not seen a razor in a week. All that said, he should not have been so achingly handsome.
It wasn’t fair . . .
It wasn’t fair that she had a big, strapping Scotsman flirting with her and she felt nothing. And yet the moment her eyes clapped on a wickedly disheveled Max, all her feminine parts stood up in salute. In a flash, everything she had felt squeezed between Max’s body and that ivy-covered wall came back to her in a rush of heat.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, and then felt like a prime idiot. Did she think because they’d shared one kiss he would stop coming to Sodom? He was likely here to do what he always did—take his pleasure with any random woman to catch his eye.
“That is a question I think best directed at you.” His gaze raked her, making her acutely conscious of the indecent amount of flesh on display. Her hand drifted to her chest. Perhaps an ill-planned move. His gaze followed the action. The flesh near his eye ticked and his gaze darkened a shade.
She dropped her hand and squared her shoulders. An action that only brought her chest into greater focus. His bloodshot eyes fixed unerringly on that expanse of flesh. His mouth hardened into a thin line as a dull flush of color crept up his cheeks. She thought she had seen him at his angriest in the park, but no. This was the angriest she had ever seen him.
“I don’t see why my presence here is any concern of yours.”
“Indeed? Don’t you?”
“I think I should point out that we are drawing more attention than perhaps desired,” Struan interjected drolly.
A quick glance around the room confirmed that several interested gazes had settled on them.
With a stinging curse, Max took hold of her arm and pulled her from the room.
“Let go of me,” she said between clenched teeth as they stepped out into the empty foyer.
“I’m taking you home,” he snapped.
“Perhaps it is I who should escort the lady home,” Struan Mackenzie announced from behind them, following them at a casual stroll.
Max stiffened and turned slowly, dragging Aurelia behind him. “Over my dead body.”
Mackenzie looked him up and down assessingly, as though that were a fine prospect to him. The two men stared at each other in charged silence, a silent exchange passing between them.
“The lady and I are courting. Perhaps we should ask her what she prefers,” Mackenzie declared at last.
“Her preference does not signify.” The twin lines bracketing Max’s mouth whitened. “Rest assured, her brother would prefer I escort her—”
“Oh, enough of this!” She pushed herself between the two of them, waving her hands. She wasn’t about to have bloodshed over such a trivial matter as who escorted her home—since, apparently, she would be going home.
In truth, she didn’t have the stomach to remain at Sodom. A fact she rested solely at Max’s feet. The inclination for such sport, it seemed, had left her.
She stabbed a finger in Max’s chest. “You may escort me home.” She swung her gaze to Mr. Mackenzie. “Lord Camden is a family friend. I will be fine.”
His unreadable gaze drilled into her. It was difficult to tell whether he objected or not. Not that it mattered one whit to her. The decision was hers whether he was a prospective husband or not.
Without waiting to hear whether the Scotsman agreed, Max grabbed her hand and pulled her after him through the house, his stride so swift she practically tripped.
“Slow down,” she hissed.
“Would you rather I carry you?” he growled.
With a huff of affront, her legs worked faster to keep up with his longer strides. He dragged her out a side door she’d never noticed before, attesting to his knowledge of the establishment. For some reason, that only incited her anger further.
His carriage was waiting in the dark alleyway. She realized that he must have communicated their destination beforehand, so confident he would retrieve her, because they ascended into the carriage without a word to the driver. Once the door shut behind them, they were off.
She chose the far corner of one seat, her back facing the front of the carriage, relieved when Max took the opposite side. The more distance between them, the better. She had struck him before in a fit of pique, and although she felt like doing it again, she curled her hands under her thighs, determined to resist succumbing to violence.
The carriage started down the alley with a gentle roll. His eyes glittered across from her in the dark interior of the carriage.
“What can you have been thinking?” he demanded.
“I don’t owe you an explanation for my actions.”
“You owe your brother, do you not? Your mother? Would they not be influenced by your utter ruin?”
“I’m not ruined.”
“You know that for fact? Mackenzie saw you. You think he can be trusted?”
“He said he would not tell—”
“Oh, and you know him to be trustworthy. What happens when you anger or slight him?”
“What makes you think I would anger him?”
“Because that’s what you do. You’re infuriating . . .”
She crossed her arms. “He’s been very attentive in his courtship. I think he quite likes me.”
He growled, “I’m sure he does. What happens, though, when he learns that he cannot have you? That might anger him.”
“I don’t know,” she replied with deliberate casualness. “I’m not so sure he can’t have me. I am looking to get married.”
A deadly stillness came over him. The back of her neck prickled with unease. She looked toward the curtained window, but eventually turned back to look at his shadowy features, compelled by the sensation of his stare crawling all over her face—as tangible as a touch.
He finally spoke, and his voice was as rough as sand against her skin. “You’ve settled on Mackenzie, then?”
“He has been calling on me ever since Lady Chatham’s ball. It’s him or Buckston.” Or obscurity with Aunt Daphne. No, thank you.
Staring at Max’s shadowy shape, she almost hoped he would say something. That he would have a better idea. Very well. If she was completely honest with herself, a part of her wanted him to say she couldn’t marry Mackenzie or Buckston because their kiss had meant something to him, too. She wanted him to tell her that he didn’t want her to marry anyone. Except him.
Irrational laughter bubbled up inside her chest. Blast it. That kiss again. She couldn’t shake it. It had addled her thoughts. Returning to Sodom had been a disappointment . . . and a revelation. Now she knew she wouldn’t be able to find what she felt with Max so easily with anyone else.
When he spoke, his voice was even. Reasonable. “You don’t think you might not be rushing into this?”
“I’m three and twenty . . . the oldest debutante in London. At least that’s what the other debutantes call me.” Among other things. Dark-complexioned opinionated girls
did not win many friends in the ton. “I’ve had several years to find someone—”
“So you’ll rush into it now?”
“I’m finally being responsible. I’m doing what girls—” She caught herself and amended her remark. “—what women do. What my family expects me to do.”
“Since when do you care what’s expected of you?”
“Yes, well, maybe I should. Why should it be a question? Maybe you should, too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She gestured at him. “Do you intend to live this way forever? I mean . . . since Will and Dec married, what do you have, Max? I know they don’t spend nearly that much time with you anymore. So what do you have? What’s left?”
“What’s wrong with the way I live? I enjoy my life.”
“You use women, Max. You flit from one to another. You’re the last in your line. What of an heir?”
“I have a distant cousin in Wales. The title will pass to him.”
“That’s your brilliant plan? How is that better than mine?”
“We’re not talking about me.”
“And why is that? Why is it we never seem to talk about you?” At his silence, she pressed on. “Let’s talk about this grand plan of yours. Your determination to never wed. How will you have children? I’m sure your parents are looking down on you now and thinking—”
“Don’t.” The single word struck her like a slap. “I’m not discussing my parents with you or anyone.” His raspy voice reverberated into the silence of the carriage.
If she hadn’t already known how little she signified to him, there was no denying it now. There was no part of himself he was willing to share with her, and she felt foolish for thinking there might be a chance of that otherwise. She moistened her lips, on the brink of apologizing, “Max, I—”
“No.” His voice rang with such finality, and she felt the chasm yawn between them. She felt his gaze more than she could see it glittering across the darkness at her. She wiggled her bared shoulders, regretting her choice of gown, sensing the crawl of his eyes over her. “It’s none of your business, Aurelia.”
All the Ways to Ruin a Rogue Page 13