Practically Wicked (10 page)

Problems were much easier to address when approached methodically. Emotions were simpler to define and manage when one didn’t attempt to define and manage all of them at once. Particularly on a day like today.

In just under eleven hours, she’d left London, and possibly her own mother, for good. She’d met a brother she’d not known existed a month ago. Somehow, she’d been coerced into staying at Caldwell Manor for at least several days (which was going to be interesting to explain to Mrs. Culpepper, who was no doubt surprised to have had her trunk delivered to her room) so that she could meet the other brother she’d not known existed a month ago. And to top it all off, she was, for the first time in four years, under the same roof as Max Dane.

Every one of those developments was monumental, any one of them would have made the day unforgettable, but it was the last that sent her heart racing the fastest.

Damn the man, why could he not have grown thicker round the middle and developed a bald pate?

Why did he have to be so handsome still, so appealing? She couldn’t possibly face him, let alone carry on a polite conversation, without remembering all the reasons she’d been taken with him four years ago. She’d certainly not be able to look at him without thinking of their kiss. How could she, when she’d been so damnably careful to capture every detail of it as it happened? Every taste and sound and dizzying sensation had been permanently etched in her mind.

As were a thousand other particulars of that night—the way he’d made her laugh, made her feel clever and interesting, lovely and desirable. And hopeful. She’d never been so hopeful as she had for those few weeks after they’d met.

Though she’d not liked admitting it, even to herself, the truth was that she’d never been so heartbroken as the day she’d realized and accepted that Max Dane wasn’t coming back.

The blighter.

He ought to have at least written a letter explaining why, instead of leaving her to wonder what she’d done wrong.

“I didn’t do a damned thing wrong,” she muttered to herself, not so much because she believed it, but because it helped to hear it said aloud.

“I’m not doing a damned thing wrong now,” she added, because that, too, felt good to hear.

“I’ll not be doing anything wrong when I take that thousand pounds and leave with Mrs. Culpepper. There is nothing unseemly in…” She trailed off and wrinkled her nose. Now she just felt silly.

But talking to herself had helped settle her nerves. Talking with Mrs. Culpepper would be even better, but it was hours yet before dinner, and it was possible Mrs. Culpepper might sleep straight through to morning, leaving Anna with nothing to do, and no one to do it with, for the remainder of the evening.

Anna frowned at the door. She wasn’t fully comfortable taking advantage of the invitation to explore, no matter how sincerely offered, but she couldn’t possibly spend the entire night dwelling on her change of circumstances.

She was in dire need of distraction. Her embroidery tools and the few books she’d taken from Anover House had been packed in Mrs. Culpepper’s trunk, and Anna hadn’t the heart to wake the woman. There was nothing else for it; she’d have to find diversion elsewhere.

The library, she decided. Surely she could seek out that room without mishap or, more importantly, running into Max Dane. Caldwell Manor was enormous and the hall with the library wasn’t terribly far from where she was now. She could risk it.

 
 
Chapter 6

She shouldn’t have risked it.

Anna swallowed past the dry lump in her throat. Almost, she’d made it to the library. In fact, she could see its double doors not twenty feet down the hall…Or, more notably, fifteen feet beyond where Max Dane stood, blocking her path.

He’d all but materialized before her like a ghost. One moment he’d not been there, then she’d turned her head for just an instant to peek into an open parlor, and when she’d looked back again, there he was, looming like a specter.

Only one might imagine a specter to be less substantial in appearance.

Also, they were unlikely to bow and say, “Miss Rees,” in voice that sent pleasant shivers up one’s spine.

He really did look handsome, Anna thought with a suppressed sigh. And she’d forgotten to so much as glance in the vanity mirror before leaving her chambers again. Her appearance had now gone from sadly road worn to slovenly. Lovely.

Fortunately, however unexpected and unwelcome this meeting was, it didn’t come as quite the shock as their first. Perhaps it wouldn’t go as poorly either.

Chin up, shoulders back, eyes straight ahead.

She managed a credible curtsy and when she spoke, her voice remained calm and steady. “Lord Dane, a pleasure to see you again. I—”

“Is it? A pleasure?”

The question, odd in and of itself, had a mocking quality to it, lending it the feel of an opening salvo.

Good heavens, he truly
was
angry.

Baffled, and a little irritated that he should feel he had the right to anger, she said the first thing that came to mind. “Well, no. Not entirely.”

He smiled, an almost disdainful curve of the lips that held little humor. “Still honest, I see.”

This was why it was so important for a person to think before speaking. And why it was sometimes better for a person to not speak at all. Particularly when that person had inadequate practice.

“I only meant that the circumstances are somewhat awkward,” she tried.

“Awkward,” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. “That is one way of putting it.”

This wasn’t going well at all. Between his cold manner and her missteps, the experience was growing painful. Better to end it before it became worse. They could try again tomorrow, if need be. Or never, if the good lord had any mercy to spare for her and sent Max packing back to London or his own estate sometime during the night.

She hesitated, uncertain if she should retreat back to her room or push onward to the library.

Onward, she decided, and stepped forward. He might make her uncomfortable, but he’d not embarrass her into retreat.

I’ve done nothing wrong.

“If you will excuse me, Lord Dane, I was just on my way to—”

He stepped into her path and gestured at the open door of a nearby room. “I’d like a word, please, Miss Rees.”

She glanced inside. “In a billiards room?”

“Unless you’d prefer to have this conversation in front of any passing staff?”

She didn’t want to have a conversation at all—unless it was likely to end in his confession of unbearable remorse at having tossed her aside four years ago—but he was right, there were things that might be said that were best said in private.

“Very well,” she agreed and stepped past him into the room.

He didn’t offer her a seat once inside, and she wasn’t inclined to take one. Instead, she watched him cross his arms over his chest and lean a hip against one of the two tables occupying the room.

“I’d never thought to see you outside of London,” he said at length.

You never thought to see me at all.

“It has been quite an experience thus far,” she replied, keeping her tone light. One of them needed to put an effort into making things easy between them.

“You came without your mother.”

“She was unable to make the journey.” Primarily because her mother not been informed of said journey, but now was not the time to mention it.

“I heard of her injury. Was it wise to leave her side at such a time?”

“The injury was not terribly serious,” she assured him and silently congratulated herself for not allowing any hint of annoyance or defensiveness to enter her voice. “And she is recovering with all due speed.”

“Nevertheless, your abandonment of her now might appear to some to be…a trifle cold.”

She thought his comment, and the tone in which it was delivered, to be a
trifle cold
, but he continued on before she could respond.

“Strange business, this sudden connection of yours to the Haverstons.”

“Not so very strange,” she countered, growing increasingly impatient. “Illegitimate children are born every day. Presumably there has been but one immaculate conception.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt your secular origins, Miss Rees,” he drawled. “I’ve met your mother, you’ll recall.”

Not a hint of emotion was allowed to touch her face. Why not just call the woman a whore and be done with it, she thought. He wasn’t wrong, exactly, but that wasn’t the point. “Is this why you wished to leave the hall, so you might impugn my mother’s character in private?”

“Not at all. You’ll also recall that I quite liked your mother.” He offered a negligent lift of the shoulder. “I’m merely making conversation.”

They weren’t having a conversation. She wasn’t certain what they were having—a thinly veiled battle, perhaps—but it wasn’t a conversation.

If he wished to pretend otherwise, however, she could play along. But she’d be damned if she continued to go on as the defendant. “And what of you, my lord? What could possibly have drawn you from the bosom of your gambling hells and iniquitous dens?”

“London’s dens of iniquity have done without my visitations for some time now. Which you might have heard if you’d left your sanctuary more often.”

“You’ve given up the life of debauchery?” She didn’t believe it for an instant.

“You misunderstand. Debauchery, when I care for it—and I generally do—now comes to me.”

“You’ve become a depraved recluse. How delightful.”

He acknowledged the barb with the lift of an eyebrow. “Still just as tart, as well, I see.”

“There is something to be said for living up to expectations,” she replied and, because she couldn’t curl her fingers into her palms without him noticing, curled her toes inside her shoes instead.

“I wouldn’t know.” His gaze turned shrewd. “And what of your expectations? What is it you really want from Lucien?”

Had he not been told of the thousand pounds? Anna wondered. For two people reputed to be the closest of friends, there seemed to be a great many secrets between Engsly and Max. But maybe that was the way of it between gentlemen. She would have to ask Mrs. Culpepper.

“It is none of your concern.” If Engsly wished to keep secrets from Max, it was none of
her
concern. “It is between Lord Engsly—”

Max leaned forward just a hair. “On the contrary, Miss Rees, the Haverstons, and anything that threatens them, are very much my concern. The thousand pounds you’re demanding from them concerns me a great deal.”

She shook her head, baffled and not a little frustrated. “If you knew of the thousand pounds, why did you just ask—?”

“That can’t possibly be all you want.”

She wasn’t sure what all she wanted; she’d not hoped for or made plans around anything but the thousand pounds.

“But it is what’s bothering you now,” she countered and decided she was tired of dancing around the subject of his peculiar behavior. “Why is that?” she asked softly. “Why are you so angered by my presence here?”

He shook his head dismissively. “I’m not angry so much as I am, as I believe I mentioned, highly,
highly
suspicious.”

“Well.” She took a moment to consider the circumstances, imagined herself in his place, and came to the conclusion that his suspicion was both understandable and unlikely to be assuaged by anything she could say or do at present. “I suppose I would be as well.”

Feeling at a loss, and inexplicably disappointed, she turned to leave. She would find her book in the library and return to her room, where she would stay until Lord Gideon arrived, or Max left, whichever came last.

“That’s it?” Max called to her back, his voice an incongruent mix of annoyance and amusement.

She turned around, taking a deep breath for both patience and to steady frayed nerves. For pity’s sake, what did he expect from her? “My apologies, I thought we were through.”

“We’ve not resolved anything.”

Resolution wasn’t possible. How could he not see that? “Is there something I could say that would immediately put your suspicions to rest?”

“Immediately? No, but—”

“Then I see no point in pursuing this conversation any further. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am weary and wish to retire to my chambers.”

“It’s half past five.”

That was all? It felt half past next week. “I am unaccustomed to travel.”

“You’re unaccustomed to having to explain your behavior.”

“If you like.”

“If I like. How very accommodating. What if I should like for you to leave Caldwell Manor and never return?” He stepped closer, giving her the distinct impression he was making an attempt at intimidation.

Anger and insult spurred her into stepping forward in return and giving him her iciest stare. “Then you are bound for disappointment. I have every right to be here.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“It doesn’t, in fact. I was invited by the marquess. That gives me the right. And you’ve no rational reason for suspecting my motives for accepting that invitation,
nor
my goals now that I’ve arrived.” She understood the instinctual desire to protect, but this went beyond the natural desire to defend a friend.