by Julia Quinn
He beamed affably. “I know ’zactly what happens. And that’s good.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It’s not?” He blinked repeatedly, and then a smile lit his face. “You are wrong,” he said as if that solved everything. “Before, I was wrong. And now, you are wrong.”
“I am not wrong. No more talking for us. At least not unless there are other people present.”
“It’s cold out here,” he said in a plaintive voice. “I should come inside.”
“It is June and it is not cold. Besides, you have a coat.”
“It might rain and I forgot my hat.”
“Then you’d better talk quickly before you catch the ague.”
He sighed in frustration. “Why must you be so stubborn?”
“I was just going to ask you the same thing.”
They stood there, staring at each other for a long moment. The breeze danced across Sophia’s face, cooling it even as her body heated from his intense gaze. He looked so masculine, standing there all mussed, his brown throat exposed from the loose knotting of his cravat, his eyes silver hot. He had always affected her this way, his raw masculinity tumbling her defenses and overpowering her good sense.
The truth was that she loved him. She had never stopped. But she had loved him before and trusted him with her heart, only to be dismissed for one ill-thought mistake. She would not hurt like that again. Never.
Her fingers tightened over the edge of the sill. “Max, please go. I will not talk to you today.” Maybe tomorrow, or next week—whenever her traitorous body had rebuilt the walls she’d been so carefully erecting all this time. When she could talk to him without betraying herself worse than she already had.
From where he stood on the street, Max thrust his hands into his pockets and tried to get his numbed brain to think. Damn it, all he wanted to do was talk to her, really talk this time, though he wouldn’t be averse to anything more, if it happened.
Which it would. She was right about that. Every time they talked, they ended up in a passionate embrace. Somehow, he couldn’t dredge up the least regret. After all, that was a sign that there was something left to their relationship. A sign that perhaps they shouldn’t quit. Not yet. “Sophia, I will speak with you, if not inside, then here.”
“I am sending out one of my footmen to see you home.”
Max fisted his hands. “Send him out.”
“Oh! For the love of—Max, you are drunk!”
“I may be drunk, but I still know what I want. And I want you. To talk to you, I mean,” he amended hastily.
Her gaze narrowed. “You are causing a scene.”
“I don’t care. I’ll stay here all day if I have to.”
“Max, no! I don’t want you to—” Her gaze flickered past him, a faint smile suddenly touching her lips.
He turned to see what she was looking at, but her voice drew his attention back to the window above him. “I wish you would go away,” she said. “Please?”
“No.” He drew himself up. “Open the door, Sophia. Now.” There, that sounded forceful, even to his numbed ears.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, a tantalizing smile on her lips—lips that had haunted Max’s dreams every night for the last twelve years. “Throw another rock?”
“No. I won’t throw any more rocks. Sophia, I just—”
“Good, because I doubt you could hit another window.” Her gaze traveled over him in what seemed a disparaging manner. “Not today, anyway.”
That stung. He drew himself upright and said in a reasonably lofty manner, “Drunk or not, I can hit every window here, and you know it.”
“The lower ones, perhaps.”
Her taunting voice fanned his irritation into something more. He reached down and grabbed a rock. “Move aside.”
“Very well. If you’re certain.” And with that, she disappeared from sight.
Max looked at the window nearest hers—it was probably to her dressing room, if she had indeed been in her own chamber. Squinting at his target, he pulled back his arm and—
Rough hands grabbed his arms and hauled them behind his back. “’Ere now! Whot ye doin’, throwin’ rocks at a lady’s winder?”
Three men surrounded him. Max blinked at their uniforms; it was the watch. “I was just—”
“Oh, thank you, Officer!” called a cheery voice from above Max’s head.
He looked up and caught Sophia’s merry gaze, Charlotte peeking over her shoulder. It took just a moment for Max to realize the meaning of Sophia’s sparkling gaze. “You tricked me, you—”
“’Ere now, guvnor! Not in front o’ the ladies. Come along. It’s to gaol wit’ ye.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“I don’t care who ye are. I daresay I’ve locked up higher gentleman than ye.” The man nodded to his companions. “Take him along now. And if he fights, nick his blinkers, the both of ’em.”
Max glared up at Sophia only to catch the full impact of her wide grin, of the way the wind had loosened tendrils of her hair and blew them now across her face, of the sparkle in her eyes. In that moment, the lunacy of the situation hit him, as did something else. B’God we are perfectly suited. She was just as stubborn, just as cheeky, just as unconventional as he.
He wondered what would happen if they ever met toe to toe over something. Would either give? Or would they stand there, refusing to budge until they both died of malnourishment? Hadn’t they, in a way, done that very thing to their own marriage?
The thought caused him to grin in return. He planted his feet so that his captors were forced to halt their tugging. “I concede my defeat,” he shouted up to the window. “You have won this battle, m’dear. But not the war.”
She chuckled, the sound clear in the night air. “One battle at a time, then.”
“And to the victor?”
Her eyes sparkled down at him. “Everything.”
His heart thudded an extra beat. “You vow it?”
She paused, the wind blowing a strand of honey-colored hair over her chin. Finally, she gave a sharp nod. “Everything.” And then with that, she shut the shattered window and yanked the curtain back into place.
For the first time in weeks, hope surged through Max. Grinning foolishly, he allowed the watch to haul him off to gaol. B’God, he wasn’t through yet.
Chapter 7
Both Lord Easterly and Mr. Riddleton continue to woo Lady Easterly with flowers and gifts, but one would have to think that the former enjoys a certain advantage. Despite his rakish good looks, he does, after all, share the same last name as the lady in question.
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 17 JUNE 1816
“You’ve done some silly things before, but this takes the cake,” John declared. “It’s a deuced good thing Max has some address or those fools would have locked him away for good.”
“Be quiet and eat your lamb.”
“He is serious in his feelings. The entire foyer is full of flowers and cards and—”
“Some of those are from Riddleton.”
John glared. “Those don’t count.”
Sophia put down her fork, the tines ringing on the edge of the plate. “John, it’s not that simple. I—I want to trust Max, to believe in him again, but…” She paused, and he saw with alarm that tears threatened. Finally, she burst out, “I just don’t know if I can!”
John’s gaze fell on his plate. His throat was too tight to eat another bite. He sighed and replaced his knife and fork on the table. “I’m sorry. I’ve said too much.”
“No, no,” she said, sniffing a little. “I refuse to allow myself to care the way I once did.” Her lips quivered.
“There, there,” John said hurriedly. Bloody hell, he was just making things worse. Still, someone had to talk to Sophia. Someone who knew Max. “He’s sent as many cards and flowers as that silly oaf Riddleton, and has come to see you every day, if you would but receive him. On top of that, he must have delivered twenty letters, an
d he almost haunts the foyer. What more can he do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing.” She stood and crossed to the tea table, where she picked up a small packet. “Do you…do you think you could give this to Max for me? It is something that belongs to him.”
“Of course.” John tucked the packet into his coat pocket. He sighed. “I suppose we should go. We’re to meet the Jerseys near the Grand Pavilion.” Vauxhall’s anniversary celebration was supposed to be quite the event, and John never missed fireworks unless forced.
“Of course,” she said, visibly gathering herself. “I just need to collect my shawl. It won’t take a moment.”
“I’ll wait on you in the foyer.” He winked to reassure her and made his way down to the front hall.
A knock sounded on the door as John reached his destination. Jacobs appeared and opened the door.
It was Max. He held up a hand when Jacobs began to speak. “I know your mistress is not receiving guests. She never is when I come. But I’ve come to see Standwick. I saw his carriage outside, so he must be here.”
Jacobs flickered a glance at John.
Max followed his gaze. “There you are! Do you have time for a glass of port?”
John glanced up the stairs. “If it’s a short one. Jacobs, if m’sister comes down, tell her I’m checking on the horses.”
The butler nodded primly and opened the door to the library.
Max led the way inside, waiting until the door shut before saying, “I’m deuced glad you were here.”
“As am I.” John hesitated, wondering how much he should say. Finally, he sighed. “I’m in your corner, you know. I have been all along.”
“Yes, you have. The day I received Sophia’s missive asking for the annulment, I received two other letters. One from Riddleton and one from—”
“Riddleton wrote as well? That pompous ass!” John paused, then smiled faintly. “Since I have no business meddling in Sophia’s affairs either, I suppose that makes me a pompous ass, as well.”
“Oh, not a pompous one,” Max said, a twitch of humor relieving the strained look on his face.
“Thank you,” John said with a wry grin. “I just couldn’t let things continue without you knowing that since you’d gone, Sophia has been living in a sort of frozen wasteland. Alone in a way I cannot explain.”
Max winced. His damnable temper. “When I left, I told myself that it was to protect her, but now…I am not sure that my motives were as pure as they should have been.”
“Put the blame where it belongs, with Richard. It is difficult to admit that your own brother was a—” John clamped his mouth closed, lines of white to either side. “I had to do what I could to fix things. Life is passing Sophia by and she is just standing there, allowing it.”
Max’s chest ached. He straightened and said in a resolute tone, “But I have returned now, and whether Her Royal Loveliness knows it or not, I’m here for the rest of her life. If I have to wait a year, ten years, forever—it doesn’t matter. I will never give up, never stop hoping. I can’t.”
“You love her.”
“I always have. At first, I was angry, and then I feared that she…” Max sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I feared that she didn’t love me the way I wished her to.”
“She did and does.” John reached into his coat. “By the way, she asked me to give this to you.”
Max took the packet and opened it. He knew what it was the second the paper fell off, exposing a thin booklet with gold lettering. “My uncle’s diary.”
“I don’t think she ever meant to use it.”
No, she wouldn’t. That had never been Sophia’s way. “She was bluffing.”
John nodded thoughtfully. “She has gotten so used to bluffing that I sometimes wonder if she knows who or what she is anymore.”
Max tucked the slim volume into his pocket. “Thank you, John. I have to find a way to regain her trust. And I will, no matter what it takes.”
John let go of an explosive breath. “Damn, but I envy you.”
“Envy me? Are you mad? I’ve made a mull of my life.”
“So many people look for love. You not only found it, but you have the strength to win it.” Outside the room came the soft murmur of Sophia’s voice. John turned his head and listened a moment, and then his gaze found Max’s. “I must go, but I believe you wanted something more than conversation?”
Max quirked a smile. “Am I so transparent?”
“No. I just know that you hate port. Nothing short of a scheme of some sort would have induced you to make such an offer.”
Max laughed. “You are right; I need a favor. It’s a rather large one. And I’m afraid it has to do with tricking your sister.”
“So much the better! Tell me what you need and it’s yours.”
Vauxhall was crammed with people. The anniversary celebration had been lauded far and wide with the result that members of every walk of society found their way within the gated walls. Milliners and bakers strolled the lawns and pathways near dukes and duchesses. The mix was intoxicating.
Sophia sat with the Jerseys in their private box. The sky glowed above, the night air rippling across her face, cooling her, though it did little to ease her heart.
“Sophia?”
She looked up to find John standing beside her chair. He glanced at Lady Jersey, who was regaling Sophia with the latest gossip from Almack’s.
John swept a bow. “Lady Jersey! I didn’t recognize you in this uncertain light.” He took the older woman’s hand and planted a passionate kiss on the back of it. “I vow but you look stunning in blue. You should never wear another color.”
Sally raised her brows, her eyes twinkling. An inveterate flirt, she had a soft spot for young men with address. Especially handsome young earls who knew how to turn a phrase. “Fie on you, Standwick! I’m old enough to be your…aunt.”
“Never say it,” John declared, evidently scandalized. “My sister, perhaps, but never my aunt!”
Sophia had to hide a smile when Lady Jersey’s delighted laughter ended with a snort. Many people did not enjoy Sally Jersey’s earthiness, but Sophia was not one of them.
John caught her eye. “Soph, I’m sorry to steal you from such entertaining company, but I thought you might take a turn with me.”
“Now? But the fireworks—”
“Oh, we’ll be back before then.”
Sophia shrugged, picking up her wineglass. “Of course. Lady Jersey, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Go, m’dear. I’ve no wish to wander the dark pathways at my age.”
John took a glass of wine off a nearby tray and held out his other arm to Sophia.
Lady Jersey nodded her approval. “Off with you, my children! Standwick, I do hope you are carrying a short sword. She has so many suitors nowadays that you are likely to be challenged.”
John laughed, pulling Sophia away from the Jerseys’ party and down a path.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Sophia looked up at him. “Well?”
“Well what?” he asked, looking over her head, as if searching for someone.
“You would never waste a lovely walk on your sister unless something was wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong. I was just restless. Besides,” he gestured with his wineglass, “I would rather walk this pathway with you than anyone.”
“Even Miss Moreland? She is stunning.”
“Well, except for Miss Moreland, you would be my first choice.” He turned down a rather dim pathway, picking up his pace.
Sophia followed along easily. They made several more turns, the night air lovely and cool. She was enjoying the quiet, sipping her wine and listening to the murmur of voices. The path became more narrow, the hedgerows taller. She glanced up at John. “You seem very conversant with these pathways.”
He wagged his brows in a rakish fashion. “So I am.” They turned another corner and John stopped. They had found a small alcove with a smooth, curved bench and a small fountain sp
orting a Grecian statue in the center. “Ah,” John said. “Here we are.”
“How lovely!” Sophia said.
“Yes, it is,” John replied, looking around as if he’d mislaid something. “Do you know what we need? Refreshments.”
“We have wine. I still have half a glass and you have a full one.”
“But nothing of substance.” He took her hand and seated her on the bench. “Wait here and I shall fetch something for our rumbling stomachs.”
“My stomach is not rumbling.”
“Well, mine is.” He set his glass beside her and smiled in a beguiling fashion. “I’ll be right back. And if Miss Moreland should wander in, ask her to stay, would you? I have a special, non-sister path for her to enjoy.”
Before Sophia could answer, he was gone. She stared at the black opening he’d disappeared through. What was that all about?
She shook her head, leaning back on the bench and sipping her wine. It was actually quite nice to be alone. She enjoyed the silence. Well, the almost-silence. The longer she sat, the more aware she became of hushed voices. Lovers’ voices, murmuring and whispering. Feeling a little uncomfortable, she stood, wondering where John could be.
The minutes ticked on and still John did not come. Sophia sipped her wine nervously. Twice she had gone to the opening of the alcove, only to stare down the dark pathways, wondering if she could find her way back to the Jerseys’ pavilion. Blast it, where was John? As many drunken rogues as were wandering about in the dark, she didn’t dare walk on her own.
Sophia finished her wine and picked up John’s. It would serve him right if she drank all of his wine, as well. She would have a good deal to say to her brother when he returned. No doubt he had been diverted by the buffet table and had forgotten all about her. “Wretch,” she said aloud.
“That isn’t the greeting I was hoping for, but it will do.”
The voice melted through her, hot and sudden. Sophia whirled to find Max standing in the opening, looking darkly handsome. “What are you doing here?”
He came further into the alcove, filling up the space, warming the air. “I suppose I could say that I am here to rescue you. That I knew, by some unimaginable manner, that you were in need of me.”
