Cecily glanced at her with an arched eyebrow from where she was airing out Aurelia’s dress for the evening. They were dining with Declan and Rosalie. Unfortunately, Max would not be there. She knew that much. She had already inquired. He had declined the invitation.
“A prior engagement,” she snorted, throwing her arms out wide at her sides. “What prior engagement could he possibly have to keep him from a simple dinner? He has to eat, does he not? And he never declines Will or Dec invitations! No, this is because of me.” She pressed a hand to her chest, nodding, certain of it.
Was he avoiding her because of her brother? Naturally, dallying with his best friend’s sister was a line he would be reluctant to cross. And yet he had.
Cecily shrugged as she selected a pair of brocade slippers that had seen better days from the bottom of the armoire. “Perhaps he’s preoccupied making amends to the Widow Knotgrass.”
Aurelia’s shoulders tensed. That was a possibility she had not considered. She ran her hand over her long plait of hair, tugging lightly on the loose end. Had he left her with her lips bruised and aching for more and raced off to the Widow Knotgrass, the woman he really wanted to be with before she had wrecked his assignation? Perhaps he found Aurelia a poor substitute for the lovely and far more experienced widow? Had he spent the day in the widow’s bed with Aurelia a pale memory?
She sank down at the end of her bed, clutching the bedpost with both hands as though it were a lifeline. Glancing up, she caught sight of her face in her dressing table mirror, bright flags of color riding high in her olive complexion. “That is a certain possibility,” she finally admitted.
Cecily clucked her tongue and dropped down beside her on the bed, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Come. This isn’t like you.”
Pining for Max? It most certainly was not like her. Not in a good many years, at least. But then he had never kissed her before. And there was that other side of him she had seen at Lady Chatham’s ball. When he had asked poor Miss Samantha Bell to dance. That was hardly the actions of a shallow, arrogant man.
She closed her eyes in a pained blink. A kiss from Max shouldn’t have changed anything, but it had.
Perhaps it shouldn’t have been such a surprise that Max had been the one to deliver her from tedium. Max was made for pleasure, after all.
She had to believe that the chemistry between them was unique. Surely it was not like that for him every time he kissed a woman? She refused to believe it. It had been special. He felt it, too. Hadn’t he?
She glanced up at Cecily. As though reading her thoughts, her friend shook her head in sympathy. “There are plenty of men like him. My sister fell prey to the sweet words whispered by a handsome man. I was just a girl but I remember it well. My father shouting. My mother’s tears. This man . . . he ruined her. Took Marjorie’s innocence and left her reputation in tatters.” She looked away for a moment, inhaling deeply. “My father tossed her out. She moved to the city, tried to find work. I lost track of her, but I like to think she’s . . .” Her words faded and she blinked quickly, as if clearing the memories from her mind.
“Cecily.” Aurelia closed a hand over hers. “You never told me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” She smiled a shaky grin. “Nothing to do about it now. No way to change it. I know you’re not Marjorie, but I just . . . I just don’t want you hurt, Aurelia.”
The image of the Widow Knotgrass materialized in her mind’s eye. She imagined Max kissing her . . . pressing the widow down on a bed and having his way with her with the same fervor he had displayed when he kissed her. Only with the widow, he did not stop. He was too overcome with desire. He was unable to tear himself away as he had with her.
Oh, she was a blasted fool. Of course he had not felt anything special for her.
Aurelia sucked a breath into her lungs. It was a hard truth. She had been so busy reveling in how that kiss felt that she had just assumed it was momentous for him, too. She had forgotten the cold contempt with which he’d treated her to all these years. She remembered now.
Cecily was correct. She needed to be careful. She needed to remember that Max was a rogue who didn’t care whose bed he shared.
“You’re right, Cecily.” She nodded, feeling at rights again. If she continued fixating on Max, she was bound for disappointment. The Season would be over, and she’d be in a carriage on the way to Scotland before she knew it. “I think I will have Will invite Mr. Mackenzie to dine with us.”
Cecily arched an eyebrow. “Indeed.”
“Yes.” Feeling better with her decision, Aurelia nodded and returned to the chaise. Picking her sketch pad back up, she made a few strokes on the parchment before stopping. Her concentration continued to stray.
She felt Cecily’s stare on her. “Something amiss?”
Aurelia lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. The possibility that she might not wed in time . . . that she might not receive an offer of marriage, nagged at her. The matter wasn’t entirely in her control, after all . . . even if she made herself utterly amenable. And she hated that . . . the sense of not having control.
Seized with a sudden impulse, she rose from the chaise again and moved toward her small desk. She rifled through the drawer until she located the stationery.
“What are you doing now?” Cecily asked as Aurelia sank down on the chair and started scribbling on the parchment. Finished, she folded the missive, stuffed it inside the envelope and stood again.
“Here. Would you please deliver this for me?” She extended the envelope. “Now?”
Cecily stepped forward and took it from her hand. She looked from Aurelia to the missive, her eyes widening as she read the name on the outside of the envelope. Her fingers stroked over the clean lines of script that proclaimed Mrs. Bancroft’s name on the outside of the envelope. The proprietress of Sodom. “Are you certain?” Cecily asked.
Naturally, her friend knew of her exploits to that club with Rosalie a year ago.
Aurelia nodded. “Yes.” Part of the reason she had not revisited Sodom was that Rosalie couldn’t accompany her. The rest of the reason might have to do with what happened with Max. The events of that night could have been too scandalous even for her.
Cecily nodded slowly, still looking unconvinced. “If you are certain . . .”
“I am.” She moistened her lips. “Cecily, what if no one proposes—”
“Someone is going to propose to you. I wouldn’t be surprised if they both ask you within the next fortnight.” Cecily shook her head, smiling as though Aurelia was out of her mind.
Aurelia grinned ruefully. “Of course you would say that, but what if they don’t? I want my last few months here to be memorable.” Max had given her a taste of passion. Who knew what other adventures waited for her? With a fortifying breath, she continued, “There is a side door at Mrs. Bancroft’s. A doorman is there at all times and will take the missive from you.”
“Very well,” Cecily said. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, but I will go.” At the door, her friend paused and smiled ruefully. “I haven’t your adventurous spirit.” That said, she slipped from the room, leaving Aurelia alone.
Aurelia stared at the unmoving door for some moments before murmuring to no one, “Lucky you.”
Her life would be so much simpler if she didn’t want more. If she didn’t crave it with an intensity that had only grown since Max pushed her up against the back wall of the house. He’d doomed her.
There was no going back now.
Chapter 13
Max stared into the dying flames flickering low within the great hearth of his study. He held his third drink of the night loosely in his hand, his legs stretched out before him. He scratched at the bristly growth of hair on his jaw. He had not shaved in days, and he felt in no particular rush to do so.
For the fifth night in a row he stayed in. It was a re
cord.
The first two nights following that shattering kiss with Aurelia, he had gone out to all his usual haunts. He’d rubbed elbows with acquaintances, friends, strangers. He’d laughed, consumed copious amounts of liquor, and flirted with women. Rather desperately he had flirted with the fairer sex, trying hard to banish the memory of how perfect Aurelia had fit against him. How she had tasted of bergamot and mint. How she had shuddered and come apart in his arms.
Bloody hell. He lifted his glass and drank deep.
He had contemplated taking another woman to bed, but whenever he leaned in close to kiss one, he found himself pulling back. He could only see amber-brown eyes and olive skin. Every. Bloody. Time.
With a hissed breath, he rose and refilled his glass and then dropped heavily back into his armchair with a muttered curse.
He needed to forget her. Forget that kiss. Her smell. Her taste. Her wild responsiveness. He wasn’t about to ruin a lifelong friendship because he had an itch to taste what was beneath Aurelia’s skirts. Even he possessed a code. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do, but virgins and best friends’ sisters were off limits.
He’d reached a decision. It was the reasonable thing to do. The responsible thing. Come morning, he would depart for the country. He hardly ever left Town during the Season, but given the circumstances, a visit to his family estate seemed the only recourse.
He would absent himself from Town for a few months. By the time he returned, Aurelia would either be gone for Scotland or engaged. He took another deep gulp from his glass and pushed the thought of Aurelia married to someone else from his mind. He refused to think of her unleashing her uninhibited passions on some other man. With a groan, he brought his hand to his cock and readjusted the growing bulge in his trousers. Clearly, his attempts to not think about her weren’t working. He eyed the decanter across the room, debating getting well and thoroughly soused.
A tentative knock sounded at his door. His staff was well aware of his black mood for the last week.
“Go away!” he bellowed.
A long moment followed before another knock came, a fraction louder this time.
He glared at his glass, contemplating tossing it at the door. “I said go away!”
The door creaked open and his butler stuck his head into the room like a turtle poking his head out of his shell. “M’lord?”
“Go away, Barton.”
“You’ve a caller—”
“I don’t want to see anyone tonight.”
“She says it’s an emergency.”
She? He straightened in his chair, his mind racing.
She wouldn’t dare . . . nor would he want her to. Of course, he would turn her away after a severe tongue-lashing. And immediately his thoughts took a dive into the gutter over what manner of tongue-lashing he would subject her to. Bloody hell.
“Send her in.”
She must have been waiting outside the door. Barton scarcely withdrew back out into the hall before she entered.
Disappointment stabbed him in the chest. It wasn’t Aurelia.
The fact that he had hoped it might be Aurelia indicated he was far from putting her out of his mind. The eagerness that tripped through him at even the possibility of seeing her again was wrong on every level. Aurelia visiting his bachelor residence this hour of night? It would ruin her. Of course, he didn’t want that. He would be forced to marry her in that event.
He relaxed and fell back into the chair, eyeing the female before him as the door clicked shut behind Barton. He recognized her, but it took him a moment to place her. When he recalled that she was Aurelia’s maid, he immediately tensed.
“What are you doing here?” Even a servant had a reputation to protect, and he suspected this girl was more than a servant to Aurelia. He’d often spotted them with their heads bent close together, whispering like schoolgirls.
She squared her shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere until I’ve said what I’ve come here to say.”
He eyed the slim length of her. She was thin, but wiry. As though she had spent a good portion of her life hard at labor. “What’s your name?”
“Cecily Calloway,” she replied. “And I’m here at my own peril, to be certain. If Aurelia finds out I’ve come to see you, she’ll horsewhip me.” She inhaled a sharp breath, narrowing her brown gaze on him. “And if you’re half the man I suspect you are, she will find out.”
He arched an eyebrow, not certain whether to be complimented or not. “Indeed? And why is that?”
She nodded. “She’ll know . . . because you will be going after her.”
He sat up slowly. “Explain yourself. Why are you here?”
“She might be in trouble. It’s just a feeling I have. Call it intuition.”
With Aurelia, that was a very real possibility.
Cecily continued, “I told her not to go . . .”
Concern shot through him. Suddenly avoiding her over the last week seemed stupid. She was always one for rash words and behavior. Who knew what manner of trouble she had gotten herself into?
He stood, braced for what was to come, resolved to go after Aurelia no matter how risky it was to be around her. No matter that he only wanted to take her to his bed. Someone needed to protect her from herself.
“Where is she?”
“It’s been a long time,” Mrs. Bancroft said as she guided Aurelia down the corridor.
For the proprietress of an illicit underground club, Mrs. Bancroft was attired modestly in an understated gown of dark blue. It fit her snugly from throat to hem, but was still somehow provocative for the lack of flesh revealed. The most elaborate thing about her happened to be the black-feathered domino covering most of her face. Aurelia’s domino covered nearly as much but was not nearly as opulent.
“Yes, it has been,” Aurelia agreed rather lamely. She had not been this nervous the first time she visited Sodom.
That time you were not reeling in the aftermath of Max’s blistering kiss.
She shook her head. That should not matter. If anything, it should only motivate her to extend her education in all things of a wanton nature.
“Truthfully, I did not know if you would remember me, Mrs. Bancroft,” Aurelia said as they made their way up the stairs to the second level of Sodom.
“Of course I remember you. Aside from the fact that I make it my business to remember the names and faces of everyone to pass through the doors of Sodom, this establishment doesn’t see too many inexperienced doves.” Mrs. Bancroft assessed her slyly. “I take it you are a maid still? You’ve not married yet, I presume?”
Heat crept over her cheeks but she nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“And how is your friend with the lovely red hair? I hazard to say she is a maid no longer.”
“No, she is married now. Happily so.”
“Well, good for her. I suspect she will never frequent Sodom again.”
“Ah, that is unlikely,” she hedged, in reference to Rosalie. Her friend would certainly never be returning. She didn’t have the need for such adventures anymore. She was in raptures over her marriage. “I think one visit to Sodom was enough for her.”
Mrs. Bancroft smiled vaguely. “Hm. Indeed. But once was not enough for you. You made quite an impression on your last visit here. Your card game was talked about for months. A few of the gentlemen that you played cards with have inquired about you.”
Before she could respond—perhaps she wasn’t expected to—the proprietress turned down the corridor, motioning at the doors on the left and right. “Do you have any notion of what you’re looking for tonight in the way of entertainment? You may recall that various amusements can be found in specific chambers. Perhaps you prefer to observe in one of our voyeur rooms again?”
Recalling the eyeful she had gotten the last time she was here, heat crawled up her face. She had learned much. Those imag
es had haunted her over the last year.
“Er, no. Perhaps I could mingle about the main room again. Are there still games downstairs?”
“Indeed, yes. Let us see what games we have tonight. Perhaps you will be lucky at cards again.”
The memory of soundly trouncing Max made her grin. Until she recalled that he could possibly be here tonight. Which only made her scowl.
If he was here, it could be only for one reason. It would be so he could enjoy other women. Kiss them and fondle them as he had done with her. Take them to his bed as he had not done with her.
She knew it was contrary of her. She was here for the similar purpose of seeking her own pleasure . . . and yet it signified very little when her heart constricted painfully in her chest. She did not relish the idea of him with another woman.
Shaking her head, she vowed that she would exorcise the man from her thoughts. What happened between them had not affected him. So she wouldn’t let it affect her either. She would indulge herself tonight, and tomorrow she would continue her husband hunt.
Dinner had gone well with Mr. Mackenzie and her family, and Buckston was taking her for a ride in his new phaeton tomorrow. Mackenzie was attractive if not a little intimidating. With young Buckston, there would be little risk—and Mama adored him. There was that.
Aurelia followed Mrs. Bancroft down to the main floor, trying not to feel uncomfortable at the eyes cast her way. She told herself that much of the attention was directed at the mysterious Mrs. Bancroft. Several gentlemen nodded and waved at the masked lady, hoping to gain her attention. All for naught. The proprietress’s gaze did not linger overly long on any one individual, and yet there was no doubt that she took everything in, missing nothing that was occurring amid the walls of her establishment.
“Would you like me to find a spot for you at one of the tables?” She motioned to the room with an elegant sweep of her hand.
“Um, I think I should like to watch for a bit before deciding.” She flashed a reassuring smile. “Don’t let me keep you from your duties.”