Page 22 of Impossible
You should apologize to her.
He owed her that much, at least. He turned to fetch his coat and drew it on, straightening the garment over his waistcoat. He feared his garments were out of fashion—and they were too large since he’d lost weight and hadn’t bothered to gain it back—but he didn’t care. Whom did he need to impress?
He went downstairs and made his way to the dining room, hoping he wasn’t too late. As he entered, he realized Timothy was just serving the soup. The footman clattered the spoon against the tureen as his gaze landed on Max.
Damn, he hadn’t meant to startle the poor lad. But then Timothy was easily spooked.
“Will you set a place for me, Timothy?” Max asked, walking to the head of the table. He noted that Miss Treadway was seated near the middle.
“Right away, my lord.” Timothy bustled to set Max’s place.
“What a surprise,” Miss Treadway said evenly. “I’m delighted you’ll be joining me.”
He might have thought she was jesting, but delight seemed to be one of her natural moods. “Were you always this cheerful?”
“Yes. And before you ask, yes, it was also occasionally annoying to my family, particularly my father when he wasn’t satisfied with the number of fish he’d caught that day. He preferred if everyone shared his disappointment. But I eventually won him over.”
“How did you manage that?”
Her blue-gray eyes glimmered in the candlelight. There was mischief in their depths, along with glee. What he wouldn’t give to feel either of those things. “By acting silly or telling him a story or making up a song.”
Timothy had finished the setting, and Max took his seat. The footman then served his soup. Max had almost forgotten what this was like.
“You made up songs?” he prompted, as much out of a sense of awkwardness as curiosity. He imagined she was a precocious child.
“Yes, typically about mermaids or fish, although I suppose mermaidsarefish.” She laughed softly, and he didn’t find it irritating.
Timothy poured wine, and Max took a sip, eyeing Miss Treadway over the rim as she ate her soup. “Why are you sitting there?” he asked, putting his glass down.
“I sit in a different chair every night. That way, I can see the room from different perspectives.”
He stared at her, thinking she couldn’t be that charming. Or that he was surprised to find he was being charmed by her. But his defenses were low. Today had been rough.
“I want to apologize for what I said earlier.” He focused on his soup so he wouldn’t have to look at her.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here tonight. Would you mind if I moved closer?” She was already standing, and Timothy rushed to help her. Then he transported her place setting next to Max. To his left. Dammit.
“I, ah, perhaps you wouldn’t mind sitting there.” He inclined his head toward the empty chair on his right.
She bent slightly and whispered, “I sat on your left in the cart earlier. Your scars don’t bother me. Indeed, without them, you’d look far too perfect.”
He looked up at her and wanted to argue, but words froze on his tongue. At this proximity, he smelled apples and spice, a deliciously alluring scent. And her eyes sparkled with her excess of charm and wit. They were framed with the most magnificently long, dark lashes and capped by elegantly seductive brows. She was the one who looked perfect.
Before he could muster speech, she motioned for Timothy to set the place on Max’s right.
When she was seated once more, Max murmured. “Thank you.” He grimaced. “Hell, I should have stood that entire time. My manners are in bad shape, I’m afraid.”
“You needn’t worry about impressing me.”
He nearly laughed at that, recalling what he’d been thinking before coming downstairs.
They finished their soup, and Timothy laid the next course.
Max feared he wouldn’t be able to make it to the third course. “It’s been a while since I ate a dinner like this.”
“You don’t eat the same meal in your study?”
“Not in courses like this. I, ah, don’t eat very much.”
