Page 23 of Impossible
“That’s a shame since Mrs. Debley is such a fine cook.”
He spent a few minutes sampling the delicious meal and decided it was a terrible shame indeed.
Miss Treadway forked a carrot, her gaze glinting with that mischief again. “I mean to find a way to persuade her to tell me stories about you as a boy.”
“She’ll tell you I stole biscuits from the kitchen like every other boy. Except my brother. He stole cheese.”
“Oh, I would have liked your brother,” she said, chuckling. “There is nothing better than cheese.”
Max arched a brow. “Except biscuits.”
She grinned. “Shall we duel over it?”
“No.” Her casual jest about violence reminded him that he was perilously close to forgetting that he oughtn’t be sitting here enjoying her company.
“Is that how you got the scar?” she asked, sounding quite sober now, her voice low and even tentative, which he found surprising.
“It’s from the war. I suppose battles are a series of duels. Only there are no rules, and no one behaves like a gentleman.” And there went his appetite. Dammit. The beef was delicious, as was the potato pudding.
“It looks as though you were burned.” She watched him as if she expected him to turn his head so she could inspect the scars.
“I was.” That day returned once more. The summer breeze. The bloodied ribbon. Later, the sharp, blinding pain of his flesh scalding. And so very much more.
Max seized and drained his wineglass. Timothy quickly refilled it, much to Max’s appreciation.
“Thank you,” Max murmured. Then he turned his head slightly so he could look Miss Treadway in the eye. “I’d rather not discuss the injury in detail. I hope you can respect my wishes, particularly given your nosiness.”
She stared at him a moment, then her face lit as she smiled broadly. “Thank you for that. Teasing me, I mean. I deserve it. I told you, I’m horribly inquisitive. I just like to knoweverything. Especially when I find things interesting.”
“You think I’m interesting?”
“Positively fascinating.” She ate a few peas she’d managed to spear on her fork, contemplating him as she chewed. After she swallowed, she added, “You are vastly disagreeable, and yet underneath your surly exterior, there hides a wealth of secrets. I hear you were actually a very likable person once. Lucien insists you’re one of his dearest friends, and for that to be true, you can’t be the man you show to the world.”
He was in real danger of letting her breach his defenses. “Perhaps Lucien is a poor judge of character.”
She looked affronted. “He helped me when I needed it, so I take that as an offense, sir.”
Time to deflect the conversation to her. “How did he help you?”
“I needed employment.” For the first time, she seemed uncomfortable, or at least not her usual sunny self. No, not the first time. That afternoon, before his own mental crash, she’d seemed troubled. It had been when the children had run toward the cart. He’d sensed something from her that he hadn’t before: fear.
“He hired you as the bookkeeper of his club? You must have had excellent references.”
Her eyes met his. “Just one, but it was enough to matter. I don’t think he regrets the decision. I’m very good at what I do.”
“I can see that. You’re incredibly organized and detailed. If you weren’t already employed, I might have to consider hiring you as my steward.” Except he couldn’t have her here. Look at the damage she was doing, and it hadn’t even been a week. “If you weren’t so annoying, that is.”
She laughed, but she was also swallowing, so she coughed. Then she reached for her wine and took a drink. She coughed again.
“I didn’t mean to cause you discomfort,” he said.
She waved her hand as she took another sip. “I’m fine. You’re rather charming this evening. I’m glad you decided to have dinner with me.” She looked at him with a bright intensity that made him feel better than he had in a very long time.
He put his attention on his plate and forced himself to eat, though he was long past feeling hungry.
She didn’t let the silence gather too long. “I sent the doctor from the village to call on Mrs. Kempton this afternoon. She didn’t want me to because of the expense, but I paid for the visit and the medicine he left for her and the baby.”
Max put his utensils down. There would be no more eating. Shame and self-loathing tore through him. “I should pay for that.”
