Page 29 of Impossible
“You’ve experience drinking whisky?” He dared look at her again, and thankfully, her hand was in her lap while the other still held the glass.
“From working at the Phoenix Club, yes. If Lord Wexford is around, there’s a debate as to which is superior—Irish or Scotch. Because he’s Irish.”
“What’s your opinion?” He both hated and loved that he found her so interesting.
“In truth, I prefer the Irish, but I don’t ever say. It’s better to be noncommittal.” She winked at him before taking another sip. This time, she barely winced.
“You actually drink with the gentlemen?”
“Certainly. I probably would anyway, given my position in the club, but on Tuesdays, women may enter the gentlemen’s side of the club. It’s probably the busiest night of the week. When we aren’t hosting assemblies most Fridays during the Season, that is.”
Max stared at her. “Lucien allows women into the club?”
“Did you not realize that?” She laughed softly. “There’s a ladies’ side and a gentlemen’s side. The men are never allowed on our side—save our half of the ballroom during assemblies. But we’re given access to theirs on Tuesdays. It’s deliciously rewarding.”
There was a seductive quality to the rich glee in her tone that stirred something inside him, something he wanted to keep buried. He didn’t like spending time with her.
Because he did.
She gave him a pointed look. “I think Lucien is hoping you will accept his invitation for membership.”
“I’m rarely in London.”
“It would be a good reason to come.” She seemed to want to say more, but didn’t.
He grunted. “I don’t like social gatherings.”
“You could find a quiet corner at the club. The library is a nice place to enjoy peace and solitude. And the whisky is unparalleled.” She lifted her glass in a silent toast.
He met her gaze and narrowed his. “Are you maligning my whisky?”
“Not at all. But if you’re fond of it, you could sample many different kinds.”
“You’re not talking me into joining that club. You’ve persuaded me to do enough as it is.”
“All necessary and important things, I assure you,” she said cheerfully. “I was able to hire someone in the village today to help Mrs. Kempton for the next fortnight. The young woman was grateful for the work. In fact, she’d make a wonderful addition to your household, perhaps as a maid. Mrs. Bundle could certainly use the help.”
He glowered at her, knowing she was right and hating that she was making this look so bloody easy. “I see what you’re trying to do.”
“Good. I’m certainly not trying to be secretive. You can’t keep employing Mrs. Tallent’s children. She needs them on her farm. Mrs. Debley requires additional kitchen staff, Og needs help in the stables, and Mrs. Bundle needs maids. You could also use a butler and a valet.”
“I don’t need either of those. Butlers are for people who have guests.”
“Am I not a guest?”
“You are an aberration.”
She rolled her eyes, not in the least insulted, not that he expected her to be. “I’m still a guest. A butler will keep your household in order so that you don’t have to. If you truly want to retreat into yourself and live an isolated existence, you must rely on others to maintain Stonehill.”
“I’m already doing that.”
She exhaled in exasperation. “You’re asking a handful of people to do the work of many more. Surely you know that. I can only conclude that you don’t care about these people—or the estate.”
“I definitely don’t care about the estate. It can rot into the ground as far as I care.”
“What of your heirs?”
“I don’t have any bloody heirs, nor do I plan to,” he said, gritting his teeth as his anger began to escalate.
