Page 65 of Impossible
Max quirked a brief smile. “Perhaps. I doubt he’ll cause any trouble, but then it’s been a while since he was here.”
“How long has it been for you?” she asked quietly.
“More than a year.” He sent a furtive glance toward the club. “I admit to feeling uncomfortable.” Taking a deep breath, he shook out his shoulders. “I’ll manage. I won’t be here long.”
Ada cloaked her disappointment. “Well, let me see how quickly I can arrange your meeting with Prudence.” She wondered if she could postpone it—just a bit—in order to keep him here longer.
That would be rather self-serving. Ada was many things, but selfish wasn’t one of them.
“I’ll escort you back inside.” Max offered her his arm.
She knew the moment she touched him, her body would react with heat and hunger. She wasn’t wrong. As soon as her fingertips grazed his sleeve, she had to tell herself not to grab him shamelessly.
Attraction was a fascinating thing. It took no thought and seemed to be some sort of natural connection between certain people, or sometimes only for one person, Ada supposed. Attraction after being intimate with someone was an entirely different animal. There was a knowledge and awareness that made every look, every touch, every moment in that person’s company something greater and more arousing than before.
Ada was still very attracted to Max, but it was worse—now she knew exactly what she was missing. She sighed softly as they walked together back into the club.
More’s the pity since she’d never experience it again.
Chapter13
What in the bloody hell was Max doing crammed into a London hack with Dougal and Lucien as if they were twenty years old? Although, they were rather more subdued now as compared to then, and far more sober.
Max was aware that his clothing was slightly out of fashion and his hair too long. He didn’t think he would care, but now that they were out, he wished he’d taken the trouble to visit the tailor and the barber. Or perhaps hire a valet.
Good God, he was becoming the man he’d been trying not to become. The old Max. No, the Viscount Warfield.
He didn’t deserve to be that man. He was such an imposter filling his brother’s shoes.
Would Ada help him hire a valet while he was in London? She was the only person he trusted to do that.
Ada had sent him a note earlier that Prudence had agreed to meet with him tomorrow. Which was good because then Max could leave Monday.
Only, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. This was the first time he’d been in London in years that he wasn’t acompletedisaster. He’d actually made it through last night’s assembly without feeling awful. He suspected that was because of Ada. She’d hovered around him until he’d retreated to his new chamber on the second floor. It was easier to ignore those around him when he had Ada to focus on.
Leaving Monday meant he wouldn’t have time to meet with Lady Peterborough, which he was still considering. He was stupidly curious about aspects of her relationship with his father. How had it happened? Had he loved her? Did she regret it? Perhaps most importantly, had his father?
He realized he might not like her answers. Indeed, he expected not to. Why torture himself, then? Because he had to know, and he bloody well couldn’t ask his father.
“You’re pensive this evening,” Dougal said, looking at Max, as if it wasn’t obvious who he was talking about. Max wasn’t sure Lucien could ever look pensive.
“Pensive or disgruntled?” Lucien asked with a laugh.
“I’m not in the mood for teasing,” Max growled. “Ever.”
Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re going to be sour, why are we doing this? I’d be perfectly happy back at the Phoenix Club.”
Dougal snorted. “We know. Getting you to come out tonight was more difficult than persuading Max.” Apparently, Lucien rarely left his club in the evenings.
Max wanted the make the most of this night. Who knew when they would ever do it again? “I’ll endeavor to be more…pleasant.” He realized—without the unhelpful stares of doubt from his friends—that pleasant was a lofty aspiration. “Er, how about just less sulky?”
Dougal laughed, and Lucien smiled.
They approached the intersection of Piccadilly and the Haymarket. The Siren’s Call was just beyond it on Coventry Street.
The hack dropped them on the other side of the intersection.
“Ready, lads?” Lucien asked with a hearty grin, just as he used to do in their youth. Max felt an odd but welcome buoyancy, as if he could let go of his cares for a while. He hadn’t done that in ages.
