by Julia Quinn
Damn. How clumsy of him.
“Lord Shallowford said the painter went by the name of Bellacorte.” Prichard coughed delicately. “Bellacorte is one of your family names, I believe.”
“My great-grandmother was Italian. But then you know that.”
“Of course,” Prichard said with a deprecating air. “Lord Shallowford mentioned the value of the painting, too. May I say you are certainly coming up in the art world?”
“I am doing well, thank you.” Better than well. In every way but one.
The solicitor cleared his throat. “Will you give her ladyship the annulment?”
“No. Not yet, anyway.” Max leaned back in the chair and crossed one booted leg over the other. “I have things to discover before I take that step.”
“But the diary?”
“While I’m here, there is little danger she’ll act. The mere hope that I might cooperate will keep her from doing anything rash. Meanwhile…” Max pursed his lips. “What do you know about a fellow by the name of Riddleton?”
Prichard’s gaze shadowed. “I know a little. He is well liked by his peers.”
“I think he is a portentous windbag. And his spelling is atrocious.”
“Spelling? Are you saying Riddleton has written to you?”
“Four long, pompous pages outlining all the reasons I should grant my wife an annulment.” Max absently rubbed his chest, where a hollow ache had formed. He’d known the day would come when Sophia would wish to be free. He’d known it the day he’d left. But when and if Sophia found another man, Max would damn well make sure it was someone worthy.
“My lord, if you are concerned that Mr. Riddleton is a fortune hunter, you may rest easy on that score. He is a very wealthy man.”
Max’s gaze narrowed. “You seem to have already looked into this matter.”
Prichard colored faintly. “When I heard he was frequently found in Viscountess Easterly’s presence, I made certain inquiries. I thought you’d wish me to do so.”
“What did you discover?”
“Not much. In fact…he seems devoted to the viscountess.”
Of course the fool was taken with her—who wouldn’t be? Sophia was an intelligent, vibrant, beautiful woman. Too much of a woman for a man who would take four pages to ask one blasted question. And a question he had no business asking in the first place. The impertinence of it tried Max’s patience to the limits. “Damn it, but I am long overdue for this journey.” His gaze landed on the clock by Prichard’s elbow. “I must go if I’m to meet her ladyship for breakfast.” He stood.
The solicitor followed suit. “Of course. I do hope you mean to stay in England.”
“That depends on my fair wife,” Max answered shortly. If he closed his eyes right this moment, he knew what he would see—the same thing he’d seen last night. The same thing he’d seen the night before, and the night before that: Sophia’s face, her luminous eyes fringed with thick brown lashes, her soft lips parted. When he’d met her at Lady Neeley’s, it had been all he could do not to sweep her against him and kiss her senseless, tasting those lips, making her lashes tremble on her cheeks as he brought her—brought them both—to the edge of passion and beyond.
That was the way it had always been for him, from the first time he’d seen her, which was why he’d demanded that they marry so quickly. Last night, seeing her made richer by the years, her body delightfully rounded, her chin still held at that ridiculously proud angle…in that one moment, Max had faced the truth. He had convinced himself he was returning to England to see if this Riddleton fellow was good enough for Sophia, but that hadn’t been Max’s purpose at all. He’d returned home to stake a claim. Sophia belonged to him and no one else, and he would be damned if he would stand by and let some buffoon try and take his place.
If he found one sign—just one—that Sophia’s feelings for him weren’t entirely spent, then he’d alter the course of the earth and win her back. Heart set, he took his leave of the solicitor and set out for Sophia’s house.
At fifteen minutes after eight, Sophia was seated at her breakfast table dressed in her best morning gown of blue muslin, her hair done to perfection, her plate piled high with a sampling of every dish that sat steaming on the buffet. She pressed a hand to her stomach; she was too nervous to eat a bite, but she refused to appear anything other than completely at ease when Max finally arrived.
If he arrived. She eyed the clock with a resentful glare. He was already fifteen minutes late. That shouldn’t have surprised her, though it was definitely stretching her nerves. Did he think she’d wait forever while he just—
A light scratching sounded at the door. Sophia’s heart tripled a beat. She hurriedly filled her fork with ham. “Yes?”
The door opened and the new butler entered, her brother sauntering behind him. “The Earl of Standwick.”
Sophia dropped her fork back onto her plate. “Thank you, Jacobs.” She barely waited for him to close the door before she whipped a razor-sharp gaze on John. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to eat your food.” John loped to the buffet and proceeded to lift the silver covers, the gentle clangs filling the air. “There are no kippers.”
She refused to be distracted. “I can handle Max quite well on my own.”
“Of course you can.” He replaced the covers and then turned toward the table, pausing when he caught sight of her plate. His eyes widened an excessive amount. “Good God! Are you going to eat all of that?”
“Every bite.”
He dropped into a chair opposite hers. “Believe it or not, I’m too nervous to eat. I didn’t even sleep.”
“Yes, well, I slept like a rock,” Sophia lied, briskly cutting her ham into small bites.
“Wish I had slept, but I kept dreaming of that night. You know, when Max left.” John leaned his elbows on the table. “Can’t decide what is worse—guilt or anger.”
Sophia knew exactly what he meant. Whatever the mix was, it was not pleasant. But she still had no wish to discuss the issue. She needed all of her faculties sharp and ready when Max finally arrived. “Can we speak of something else, please?”
“Of course.” John rubbed a hand over his face. “The worst of my dream was that this time, I knew Max was innocent, but I couldn’t say anything. It was as if my tongue had been glued to the roof of my mouth and—”
“John. I do not wish to speak about that matter. Not again.”
“Oh. Of course.” He immediately fell into a brown study, his expression distant.
Silence reigned. Sophia drew a design in her eggs with the tines of her fork, remembering another time she’d waited on Max at a breakfast table much like this one, only he hadn’t returned. Her throat constricted. One wouldn’t think a memory could hurt, but she knew from long practice that memories could slice one’s heart as readily as the sharpest knife.
“Blast it, Sophia!” John leaned back, his chair creaking at the sudden move. “We must talk about this. When I remember events from that night, it makes so much sense. But back then, when Lord Chudrowe threw down the cards and looked at Max as if…well, everyone knew who had been winning. We all just assumed it was Max. And he sat there, icy cold, back stiff as a board, not uttering a blasted word. It was as if he was daring someone to say it aloud.” John shoved himself to his feet to pace angrily about the room. “Why didn’t he speak out?”
“Pride,” Sophia said wearily. “It is the beginning and end with him.”
“Damn! One word, that’s all he had to say. And Richard—” John halted, his mouth thinned.
Sophia replaced her fork beside her plate. “I’m as much at fault as Richard. When Chudrowe called Max a cheat, I had the opportunity to change things. I could have said something, championed Max. Instead, I asked him why. Not if. But why. That is what truly damned him.”
“Sophia, even if you had championed Max, everyone would have assumed it was only because you were his wife.”
“It was because I was his wife
that what I said had so much effect. I, who should have had more faith, more trust—” To her horror, a tear leaked out.
John was beside her instantly, shoving his handkerchief into her hand.
“Thank you.” Sophia wiped at her eyes. She hadn’t thought she had any more tears left. “There is no sense in going back over this. What Max and I had is gone, if it ever existed.” Over the years, she’d grown to doubt even that. Until yesterday. Their meeting had stirred up…something. A vestige of feeling perhaps, a memory of What Had Been. But surely nothing more than that.
John scowled. “Though Max was given a raw treatment, there is no excusing the way he abandoned you. You had to face the scandal alone, too.”
Sophia opened her mouth, but there was a knock at the door. The sound seemed to reverberate in the small room.
Jacobs entered, and Sophia hurried to tuck the handkerchief out of sight. “Yes?”
“There is a gentleman demanding to see you who says—” Jacobs frowned. “My lady, he says he is Viscount Easterly.”
“Show him in.”
Jacobs lifted his brows, but bowed and did as requested. Sophia stood and practically ran to the mirror over the fireplace. She adjusted her hair and pinched her cheeks, adding some color.
“What are you doing?” John asked, amusement in his tone.
“Nothing. You can leave now. I will deal with this.”
“Of course you will.” John made his way to the buffet. He took a warmed plate and piled it high with ham and eggs. “I shall leave as soon as I eat.”
“John,” she said, narrowing her eyes. As much as she loved John, he was the most obstinate man of her acquaintance, except for Max. “I do not want—”
The door opened and Max entered, his broad shoulders and muscular physique at distinct odds when compared to John’s lanky handsomeness. The room seemed to warm, and Sophia found that she had to gasp to fill her lungs with air. He was dressed for morning visits, and looked even more handsome than he had the night before.
He waited for Jacobs to close the door before turning to face her, his dark brows accentuating the silver of his eyes. “I apologize for being late. There are so many carts and wagons on the road that one can scarcely get about town.”
“That is quite all right. I hope you do not mind that we did not wait on you.”
Max’s silver gaze swept past her to her plate where it sat on the table, piled with food. Humor sparkled in his eyes. “So I see.” His gaze flickered back to her. “You used to hate mornings.”
“It has been many years since I slept ’til noon,” she said loftily, ignoring John’s choked laugh. She sent her brother a quelling glance.
“Another change,” Max said. “I daresay there are many.”
“Lud, yes,” John said. “Maxwell, I want to say how sorry we all are about Richard’s—”
“There is no need to bring up past history. I never think of it myself.”
He appeared at ease, so…calm. Sophia wished she could say the same. Her heart was beating a thousand times faster than was normal, her body piqued with awareness. How could she have forgotten how attractive Max was? How masculine and overtly sensual? Especially when humor lurked in his cool gray eyes. That, Sophia decided, was when he was at his most deadly.
“Sophia?” John’s voice broke her reverie. “Perhaps we should sit.”
“Oh. Yes.” She gathered her thoughts, wishing she could fan some of the heat from her cheeks. “Max, would you like some breakfast?”
“No, thank you. I ate some time ago.” He waited for her to sit before taking the chair at her left.
John followed them, placing his plate before him and picking up his fork and knife. “You’re missing a sumptuous meal. Sophia’s cook does wonders with eggs.”
“I’m sure she does,” Max said quietly, his voice the brush of velvet on damp skin.
Sophia had to fight a shiver.
John spoke up. “You know, Easterly, you’re lucky Sophia will even talk to you. You left her and she has every right to be furious. Which is why she wants an annulment.”
Sophia kicked John under the table.
“Ow!” He peered under the tablecloth. “What in the hell was that?”
Sophia wished her brother to Hades or some other equally uncomfortable place, like Leeds or Harrowgate. “I daresay you bumped your knee on something.”
John rubbed his shin. “Whatever it was, it was pointed and sharp.”
“Rather like your head,” she returned.
“I see that some things have not changed at all,” Max said drily.
“Sophia has always had a devil of a temper,” John agreed, returning to his plate.
Max smiled. “You should read some of the missives she sent me. My favorite was when she traced my family roots from myself all the way back to a worm. She used colored ink, too. I had that one framed.”
Sophia narrowed her gaze. “You did not.”
“Indeed I did,” he replied gently. “It hangs on the wall by my desk even now.”
She sniffed. “It is possible that some of my first letters might have sounded somewhat irritated—”
“Irate,” Max corrected. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Angry. Fuming. Enraged—”
“Irritated,” she repeated firmly.
John opened his mouth—
“No.” Sophia impaled him with a fierce look. “Unless you wish to leave my house with a spoon embedded in your forehead, you will stay out of this conversation.”
John smacked his mouth closed, though his eyes danced with humor.
“Thank you.” She then eyed Max, who sat regarding them with a faint smile. “Since John brought it up…. Will you give me the annulment?”
His gaze slid over her face, lingering on her lips. After a moment, he said in a quiet voice, “Perhaps.”
Perhaps? What kind of an answer was that? “I have the diary.”
“I know. I shouldn’t have left it with you, but who knew you’d use it in such a nefarious manner.”
“Nefarious!” Her cheeks heated. “I want this farce of a marriage over.”
His expression froze. After a moment, he said, “I will give you an answer when I’ve thought it through.”
Sophia tried not to be impatient. And really, she wasn’t quite sure why she was. After all, she’d waited twelve years. But somehow, she wanted action now. “I will not wait longer than a week. And then your uncle’s diary will go up for auction.”
Anger glittered in Max’s eyes. “Sophia, do not press me to—”
“Easy, you two.” John cut his ham. “Max, perhaps you should know that Sophia wants an annulment because she has a beau.”
Sophia clenched her hands about the edge of the table to keep from leaping up and boxing John’s ears. What on earth was he doing? John had never been a model of propriety, but this was outside of enough.
“A beau?” A note of accusation colored Max’s words. “A little early, isn’t it?”
“It has been twelve years,” she replied stiffly.
“But only a week since I received your request for an annulment.”
“I am not asking for the annulment because I wish to be with someone else. I just wish to be free.”
“To marry again?”
Marry again? “Ha! I’d rather be poached like an egg and left to die on the banks of a dry riverbank!”
Max’s brow cleared, while John choked, chortled, then clamped his napkin over his mouth. After a moment, he removed his napkin and said in a hoarse voice, “God love you, Sophie. No one has a way with words like you.”
“I was just stating a fact,” Sophia said a little defensively. Every once in a while, when she least expected it, a blast of anger escaped from somewhere deep in her soul, surprising her as much as it did those around her. It was most disconcerting.
John chuckled, then looked at Max. “So, Easterly! How long will you be with us?”
Max shrugged. “I don’t know. Last nig
ht’s dinner made me realize how little I’ve missed the ton. Lady Neeley made me yearn for the shores of Italy.”
“Me too, and I’ve never been there. She usually has the most exquisite dinners and everyone flocks to them even though she is a rude old bat.”
“I cannot believe she had her own nephew searched.”
“I know. She seemed determined to prove that someone at the dinner had stolen her silly jewelry. You know, Max, since you have the disadvantage of not knowing Lady Neeley at all, I am rather surprised she didn’t accuse you.”
“Accuse Max?” Sophia snapped instantly. “She would not dare!”
Two pairs of eyes locked on her.
“Sophia!” John said, his brows as high as they would go.
Blast it, she was making a fool of herself. Sophia cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, but the whole thing is preposterous. All the good that John and I managed to do trying to set things right after Richard’s death will be undone if Lady Neeley begins such a horrid rumor.”
“That’s true,” John agreed, replacing his fork and knife beside his plate and regarding his empty plate with fond regret.
“You needn’t have bothered,” Max said. “I don’t care for the opinion of others.”
“You should care,” John said, flickering an irritated glance at Max. “What people think of you, they also think of my sister.”
“Balderdash,” Sophia said. “I just don’t want anyone to think things that are not true. We’ve suffered enough for such folly.”
“Sadly, I agree,” John said. He wiped his mouth and placed his napkin on the table, then stood. “Sophia, that was lovely. Wish I could stay, but I’m due at White’s.”
Max stood as well. “Allow me to walk you out. I have an appointment myself and really should be going.”
That was it, Sophia realized with a sudden sinking feeling. Max had agreed to consider the annulment, more or less. In a way, she had accomplished what she wanted. So why did she feel so lost?