Aurelia whirled around, her mouth parting to find Max standing there. He was hardly attired fittingly. His hair was wild and untamed around his head. He wore no vest beneath his jacket and his shirt was rumpled and open at the throat, minus a cravat. And his face. Good heavens. He looked like a pirate. Clearly he had not seen a razor in a week. All that said, he should not have been so achingly handsome.
It wasn’t fair . . .
It wasn’t fair that she had a big, strapping Scotsman flirting with her and she felt nothing. And yet the moment her eyes clapped on a wickedly disheveled Max, all her feminine parts stood up in salute. In a flash, everything she had felt squeezed between Max’s body and that ivy-covered wall came back to her in a rush of heat.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, and then felt like a prime idiot. Did she think because they’d shared one kiss he would stop coming to Sodom? He was likely here to do what he always did—take his pleasure with any random woman to catch his eye.
“That is a question I think best directed at you.” His gaze raked her, making her acutely conscious of the indecent amount of flesh on display. Her hand drifted to her chest. Perhaps an ill-planned move. His gaze followed the action. The flesh near his eye ticked and his gaze darkened a shade.
She dropped her hand and squared her shoulders. An action that only brought her chest into greater focus. His bloodshot eyes fixed unerringly on that expanse of flesh. His mouth hardened into a thin line as a dull flush of color crept up his cheeks. She thought she had seen him at his angriest in the park, but no. This was the angriest she had ever seen him.
“I don’t see why my presence here is any concern of yours.”
“Indeed? Don’t you?”
“I think I should point out that we are drawing more attention than perhaps desired,” Struan interjected drolly.
A quick glance around the room confirmed that several interested gazes had settled on them.
With a stinging curse, Max took hold of her arm and pulled her from the room.
“Let go of me,” she said between clenched teeth as they stepped out into the empty foyer.
“I’m taking you home,” he snapped.
“Perhaps it is I who should escort the lady home,” Struan Mackenzie announced from behind them, following them at a casual stroll.
Max stiffened and turned slowly, dragging Aurelia behind him. “Over my dead body.”
Mackenzie looked him up and down assessingly, as though that were a fine prospect to him. The two men stared at each other in charged silence, a silent exchange passing between them.
“The lady and I are courting. Perhaps we should ask her what she prefers,” Mackenzie declared at last.
“Her preference does not signify.” The twin lines bracketing Max’s mouth whitened. “Rest assured, her brother would prefer I escort her—”
“Oh, enough of this!” She pushed herself between the two of them, waving her hands. She wasn’t about to have bloodshed over such a trivial matter as who escorted her home—since, apparently, she would be going home.
In truth, she didn’t have the stomach to remain at Sodom. A fact she rested solely at Max’s feet. The inclination for such sport, it seemed, had left her.
She stabbed a finger in Max’s chest. “You may escort me home.” She swung her gaze to Mr. Mackenzie. “Lord Camden is a family friend. I will be fine.”
His unreadable gaze drilled into her. It was difficult to tell whether he objected or not. Not that it mattered one whit to her. The decision was hers whether he was a prospective husband or not.
Without waiting to hear whether the Scotsman agreed, Max grabbed her hand and pulled her after him through the house, his stride so swift she practically tripped.
“Slow down,” she hissed.
“Would you rather I carry you?” he growled.
With a huff of affront, her legs worked faster to keep up with his longer strides. He dragged her out a side door she’d never noticed before, attesting to his knowledge of the establishment. For some reason, that only incited her anger further.
His carriage was waiting in the dark alleyway. She realized that he must have communicated their destination beforehand, so confident he would retrieve her, because they ascended into the carriage without a word to the driver. Once the door shut behind them, they were off.
She chose the far corner of one seat, her back facing the front of the carriage, relieved when Max took the opposite side. The more distance between them, the better. She had struck him before in a fit of pique, and although she felt like doing it again, she curled her hands under her thighs, determined to resist succumbing to violence.
The carriage started down the alley with a gentle roll. His eyes glittered across from her in the dark interior of the carriage.
“What can you have been thinking?” he demanded.
“I don’t owe you an explanation for my actions.”
“You owe your brother, do you not? Your mother? Would they not be influenced by your utter ruin?”
“I’m not ruined.”
“You know that for fact? Mackenzie saw you. You think he can be trusted?”
“He said he would not tell—”
“Oh, and you know him to be trustworthy. What happens when you anger or slight him?”
“What makes you think I would anger him?”
“Because that’s what you do. You’re infuriating . . .”
She crossed her arms. “He’s been very attentive in his courtship. I think he quite likes me.”
He growled, “I’m sure he does. What happens, though, when he learns that he cannot have you? That might anger him.”
“I don’t know,” she replied with deliberate casualness. “I’m not so sure he can’t have me. I am looking to get married.”
A deadly stillness came over him. The back of her neck prickled with unease. She looked toward the curtained window, but eventually turned back to look at his shadowy features, compelled by the sensation of his stare crawling all over her face—as tangible as a touch.
He finally spoke, and his voice was as rough as sand against her skin. “You’ve settled on Mackenzie, then?”
“He has been calling on me ever since Lady Chatham’s ball. It’s him or Buckston.” Or obscurity with Aunt Daphne. No, thank you.
Staring at Max’s shadowy shape, she almost hoped he would say something. That he would have a better idea. Very well. If she was completely honest with herself, a part of her wanted him to say she couldn’t marry Mackenzie or Buckston because their kiss had meant something to him, too. She wanted him to tell her that he didn’t want her to marry anyone. Except him.
Irrational laughter bubbled up inside her chest. Blast it. That kiss again. She couldn’t shake it. It had addled her thoughts. Returning to Sodom had been a disappointment . . . and a revelation. Now she knew she wouldn’t be able to find what she felt with Max so easily with anyone else.
When he spoke, his voice was even. Reasonable. “You don’t think you might not be rushing into this?”
“I’m three and twenty . . . the oldest debutante in London. At least that’s what the other debutantes call me.” Among other things. Dark-complexioned opinionated girls did not win many friends in the ton. “I’ve had several years to find someone—”
“So you’ll rush into it now?”
“I’m finally being responsible. I’m doing what girls—” She caught herself and amended her remark. “—what women do. What my family expects me to do.”
“Since when do you care what’s expected of you?”
“Yes, well, maybe I should. Why should it be a question? Maybe you should, too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She gestured at him. “Do you intend to live this way forever? I mean . . . since Will and Dec married, what do you have, Max? I know they don’t spend nearly that much time with you anymore. So what do you have? What’s left?”
“What’s wrong with the way I live? I enjoy my life.”
“You use women, Max. You flit from one to another. You’re the last in your line. What of an heir?”
“I have a distant cousin in Wales. The title will pass to him.”
“That’s your brilliant plan? How is that better than mine?”
“We’re not talking about me.”
“And why is that? Why is it we never seem to talk about you?” At his silence, she pressed on. “Let’s talk about this grand plan of yours. Your determination to never wed. How will you have children? I’m sure your parents are looking down on you now and thinking—”
“Don’t.” The single word struck her like a slap. “I’m not discussing my parents with you or anyone.” His raspy voice reverberated into the silence of the carriage.
If she hadn’t already known how little she signified to him, there was no denying it now. There was no part of himself he was willing to share with her, and she felt foolish for thinking there might be a chance of that otherwise. She moistened her lips, on the brink of apologizing, “Max, I—”
“No.” His voice rang with such finality, and she felt the chasm yawn between them. She felt his gaze more than she could see it glittering across the darkness at her. She wiggled her bared shoulders, regretting her choice of gown, sensing the crawl of his eyes over her. “It’s none of your business, Aurelia.”
She sucked in a silent breath, suddenly glad for the near darkness. Glad that he could not see the splash of color heating her face.
She stared blindly at the curtains, stiffening her spine where she sat. Had she really been on the verge of apologizing to him? For what? Trying to scratch beneath the surface for a glimpse of what he kept hidden from the world.
The carriage rolled to a stop and the driver knocked, signaling their arrival. Her hand flew to the latch, but Max’s hard voice stopped her.
“If you’re so resolved to marry . . . Mackenzie or someone else, then what were you doing at Sodom?”
Good question, and a little too mortifying to answer with any semblance of truth. How could she reveal that she worried no one would ask her before the Season ended? That she was, perhaps foolishly, trying to make a memory?
“Aurelia.” His hand circled her wrist, exerting the barest pressure, demanding an answer and keeping her from leaving, even though they sat parked not far from her home.
“I just wanted . . . a good time.”
“A good time?” He inched closer, his knees bumping hers. “Is that what you were having when I showed up? A good time?”
“A little.” She tossed her head, sliding a loose curl off her shoulder and down her back. “I had barely arrived when you showed up. You interrupted me before I could even get started.”
“Pardon me for ruining your fun, then.” His voice rang with anger, and she knew he believed her. There was that at least. He didn’t know that she was having an abysmal time and on the verge of leaving. She didn’t want him to even suspect that he had ruined Sodom for her.
He continued, “But I don’t think your brother would have approved of me leaving you to your own devices in Sodom just so you could have a good time.” She heard the censure in his voice, which struck her as the height of absurdity.
“You’re no one to cast stones. How often do you go there?” She shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know the sordid details of your life. I know enough already.”
He answered her anyway. “You’re not me.”
“Clearly. Or I would be having a far more enjoyable time right now.” She should just come out and tell him that she hadn’t even been enjoying herself when he showed up, but she could not bring herself to say the words . . . to give him even the slightest satisfaction.
Instead, she heard the lie tripping off her lips, “I’ll just have to keep going back until I’m fortunate enough to choose a night you aren’t there.”
He pulled her closer, until she was practically in his lap and their noses inches from touching. “You will not go back there.”
“You have no authority over me.”
“Damn it, Aurelia,” he growled, his hand sliding to hold her face, fingers spearing through her hair. “You’re leaving me with little choice.”
Unease skittered across her already knotted shoulders. “What do you mean?”
A long moment passed. His mouth was so close she could almost taste it.
“I’m going to have to tell Will.”
His words landed like a blow. She pulled away. His hand slid from her face. “Tell Will what?” she demanded, deliberately failing to grasp his meaning because he couldn’t possibly mean he would tell her brother about her venturing out to Sodom.
“About tonight and the last time.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” she charged.
“I don’t see any other way to stop you from hurting yourself.”
Oh, the gall! She blew out an angry breath. “I’m sick unto death of men . . . you being able to live the life you want . . . and if I step even a fraction outside my mandatory box—”
“Sodom is only a fraction?” he cut in.
She ignored him. “If I want even a fraction of the freedom you enjoy, I’m bullied and threatened. By you more than anyone else! Go ahead. Do your worst. While you’re at it, tell him about my caricatures, too. Tell him everything!” She pushed the door open and stepped down before he could stop her. Outside at the door, she turned to glare at him. “Do it.” Her chin lifted. “I dare you . . .”
“Aurelia . . .” he said warningly, moving to climb down after her.
She didn’t linger. She was too angry. Lifting her skirts, she started down the walk, opening the gate and passing through it, hastening when she heard him behind her. She didn’t make it very far. His tread quickened, hard footfalls that matched the pounding of her heart. His hand clamped on her arm and whirled her around.
Her head fell back to look up at his shadowed features. She didn’t give him time to say anything before charging ahead. “You think you shall remain unscathed in all this if you tell him? You forget you were there with me both times I went to Sodom. Each of those ruinous times. And you did not even tell him about the first time a year ago. How will he view you after that? You, his supposed closest friend?”
She was grasping at straws. She knew it. Will would be furious with Max, no doubt, but it would take something far greater to ruin their friendship.
“That’s a risk I’ll take,” he said.
“I’ll tell him,” she vowed.
For a moment he said nothing. She tasted his breath so very close to her own, but she was not certain he heard her or understood her meaning until he said, “About us?”
She nodded. “Last week . . . behind the house.”
“He . . .” His voice faded.
“Would be very upset,” she finished. “A man’s sister is off limits, no?”
His hand came around the back of her neck, hauling her up on her tiptoes. Nearly covering her mouth with his, he growled, “Are you trying to rope me into marriage, Aurelia? Is that what you want?”
His words struck a blow to her heart—and shook her to the core. “N-No! I—”
“Because that is what would happen if you did such a thing. And I promise you, marriage to me . . . you would regret it every day of your life.”
A small shiver rolled through her at the threat. He meant it. The notion of being married to her was so very repellent to him that he would punish her if it came to pass. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I’m certain you would make sure of that.”
“It would not be so difficult a feat. I’m not made for matrimony, Aurelia. Even if I find you tempting—” He stopped abruptly, as if he had said too much. More than he intended.
“You find me . . . tempting?”
A long beat of silence ensued before he ignored her question and said, “You must promise me not to go back to Sodom.”
She narrowed her gaze, not liking his tone. “I must?”
“Yes. I forbid it.”
“You forbid it?” She inhaled sharply, everything inside her tightening with affront. She stepped back, severing the contact of their bodies.
He clamped one hand on her wrist, stopping her from completely fleeing. “I will have that promise from you or—”
“Or what?” She thrust her face close to his.
His gaze flicked over her features. “You think I’m jesting? I will go to your brother.”
She held his gaze a moment longer before demanding, “Why are you really doing this? It’s not to protect me. You care nothing for me.”
That seemed to silence him. She took his silence for agreement. He was certainly not denying her claim. She turned to glare out at the darkened garden. For some silly reason her eyes stung.
“Of course I care for you.”
“Because of Will,” Aurelia accused.
“Because I can’t get you of my mind.” He swore and flung his hands in the air before dragging them through his hair. “Your desirability is unquestionable,” he allowed, his voice grudging. “But you know that.”
She blinked. “Why would I know that?”
He peered at her through the gloom. “You’ve seen men look at you—”
She snorted. “Where? At Sodom? That’s because they believed me a soiled dove. It doesn’t count.”
“You’ve seen the way I look at you.”
“Like you want to strangle me? Yes.” She snorted again and laughed awkwardly. “I’ve noticed that on occasion.”
“True. Sometimes I look at you like that.” Humor edged his voice as he circled her wrist with hard fingers and reeled her in. She dug in her heels. “But that’s not the only way I look at you.” His voice dropped to a husky murmur that made her skin ripple with heat.
She opened her mouth, but the words were wedged too deeply in her throat. He pressed her palm flat against his chest. She stared at her pale fingers, slim and long, splayed wide against the dark fabric of his vest. She could feel his heart pounding through the fine fabric.
His deep voice continued, vibrating against her hand, “Sometimes I look at you like I’m looking at you now.”
She swallowed and forced the words up to her lips. They escaped in a tremulous whisper, “I can’t see you well enough. It’s too dark.” Not entirely true. She saw the way his eyes gleamed in the night. As though lit from inside.
“Then perhaps you can feel how it is I’m looking at you.”
Before she could ask him how it was possible to feel that, he took her hand and dragged it up to his mouth. He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her palm.
His lips grazed her as he talked, sending sparks through her body. “Can you feel this? It’s how I’m looking at you. Like I want, no—need to kiss you.” She gasped at the feel of his tongue against her sensitive skin. ”Lick you, taste you. Here—” His mouth moved to the inside of her wrist. “And here.” He trailed kisses up the inside of her arm.
Her chest tightened, aching. And then his lips were at her throat. His mouth closed over her pulse point. A jagged moan spilled from her lips and her knees gave out. His arm snaked around her waist, catching her against him.
His teeth scraped a trail up to her ear. He gently pulled the lobe between his lips, laving with his tongue and then biting down. A sharp stab of pleasure pounded to life between her legs and she groaned.
“Everywhere,” he breathed into her ear.
“Stop. Please,” she begged hoarsely, arching her head to the side. “I don’t require this manner of convincing from you to make myself feel better. We’ve spent years despising each other—”
“Convincing?” he growled into her ear, one hand finding its way into her hair, spearing through the heavy strands. “As though this isn’t real? When have I ever pretended with you?”
Then his mouth found hers.
He swallowed her cry, crouching in one quick motion and lifting her off her slippered feet so that their fused mouths were the same level. It was exhilarating. No standing on tiptoes. Her hands framed his face, holding him as they kissed. No. More than kissed. His mouth ravaged hers in a collision of lips, tongue, and faintly scraping teeth.
She slid her hands from his face and wrapped both arms around his shoulders, hanging on for the tumultuous ride.
They were moving. Aurelia was faintly conscious of that. She didn’t open her eyes to look. She was too lost, reveling in his tongue in her mouth, his fingers diving into her hair, scattering pins.
She gave the scarcest grunt when he backed her against the garden wall, his big hands firmly gripping her bottom. The sound didn’t even give him pause. No. He didn’t ease the pressure of his mouth on hers one tiny bit.
His kiss was hot and aggressive, punishing on her tingling lips. She felt him everywhere and this was only a kiss. Good heavens. What would it be like to have him? Fully? To come together as a man and woman?
“Is this what you wanted?” he growled against her lips. “Have I convinced you I’m not pretending?”
She whimpered against his mouth and adjusted her arms, practically crawling higher up his body, parting her legs for him to settle between her thighs. He pushed his hips into her and she moaned, shifting slightly so that the core of her met the hard thrust of him. All her womanly parts melted to warm butter.
She longed to feel him there without the barrier of clothing. He increased the pressure of his mouth on hers, his body rocking and grinding into her until she wanted to tear their garments off. It was that or die from this exquisite torture.
She kissed him desperately, out of breath and drowning. Coherent words were beyond her. She could only gasp his name as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. “Max.”
He pulled back, and she chased his lips for a moment, gradually focusing on his eyes flashing with enough heat to incinerate her. “Well. There. Can you say you despise me now? A woman doesn’t kiss a man like that if she hates him.”
She giggled nervously and squeezed out between him and the gate wall, trying not to reveal how shaken she was. “Your arrogance knows no bounds.”
“It’s not arrogance. You kissed me—”
“I beg your pardon? You kissed me just now,” she corrected him, shaking her head.
He shrugged. “Whoever moved in first—”
“You moved first.” The distinction was important. She stabbed him in the chest with the tip of her finger. “You won’t twist what happened to suit you . . . to cover your shame. You came after me. You kissed me.”
A muscle feathered across his jaw. “Very well. I moved first.”
She sniffed, mollified. And yet he didn’t back away. She sucked in a breath. His proximity made her dizzy. It was tempting to grab him and continue where they had left off. His gaze dipped again, brushing over the low-cut bodice of her gown.
“And,” he added, “there was no shame in that kiss.” His voice deepened to a rumble. “I liked it.” His gaze crawled over her face in the moonlit garden, missing nothing, inching over her eyebrows, down the slope of her nose, and stopping at her lips. “You liked it, too.”
She moistened her lips, her heart stuttering as his eyes followed the movement of her tongue.
“We were once friends.” He angled his head, his gaze drifting back up to her eyes. “Sometimes I forget that.”
“Me, too,” she whispered. A long moment passed as they stared at each other. Perhaps truly seeing one another for the first time.
“What happened, Aurelia?”
She shook her head. “Who can say? It just became so natural, you know?”
“What did?”
“Being enemies.”
Nodding grimly, he exhaled as though her words had served as some sort of reminder. He took several steps back, holding himself stiffly. She breathed a little easier with the added space between them.
“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” he finally asked. “We can’t . . . perhaps it’s for the best.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We need to remember who we are.”
If possible, her frown deepened. “And who are we?”
“You’re Will’s sister. And I’m a man not looking to get married.”
Pain knifed inside her. “That works out exceedingly well.” She lifted her chin, digging deep for her pride. “Because I’m not looking to marry you.”
He opened his mouth as though he was going to say something more, but then he shook his head and instead said, “I need your word that you will never step foot in Sodom. I care for you. And I worry. As Will’s sister—”
“Oh, rot!” He worried for her? A moment ago he couldn’t stop kissing her, but now she was back to being Will’s sister again.
She shoved at his chest, catching him off guard and finally getting around him. She held her skirt up with one fist, her slippered feet racing down the damp path. There was a certain degree of déjà vu. She running. Max in pursuit. At the door, she stopped and glanced back at the empty path. She gulped a breath. He wasn’t coming this time. Of course. That would be foolhardy. The hour was late. The last thing he would want was to be discovered in her company. Especially with her attired in a gown like this. That would complicate matters.
As they had agreed, Cecily had left the door unlocked. Aurelia hurried through the kitchen, still warm and smelling of the bread that Cook had baked for the following day.
She made her way up the back stairs and emerged onto the second floor, pausing when she thought she heard a sound. A creaking step on the servants’ stairs.
Fearful that a servant had returned, she rushed down the corridor and plunged into her bedchamber.
Once inside her room, she locked her door. Her heart beat like a drum inside her too tight chest. She gulped for breaths, admitting to herself that she was half afraid he would follow her. And half hopeful.
Stupid. She knew better. He had wrecked her evening, told her he would never marry her, kissed her to an inch of her life and then told her she worried him. The man infuriated her.
She pushed off the door. He wouldn’t come after her. He wouldn’t dare do something so inappropriate. He would keep her firmly at arm’s length from now on.
Moving to the foot of the bed, she started to struggle out of her gown. A difficult task without Cecily’s help. It was wretchedly tight, and the buttons so tiny at her back, impossible to grasp. With a groan, she fell back on the bed, staring up at her canopy.
She felt trapped, and the restrictive gown was only partly to blame for the sensation. Her gaze flitted ahead unseeingly into the shadows. Her mind worked, searching, groping for something.
There would be no more sneaking out to Sodom. She winced. No regret there. No more kisses from Max. She winced again and ignored the stab of regret.
Finding a husband . . . Struan Mackenzie . . . was her only hope left.