Flattery was not in his intention. Indeed not. Whenever Max spotted Aurelia, the skin at the back of his neck pulled tight and prickled as though crawling with ants. Ever since Sodom when she had divested him of his clothes, things felt decidedly unfinished between them. They danced about each other, striking and swiping. Engaging in brief skirmishes and then retreating. It all felt as though it were leading to something.
He was rather accustomed to females chasing him. He usually let himself be caught. He’d made an occupation of it actually. After all, who was he to deny a lady?
And yet this was not the same game. Aurelia was different. She did not chase him. Ever. She wasn’t after a romp between the sheets. He grimaced. The notion of that was too appalling to even consider. She could not abide him and he could not abide her. He wanted to provoke her. Needle her. Antagonize her. Shake her up so that she didn’t bestow one of her cold, unaffected smiles on him.
He gestured at her. “What could possibly be more fascinating than an evening in your scintillating company?”
Her brown eyes glinted with suppressed emotion. Those eyes had not changed since she was a child. The same could not be said for the rest of her though. Gone was the blushing, awkward girl. In her place was a bold chit with curves abundant. Some might even assert she was on the plump side. The confection of ruffles and ribbons she wore did nothing to improve her form. Indeed, her ruffled and beribboned gowns made it difficult to detect if she even possessed a waist. Except he knew she did. He’d seen it for himself a year ago at Sodom. It was something he had tried forgetting. The image of her in that scandalous gown with her breasts practically spilling out of the bodice. Her small waist and generous hips and deliciously rounded bottom had all been on display.
“Oh, I’m certain there is a lady somewhere in this Town enticing enough to lure you from my company,” she countered.
He blinked and smiled slowly. “You underestimate yourself.”
She eyed him warily. “Are you trying to provoke me?”
“Why? Am I succeeding?”
“Of course not. You give yourself far too much credit, I fear.”
Meaning he did not deserve a reaction. He felt a flash of anger.
Her gaze darted across the room. “Please. Cease scowling.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why?”
“Please smile. At least for appearance’s sake. I prefer no lecture from Mama this evening because we did not rub along well together.”
“My apologies. I don’t feel like pretense this evening.” He lifted his glass to her in mock salute before taking a slow drink. “I’ve had quite enough of it these many years.”
She shook her head and started to move away, but then stopped. Her chest heaved slightly and he knew he had affected her. He felt a rush of triumph as she glared at him with gleaming eyes. “I’ve explained to Mama that you’re a big boy now. You feed yourself and everything. But for some reason, she thinks you cannot handle yourself and require coddling and protection from me.” She smirked. “We know that’s not true, don’t we?”
“I’ve a tough hide,” he agreed tightly, shoving aside the memory of when she had eviscerated him with a simple drawing. He avoided her gaze and scanned the room, tension tightening his jaw. What was it about her that made him feel as though he were about to come out of his skin? The sensation had only worsened since the incident at Sodom.
“Indeed,” she murmured, her false smile fixed in place for the sake of her onlooking Mama.
“This is an intimate gathering tonight,” he remarked, adjusting his stance. At the idleness of his tone, she shifted on her feet and moistened her lips, her brown eyes watching him warily. “No swains of your own to include in the group?” he added with a tsk of his tongue. “Usually your mother makes certain you have a few prospects in attendance. Whatever is the matter, Aurelia? Scare them all away?”
She hissed out a slow breath, as if battling for control. “Some of us have discriminating tastes.”
“ ‘Some’ of us,” he rejoined, lowering his mouth to the rim of his glass, “are about as appealing as a rabid monkey.” Her eyes flared and then narrowed at the bold insult. He continued, knowing he was close. She was about to snap. “Have you considered hanging a rope of garlic about your neck? That might improve your allure.”
Her smile finally, at last, fled. Hot color suffused her cheeks. Her arms dropped stiffly to her sides, hands curling into fists. “Unlike you, my self-worth does not revolve around how many conquests I can make.”
He chuckled, feeling very much like he had just won a skirmish. “The last I heard, you have no conquests. Pity.” He leaned down close to her ear as though to impart something of great importance. His warm breath fanned her neck and he did not miss the small shiver that rolled through her. Nor did he miss the faint waft of bergamot that seemed to rise up off her skin. Would she taste of bergamot, too? The thought only flared his ire. He did not care what the hellion tasted like. “Might I suggest you cease being such a brat? That might improve your chances.” He stepped closer. Perhaps unseemly so. He did not care. “Perhaps you should cease your inappropriate pursuits.”
“I don’t know your meaning.”
“Leaving artwork all over Town that pokes fun at the echelons of Society?”
“Oh. That.” Her lashes fluttered over her eyes.
“Yes.” He nodded. “That inappropriate pursuit. You’ve become quite notorious. Did you think I would not know it was you?”
She shrugged in an attempt to look unaffected, but the color still rode high in her cheeks. “Why have you not said anything, then? To anyone? You know it’s me. You could ruin me. That would give you some satisfaction, would it not?”
“Why have I not outed you? Denounced you?” He snorted and rubbed a finger against his bottom lip, considering her. “For the same reason that I did not reveal your identity at Sodom. I care for my friends. Your brother and cousin. Your mother. They needn’t know what you really are.”
“And what am I?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“You’ve never held back before.”
“You’re a brat, Aurelia. Spoiled, shallow. And what’s worse? You think you’re so very clever.”
She looked away quickly, her throat working as she swallowed. The only outward sign that his words even affected her. Such a cold one. “Of course.”
He nodded. “But you will be discovered.”
“I haven’t been yet.” That chin of hers went up a notch.
“But you will be. You must stop.”
“You don’t understand.” She shook her head.
“You’re correct. I don’t understand. I don’t understand risking your reputation . . . your family’s good name, all because you can’t stop drawing your silly pictures and spreading them all about Town. Have you no care for your family?”
His words clearly struck a nerve. Fresh color splashed her apple-round cheeks, and she looked as though she wanted to strike him with one of her balled-up hands, but a quick glance across the room at her mother stayed her.
Aurelia inhaled a deep breath and forced a smile back in place. It looked downright menacing on her face as she snapped her gaze back and addressed him with a good amount of chill in her voice. “I understand you’re courting the Widow Knotgrass.”
And just like that she seized the advantage. Changing the topic and flinging the fact that he was—once again—the subject of gossip.
“Reading the scandal rags, Lady Aurelia?” he sneered.
He didn’t like her nosing about his personal affairs. She meddled. If the opportunity presented itself to thwart him, she took it. Just like that night at Sodom. It had started before then, really. It had commenced when she drew him with a minuscule cock. And countless little injuries since then. Mud in his boots. Salt to his soup. And his porridge. And his pudding.
“It passes the time.” She shrugged. “And news of Lord Camden courting is not mere gossip.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Oh, no, no. That’s information of countrywide import,” she mocked. “Tell me, do you have journalists camped out on your stoop?”
“Oh, is this when I should laugh at your shrewd wit? Hilarious. Again, it’s no wonder you have not snared some fine, upstanding gentleman with an appreciation for being flayed alive. I’ve heard there are those sorts. Men who enjoy suffering at the hands of a woman. I can investigate the matter and make some recommendations.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet here you stand . . . riveted.”
“I hear they are placing bets as to whether you will finally settle down with the Widow Knotgrass.”
“Indeed?” He revealed nothing. Not a hint of reaction. He’d shared an opera box with the widow a week ago and already there was speculation that he would wed her? Ridiculous. He would marry no one. Ever.
Not that his intentions toward the Widow Knotgrass were platonic. He was certain their relationship would follow the natural course of things and end with him in her bed. The widow’s hand fondling his crotch during the second act signified how amenable she was to that prospect.
“Mama is ever hopeful.”
He snorted.
“I know. Laughable, is it not?” She sighed. “Mama fails to understand you as I do.”
He narrowed his gaze on her. “You think you understand me?”
She leveled her brown eyes on him so steadily it unnerved him. He drained his glass and then looked about, in dire need of a refill. “For the record, the widow and I are not courting—”
“Bedding, then?” She gazed up at him in all seriousness, this dark-haired virago uttering things no gently bred lady should ever say. It was troubling. It played tricks with his mind. Made him momentarily forget she was a lady. It filled his head with dirty images of skirts hiked up around her thighs. Bloody hell. Such thoughts had to end. This was Aurelia.
“If your brother had any notion of the things you say—”
“But you’re not going to tell him,” she pertly reminded.
He scowled and glanced over at Will. A part of Max longed to inform him of her unseemly behavior. And yet he would refrain. A true friend did not alert one to the fact that his sister was less than innocent. And for whatever else he was, he liked to think he was a good friend to Will.
“I should,” he grumbled. “Before you get yourself into trouble.”
She smiled, evidently remembering the night she had divested him of his clothing—and a good amount of his dignity. “I was at no risk that night.”
He shook his head and looked out at the room, feeling a quick stab of anger as he recalled her in the dress again. “I disagree. You cannot even fathom the risk you placed yourself in that night.”
“You’re not my father, Camden. Or my brother. And you certainly lack the moral integrity to sit in judgment of me. I do as I please.” She whirled away in a swish of yellow skirts.
He watched as she crossed the room, marveling that he had intentionally provoked her when it was now he that felt unsettled. Muttering a curse, he turned in search of a fresh drink.