Practically Wicked (20 page)

It wasn’t the laughter he was looking for, but it was closer than he had a right to expect under the circumstances. “Are you in agreement with Mrs. Culpepper?”

“No, not entirely. My own experiences, limited though they may be, have led me to believe that everyone is prone to attacking what they do not understand, but I do think your gender is, on average, more predictable than my own.”

“On that, at least, we can agree.” It was utter rot, of course, but if it made Anna feel better to talk rubbish, he could wait to put forth a serious argument on the matter.

“Though only you view it as a compliment.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You told me on the night we met that you could talk the devil out of his tail.”

“Did I, really?” He chuckled lightly. “My God, what arrogance.”

“Do you know what I thought of that?”

“I can’t even remember saying it.”

“I thought, I imagine he would try. Because he is a man and all men feel inexplicably compelled to reach for what they can’t have. Even when they’ve no use for it and there is nothing to be gained by its acquisition.” She made a scoffing sound. “The devil’s tail. Honestly. What would you do with it?”

“You do realize I wasn’t speaking in a literal sense?”

“Shoot it, probably, then mount it upon your wall so that others might admire your prowess.” She shook her head in disgust. “My fate would have been no different.”

“Beg your pardon?” Why would anyone shoot a tail? How was her fate tied into this?

“My gentleman callers, they were in search of the same thing.”

They’d circled around back to that? Max shook his head, baffled, and willing to reconsider his personal opinion that men and women were equally predictable. “I don’t think—”

“What would those gentlemen have done, had any of them gained my audience? Did they bring poetry along, just in case? Gifts of flowers and candies? Honorable intentions?”

“Doubtful,” he conceded.

“Because they didn’t care one whit for my company. They just wanted the tail.”

There was a marked pause before he spoke. “You might wish to reconsider that analogy. It’s…problematic. On any number of levels.”

She gave him a bland look. Apparently, the varied connotations of tail had not escaped her. “It fits, on all of them.”

“You’re no devil, sweet.”

“I am to them, or near enough.” She looked down at her feet, toed at a small rock. “I was to you less than two days ago.”

“I was wrong.” It would eat at him for a long time, how wrong he’d been. “And I am sorry.”

She shook her head. “What’s done is done.”

“Perhaps, but—”

She held up her hand. “No, please. Let’s speak of something else. It’s such a fine morning. I don’t want to dwell on all this unpleasantness. I don’t want to harp on about it.”

She’d not been harping, but if she was eager to move on to other topics, he was more than happy to oblige. “All right. What would you like to discuss?”

“Tell me more about the Engsly estate,” she decided after some thought. “How much of what we see belongs to the Haverstons?”

“Everything before us and more,” he replied and offered his elbow as they resumed their walk.

He told her what he knew of the marquessate and Caldwell Manor, keeping up a steady stream of information—and possibly embellishing here and there for the sake of drama—until they returned to the house.

Anna parted ways with him at the bottom of a back stairwell, and as he watched her disappear around a corner, his mind mulled over the morning’s events.

What’s done is done.

The words were nagging at him. He agreed with them in principle. Certainly, he wanted them to be true for his own sake. But he couldn’t help but wonder if what had been done could really be rectified with a simple,
Sorry, then
.

Time could restore what trust had been lost—morning walks in the sun, conversations in the library—every moment they spent together helped. But he wanted something more than a slow advance. He wanted a way to show her the conviction behind his apology.

A gesture was needed. And he had just the thing.

 
 
Chapter 12

Max knocked on Lucien’s study door, and then walked in, not bothering to wait for a reply. “Why the devil are you holed up inside your study on this fine morning?”

Lucien looked up from his work and blinked in the manner of a man readjusting his focus. He glanced from Max to the mantel clock, then back again with a somewhat exaggerated expression of surprise. “Pardon?”

Max took his customary—and second-favorite—seat across from Lucien’s desk, and ignored the implication that it was startling to see him up at such an hour. “What are you working on?”

“Oh.” Lucien frowned down at the paper before him. “A letter to my aunt Gwen, explaining why I’ll not be immediately bringing her new niece to London.”

Max considered what he knew of Lucien’s formidable aunt. “Best of luck to you.”

“Thank you. Are you in need of something?”

“I am. You’ve a foxhound bitch, don’t you? She has new pups?”

“I do,” Lucien replied, relaxing back into his chair, “and she has.”

“Will you sell one to me?”

“No, of course not.”

“Excell…” Max pulled himself up straight. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your town house is no place for a foxhound,” Lucien scoffed.

“Ah. No, it’s not for me. It’s for your sister.”

“You want to buy a dog from me, to give to Anna?” Dark brows rose high on his forehead. “Why?”

“As a gift.”

“A gentleman does not give a dog as a gift to a lady who is not his wife.” He tapped the end of his pen against the arm of his chair. “A gentleman of sense wouldn’t give one to his wife either.”

“Do we really need to follow gifting etiquette here?”

“Unless you can provide a good reason why we shouldn’t? Yes.”

He could provide thousands, given time, but Max thought he could sum things up rather nicely with a simple, “It’s idiotic.”

Lucien, however, looked less than impressed. “Many rules are; we still have to follow them.”

Not this one, not if he could help it. “Anna wants a dog. I want to give her one. Why should some asinine rule stand in the way of our collective happiness?”

“
Why
do you want to give her a dog?” Lucien pressed.

Max considered his next move carefully. With a bit of creative wording, he could avoid mentioning his past with Anna and still convince Max to sell him a dog. With a little more creative arguing he might be able to convince himself that he wasn’t continuing a lie so much as retaining a secret.

Or he could just tell Lucien the truth. “I owe her an apology.”

Lucien’s face darkened as he sat up in his chair. “An apology for what? What have you done?”

“Nothing you need to work yourself into a fit over,” he promised. “She’s not angry with me.” Anymore, he finished silently and waited for Lucien to nod before continuing. “Four years ago, I didn’t merely meet Anna, as I previously…implied. I attempted to develop a friendship. I called on her on several occasions, even penned a couple of letters. Mrs. Wrayburn informed me, however, that her daughter wanted nothing to do with me. The experience left me bitter, I admit, and our first meeting after her arrival at Caldwell was a little contentious. I was something of a boor.”

Lucien, not looking near as upset as Max had expected, waved an impatient hand. “Rubbish. You were uncharacteristically stilted perhaps, but that was only to be expected. I saw nothing boorish—”

“Not our greeting when she arrived,” Max cut in. “Our first meeting, at which you were not present.”

“Explain.”

“You may put your dueling pistols away. I was less than friendly. I wasn’t a knave.” By some definitions, at any rate.

“Where did you meet?”

“In the hall,” Max replied and felt only a little guilty for the half lie. Strictly speaking, they
had
met in the hall. True, the majority of the conversation had occurred in the billiards room, but that wasn’t where they had
met
. More importantly, it wasn’t something any of them would be better off for Lucien knowing.

“And what was said between you, exactly?”

“I questioned the timing of her visit. I expressed suspicion of her parental claims.”

Lucien swore. “You had no right.”

“Debatable. It’s done now. I’ve apologized for it, and—”

“You should have told me she’d refused your attentions four years ago,” Lucien grumbled.

“She didn’t refuse me.” God, that felt as good to hear as it did to say. “It was Mrs. Wrayburn’s doing. Anna was never told of my visits. My letters never reached her. I…why the devil are you laughing?”

It was more of a chuckle than an outright laugh, but in light of Lucien’s mood only seconds before it was…unexpected.

“You don’t recall how Lilly and I were separated when we were younger?” Lucien asked.

“Your stepmother came between you. What does—?”

“She confiscated our letters without our knowledge and told me Lilly had run off to marry another man. I see some similarities, that’s all.”

“With the notable difference that I am not you, she is not Lilly, and we are not in love,” Max countered, uncomfortable with the conversation’s sudden change in direction. “All of this is immaterial. I am attempting to build a friendship with this woman because she is a Haverston. She wants a large-breed dog, and has for years. I want to give her one. We both want to make her happy. Will you sell me the dog, or not?”

“No—”

“
Damn it
, man.”

Lucien held up a hand. “If you would allow me to finish? She may have her pick of the litter. The dog will be from
me
, as it is perfectly acceptable for a brother to gift such an item. You, however, may take credit for the gift in every other way. Tell her the reasons behind it, that it is an apology from you, that you convinced me to—”

“This is ridiculously and unnecessarily complicated.”

“No, it’s ridiculous and complicated and nonnegotiable.” Lucien tossed his pen on the desk and grinned. “Welcome back to good society, my friend.”

He didn’t care for the sound of that. “It’s only a visit.”

Lucien’s smile only broadened. “Of course it is.”

Though he was eager to deliver his hard-won present, Max was unable to procure time alone with Anna for the remainder of the day. She spent the early afternoon with Mrs. Culpepper, late afternoon with Lucien, and the evening with everyone, which left him no choice but to postpone delivering his surprise until the following morning.

He waited for her on the terrace at dawn again and felt a jolt of pleasure when she stepped through the door, looked up, and smiled at the sight of him.

A man could grow accustomed to that smile, he thought, to that pleasure. A man could grow dependent on both.

Pushing that rather unnerving thought aside, Max offered a smile of his own. “Good morning, Anna. Ready for our stroll?”

He couldn’t be certain, but he thought maybe, just maybe, she blushed a little.

“Quite ready. Shall we take a walk in the gardens? Mrs. Webster told me yesterday that her favorite clematis is in bloom.”

“I don’t know what that is,” he said as they headed down the terrace steps, side by side.

“Nor I,” she admitted with a light laugh. “But she spoke of it with such enthusiasm, it must be remarkable.”

“I’m certain it is, but I’ve something else in mind for this morning. A surprise.”

This time, there was no missing the color that rose to her cheeks. “Truly? What sort of surprise?”

“The surprising sort.”

She rolled her eyes at that. “You must give me some hint. Is it a thing or a place?”

“Neither. But I will tell you that we are headed
there
,” he said and pointed to the stables that sat not fifty yards away.

Her expression dimmed a little. “If you are after showing me a horse, you are wasting your time. I don’t know the first thing about them.”

“It’s not a horse.”

“Oh.” Interested once more, she fixed her gaze on the stable and bit her lip. “Is it something one typically finds in a stable—?”

“No, no more hints.”

“Oh, but—”

“You can’t wait twenty seconds to find out?”

“I could, but guessing for twenty seconds is more fun than not guessing for twenty seconds,” she explained, and he wondered what it said about him that he both followed and approved of her reasoning.

“Very well, guess away.”

“Excellent. Is the surprise animate or inanimate?”

“Yes.”

She made a face at him. “Is it edible?”

“Possibly yes, probably not.”

“Will I be able to—?”

“The answer is three.”

“Killjoy,” she accused, echoing his insult from yesterday.

“You’ll thank me when you see what I’ve in store for you,” he promised as they reached the open stable doors. Max took a deep breath of the dusty air when they stepped inside. He loved the scents of a well-kept stable—horse, leather, and hay. Or, as he’d thought of them as a young man at McMullin House…the scents of freedom. A quick saddle and ride, and he was at Caldwell with Lucien and Gideon.