Practically Wicked (33 page)

“Anna, I couldn’t ignore—”

“You might have
asked
me at the very least,” she cut in.

“I should have,” he agreed, hoping a quick apology would soften her displeasure. “I apologize.”

“That was very quick.” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You knew from the start it was wrong.”

“No. Not at all.” He’d known from the start she’d not like it, which was entirely different.

“You knew I’d not like it,” she bit off.

Damn.
“It occurred to me that might be the case,” he admitted, catching his hands behind his back. “And I will apologize for being presumptuous. But not for protecting you.”

“I didn’t ask to be protected. I wanted to do it for myself.”

“And I
needed
to do something for you.”

“Why?”

“Because…that’s how things are done,” he tried, frustrated. “Because I wanted to, that’s all. Because…” He swore, looked away and back again. Bloody hell, he hated conversations like this. “Because I failed to do something, anything, for you four years ago. I needed to do this for you—”

She cut him off by holding up a single finger. “Am I to understand that you’ll not apologize for having done something wrong, because you did that something out of apology for something you did four years ago that
wasn’t
wrong and does not require an apology?”

“No…Maybe…” Good God, he could feel his left eye want to twitch. “Say it again, but slower.”

She dropped her finger. “I take back what I said about men being simpler. You made this all much harder than it needed to be.”

“
I
made it harder? I’m not the one demanding an apology for being aided in a time of need. Playing knight-errant and rescuing the fair maiden is as simple a ritual as rituals come. The knight slays the dragon, the fair maiden climbs down from her tower, gifts the daring knight with a token—”

“And marries the wealthy landowner two counties over, yes,” she drawled. “Tradition as old as time. I’m not a fair maiden.”

“And I’m no knight-errant, love. But I did what I know was right and I’ll not apologize for it.” This time, it was he who held up a finger for quiet. “I
will
, however, concede that it was bad form to keep my intentions from you. I should have discussed them with you before going to the inn, not after.” And by discussion, he meant argue, because he’d still have left for the inn, with or without her blessing. “Do you think you can forgive me—?”

“It’s not that simple,” she snapped, surprising him. “You want it to be, but it’s not. The dragon you slayed was my mother.”

He shook his head, baffled. “Do you feel I was too hard—?”

“No. It’s nothing like that. It’s…” She sighed deeply. “You feel as if there was more you should have done four years ago. I fear I will always feel as if there was more I should have done today.”

“I see.” And he did—for the first time since the argument had begun, he understood the real origins of her anger. He’d not merely removed a danger, he’d stolen a chance for her to discover something else about herself, a way to prove herself. He’d stolen a way to define who she was and where she stood in the world.

Bloody hell.

He felt like a thoughtless oaf. And yet…“I’m not certain what to say. I couldn’t have let you return to the inn alone. I couldn’t.”

“We might have gone together.”

He considered that. “Would you have agreed to wait in the carriage?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Hmm.”

“Max—”

“What if something happened to you?” he bit off. “You may have the courage to face your mother and the likes of Ox and Jones, but I can’t promise to sit idly by while you do so. I’ve played the passive fool before and lost a sister for it. I’ll not repeat—”

He broke off, embarrassed to have brought that particular past failure into the conversation.

For the first time since he’d brought her into the parlor, Anna took a step toward him. “This is different than what happened with your sister,” she said. Her voice was gentle and careful now, and that made him feel all the worse.

“Yes, I know.” He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s irrelevant. I should not have brought it up.”

“It’s not—”

“May we speak of something else?”

She didn’t want to; he could practically see the argument sitting on the tip of her tongue, but to his relief, she simply nodded and asked, “Did you say my mother brought Ox and Jones?”

He hadn’t meant to let that slip out either. “Yes.”

“I didn’t see them.”

“They’ve a room of their own.” And it would’ve behooved Mrs. Wrayburn to keep them hidden during Anna’s first visit.

Her eyes darted away from him. “She brought them along for protection, I’m sure.”

She wasn’t sure. He could see it in the way some of the color had drained from her face. She was envisioning the other reason her mother might have brought along two burly men—to secure an uncooperative passenger for the return trip to London.

So much for illusions. It grated to have taken that from her after all. And yet it felt very much like the right thing to do. Very much like what she was asking from him now—to be protected less and supported more.

He could give her that. He still wasn’t going to tell her about the mention of weapons—that he would take to the grave—but he could make an effort to give her at least some of what she wanted.

“She’s gone now,” he said and wished he had something more to offer.

Anna sighed once, straightened her shoulders a little, and gave him a small smile. “Yes, she’s gone. And we, I think, have wasted enough time in arguing over who ought to have sent her away…Thank you for going to the inn.”

“You’re welcome. If—”

“But
never
do something like that without my knowledge again.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again when he was hit with the sudden, unexpected urge to laugh. She’d offered him an olive branch and a slap on the hand at the same time. Damn if the woman wasn’t the most tenacious individual he’d ever met.

There was no way around it, not without running away or letting the debate drag on indefinitely, he had to capitulate.

“Not without your knowledge,” he agreed and decided that small surrender was worth it when he saw her smile.

 
 
Chapter 24

Anna felt better leaving the parlor than she had entering, but her disagreement with Max still managed to cast a gray pallor over the rest of her day. Careful to keep up a cheerful demeanor, she wasn’t pressed to answer prying questions from any of the Haverstons during their trip to Menning or at dinner upon their return. But it hadn’t been the easiest thing, keeping her mind on her family and a smile on her face.

It didn’t help, particularly, that Max had chosen to adhere to his recent routine of disappearing for the day. She was certain that a bit of time spent doing normal, everyday sorts of activities with Max would have helped to put their disagreement squarely behind them, and both of them at ease.

But Max did not come to Menning, or to dinner, or to the library after dinner for a game of cards or chess. Nor did he come to the library after the Haverstons had sought out their own beds and Anna had stayed up, hoping Max might seek her out now that she was alone.

He hadn’t, and as Anna stood in her chambers and pulled a pin from her hair, she scolded herself for having hoped otherwise. She really needed to stop putting herself into positions where she was left waiting about, hoping Max might make an appearance. Honestly, if she needed to see him so badly that she was willing to sacrifice her pride for the privilege, she could bloody well just fetch him herself. Or send someone with a note. At the very least, she could—

“Miss?” A soft knock sounded on her door. “Miss, are you awake?”

Recognizing the voice as belonging to Mary, the maid, Anna hurried over and opened the door. “What is it? Is something the matter?”

“No, not at all,” Mary whispered. “Lord Dane has requested your company on the back terrace.”

“Does he?”

“Aye, miss. You’re to dress and follow me, if you would please. Quietly.”

Had such a request come from a man at Anover House, Anna would not have thought twice before declining the offer. She only hesitated a split second before accepting this one, and only because she’d just spent a half hour waiting for him in the library.

“I’m already dressed,” she pointed out and began re-pinning her fallen hair. “Lead the way.”

Anna followed Mary downstairs and outside, and found Max was waiting for her on the terrace as promised. Along with a dozen members of the Caldwell staff, all carrying lanterns, baskets, or crates, and all whispering and smiling excitedly.

“What on earth—?”

Max stepped forward and grinned. “You came.”

She heard a distinct hint of relief in his voice. It did wonders for her mood. “What is all this?”

“A moonlit picnic,” he explained. “I thought you could do with a bit of cheering.”

“Oh.” Oh, that was lovely. “I appreciate the sentiment, and the effort, I do, but, did you wake all these people for this?”

“Of course not. They were already awake.”

“At your request?”

“Demand, actually. I threatened termination of employment and immediate removal from Caldwell Manor.”

She sent him a dry look. “That’s not funny.”

“It is a
little
funny,” he countered. He stepped up and took her arm gently. “Stop fretting and come along. I offered a pretty penny to anyone willing to assist. And I supplied them with a picnic of their own.”

“Ah.” And once again,
lovely
. No wonder the staffed looked so cheerful and excited, this was an adventure for all of them. Anna glanced over her shoulder as she and Max led the way off the terrace, and wondered if it was anyone else’s first moonlit picnic but hers. She could guess by how well and how quickly Max had planned the affair that it wasn’t his first.

“You’ve held a midnight picnic before.”

“It’s not half past ten,” he reminded her, and offered no further comment.

Which she took to mean…“Always with a lady?”

He shrugged. “It’s not so much fun to go on a picnic by one’s self.”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t be,” she agreed and let the matter go. The women in Max’s past didn’t concern her particularly. He wasn’t with them now.

The group didn’t go far from the house, just to a clearing on a small hill that was blocked from view of the house by trees and outbuildings. Barely a five-minute walk, but once out of sight of the house it felt like another world. The landscape retreated into the dark and the star-studded sky filled her view. There was something almost magical about being there, in the moonlit meadow with Max. Though it was unlikely, given their lack of privacy, Anna allowed herself to consider, just for a moment, the possibility that Max might find a way to take advantage of that magic and steal a kiss before the evening was over.

At Max’s direction, the staff set up his and Anna’s picnic at the top of the hill, and another for themselves at a discrete distance. Close enough to keep an eye on the couple, and hear a request for assistance, but far enough away to keep the conversations of both parties private.

After having her offer of help rejected, Anna made herself comfortable on the blanket amongst the various baskets of goods. There was wine and cheese and fruit, plates and silverware, and even an extra set of blankets.

“You’ve thought of everything,” she commented.

Max took a seat in front of her, his knee a hairbreadth from where her hand rested on the blanket. It was a curious sensation, that almost touching. She had the strongest urge to reach out and close the tiny distance between them. She moved her hand to remove the temptation. Attraction was all well and good, but one simply could not go about touching men’s knees on a whim. Particularly with a crowd of people looking on.

“I’ve one more surprise,” He told her. He reached into a basket sitting behind him and pulled out a long, brass tube.

“A telescope,” Anna gasped, delighted.

“It’s not terribly powerful, I’m afraid, better suited for nautical purposes, but you can see the moon well enough.” He handed her the telescope and then set about making them plates and pouring the wine. “Gideon and I used to do this when I came for visits, sneak out to look at the stars, when we were eleven or thereabouts.” He gestured at her with a goblet. “Ah, there, you see. Not all my nighttime forays into the wilderness involved a lady.”

“Just all those you engaged in after the age of eleven.” She smiled a little at the thought as she turned the telescope over in her hands for inspection. “Sneaking out of the house as a boy. You must have given your mother fits.”

“Everything gave my mother fits. I once saw her weep over undercooked peas. She was a woman of significant emotional bent. My nighttime escapades, however, went unnoticed.”

“You were stealthy,” she guessed.