A few minutes later the music came to an end, and everyone applauded while rising to stand. A pair of servants dressed in formal black and white opened the French doors that led to the adjoining room.
“Let us adjourn to the drawing room to enjoy refreshment,” Mother announced, as she accepted Papa’s arm. His father’s weight had yet to return to normal, but his color was good and his tread steady. Max resolved to escort him to his room in a quarter of an hour. The older man had already been downstairs for well over his allotted time.
As Max followed Helena down the row of chairs, he took in the nip of her waist, which flowed into the sensual flare of her hips. His hands were large, and he imagined they might almost meet if he held her about her waist as he pulled her back toward him. He would nudge against her soft bottom, which would be lush and firm, as he found his way to her. She’d be ready when he notched within her, wet and—she reached the end of the row and turned to take his arm.
Smiling up at him, she said, “I cannot decide if your heated glances are part of the ploy or real.”
He nearly stumbled over his own feet at her boldness. He loved that he never knew what she would say. Quickly finding his step, he noted the playful glint in her beautiful blue eyes. “Can’t they be both?”
Her cheeks colored prettily. “For someone else perhaps.” Facing forward, she added, “But you are Maxwell Crenshaw. Your passions are Crenshaw Iron and saving your sisters when needed.”
“You make me sound like an automaton.” He kept his voice light, but something about the remark hit him in the gut. It was true that his entire life had been about work, but that was only because running an enterprise like Crenshaw Iron demanded that sort of diligence. “But never fear, I do pursue my own interests outside of my family.”
“And what would those be?” she asked smoothly. “Accountancy and risk evaluation?”
“Horseflesh. I enjoy riding and caring for horses.” He owned several prized Thoroughbreds that he rode weekly in Central Park and in the summers at the family’s cottage in Newport.
By this time, they had reached the drawing room. She released his arm to accept a glass of champagne from a footman. He took one as well, but mainly to cover his disappointment at not having her touching him anymore. As he did, he was almost certain that she took in his legs. Her gaze settled in the general area of his thighs before moving up to his backside, except the fall of his coat would have obscured her view.
“That explains much,” she said, bringing the glass to her lips. Her eyes were filled with mischief.
A gentleman would have let the comment pass, but he couldn’t. He also didn’t claim to be a gentleman. “What does it explain?”
She blushed, having not been prepared for his challenge. “Only that your . . .” She hesitated over the next word before resolve settled over her features and she started again. “Your build is stronger than one might presume given your occupation.”
Heat coiled like a wound spring in his stomach. “You’ve been looking.”
Somehow her face reddened even more. She looked across the room, and without meeting his eyes, she said, “Perhaps.”
“Tease,” he whispered.
She grinned and gave a barely perceptible shrug as a couple walked by, exchanging greetings with them. When they had passed, he said in a low voice, “Before we’re interrupted, I wanted to tell you that I have good news.” He’d been waiting all evening to share it with her, though he didn’t know why it had seemed so important to tell her. Perhaps it was that she was a part of his strategy to help his sister, his accomplice.
“Oh?”
“It hasn’t been announced yet, but the company signed the contracts for the dock proposal. The first step of helping August in her new endeavor is underway.”
“Maxwell, that’s wonderful!” She truly meant it. Her eyes illuminated with joy, though she kept her voice soft. “August must be ecstatic.”
“She is.” Just watching her face as she shared in his sister’s joy made him smile.
“Could I congratulate her tomorrow? Would she be upset that I know?”
“No, I think she’d like you to know, but don’t mention it to anyone else. Papa doesn’t know yet.” He glanced to where his father sat across the room. A footman presented him with a tray of hors d’oeuvres.
“I won’t. We should raise a glass to her success.” She held up her champagne, compelling him to follow suit. After she clinked her coupe to his, she took a swallow. He couldn’t help but watch her lips press against the glass, remembering that all-too-brief kiss and wondering when they would repeat it, because he knew that it would happen.
“The contract stipulates that we have sixty days to find an appropriate site, but we’ve already located prime real estate, nearly a whole city block. It’s big enough to house a factory, warehouse, foundry, even a small residence building for employees.”
“Will you be signing the contract for the property soon?”
“Not yet. It appears there is interest from other buyers, but I’m not concerned. I’m willing to pay almost any price to secure it.” Sir Phineas was being reticent with the details, but it seemed there might be interest from another party in the portion of the property that contained the priory.
Her gaze narrowed. “The benefits of being a Crenshaw. Money can buy you everything you want.”
As he was trying to decide how to reply to the sardonic comment, one of his parents’ new acquaintances greeted them. He had met the older woman earlier, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember her name. It hardly mattered because she was clearly here to talk to Helena. She turned to her and began a conversation about the health of Helena’s mother-in-law, Lady Sansbury.
Helena inclined her head as she listened. He couldn’t stop his gaze from following the graceful column of her neck, pausing briefly on the slight dip between the fragile-looking clavicle bones pressing against the silk of her skin, to fall to the lovely swell of her breasts above her gown. Tonight, she wore a deep, rich plum color that emphasized the pale creaminess of her skin and made the blue of her eyes even deeper. Ever since the night of the ball, she had resorted to wearing more revealing gowns. He loved them all on her and had spent the last week attempting to convince himself that she did not wear them for his benefit. She was a lady in every sense of the word, which meant that she put a great deal of thought into how she presented herself. Every gesture along with every stitch of clothing was for a purpose. He had concluded that she wore them to signal that she was available for courtship, thus helping their ruse.
Had she dressed for her husband in that way? Guilt clawed its way up the back of his throat, so he took another swig of champagne, hoping to drown it. Max had no right to wonder about him, but he was curious about the man who had been able to call himself her husband. The man who had held the singular privilege of sharing her bed. Had she cared for him? Had he known, really known, the woman he called wife, or had their marriage been shallow like many Society marriages?