“I think you and I both know that there will be no need for that. Think of it as an incentive. If you make the right choice, all will be well.”
Nausea roiled within him. “Right. An incentive.” Setting the glass down on the bureau with a hand shaking in fury, Max went for the door. “I’ll let you rest.”
He tried not to slam the door behind him but wasn’t successful. Outside, he paused and drew in a deep breath followed by another. His collar felt suffocating. In one deft motion, he loosened his tie and stood for a time with his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The need to hit something had never been so great.
What he wanted to do was to go downstairs, walk out the door, and summon a carriage to take him back to the train station. He could be on an ocean liner tomorrow, headed to New York where he would continue to live his life in peace and run the American branch of Crenshaw Iron as he saw fit. He had been put in charge. It would take a vote by the board to remove him, no matter what his own father might prefer. Max had gained their respect, so he was certain his father’s vote wouldn’t sway them.
Before he even quite knew what he was doing, he was at the top of the stairs and moving down them. Guilt made it feel like he was walking through mud that sucked at the soles of his boots, but he kept progressing like an automaton. It wasn’t until he reached the bottom that he made himself stop. His hand gripped the banister so tight the wood bit into the palm of his hand. He could not leave August to whatever fate their father would give her.
Would she be fine without Crenshaw Iron? Yes. Max had seen her with Evan and knew how happy they were together. Her husband supported her and would happily take her on in the full-time running of his estates and their investments. Her life would be full, and in time she would become accustomed to her new role. But there would always be a part of her spirit that would be crushed by their father’s callousness, and she would likely never heal from it. She would always know that he didn’t respect her enough to not use her for his own gains. She would always know that she was second in his estimations. And this rift in the family, already begun by their parents trying to marry off their daughters, would be complete, never to be mended again.
“Max!” August’s voice rose in pleasant surprise as she stepped out of the drawing room.
Pulled from his thoughts, he still felt as if he were moving through a fog. “I thought you had left,” he said. Mother and another woman walked out of the room behind her. It only took a moment for his heart to come to a stuttering halt as he recognized the woman to be Lady Helena.
“Wonderful,” Mother said, her pallor and demeanor much more cheerful than it had been when she’d led him to Papa’s room. “You won’t miss out on greeting Lady Helena.”
He had to make himself release the banister and act like a civilized human, even as anger and something dangerous coursed through him. He wasn’t prepared to see Helena again, not like this. He had expected it to happen one evening at a dinner or a ball. Not in his parents’ home when he had just been fed the most damning ultimatum.
“Lady Helena.” He paused to clear the gravel from his throat. “How good to see you again.” There was still the slightest hint of venom in his voice. He hoped she wouldn’t think it directed at her.
“Mr. Crenshaw.” She sank down into a proper curtsy.
God, she was lovely. From the top of her buttery blond hair to the delicate curve of her cheekbones to the tips of her pebbled leather boots, she was polished and proper. The epitome of a lady. When her gaze met his, he was struck anew by the color, a pure cornflower blue.
She raised a brow, and he knew she had detected his tone as well as the livid anger likely visible on his face. “My deepest sympathies on your father’s health. I am happy to hear that he is improving.”
“Yes, it is a relief.” His voice was tight. His mouth went dry, and he couldn’t bring himself to say anything more. On the crossing he had imagined their meeting many times. He would compliment her and watch the color rise in her cheeks. He would tell her how he had missed her wit, but in such a way that she wouldn’t suspect he had thought about her at night while alone in his bed, or by day as he traveled from one meeting to another.
“I hope you will be staying in London for a time,” she was saying.
“Yes, of course he is,” his mother said. “We are very much looking forward to the dinner with your parents later this week. Will you be there?”
“Oh yes. It will be lovely to see you all there.” Her gaze settled briefly on him before flitting away again when he didn’t respond. “I am afraid I have to be going now.”
“I’ll walk out with you,” August said, giving him a strange look. She knew him well enough to suspect something was wrong. He would have to figure out a lie to tell her before she came back later tonight. He refused to wound her with the truth.
Helena looked back at him, and he mumbled a goodbye. Her lips turned down in disappointment, and he realized perhaps it was for the best. He’d be heading back to New York soon.
As the front door closed behind them and Mother hurried past him up the stairs, he had to wonder if she was going to chat with Papa. If they had planned the entire thing. His anger once more returned to the forefront. No, they wouldn’t get away with this.
Papa had known Max’s weakness and hadn’t hesitated to exploit it. He had anticipated that Max’s own affection for August and his loyalty to his family would keep him in line. But he had underestimated one thing. Max, in his own way, could be just as ruthless and cunning as their father when it suited him. He was a Crenshaw, after all.
Chapter 2
Old-fashioned ways which no longer apply to changed conditions are a snare in which the feet of women have always become readily entangled.
Jane Addams
Maxwell Crenshaw had the most divine mouth she had ever seen. Helena had watched it throughout dinner. She told herself it was because he sat across from her and, really, how could one not allow one’s gaze to drift to it now and again, but that did not explain why she continued watching it now that dinner was over and the men had rejoined the ladies in the drawing room. His lips were perfectly sculpted, not too thin, not too thick, with the bottom one pleasingly full. When he smiled, they made a perfect bow.
He had only smiled twice tonight, once upon greeting her and once in kindness when Papa had made a tiresome joke at the table. It was the only time he had looked at her outside of conversation the entire evening, and the look had been one of commiseration. She had felt his gaze all the way down to her toes, as if he were saying they were in this together as the only ones who recognized the jest had fallen flat. As if he weren’t actually ignoring her at all. Unfortunately, after that one moment of intimacy, he had gone back to his polite aloofness. One would have thought that they hadn’t spent time together outside of proper social events.