* * *
• • •
Helena put a hand to her mouth to cover any sound that might slip out. She had been coming to find Max in the dining room, to see if he was ready for their talk. The raised voices had stopped her at the door of the adjoining salon where she had listened to the argument unfold. It wasn’t until she heard a door close that she realized Max must have left. Voices were raised in outrage at the table with Evan attempting to keep the peace and losing that battle, but Helena couldn’t concern herself with the aftermath. She needed to find Max.
Hurrying from the room, she made her way to the hall, but he wasn’t there. The only sounds were the muffled voices within the dining room. Panic seized her, because she needed to find him before he disappeared into his bedroom, to tell him how brave he was and that she agreed with his every word. He probably felt all alone now, and while she could not be with him in the way that he wanted, she could support him.
But she didn’t find a sign of him along the way to the bachelor’s hall. She passed a maid who claimed not to have seen him and gave her a surprised look. It didn’t matter. She would knock on his door; it wasn’t completely out of bounds of propriety since everyone believed they were to be married. She simply wouldn’t enter when he answered. Only her knock on his door went unanswered. Thankfully, the door was unlocked, but the room was empty when she peeked inside.
Damn. Where was he?
She spent the next half hour wandering the halls and varied rooms of the sprawling estate, hoping that someone had seen him. None of the servants she passed had. Finally, she stepped into the darkened room at the back of the house. It was a rarely used parlor that held all the outdated furniture her mother had decided she didn’t want in the more fashionable rooms of the estate. She almost judged it empty and turned to leave, but a movement near the window caught her eye. Moonlight caught the glass of a bottle.
“Max?”
A shadow materialized in the darkness, and as she walked closer, she could tell that Max was seated in an overstuffed chair, legs stretched out in front of him as he gazed out the window and drank what she suspected to be scotch straight out of the bottle. He had turned his head at the sound of her voice.
“I’ve been looking for you,” she said as she approached.
“Turn around and leave.” His voice sounded gravelly, like the scotch had left scratches on the way down. She shivered inside at the effect.
“I came to find you earlier because we had agreed to talk. I was standing in the salon when I heard what you said to your father. I wanted you to know how brave I think you are and how proud I am of you for saying those things.”
He went back to staring out the window and leaned forward to set the bottle on the floor next to the chair leg. It was only half-empty, but she didn’t know how full it had been when he started.
“What does it matter?” he finally asked into the silence. “They’ll continue to be unrepentant asses, and you will continue to push me away. Perhaps you believe yourself too good for me after all.”
“That’s not true, at least for me. I don’t believe that.”
“No? Then what else am I to think?”
He sat back with a sigh, his hands folding together over his stomach. It was only then that she took notice of the fact that he had discarded his coat and sat in the cold of the room in only his shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and trousers. The shirtsleeves had been rolled up at some point to reveal a bit of his forearms. They were strong, wrapped with muscle, but in that way he had of turning brawn into grace. He looked so dejected that her heart clenched. Slowly walking forward, she knelt down next to his chair.
He was right. What else was he to think? She hadn’t been completely open with him about her reason for rejecting him, and she regretted that now when it was obvious her silence on the matter was adversely affecting him.
“That has nothing to do with why I believe we won’t suit.”
His head didn’t move, but he was watching her through the slits his eyes had become. She could feel the weight of his perusal. It reminded her of the majestic lion she always imagined him to be, and how she was playing with a particularly dangerous version of him now.
Dangerous because he was infinitely more appealing to her in his volatility, because it let her see how truly vulnerable he could be with her. A thrill of decadent longing unfurled in her stomach. She would never stop wanting him.
Swallowing thickly, she said, “It’s past time for us to talk about that. I need to tell y—”
“Leave me, Helena.” His voice was so calm that it raised the hairs on her arm in warning. “I have plenty of uses for your mouth tonight, but talking isn’t one of them.”
She froze in place as blood pounded through her veins in lurid anticipation. His words tugged her toward him more effectively than any physical touch could have.
“Max, you should understand—”
“Go.”
She swallowed again, feeling like she was leaning into a precipice. Actually leaving him in the room alone never crossed her mind. Her place was with him. Being with him in this moment felt more right than anything ever had in her entire life.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He didn’t move, but his entire body seemed to jerk with the force of that word. His eyes glittered with some dark emotion that made her heart beat madly in her chest. She felt as if she had just offered herself up to the vengeful wrath of an angel. He moved so fast that she didn’t have time to react as his fingers buried themselves in her hair, cupping her head as he gently drew her head back. Suddenly, she was breathing so fast it felt like she’d been running. He brought his face so close to hers that she could see the pain and despair reflected in the depths of his eyes.
“Don’t tease me.” He dragged his mouth along her jaw but stopped short of taking her lips. “I want to taste every inch of you,” he whispered. “I want to spend an entire night inside you, just once before I leave you.”
“Yes,” she whispered again, because she had missed him, and she knew his leaving would hurt her so badly she didn’t know if she could recover. The heartache would be hell, but the depth of the pain wouldn’t change if they had this night. She needed this memory.
She needed him.
Chapter 20
If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.
Jane Austen
Helena stood and held out her hand. Max stared at it as if afraid it might disappear altogether if he moved too fast, before he looked up at her.
“Helena?” he whispered.
Her breath hitched at the way it sent everything shattering inside her.