“Perhaps,” Heath said tiredly. Max had not seen his sister’s shocked face at being immortalized against her will. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does not matter,” Max agreed. He gestured to an empty table. “May I invite you to a drink?”
Heath shook his head to the drink, but sank down at the table. He was suddenly exhausted. Perhaps it would soon be over. Perhaps he and everyone else would finally be able to move on.
“Can we talk about something other than my sister?” he asked.
Max leaned back in his chair. “Your mother still hen-picking you to find an heiress?”
The question had undoubtedly been crafted to spark a reaction. To distract Heath from his current troubles by reminding him of something as mindless as the Marriage Mart, of his mother’s singleminded pursuit of her children’s future weddings, of something as cold and clear and straightforward as duty.
But Heath didn’t think about duty anymore when he considered the perfect woman. He thought about a young lady who was the opposite of cold or straightforward. The opposite of what his mother wanted, of what the title needed, the opposite of anything he could hope to have.
Yet whenever he closed his eyes… all he could picture was Miss Winfield.
“My mother cares about blood, not money,” Heath said with a sigh. “As long as the young lady comes from the right stock, Mother won’t complain.”
Max’s gaze was shrewd. “But would you?”
Heath did not respond. His previous thoughts must have already given him away.
He could not help it. The slightest word made him think of Miss Winfield. A snippet of melody, a work of art, a flash of red. She was part of him now. Everywhere he looked, everywhere he went, he imagined her by his side. And now that they had kissed, Heath feared he had lost far more than his good sense. He was in danger of losing his heart.
“Ah.” Max lifted his brows. “So there is a girl.”
“A woman,” Heath corrected. But could she really become a future baroness?
Before he could consider the notion more deeply, his family must first be willing to accept her.
Even if Heath was willing to forgo the good regard of the rest of Society, he was not so callous as to risk ruining his unwed sisters’ reputations. They deserved to find happiness just as much as anyone.
But his siblings weren’t his only family. Mother would not be easy to convince. And if Father emerged from his study long enough to forbid the match…
Heath bit back a groan.
Max’s lips twitched. “My advice?”
“Pray tell.” Heath held out a palm and gestured for him to continue.
Max rose from the table, but lowered his mouth to Heath’s ear before walking away. “Don’t bollocks it up.”
A startled laugh escaped Heath’s throat.
Quite sage advice, indeed. Once he figured out the right path, he would be certain to follow it.
A shaft of sunlight streamed into the shadowy interior of the club. Heath glanced over in time to see Phineas Mapleton enter the Cloven Hoof.
Apparently, so did the rest of the patrons.
Loud neighing came from the Faro tables. Impressive braying came from the whist players. A wild whinny pierced the air from the Loo players in the back.
Heath sent a passing barmaid a startled expression.
“Haven’t seen it?” With a laugh, she tossed a piece of foolscap onto his table. “It just came out a few hours ago. They’re stringing them up now.”
“But, lo!” called a chorus of drunken voices. “’Tis a stallion among pups!”
Mapleton’s pet phrase? Heath had never believed the insufferable dandy would manage to make it catch on. Something must have happened. He picked up the parchment.
