The duke eased inside the office but declined to take a seat. “I didn’t see you at the last party.”
“It’s a masquerade,” Max reminded him. “How would you know it was me?”
“If you everacceptedone of my invitations,” Lambley said with a secretive smile, “you’d know that nothing happens in my house without my awareness.”
“I will attend,” Max promised. “I’ve just been so busy here at the club.”
“Have you considered hiring help?” the duke suggested.
Max raised a brow.
Lambley burst out laughing. “Of course you have. You consider everything. No doubt there’s some scheme underway that no one will discover until you’ve chosen to reveal it.”
“A scheme to keep myself overworked and exhausted,” was all Max said in reply.
“Hmm.” The duke toasted with his glass of port and turned toward the door. “If you need a diversion…”
Max inclined his head. “I know where to call.”
No sooner had the door snicked closed, Bryony was already on her feet, eyes shining, hands clasped together in excitement.
“That was splendid!” She clasped her hands together and gave a little bounce. “You do this all day?”
“Speak to my patrons?” Max said dryly.
“Solve the problems of such diverse individuals,” Bryony continued, undaunted. “A duke, a dandy, a sparring master... I did not know that there were places in London where such men intermingled.”
“There aren’t places,” Max said with pride. “There’s the Cloven Hoof. That’s why it’s important.”
He crossed the office to sit behind his desk far on the other side of the room.
By the time his arse hit the seat, Bryony was already perched on the edge of his desk.
“Did you know that would happen?” she asked. “Is such a varied clientele something that can be planned from the start or was it more of a happy accident?”
“I hoped from the start,” Max admitted. “Not everyone approves. The very effect you consider splendid is the primary reason why the Cloven Hoof will never be fashionable to the majority of the elites.”
Bryony waved this away. “I’m sure it is the precise reason the rest of your patrons do choose to frequent this establishment.”
Max tilted his head. He had assumed his customers considered economic diversity a tolerable side effect of the Cloven Hoof, not its best quality. He would love to believe that were true. “Why do you think so?”
“Who wouldn’t?” Bryony squinted in thought. “In a place like this, chance encounters could spawn all sorts of complex conversations that would never have surfaced around a lukewarm bowl of ratafia within Almack’s hallowed-but-tarnished walls.”
Max shrugged. He had never been inside Almack’s. “I couldn’t say.”
“For most of your clientele,” Bryony continued, “I would assume your greatest competition comes from other gentlemen’s clubs like White’s and Brooks’s.”
“No,” Max corrected. “Rich or titled gentlemen might have that option, but my other patrons do not. One must receive approval from thirty-five members of White’s to join their esteemed rank. Here at the Cloven Hoof, the only opinion that matters is my own. No one can compete with that.”
Bryony grinned at him. “How unapologetically arrogant. I cannot imagine why you are still a bachelor.”
To his surprise, he enjoyed sparring with her. He raised his brows. “What makes you think I am?”
She leaned forward. “Aren’t you?”
Max gave a half smile instead of a reply, just to vex her.
He was indeed still a bachelor, though likely not for the reasons Bryony suspected.
