She pulled out her pocketwatch and made a face at the late hour. Time had run away with them again. She needed to hurry home.
She glanced over at Max just in time to see disappointment flicker across his face. Just as quickly, he wiped all emotion away until he was once more a blank mass of arrogance.
But she had seen behind the façade. He liked her arse. Perhaps he liked the rest of her, too.
“Tomorrow?” she asked softly.
He lifted one of his wide shoulders in a laconic shrug. “If you won’t be too busy waltzing with future suitors.”
Her heart jumped. Was that what he imagined her doing whenever she was not in his sight? He was not far off the mark, but had no reason to be jealous. None of those gentlemen were half as magnetic as he.
“I would rather be dancing with you,” she whispered. She didn’t mean to. The words just tumbled out.
It was the wrong thing to say.
His face shuttered immediately and he pushed to his feet. “That is unfortunate. I will never be at any of those gatherings, nor do I wish to be. Enjoy your soirées. I have better things to do with my time.”
She nodded dumbly, despite the stinging in her throat. Without a word, she allowed him to walk her from the office to the exit. Their night was over. Before she slipped off in search of a hack to take her home, she turned to face him one last time.
As always, his dark eyes were unreadable.
“I meant it. I would rather be right here with you.” She let her fingers brush against his a second too long before darting around the corner without giving him a chance to say he did not feel the same.
Chapter 12
Max burst out of his empty apartment.
The best thing about Tuesday used to be the break from the Cloven Hoof. A respite from responsibilities, twenty-four hours without accounts to pay, or reports to write. A break from other people.
But Max didn’t want a break. Not from one person in particular. The one who vexed him and invigorated him and drove him mad with frustration, and longing, and impossibility.
He missed her.
No worse foolishness had ever occurred in a heart he had long kept guarded behind layers of steel and stone. He couldn’t have her. Shouldn’t want her. Would be rid of her in less than a month’s time. A fact he should be celebrating, not mourning.
And yet here he was, dodging mud puddles on the uneven dirt street outside his home, to pay an errand boy to deliver a message to the fashionable part of town.
A missive containing only five words:
Basil,
My house.
Your devil
He gavethe lad an extra shilling to ensure he would run off with haste before Max could change his mind.
Normally, Max never changed his mind. That’s what planning was for.
One considered the facts. Catalogued the details. Parsed the opportunities. Once one had determined the best strategy to take, one took it. That’s how he had run his entire life. The reason why he was successful.
But proper planning did not explain standing in the rain to pay an errand boy to send a very foolish message.
Irritated with himself, he turned around and strode back up the walk into his home.
He had analyzed with care. The facts were obvious. No good could come of this. She knew it; he knew it. And yet her words haunted him.
I would rather be with you.
