“Max,” she gasped. “I think you’re going to make me—”
“Thank God,” he muttered, pumping faster in time with her body’s spasms and then quickly jerking free to bury his hips against the blanket. Without lifting his face from the mattress, he swung a powerful arm over her naked form and pulled her close.
She nestled into his warmth with a sigh of contentment. The muscles between her thighs still gave the occasional twitch of pleasure, her mind still flooded with pleasurable sensations.
“Biscuit?” she whispered into his hair.
“Later.” He pulled her tight into his embrace, locking both strong arms about her as if he would never let her go.
Chapter 24
The following evening, Bryony felt almost silly donning her costume of trousers and tailcoat to meet Max at the Cloven Hoof.
Now that they’d seen each other with no clothes at all, she rather wished all their encounters could be conducted in such a manner.
Her stomach fluttered whenever she remembered the events of the previous day. All she could think about was what they had done in the kitchen, and in his bedchamber. She hoped every meal they shared from now on would detour just as deliciously.
As the hackney cab carried her closer to Max, she realized she had left with her head so high in the clouds, they had failed to discuss what happened next. Obviously she would marry him, but it wouldn’t hurt to iron out a few of the details.
She grinned to herself as she alighted from the hack and made her way to the back door of the Cloven Hoof. Perhaps they would start a new journal together. One that chronicled their shared life outside of the club.
She reached in her coat pocket for the key.
The door was unlocked. Max stood there waiting, just inside the shadowed corridor. His arms folded over his chest.
Bryony’s elation turned to panic. He didn’t look like a man in love. He looked like a man who wished to throttle her.
“What is it?” she asked.
He continued to block the entrance. “Frances has a new post. She’s not a seamstress anymore. She’s been offered better housing and three times the salary to become an instructor at a boarding school.”
“Isn’t that good news?” Bryony stammered, her skin turning clammy.
“Coincidental, wouldn’t you say?” His dark eyes glittered at her from the shadows. “Why, isn’t the St. Giles School for Girls the same charity your sister founded?”
“It’s a growing school,” Bryony managed. “They need all the help they can get.”
“All your help, you mean.” He still hadn’t moved an inch. “It seems there was an anonymous donation with very specific conditions.”
Bryony’s hackles began to rise. How dare he try to make her feel bad for doing something good? His sister deserved every opportunity, no matter how it came about.
“You’re her brother,” she snapped. “I thought you’d be happy.”
His voice was cold. “I’m thrilled for Fran. But I’m disappointed for us.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. “There’s nothing wrong with accepting help. You yourself tried to—”
“That’s right,” he said harshly. “I myself tried to help my sister. Rescuing her is something I have been trying to do my entire life, and you went around behind my back—behind both our backs—without so much as talking it over.”
Bryony frowned. “It was just a donation. I’ve given hundreds. I don’t need your permission to—”
“It is not a matter of permission,” he enunciated in anger. “You took me out of the equation altogether. Robbed me of the courtesy of being a team.”
Her body froze in place. He was right. She had done that.
“Manipulating from on high isn’t treating someone like family,” he said, eyes flashing. “It proves you weren’t thinking about us at all. Another day of Miss Grenville doing whatever she wants, because she can. Just like all the other debutantes and ladies of your set.”
He was right. Shehadn’tthought.
