Max refused to rise to the bait and ask what that was. He didn’t want to hear the answer. “I shall say goodnight then.”
“Going down to Mortimer’s tomorrow?”
“No.” Max shook his head.
“Too bad. You’ll miss an interesting evening.”
“Other plans.”
“So be it.”
And with that, Dancey Miller-James walked from the warm room, leaving Max staring at the fire and wondering why he felt so cold.
It wasn’t that he harbored any particular emotions for Hecate Ridlington. He’d met her, of course, and found her as passable as most of the debutantes. Which, for him, meant that she’d received his bow, a polite word or two and nothing more. She did have unusually beautiful eyes, but not sufficiently unusual to attract more than a cursory glance, and her fairness set her apart from the rest of the Ridlington family. He’d not spared her a moment’s consideration after their brief introduction.
He had barely enough room in his life for his sister. He wasn’t about to squeeze in a simple country girl with nothing more than a pair of fine eyes to recommend her.
He wondered how someone like Miller-James had wormed his way into such high social favor. His uncle, Bishop Augustus Miller-James, might have had something to do with it, of course. Not to mention the Miller-James fortune, which would have made the Prince Regent solvent had the family decided to gift it to the crown.
Money, to theTon, was God. If you possessed enough of it, you were fêted, fawned upon and favored by all who managed to work their sycophantic way to your side. Your sins were pardoned or excused as forgivable excesses, and your conversation treasured as the most delightful collection ofbon mots.
He’d endured it for a few months after his arrival in London. It had grown increasingly irritating, and finally he had decided it was time for him to assume the persona of a distant and elusive gentleman; one who spoke little, and offered even less in the way of social interactions. He’d become known as MaxSecret-Mowbray for a time, which was quite all right with him. Given his distinct private preferences, he was happy to keep whatever secrets he had to himself.
However, he couldn’t, in all conscience, listen to Dancey’s plans to seduce and likely abandon Miss Hecate Ridlington, thus ruining her for life. It was deplorable, and all too common amongst the men who imagined themselves to be above recrimination.
Max knew the rules he had set for himself precluded his ignoring this conversation, and he spared a brief moment to wish he’d stayed at home instead of coming to his club. But there it was. The words had been spoken. And the question of what to do about it settled on his mind.
An hour later, empty brandy glass beside him, he had arrived at a decision.
The best way to try and prevent a disaster for Hecate Ridlington was to go through her sister, Kitty. The two seemed close, and if he could casually mention that Dancey was not an acceptable companion for someone like Hecate, Kitty might be able to scotch the affair before it went too far.
It was a solid idea, and with luck would save the day. Plus, it put him in a position to do something he’d been considering for more than a few months.
It put him squarely in the path of Miss Kitty Ridlington.
And that, he confessed, was a position he wanted to explore to its fullest, because he found her raised chin and strong will a challenge. He wondered if he could match it—dominate it—and make her submit tohim.
The idea of such a proud and willful woman restrained for his pleasure sent a different kind of sensation from the back of his neck down to his groin. And this one was sharp, darting shivers of impatience over his skin like miniature bolts of lightning designed to arouse.
Oh yes. It was a task he believed he could achieve. Kitty Ridlington would submit. And when she did, he would punish her to the point of ecstasy.
On that thought, he too quit the room. It was time to go home and set some plans in motion.
