Max frowned. “Of course, I won’t continue the affair. It’s over.”
“Why?”
Max couldn’t believe Rothchild even had to ask. “She lied to me. She listened to my confession and kept her own close to her chest. A good woman would have come forward the day after the fire and told the magistrate what had happened, not waited to acknowledge her own guilt until—”Until he’d fallen arse over teakettle in love with her. He bit off his words, not wanting to admit his own folly to his friends.
Scraping his fingers along his jaw, he slouched in his chair. He didn’t blame Colleen. Not really. No one wanted to expose their guilt. But everything he’d thought he knew about her, her character, her honesty, had been a lie. Perhaps if he’d—
A jewel-encrusted boot sparkled in the corner of his vision, lashing out and striking his armrest. His chair rocked up onto two legs. Max wind-milled his arms, trying to regain his balance, but his body slid to the side of the chair and his weight tipped it over. He crashed to his side, his temple bouncing off the Aubusson carpet.
Max blinked in surprise.
“Bloody fucking hell!” Montague yelled. “First my great-grandmother’s portrait. Now my Chippendale chair. Stop destroying my property, you gormless git!”
Pushing up onto one hip, Max glared at Summerset. The man had the audacity to look unrepentant, still aimlessly bobbing his boot through the air.
“Sutton has a tendency to be a self-righteous prick.” Summerset shrugged. “He needed to be tossed on his head.”
Montague righted the chair and wiggled the broken armrest. “You could have done that without breaking my chair.
“Or my head.” Max pushed to his feet.
Rothchild poured himself a cup of tea, stirring in some sugar. “I wouldn’t call him self-righteous, per se.” He took a delicate sip. “I don’t think Sutton thinks he’s a better person than everyone else. But now that Mrs. Bonner has fallen from the pedestal he’d placed her on, she’s no longer worth his time.”
Heat flushed through Max’s body. “What the hell do you know about it?”
Montague laid a hand on his shoulder, and Max shrugged him off.
“Come now,” Montague said quietly. “You can’t deny that you have a rosy ideal of how you think life should be. And that includes romanticizing the women you’re with.” Montague poured him another glass of whiskey, only half full. “Inevitably, you’re disappointed when circumstances and people don’t live up to your expectations.”
“Mrs. Bonner is made of flesh and blood.” Rothchild leaned forward in his chair. “She’ll make mistakes. But I’ve never seen you so torn up about a woman. You’ve certainly never shaved for one before.” He shook his head, his mouth twisting wryly. “Are you certain you want to give her up for one mistake?”
Summerset cleaned his nails with his blade. “To be fair, it was a large mistake. She killed her husband. How could Sutton lie next to her at night easy in mind? She might set fire to the bedsheets.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Max raised his glass to his mouth, paused. “A child’s pour?” He frowned. “You think I’m acting like an infant so give me only an infant’s portion of whiskey?”
Montague sat on the armrest of the settee. “You’ll need all your senses about you tonight. Only being prudent.”
Max grunted and knocked the swallow back. He fixed Summerset with a glare. “Colleen doesn’t make a habit of tipping over lamps.”
“Your money must have been a great inducement to the woman.” Summerset started flipping his knife again. He must have known he would need to have a weapon at the ready by continuing to speak of Colleen such. “A baron in her bed. Quite the step up from a clockmaker.”
“He didn’t make the clocks,” Max gritted out. “Only sold and repaired them.” He didn’t need to defend Colleen’s honor. Such an accusation was absurd. Colleen had never asked him for anything except the money she had earned.
Summerset tapped the blade against his lips. “I suppose it could have been the bed sport that attracted her. A widow knows what she’s missing and must look for comfort somewhere. It’s convenient she manages a Venus club. Now that you’re done with her, she’ll have easy access to a replacement.”
Blood pounded in Max’s ears. Summerset surely had a death wish. Friend or not, if he laid one more insult at Colleen’s door …
“I hear that Lord Halliwell—”
With a roar, Max hurled his glass at the fireplace. It shattered against the brick the same moment Max’s hands encircled Summerset’s neck. “Shut your filthy mouth.” He yanked John to his feet. “I swear to God, if you say one more word against her, I will knock out all your teeth and shove them down your throat to choke on.”
Montague and Rothchild each took an arm and pulled him off Summerset. The earl bent at the waist, heaving for air. Swiping his blade off the carpet, he straightened. The look he shot Max was much too smug for a man who’d nearly been strangled.
Montague shoved Max onto the settee. “Settle down. Summerset can be annoying, but he’s useful in a fight. We’ll need him tonight.”
“Yes, he’s so shiny and pretty he makes excellent cannon fodder,” Rothchild added. “Everyone’s aim is drawn in his direction. At least let his death be useful.”
“All of you can sod off.” Planting his boot on his chair, Summerset slid his knife under the tight cuff of his pantaloons. “I cut to the truth of the matter much sooner than you all did. We don’t have time to play around tonight.”
