“And once I’d discovered it,” he grinned, “I found a way to become useful to the owner.”
“Useful? Owner?” Max didn’t know who owned this club. His dues went through Benedict who—
“Never mind that,” Benedict interrupted. “What is it that you’ve learned?”
Christopher rolled his eyes. “I haven’t learned anything except that royalty is damned hard to entertain.” He looked atMax. “I’ve delayed Prinny as long as I could. I even told him your mother’s sick.”
“Mama? How did you know—”
“She’s always ill when worldly things get upsetting. You’re the one who told me that if she can’t manage it with a tea party, then she’s useless.”
True enough. “What exactly does Prinny want?”
“What he always wants. Entertainment! He expected you to be at Miss Kaur’s come-out ball.”
Max frowned. “Whyever would I be there?”
“Because Miss Kaur and her sister were great friends of Emmaline at school. I guessed that Emmaline would be there and require you as escort.”
“She didn’t feel up to it and sent our apologies.”
“So I gathered!” Christopher huffed. “I was just therewith Prinnywho made a surprise visit at the girl’s come-out just so he could find you.”
“Why not simply send round a note commanding me to visit him?”
“Because he thought this would befunnier.”
Which naturally meant that Christopher had created an elaborate fiction about how it would be a delightful diversion. But that only worked if Max had been there. He sighed.
“How irritated is he?”
Christopher snorted. “I’m here, aren’t I? Prinny was threatening to throw me in the Tower.”
Ah. Max gestured for another brandy and then began to make plans. He hadn’t intended to spend an evening in debauchery with Prinny. The very idea made him ill. But he could delay facing the royal only so long—
“My God, of course you’re here,” a voice interrupted them.
Max’s blood froze. It couldn’t be. One of the prime attractions of Old Gold was that it was unknown to his father.Except obviously, the duke knew exactly where it was as he stomped through the parlor door like an angry golem.
Max looked at Lord Benedict. “I thought this was a private—”
His mentor waved a negligent hand. “I am not in charge of membership.”
Meanwhile, Max watched as Christopher settled into his customary bored sneer. It was the expression he always wore when confronted by someone of the older generation who was rabidly political. It didn’t matter which party, Christopher made sure to appear completely bored by the nation’s future. Something that was sure to infuriate whoever dared approach.
Which, naturally, was the point. One could learn a lot from infuriated people.
“Father. I didn’t realize you were a member here,” Max said. “Pray, pull up a chair.”
“I’m not a member, you damned idiot. God, I’m choking on the shame that my son frequents a Molly house.” The man visibly shuddered as his gaze swept the room in contempt.
“You’re mistaken, Father.” This was a private club that had nothing to do with homosexual activities. There were no men getting debauched with unnatural acts. Indeed, there weren’t even the usual courtesans hanging about. It was all very proper, at least on these floors.
But his father never gave him the chance to point out the obvious.
“I’m finished,” the man continued to rant. “Absolutely finished with your nonsense. It’s bad enough that you’re here, but this idiocy at home must end. I’m tired of sleeping at my club.” He frowned as his gaze hopped over Chris to land on Lord Benedict. “Bloody hell, Benedict, I thought you had more sense.”
The man shrugged, sublimely unaffected. “Apparently not.”
