“Kitty, you are my guest…”
“No, I’m not.” She looked over the table and into his eyes. “I am not your guest, Max. I’m your mistress. I’m not sure why I’m even here, since it is magnifying the scandal by bringing me to your home. I should be in a small house, in an unobtrusive part of town, and you know that.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Yes, I know that. But I choose to have you here. I have no family or wife to offend or scandalize. What I choose to do, and with whom, is my own affair.”
“I applaud your determination to flout convention.” Kitty tilted her head. “One that I have embraced myself a time or two. However, this situation is a little different, wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s different in many ways,” he agreed. “One of which is that significant damage was done to two people simply because they were in my carriage.” His expression turned hard. “I intend to find out by whom, and why. But until I do, I have to assume there may be danger to myself, or my family. As of now, you are in my house, and therefore possibly running the same risks.”
She could not argue that point at all; the logic made sense, the topic sent a chill down her spine. She finished her toast, then looked up at him. “I completely understand. It shall be as you wish.”
He smiled. “Use the library. You might find some interesting reading material.”
She rose, shaking out her skirts. “Thank you. I will.”
He rose as well. “I will be back before dinner. Don’t worry.”
Coming to her side, he took her chin in his hand and tugged her face upward. “Miss me, Kitty. I’ll be thinking of you.”
“I will,” she answered, her gaze fixed on him. “Be careful.”
“Of course. I have much to look forward to when I get back.” His grin was wicked and he lowered his face to hers, softly slipping his tongue over her lips. “Open for me.”
She obeyed, loving how his tongue invaded and caressed, teasing and urging her to reciprocate.
He groaned, his arm sliding around her and crushing her to his body.
The kiss lingered, heat licking up inside Kitty as her knees weakened beneath his sensual onslaught. But he broke off, pulling back from her, color rising in his cheeks. “Damn, Kitty. If I had the time, I’d fuck you here and now, skirts up, right here next to the blackberry jam.” He cupped her breast and flicked her nipple hard through her bodice. “Would you like that?”
Honesty compelled her answer. “Yes, Master,” she whispered, glancing down at the bulge in his breeches. “I’d like that very much.”
He chuckled. “That’s my good girl. Behave yourself today. I’ll be back before you know it.”
She smiled in response, happy to have pleased him. “By the way? The jam…it is excellent.”
“I’m seldom wrong,” he called over his shoulder.
She sighed as he left, the room suddenly empty and feeling a little colder. “I do hope you’re right about that, Max. I really do.”
Chapter Fifteen
London was, as London was wont to do, buzzing with the latest on dits, both of which revolved around the Ridlingtons.
“Isn’t it terrible,” they whispered “That poor Miller-James. Dead, I heard. Head smashed to smithereens, I heard.”
“She lured him away,” more whispers, “another dreadful Ridlington. And of course you heard about her sister…well, I never!”
Max ignored it all. He had earned his fair share of gossip years ago, was now wealthy enough to survive much more than a wave of murmurs behind fans, and knew that within the week there would be another exciting scandal to render this week’s tattle quite stale in nature and barely worth discussing.
Such was the way of Society. Having the status to rise to the top of the heap, which he had done, he realized he was developing a distaste for it all. His friends—true friends—were few, and mostly kept to themselves. It would seem they all shared a mutual aversion to the Ton.
Tapping on the door of one such friend, after dismounting in front of a quiet establishment not far from Whitehall, he was relieved to be admitted with a warm welcome from the ancient butler.
“Morris, you old charmer. Still kicking then?” He delivered his coat and hat to the elderly man with the shock of white hair.
“Not kicking so much these days, master Max, but his Lordship refuses to let me retire. So here I am, still charming as ever.”
Max laughed at the dry tones. “And with a much quicker wit than Sir Peregrine, too.”
Morris bowed at the compliment. “You are too kind, sir. You’ll find Sir Peregrine in the library…”
“I know the way. Thank you.”
Max strolled down the wide corridor leading from the hallway toward the gardens. At the end was a huge arched window, showing little but rain and wet shrubbery at the moment. He stopped at a door a few feet from the end and knocked, smiling at the sharp command to “enter”.
“What, no brandy?” Max grinned as he took in the tableau of his friend seated by a roaring fire with half a dozen books scattered all over the place.
“Hullo Max,” Peregrine Hawkesbury turned his head casually. “I might have known you’d turn up today. Doing all kinds of terrible things, my housekeeper tells me.”
“Yes, yes I am,” agreed Max. “Someone has to provide gossip for the old biddies.” He strolled to the other fireside chair, tossed a book from the seat to the couch, and sat.
“Oh, was that the Broadbent Treatise on Obsession, by any chance?”
Max leaned over and looked at the book. “No. It’s the Dibden Fathers’ Discussion of Unholy Manifestations.”
“Never mind then.” Sir Peregrine closed the book on his lap. “So do tell me what brings you here?”
“I need your help, Perry.”
The other man blinked in surprise. “Good God. That’s unusual.” He smirked. “Out of funds, are we?”
Max rolled his eyes. “No. My financial affairs are in good heart. And will continue to remain so, even with the whole business in Europe turning the stick market into a ride on a three-wheeled phaeton.”
That led to an animated discussion on Wellington, Napoleon, whether Blucher would be able to lead his Prussians in support of the Duke, and other matters so dearly beloved of gentlemen when with similarly-minded companions.
Eventually it worked back around to the original statement. “So how can I help you?” asked Peregrine.
“Tell me what you know of the old Baron Ridlington. The one who died a couple of years ago now. Jack? Jack something?”
Peregrine looked interested. “Really? That family making an impression?”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Since I’ve one daughter living at my house at the moment, and the other was nearly killed in my carriage, I do feel it incumbent to learn more of the family…”