‘Quiet,’ Lansdowne said softly, taking a step forward, gripping Latymer by the sleeve and bringing him to his feet. ‘Come with me.’
With Nevill on his other side they hustled Latymer out. ‘He’s a bit the worse for wear,’ Nevill said brightly as someone looked up. ‘Castaway, don’t you know?’
Max laid down his cards and excused himself. ‘My cousin may need a hand.’
In the book room Lansdowne was confronting Latymer across a table on which lay the ace of spades. ‘Fell out of his sleeve when I shook it,’ he said grimly.
Ryder, still perfectly in character, stammered, ‘My God! I couldn’t work out what was wrong—I mean, I don’t play all that much, but I’m not as bad as all that. Yet I couldn’t get the slightest edge after the first few hands. But in a gentleman’s club! I never dreamt …’
‘You lying sharp!’ Latymer swung round, his face livid.
‘How dare you insult my guest,’ Lansdowne snapped. ‘I’ve a mind to call you out.’
‘And you won’t get out of this by apologising,’ Nevill said with satisfaction.
Latymer sank down onto a chair and looked at the faces surrounding him. ‘So that’s what this is about. Miss Mallory …’
‘Miss Mallory has graciously accepted your apology, and if you mention her name once more I will ram it down your throat. No, it is not about that.’ Max sat down opposite him. ‘It’s about your most recent bout of sharping in Buckinghamshire. I want all the papers, every IOU—and I want a document from you admitting that you obtained a half-share in the Challenge Coaching Company by fraudulent means. And then we will let you go and won’t tell the polite world that you were caught trying to rook a gentleman in the Nonesuch Club’s card room.’ He sat back. ‘Well?’
‘Damn you to hell.’ Brice Latymer stared back, white to the lips. ‘You’ll ruin me.’
‘Only if you do not do as I ask. We are all prepared to turn a blind eye if the half-share in the company returns to its proper owner.’ Max dug in his card case. ‘Here is the direction of my attorney at law. You will call upon him tomorrow, return all the paperwork and sign an affidavit disclaiming all rights to the Challenge Coach Company. Or you will never set foot in any polite gathering in London again.’
With a snarl Latymer snatched the rectangle of pasteboard and flung out of the room. Behind him four gentlemen collapsed into library chairs and let out a collective huff of breath.
‘Will someone please tell me what is going on?’ Nevill asked plaintively.
Bree was fast asleep when she was roused by Lucy. Pushing her frivolous lace nightcap out of her eyes, she struggled up in bed. ‘What is it?’ Over the maid’s shoulder she could see Peters outside her door, his livery pulled on anyhow and his nightcap askew on his head, obviously forgotten.
‘Lord Penrith and another gentleman are here. They insist you’ll wish to see them, whatever the hour, Miss Bree.’
‘Lord Penrith? Oh, thank goodness.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘At least, I hope it is good news. Peters, rouse Mr Mallory. Lucy, hand me my wrapper, then fetch Miss Thorpe. I shall go down.’
‘In your wrapper, Miss Bree?’ Lucy looked scandalised as Bree scrambled out of bed and slipped her arms into the frivolous confection of lace and satin that she had acquired from the same place as Lady Georgy purchased her own lingerie.
‘That is why I asked you to fetch Miss Thorpe, Lucy.’ Bree tossed the words back over her shoulder as she ran downstairs. The drawing-room door was open. Inside, Max and Mr Ryder were standing before the almost dead embers of the fire. ‘What happened?’
Both men gazed at her, their mouths dropping slightly open. Under any other circumstances this would have been flattering; just now Bree was too anxious for flirting. ‘Well?’ she demanded.
‘Very well.’ Max appeared to recover his equilibrium before his companion. ‘He will be visiting my attorney tomorrow to hand over all papers and to sign documents denying any claim on the company and admitting he played foul.’
‘Oh, Max, thank you!’ Bree ran forward and hugged as much of him as she could manage.
‘I collect that Mr Ryder has also been wonderful,’ Rosa said drily from the doorway. ‘Miss Mallory, might I suggest that we offer the gentlemen refreshment?’
Bree let Max go, suddenly conscious of what she was doing and the spectacle she must be presenting. She had rejected Max’s suit, and knew she should do so when he pressed it again. She must not forget herself.
‘Mr Ryder, how wonderful that your clever scheme has worked. I do thank you, both for myself and Piers, but most of all for my uncle. The relief is enormous.’ The footman was hovering in the doorway. ‘Peters, for goodness’ sake, take off your nightcap and fetch the decanters for the gentlemen. No, on second thoughts, fetch the champagne and enough glasses for all of us—we have a famous victory to drink to.’
She sat down, sweeping her flounced skirts into order as though they belonged to a ball gown. Across the room she could see Max’s lips twitching appreciatively, but kept her face straight, anxious not to disconcert the rather austere Mr Ryder. Peters staggered back with a loaded tray.
‘Excellent. Lord Penrith, would you do the honours?’
Max went and took the bottle. ‘A fine year. You have a notable cellar, Miss Mallory.’
‘I won it in the coaching inns’ Christmas lottery,’ Bree confessed. ‘Our cellar here is a disgrace.’ She watched, her heart brimming as the frothing liquid filled the glasses, then took her own from Max and lifted it in a toast. ‘To our gallant rescuers.’
Chapter Twenty
Max waited until eleven the next day before calling. He wanted Bree rested, calm and, with any luck, alone. He achieved the first and the last, but he was not sure about how calm she was when he was ushered into the sitting room.
Bree was sitting at her desk, piles of paper all around her, chewing the end of her quill while she stared into space. When he came in her eyes flew to his face and she coloured up, giving him hope that she had been sitting daydreaming about him.
‘Hello.’
She sat still, regarding him solemnly, then she smiled and got to her feet. ‘Max.’ She came towards him, let him take her hand and drop a kiss onto her cheek, but she drew away almost immediately and went to sit in one of the chairs before the fireplace.
Max dropped into the other and crossed his legs, sitting back to give her the space she seemed to need. There was a sense of withdrawal, of distance, that was new about her; she had made up her mind, he could see that.
Bree folded her hands carefully in her lap. He was going to ask her to marry him, now he knew he was free to do so, and she had to tell him, again, that she could not. His first marriage, to a woman far from his world, had been a disaster. She was closer to that world, but perhaps could see even more clearly than Drusilla ever had what a gulf still yawned between them.
Mama had been cut off from her family for the crime of marrying a respectable yeoman farmer. She, the offspring of that mésalliance, was closely related to a major business enterprise, enough to tar her thoroughly with the dreaded label of trade. Even with a half-brother of impeccable ton, she would always be the outsider, but at least now she was accepted while she walked that fine line. To presume to marry an earl would be, she was certain, considered shocking. And Max would spend his entire time defending his wife against snubs and slights.
And that was just the start of it. What did she know of the sort of life