Page 48 of The Devil and the Heiress
Her lips pursed in irritation, she rang the bell that sat on a small, spindly table next to the delicate-looking settee. Huxley appeared as if he had been hovering outside the room. “Please have a pot of tea brought in.”
Huxley nodded and slinked back out again as soundlessly as he had entered. With a sigh, she tugged off her gloves in efficient movements—he noticed her fingers were long and slender—and perched on the edge of the settee as if she intended to go charging off at the slightest provocation. “Please, have a seat,” she offered belatedly, indicating the adjacent chair.
Max eyed the piece of delicate furniture warily. At six feet three inches, he wasn’t a small man, and he ran solid rather than wiry.
Noting his scrutiny, she said, “A Chippendale original from 1773.”
Uncertain what he was meant to do with that information, he simply said, “Impressive.”
“I meant that it has held countless men, most of them with conceit considerably larger than your own.”
He frowned, uncertain if he was meant to take that as a compliment or if he had been handed the most well-placed insult he had ever received. He mulled it over as he sat, gratified when the chair did not so much as utter a creak of protest.
After he was settled, she asked, “Mr. Crenshaw, could I speak plainly with you?”
“You haven’t already?” If this was her being nice, he would truly hate to be the object of her wrath.
She nodded, and he noticed how long and graceful her neck was. “Perhaps I owe you an apology. I am afraid that I have made assumptions that are possibly unfair.”
“What sort of assumptions?” He noted she only mentioned the potential existence of an apology without actually issuing one.
She took a moment to answer, looking him over as iftrying to divine his character from his face. Instead of answering his question, she asked one of her own. “Do you know of your parents’ plans for Violet, and if so, what do you make of them?”
“If you are asking me if I support their plan to marry her to this earl or viscount or whatever he is, then no, I do not. I was here in London only weeks ago to save August from a similar fate. Believe me, I have better things to do with my life than spend it continuously crossing the Atlantic Ocean to save my sisters. When I find Violet, I am taking her home with me and to hell with their marriage plans. Does that answer your question?”
Instead of being offending by his plain speaking, she actually smiled, a charming little uptilt of her lips that seemed more mysterious than joyful. “I could not agree more. I was beyond shocked when I heard the rumors that he had made an offer and been accepted. I hoped I was wrong, but then Violet confirmed it to me.”
“When did you last see her?” Both his sisters had mentioned Lady Helena to him in their letters home, but he hadn’t known how deeply their affections for her ran. If Violet had taken this woman into her confidence about the engagement, then perhaps she had shared something of her plans with her.
“She visited me the day before she left. That’s when she told me of Lord Ware’s attempt on her.”
“His what?” His voice came out harsher than he had intended.
She blinked at him but did not seem overly perturbed by the outburst. Waving a hand, she said, “He came to visit and tried to get her alone so they would be caught together. She was able to thwart him, but in hindsight, I think it was the impetus for her plan.”
That fucking bastard. After he found Violet, Max would find Ware and make sure he had a few minutes alone with the man.
“When she came, she brought a Gladstone bag and asked me to keep it until she retrieved it. She said it contained copies of her manuscripts and she needed a safe place to store them.”
“You didn’t think that odd?” he asked.
“Now, yes. I suppose at the time I thought it strange, but I really didn’t think much of it. I was packing and our visit was cut short. You see, I was leaving the next morning for my cottage in Somerset. My housekeeper there had fallen ill. She’s elderly and meant a great deal to my husband. I had to see to her care personally.”
Huxley returned bearing a tray with tea and cookies. As she filled their cups, Max found himself watching her, mesmerized by the graceful movements she had undoubtedly performed hundreds of times. He shook his head no to her offer of sugar and milk. He didn’t know why the idea of her having a husband surprised him. Because of her bearing, she seemed older than August, perhaps closer to his own age. Of course, she would be married. The knowledge caused a strange heaviness in his chest.
“Thank you,” he said, accepting the cup and saucer from her. “My condolences on your housekeeper.”
Her brows drew together as she brought her own cup to her lips. “Oh, she’s made a full recovery.”
But she had used the past tense; he was certain he hadn’t misheard her. Did that mean she was a widow? “About the visit?” he prompted.
“Yes. According to Huxley, Violet retrieved the bag the day she left.”
“You mentioned you might know where she had gone.” He took a sip of his tea, the hot liquid coating his tongue.
“Yes, but I’m afraid I must have your word that you will allow me to accompany you before I tell you.”
He grinned at that, imagining being confined in a carriage with her and her sharp tongue as they tracked Violet down. “And why would I do that?”
