Page 34 of The Lady Tempts an Heir
The door opened, and her parents’ groom helped her out.
“See her to the door,” Papa instructed him. To Helena, he said, “You really must see your home properly staffed. Huxley is well past his retirement.”
“Good evening, Papa. Mama,” she replied, hurrying to her door.
“Helena,” Mama called out. “We’ll speak more about the gentleman soon.” Then for good measure, she added, “Tomorrow!”
Helena waved, already dreading that conversation. But then Huxley opened the door for her, and once inside her own home, thoughts of what had happened with Maxwell came flooding back to her. With them came the feeling of his hands on her, and his tongue in her mouth. She was smiling as she sailed up the stairs, already wondering when she’d find a way to kiss him again.
Chapter 12
In the tragedies and triumphs of human experience, each mortal stands alone.
Elizabeth Cady Stanton
The next evening, Max found himself at Montague Club, the club owned by Christian and his half brother, Jacob Thorne. Evan had owned voting shares but had given up most of them after inheriting his mining interests in Montana. Unlike White’s and Brooks’s, which catered to an exclusive class of aristocrats, Montague was the home to the second sons, bastards, and cousins of those nobles along with a few of the distinguished merchant class. Anyone was welcome, even women, as long as they could pay the expensive membership fee and abide by the rules. Being of that class himself, Max had found it only natural to eschew White’s in favor of Montague. Not to mention the fact that he wanted to support his brothers-in-law, particularly after the rocky beginnings of their entrance into the Crenshaw family.
The club was also known for its world-class bare-knuckle brawls, and Max intended to watch a few while in London. Apparently, that meant learning the basics of thesport, since here he stood as a boy pulled a length of cotton batting tight around Max’s hand. It nearly cut off his circulation as he weaved it through Max’s fingers and made another circle of his knuckles, encasing almost his entire hand with the white cloth.
“I’d prefer to be able to feel my hands,” Max teased.
The boy, who couldn’t have been more than twelve, scrunched his nose. “It’ll loosen as you work, guv’nor.”
Max nodded, and the boy continued until he tied off the end a moment later. Flexing his hands to test the wraps, Max took in the gymnasium. It was around three times the size of the modest gymnasium at his club in Manhattan, which was outfitted with steel bars mounted to the walls, dumbbells, and parallel bars. Montague Club operated at an entirely different level.
The club itself was a grand mansion, and the gymnasium was a converted ballroom. A large chandelier glittered above them with hundreds of crystals to reflect the light. The walls were plastered with gold brocade paper. A large fighting ring was roped off in one corner of the room with benches for spectators. The rest of the space was littered with machines and apparatuses to work every major muscle group. For the arms, there was a slatted climbing wall, an area for dumbbells fixed with various weights, and a standing machine with straps connected to sandbags for lifting. A couple of other machines were similar to that one but meant for working the legs. There was also a machine built on an incline fitted with a simple cable and pulley system that somehow worked the abdominal area. He had yet to figure out how that one worked.
“Ready?” Christian clapped him on the back, having been similarly outfitted with hand wraps. Unlike Max, who still wore his shirtsleeves, he had stripped down to his trousers and boots. Both Christian and Evan participated in brawling matches from time to time.
“I didn’t realize you employed children,” Max said,glancing over at the boy who was winding the leftover batting into a ball. Crenshaw Iron had once exploited child labor, but he had put a stop to it years ago.
“We don’t typically. He’s one of Lady Helena’s orphans. Kept getting himself into scraps and running away. She asked if we could employ him here to give him a purpose. So far the arrangement has worked out nicely. He still goes to the orphanage for his weekly lessons.”
Helena. Of course. It seemed he couldn’t escape her. Not that he wanted to, though she was partially responsible for his being here tonight. Over dinner with Christian and Jacob, Max had shared his frustrations about his father’s demands, only telling them what he had told August and Violet. No one except Helena needed to know the depths to which his father would stoop. Because of his frustrations, Christian had suggested they go to the gymnasium and hit something, and Max had agreed even though he hadn’t been entirely certain what that would involve.
He glanced down at the fabric binding his hands and flexed his fists to test the hold. They gave slightly but were still uncomfortably tight. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Fighting?” Christian asked.
Max nodded. “My last fight was at Princeton.”
“You’ll like it. Promise.” He grinned, his limp only slightly noticeable as he led Max over to an area where bags of sand hung suspended from the ceiling. He demonstrated in a few moves how Max should hold himself as he hit the bag repeatedly. “Use your legs and swing with your hips.” He demonstrated again in a slower motion. “You try.”
Max took up position and landed a hook square in the middle of the sandbag, sending it jolting backward, vibrating as if it had been struck with electricity. It felt good, so he did it again with his left fist.
“That’s it. Keep it up until your arms feel like they’re filled with jelly.”
Putting his head down, Max leaned into a series of blows against the unfortunate sandbag. In the weeks he had been in London, he had come to realize a couple of very important things. The first was that his father irritated him. No real surprise there. The second was that it had been over a month since he’d last had sex, and riding every morning in Hyde Park wasn’t giving him the physical outlet he needed. Unfortunately, the only woman he wanted was Helena, and that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon. So here he was, attempting to work out his frustrations in another way.
The room faded to the background as he stared at the X marked in chalk on the bag. It diminished a little more with each strike of his fists until finally it was gone and he was left with the satisfying thump of his fist hitting burlap and sand.
“Crenshaw.”
His head whipped up to see Jacob Thorne standing not very far away with Christian at his side. They seemed to have been watching him for some time. How long had he been punching? Now that he’d stopped, he realized he was covered in a layer of sweat and his shirt clung to his back.
Thorne smiled, a flash of white as he tilted his head toward the door. “You have a visitor.”
No one was at the door, which meant the visitor must be waiting somewhere. His first thought was Helena, but that would be too improper for her. The club had a reputation for having secret rooms that catered to very particular desires. God, the very idea of meeting her in one of those rooms had the hair on his arms standing on end in anticipation. Who even knew he was here? “Who is it?”
