Maxwell waited inside the drawing room, fingers curled under his chin, eyes narrowed into a frown. He crossed his legs, uncrossed them, and crossed them once more.

He took a deep breath, cocked his head to the right and frowned even more. He let out a sigh and shook his head.

Ah, whatever it was, he could not deny it.

That kiss was astounding. Why would he ever deny it was not? Men who did looked like fools and he was no fool.

He did not plan to kiss her. Truly, he did not. She did not even look ravishing with her hair tied tightly behind her and that horrid valet uniform. But her voice invited him, her words seduced him. Pathetic as it may be, but he was pulled in and to pull back was unthinkable.

And she did not fight back. She welcomed the kiss. He scoffed at the memory. She did kiss him back.

He stilled when the door to the room opened and the valet walked in, her face stone-like and unreadable.

Who was this woman? Where did she come from? He wanted to know, yet he knew that forcing the truth from her would merely lead to one of their useless disputes.

She had fixed her hair tightly behind her once more and Maxwell regretted not having ruined it earlier. She did look beautiful with her hair down in the Macy ball.

"Have you rearranged your muddled mind?" he asked when she placed a tray of sandwiches and tea on the table before him.

Straightening to full height, she lifted her chin and haughtily looked down at him. Definitely gentry, he thought. "Quite," she admitted.

"You do admit I caused you confusion," he said, greatly satisfied when her eyes flickered with annoyance.

"Yes, of course," she uttered. "But it makes me wonder if you do know where you are."

Maxwell frowned. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Mayhap you have mistaken your brother's estate to yours, my lord," she said with a shrug. She waved her hand around the drawing room, adding, "As you have mistaken that your mistress is at your residence and not here."

Maxwell's lips twitched. "Ah, you are bringing up the subject of my mistress again. Why?"

She shook her head in disbelief. "Now that I have delivered your sandwiches and tea, could I leave? I was hoping you would discuss how you are to aid me in my mission, but it seems that you are not currently in the right mind to do so."

He studied her for a while before motioning his hand over the tray. "Eat."

She frowned. "You do like to order me around."

"And you do hate to be ordered around," he countered. "Eat. You said you are famished."

Her jaw tightened.

"Well? Would you rather share your luncheon with Molly?" he asked, voice filled with meaning.

"I cannot eat your meal. Anyone could walk in and find us—"

Maxwell impatiently stood up and walked to the door. He turned the lock and faced her once again. "Satisfied? Now, eat."

She sighed and sat on the chair he vacated. "Very well, since I am famished." She picked up the sandwich and turned to him with a mocking smile. "And while I feed myself with your sandwiches, I would appreciate if you could grace me with your marvelous plan."

"My plan," he uttered, walking to the chaise across from her. He did not have very precise plan at the moment. The only one he had was one he could not share with her.

"Yes, the exact one that will rid you of my presence."

His brows rose. "That is a rather harsh way of putting it."

"A fact," she pointed out, taking a bite from the sandwich.

He watched her mouth move as she chewed. "You kissed rather well. Did you have lovers before you became a man?"

Her pale grey eyes flickered with annoyance. "Mayhap I did, mayhap I did not." She forced a smile and disarmed him with her next question. "You also did a marvelous job at kissing. Did you have so many lovers before you decided to you shall debauch a lady pretending to be a man?"

Maxwell could not stop his lips from twitching into a small smile. "I did, yes. Would you like to sample more than mere kissing?"

Rolling her eyes, she shrugged and looked away. "What do you plan to do? I cannot stay here longer than a month. I must find a way to talk to her."

Maxwell tore his eyes away from her lips. "I am talking to an acquaintance. I expressed my desire to be introduced to her. You shall know the moment his reply arrives."

She looked at him with doubtful eyes.

"I am telling the truth, woman." He nodded at the tray. "Finish your food."

"A week," she uttered, looking him squarely in the eyes. "A week and if your acquaintance does not deliver a reply, I am packing my bags to Willowfair."

"You have no money."

"My pay is currently untouched."

"It will not get you far."

She picked up another sandwich. "A hackney is cheaper than you believe."

His eye twitched. He was unexpectedly infuriated. Making note of his reaction for later assessment, Maxwell uttered, "A hackney. Of course. What will be your way to protect yourself should you be in danger once again this time? Lord Thorne?"

She smiled. "No."

"Who then?"

"What," she corrected.

"What?"

"I shall purchase myself a hunting knife, of course," she said, standing up. "Thank you for the food," she said, picking the last sandwich from the tray. "I will finish it inside my room."

Maxwell watched her walk to the door, her back straight and shoulders squared proudly. "Do be sure to lock the door. Molly might be lurking in one corner."

"Duly noted, my lord." She pulled at the door and stared at him over one shoulder. "One week."

Maxwell shrugged in response.

"One week," she repeated.

He shrugged again.

She walked out the door and Maxwell watched it slowly close.

A week would not suffice, but he shall try to make a fast move.

*****

Maxine was met by Lottie along the service corridor two days later. She was about to run and hide, thinking it was Molly, but soon realized it was the scullery maid.

"You cannot believe what I saw, Max!" she said, squealing with excitement.

Maxine frowned. "What?"

"Lord Max!"

"Of course, but he had been in residence for two days now."

"But—but he is—" Lottie's face flushed. She leaned closer and whispered, "He is in the garden in naught but his sleeping robe!"

Maxine was not surprised at such news for she had long established that Maxwell Everard was indeed an Everard—he did whatever he fancied.

"And he talked to me!"

Now that was something surprising. "He talked to you? How? Why were you in the garden?"

"I was lurking—I mean I was on my way into the end of the service corridor when he saw me, see?"

"What did he say to you?"

Lottie's face flushed. "He wanted tea."

"Tea."

"Yes."

"In the garden?"

Lottie nodded.

"Then fetch his tea—"

"He specifically asked that you serve it to him. I cannot serve him tea! Oscar will butcher me should I ever do it!"

"But Lord Nick is bound to wake up soon and—"

"Oh, Max, please do give him his tea. I did promise him it shall be served right away. I cannot break my promise!" Lottie was nearly as tall as Maxine and she could have pressed her own face in front of her out of desperation.

Maxine sighed. "Very well."

"Now, go! I shall help you get away from Molly. Ye do not have to worry 'bout her, Max. I have yer back. Albin is bound to arrive today or tomorrow at the latest."

"Oscar did try to reprimand her this morning. It did not work, Lottie," Maxine uttered wryly.

"Ah, but Albin is way better with words than Oscar is. He could put Molly in her place."

She did not comment. Molly had been quite a nuisance, always popping out of nowhere to talk to her or initiate a conversation that involved a lot of batting eyes and sultry smiles. If there was anything Maxine learned from the woman about seduction, it would be the many ways on how to do it wrong. Lesson one, of course, would be making certain you are seducing the correct sex.

*****

Merely five minutes later she walked into the garden, balancing a tray of tea and biscuits.

She found Maxwell, indeed in his sleeping robe, sitting on a chair with a book in hand. At that very moment, Maxine could believe she was approaching a perfectly chiseled statue of Eros reading a book on how to masterfully seduce Psyche. When did Maxwell Everard turn into a god in her eyes?

He looked up when she approached and watched her place the tray on the small round table before him.

"What took you so long?" he asked, reaching for the cup. The image of Eros quickly vanished at the sound of his voice, taking Maxine back to reality.

"My feet?" she replied with a mocking smile.

He returned the sardonic look. "Always loved sarcasm for breakfast."

She looked down at him. His hair was a mess and his robe was bedraggled. One would think he wrestled with himself in bed. And yet you thought of Eros, a voice whispered inside her head. She brushed it away. "Would you wish for your breakfast to be delivered here, my lord?"

He shook his head. "Later. I shall have it with Nicholas."

"And what of your acquaintance? Has he delivered a reply?"

He shook his head.

"I merely gave you one week, my lord."

"It has only been two days, Max," he pointed out. He sipped from his tea. "How are your trysts with Molly?"

"She is turning to be a sore loser, a matter I hate to see come to worse," she said, "which is why I would need to know what you plan to do. I can no longer prolong my stay here."

He nodded. "You may go."

"Out of Wickhurst to Willowfair?"

"No, from the garden to wherever you ought to be."

"You deliberately sent for me. Why?"

"Because I wanted to see you," he said, crossing his leg over the other. His face remained unreadable. He appeared to have recited something from the book he was holding that it made Maxine wonder if he meant it or not. "I do mean it. I wanted to see you."

Her face crumpled in incredulity and awe. She scoffed while her mind searched for a coherent argument. There was none. She slowly shook her head. "You do have the most eccentric way of attempting to make a woman's heart flutter."

He raised his brows. "Flutter? No, I meant to make it skip a beat, Max."

She tilted her head to the side to study him. "Why are you doing this?"

He shrugged. "I find it odd myself."

"And yet you still do it?"

"Yes, for my own sanity, of course, not yours."

"You are succeeding in causing havoc to my sanity, indeed. You baffle me!"

"Not as much as you do me, trust me." He motioned with his head. "Now, go. I've had my fill."

Maxine's eyes widened, mouth hanging open. She turned and walked away from Maxwell Everard. She had long known he was a cynic, but he was far stranger than she had expected as days went by!

*****

Maxwell waited until his brother was alone in his study before he barged in to calmly ask, "Why did you agree to such an atrocious idea?"

Nicholas paused from his writing and looked up at Maxwell. "How did you find out?"

"Mother sent a note of inquiry to my residence," he said, waving the paper, "which my footman delivered this morning."

"Is your mistress still in town?"

Ignoring his brother's question, he scowled. "Why did you bloody do it, Nicholas? Is Benedict aware of this?"

Nicholas nodded. "He proposed the idea."

Maxwell's face tightened. "And no one bothered to tell me?"

Nicholas sighed. "It is because you are very much opposed to Osegod. That is why I decided not to tell you."

"Is Margaret aware of this?"

"Why would Margaret have a say on such small detail? It is merely a dinner, Max, fret not."

"Osegod is Margaret's concern, you bloody idiot!"

Nicholas frowned. And then his brother blinked. "You mean that the League is—"

Maxwell cursed under his breath and dragged a chair to face his brother.

"Ah, finally ready to share, Max?"

"Before you make more stupid decisions that could ruin us all, yes," he snapped.

Nicholas waved his hand. "Then, please, be my guest."

Maxwell looked at his brother, not quite sure how much he ought to tell. But Margaret had not said he could not share what he knew and the woman had been quite busy of late to have the proper talk they planned to set. Nicholas would merely do more stupid things if he was kept in the dark.

"In Ysabella's wedding, I heard Margaret and Thomas Hayward talking."

"Thomas Hayward? Wakefield's brother?" Nicholas asked. "Do not tell me he is a Leaguer!"

"He is. And he is currently tasked by the League of Founders to handle a case that involves Osegod."

"What case?"

Maxwell shook his head. "I do not know."

"Then you are not certain—"

"Our sister did something that she would not have done if she was not afraid, Nick," Maxwell seriously interrupted.

Nicholas stilled. "What did she do?"

"Do you remember Aurora Randolph?"

Nicholas blinked. "Of course. Ysabella and Emma's friend. She did leave Wickhurst months ago—" he stopped and his eyes widened. "Do not tell me—"

"Her disappearance was brought about by the League."

His brother's face crumpled in disbelief. "How in bloody tarnation does that woman fit this case?"

Maxwell shrugged. "I was not able to find out, but I know that she is wanted by Osegod, along with her child."

Nicholas leaned forward in surprise. "Aurora Randolph has a child?"

"One she keeps as a secret."

"The child belongs to Osegod?"

"I cannot say for certain, but it is a possibility."

"And where does Margaret fit in all this?"

"She was the one who gave Thomas Hayward the information of where to find Aurora Randolph." When his brother's face remained blank, he added, "And the League is planning to use her and her child as pawns to trap Osegod." Nicholas' eyes widened. "You see, Nick, for Margaret to allow such act against a woman and her child means that whatever the League of Founders has against Osegod is enormous. For her to put at risk the life of a mother and child merely means that Margaret is also desperate to help them achieve their goal."

Nicholas blinked and leaned back against his chair in disbelief. "No, I refuse that Margaret would do such a thing. If Aurora was being hunted by Osegod, helping her would have been the better option. Surely we could—"

"Margaret did not merely want the League to succeed by having Aurora and the child. She also wanted to rid us of any connection to her, in turn any connection with Osegod," Maxwell interjected. "And now you wish to host dinner for the man. I am telling you, Nick, Maggie will not like this."

Nicholas rubbed his hands against his face in frustration. "I am yet to process that the woman my sisters tried to match with me is in fact a mother and is being hunted by the very man I invited to dinner at the Everard estate, Max, so please spare me for a moment." He opened his eyes and stared at Maxwell. "How the bloody hell could I have known!"

"Cancel the dinner."

"I cannot. It would be suspicious." A long silence reigned between them. "This is why you believe Osegod is behind the mine accident."

"Yes."

"But if Margaret succeeded in ridding us of Aurora Randolph, why is Osegod still after us?"

Maxwell shrugged. "This sudden interest in our family and the business could mean more. Aurora Randolph could simply be a coincidence to a plan."

Nicholas shook his head. "Ben would not like this."

"I do not care what the League is doing or why they are doing it for it has already been established that Osegod is not merely the head of the Town Leaders. The League of Founders has formed a mission to destroy him and that is enough reason for us to stay away. He is far beyond what we know."

"But we cannot avoid him. It is too late," Nicholas said. "He has already made contact. He is bloody coming for a bloody dinner!"

Maxwell did not reply, simply stared. Nicholas gauged his reaction.

"You have a plan, do you not?"

Maxwell shrugged. "Of course, but I was hoping I do not have to utilize it."

"What plan?" When Maxwell did not reply, Nicholas urged, "What plan, Maxwell?"

Maxwell sighed. "I know someone we could use to help us acquire information about Osegod's plans. We must learn if his intentions are purely business or a part of a bigger one that will place us at a disadvantage."

"And how will this person help us?"

"This person is a Trilby and I wager that the closest we can get to Osegod is through a Trilby."

"No, no," Nicholas said, shaking his head. "We cannot use Edmund. Margaret and Cole will not allow it. The young man has gone through enough."

"But I am not talking about Edmund."

"Who—"

Nicholas' question was interrupted by a sudden clashing sound. They both turned and found the valet standing in the doorway, her face white with horror. The service tray and its contents were on the floor where she dropped them.

Maxwell jumped to his feet, not quite sure which is better: to be swallowed by the ground or be blown to pieces.