Maxwell paced around his chamber, frowning with his thoughts.

Now that he had seen Amelia Trilby's reaction to Maxine's name, he had to start believing that the woman had more things to hide.

Perhaps Maxine was correct. He could not deny that she could not be wrong.

Pausing in the middle of the dark room, he sighed in frustration.

If Amelia Trilby simply admitted the truth and answered every bloody question her daughter might have for her, they could be traveling back to Wickhurst by now. Amelia could have said anything for Maxwell knew that any answer would have been enough for Maxine.

She was not here to have her feelings cared for. She came here knowing her mother's answers could shatter her heart.

Yet the denial she experienced earlier in the Fairview estate could be worse.

But not all knows how it feels to be unwanted...

The words she had spoken before sent a shiver through him once again.

He ran his fingers through his hair and stalked out of his room.

Soon enough, he was pushing her chamber door open and found her sitting at the foot of her bed, hugging the bedpost with one hand as she stared blankly at the floor. She had changed into a simple blue dress for dinner earlier and she was still wearing the same one now.

Maxwell shut the door behind him and frowned at her state. He was furious, not at himself or her, but at the woman who did not want her.

"Are you feeling all right?" he asked, padding toward her with careful steps, bending his neck to peer down at her face as he neared.

When she did not answer, Maxwell squatted on the floor, resting his forearms on his knees, searching her eyes to meet his. "Maxine, are you feeling all right?"

She blinked and her pale grey eyes met his. "Wrong question."

He frowned.

"You know how I feel. You should have asked when I will start to feel all right."

His lips quirked. "When do you ken you will start to feel all right?"

She allowed a faint smile and sighed.

Silence lingered between them. He did not know what question to ask for it seemed that he was not capable of asking the correct one at the moment. One wrong one was enough.

"She does not want me," she murmured.

His jaw tightened.

"Does she have to?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I am starting to believe that I did a foolish thing." She fiddled with her fingers. "I should not have left Theobald for such a petty thing. I should have listened to my father. I should have been content with Rachel's love. I did not have to go all the way here to beg for one answer to a question I already very well know." Her beautiful grey eyes brimmed with tears. "It was foolish of me to have hoped there was another reason. But there merely was one all along." She sniffed with a bitter smile. "She does not want me. She did not want me then when she threw me into my father's arms and she does not want me now."

Maxwell chose to be silent. He leaned over to cup her face with one hand.

Dangerous, his brain whispered. He ignored it.

"She is a Trilby. They are amongst the oldest families in the Town. Their ancestors were members of the royal family aboveground and they still do believe themselves to have the same blood. They've tried to preserve it and they will continue to do so until every last one of them is gone."

She let out a light scoff. "Royalties. Pathetic."

"The Trilbys are, believe me," he said in his cynical tone.

A tear fell from her eyes and he wiped it away with the back of his forefinger. "And you are saying the Everards are not?"

His brows twitched. "We are different, Maxine. You ought to know that." He raised to his knees, not realizing he was drawing closer to her. "We work for what we want and we protect what we have," he murmured as his head descended down on hers, careful, wary and teasing.

She was not breathing and he realized it when he felt the sudden gush of air from her mouth before he covered it with his. Was it one of relief or anticipation?

He did not wish to know, really, for he was focused on one thing: forget Amelia Trilby.

He pushed her on her back, his hands moving on their own like prisoners who had been set free. Like a child running around under a giant hole for the first time.

He was afraid to let go of her lips for he feared that if she were to speak, the words would be rational and he did not want to be rational tonight. He wanted to feel and make her feel things. He wanted her to experience what it was to be wanted in a different way—in a way he only knew how.

Yet they both needed to breathe and he pulled away from her, quietly gasping for air as his emerald green eyes looked down on her. Their breathing the only sound around them, whispering unspoken words he found hard to articulate.

But their eyes conversed and he managed to ask the question and she answered by running her fingers through his hair. He smiled.

That one small act was enough to devour her lips once again, this time in a hungry, consuming kiss.

******

Maxine could hardly recall how Maxwell managed to unbutton her dress although she believed he did so very gently, very provokingly. She could not also remember why she allowed him to strip it off her. Nor could she remember how they both went under the covers, or who ran to turn off the lights although she could recall a glimpse of his silhouette rushing back to the bed after the room went dark.

Yes, indeed, she did not remember much prior to the many things that she could remember.

How his hands ran up and down as though he was a sculptor perfecting a masterpiece, molding her hips, her ribcage, her breasts. She remembered how she felt when his hungry mouth left hers to follow a trail down her neck and lower. And Maxine remembered his words, the quiet whispers in her ear as he showed her why she was alive.

You're beautiful...

And he whispered every beautiful thing in her—her fingers, her mouth, her nose, her eyes, her body, her soul... her mind. Her thoughts. Her words.

And at that moment Maxine felt that she could not simply allow him to do everything on his own. And so she gave as much as he gave and although she was quite certain she would later regret this night, she knew she would never regret having allowed it. She explored every plane of this eccentric man, every angle that made him different yet pleasing in her mind.

Maxwell Everard, of all men, was giving her the best adventure of her life.

Maxwell's mouth left her breast, and when both of them were panting for something else she did not know and he knew he positioned himself between her legs.

He bent his head to kiss her nose before hungrily covering her mouth.

"You must know I am a virgin," she whispered against his lips. She would allow that one rational thought for tonight. She could feel the evidence of his erection against her and her body was reacting to it. "And you must know I have read of this in books."

She saw amusement on his face before he covered her mouth with his again, his tongue playing with hers, tasting her until her thoughts were gone.

And before she knew it, the pain came and her gasp was muffled by his mouth.

His hips remained unmoving. He lifted his head and kissed her eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Maxine blinked. She was no longer a virgin.

Bloody hell, she was no longer a virgin.

And she did not feel dirty as she was led to believe by her governess. She did not feel as though she was the worst creature there was.

In fact, she felt free. She felt utterly, vulnerably, happily free.

And she liked it. No, she realized she loved it.

The thought of the word love made her pause for a moment.

She wanted to think.

But how could she when Maxwell started to move, surprising her by the fact that it could get better when she thought it was over?

Maxine moved her hips and ran her hand through Maxwell's hair, relishing on this different look on his face. He looked entirely determined, his jaws tight and his shoulders bunched.

And while she wanted to watch him, different sensations made her close her eyes. They were moving as one and her mind could hardly grasp the thought. But it was wonderful. She started to catch her breath once more as they both tried to race for that something—that one thing she knew she must get to.

And when she did, Maxine saw light when there was none.

*****

"We must talk," Maxwell insisted when Maxine woke him hours later, telling him he must return to his chamber.

"I am too tired, my lord," Maxine said, feigning a yawn. She pulled at the covers, grateful for the darkness. She heard his frustrated sigh. And she heard him pace around the room. Naked, of course.

"Tomorrow," he said and she did not reply, pretending to be asleep.

But tomorrow was yet another day for her to make decisions. And the least of her priorities was to decide on when they must discuss what happened the other night. Talking about it would merely lead to a loud battle of wits and reasons and Maxine was afraid that she might allow Maxwell to win.

"I cannot go back to Wickhurst or to Theobald without having another chat with my mother," she said as they finished breakfast.

Maxwell had been staring at her—or glaring—for quite some time. He opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind. When he opened it again, Maxine was relieved to not hear a word about last night. "I have told you I do have a plan."

She arched a brow, giving him a very doubtful look.

He rolled his eyes and leaned back against his chair. His hair was slightly a mess and seeing him now brought back many memories from last night. She mentally shook them away as she asked, "What is this plan, my lord?"

"Could I make a bargain in exchange?"

"If your bargain is to discuss last night, then the answer is no. I am currently not disposed to talking about last night and you very well know why."

He shook his head and sighed. "Very well. Finish your meal. We have somewhere to go."

She narrowed her eyes. "You are not trying to trick me, are you?"

He gave her a mocking smile. "I would never dare, my lady."

*****

"Ever since our sisters played matchmakers between McKenzie Haverston and his wife, Belinda, the man had grown a soft spot for our family," Maxwell explained to her as they were being led to a library by the butler. "If you can recall, your mother and I were talking about Noah Trilby yesterday. He was married to Belinda's sister who died in prison after having attempted to kill Belinda. She delivered her babe, Fiona, the one that incidentally fell into my sister, Margaret, and her husband's care."

Maxine's eyes widened, having finally known the story.

"The Trilbys had been keeping Fiona away from Belinda until a tragic accident happened that led to Fiona to be sent to the care of Cole Devitt and my sister. Noah Trilby attempted to take the child back but Margaret, Cole and the Haverstons were able to rescue her. Fiona was reunited with Belinda and the rest of the Haverstons, but she decided to stay with us."

"Interesting," was all she could utter. She wanted to know more, yet who was she to demand more of their secrets?

The butler opened the door for them and inside was McKenzie Haverston. He stood up with a slight smile for Maxwell and a bow for Maxine.

"I have told Mac about you, although I did not tell him your name," Maxwell said, motioning with his hand. "McKenzie Haverston, this is Lady Maxine. I am not in liberty to tell you anything more, I am afraid."

The scar across the man's right brow almost disappeared as he smiled at Maxine. "I am accustomed to meeting people who try to conceal more." He pointed at the chairs across his desk. "Please. My wife is currently in that dratted place, the Angel House, with my sister-in-law, Mary. She would have stayed if she knew of your visit."

"You know we are not here for a pleasant visit," Maxwell replied. His head turned to Maxine. "McKenzie also happens to be a Town Guard," he said, taking a seat, eyes on Maxine. "And since I could not ask my own brother for he has already been asked by yours, I have asked his help to acquire information that might be essential to your goal."

Maxine turned to McKenzie. She could remember an incident in Theobald when Belinda Carrington was attacked by an unknown man inside her chamber. McKenzie Haverston had been very furious, she heard. She would love to talk more about that incident for it was a curious one, but she ought to keep her identity a secret for now. "I truly appreciate this, my lord. I am sorry for the inconvenience, but I am afraid I cannot be more repentant than that."

McKenzie laughed. "Fret not, my lady," he said, motioning his head at Maxwell. "Should I need payment, I will ask Max."

"Would you wish me to tell the twins, then? Maxine is friends with Ysabella, you see," Maxwell said.

"Ah, then my services are free," McKenzie Haverston said. "I would have to answer to my wife should I ask for anything from one of the twins."

"Good," said Maxwell, face turning serious. "What did you find?"

McKenzie's playful mien slowly disappeared as he sighed and pushed back from his chair. "I found something quite interesting."

"What?" Maxine could not help but ask.

"Before you say anything," Maxwell said to McKenzie before turning to face her. "I asked McKenzie to look into Amelia Trilby."

Why she was not surprised! "Because you doubted if she was truly my mother."

"One I no longer believe to be so. Her reaction yesterday spoke more truth than she did."

McKenzie waited until they were both ready to hear what he had to say. "When one wishes to know more about someone, one must visit the Town Registry. But then, of course, you would need a help from a person of authority—a good decision on Maxwell's part to have reached out to me."

"Quit the praises, Mac. Spare us," Maxwell impatiently snapped.

McKenzie Haverston shrugged and looked at them both before saying, "I found something that surprised me when I checked into Amelia Trilby's records in the Registry." He reached out for a paper and slid it toward Maxwell and Maxine. "Amelia Trilby was born with a twin sister."