They tended to react to an unwanted kiss with obvious discomfort as a rule, then hastily retreated, and in case he was in any doubt she felt disgusted at the prospect, her response this afternoon had confirmed it. She had inadvertently touched his scars and, when he had pulled back—filled with longing and foolish hope that to her they really didn’t matter—she had stared briefly at her palm as if they had burned it hideously, too, before she fisted it behind her back and he’d watched her erect a sturdy and prickly fence around herself to keep him well away. He still felt nauseous thinking about it because that hideously polite and distant curtsy had almost killed him. And he certainly did not want to contemplate exactly why she had stabbed the fruitcake.
‘Perhaps you used to have a good gauge on women—but I suspect your view of such things has become skewed since Miranda...’
Max leapt out of his seat to show his sister their conversation was done. He was not going to rehash the demise of his engagement on the same day as he had buried his blossoming dreams of Effie.
‘Maybe the enforced proximity of this unwelcome visit is exactly what you both need to sort things out. Why don’t I have some rooms readied for your guests in case you change your mind before tomorrow?’
Enforced proximity would kill him for sure. ‘The long and short of it is...’ He sucked in a calming breath and decided to bite the bullet in as brief and as matter of fact a way as he could without entirely humiliating himself in the process. ‘I’ve completely and thoroughly murdered the friendship between Effie and myself.’
‘Murdered is probably a tad exaggerated...’
‘Trust me. It really isn’t. It’s been dead for almost a week already.’
‘Which is why you are actively avoiding her.’
He hadn’t entirely avoided her. He had sent her a heartfelt note, a tenuous olive branch suggesting they talk about it all, and she had ignored it. Doubtless she had only been polite yesterday because she was so eager to have her research published, although it hadn’t lasted long.
Eleanor’s expression was filled with pity now and he suppressed the urge to dash away from it so he could curl up in a ball somewhere and lick all his latest flayed, open wounds in private. ‘Prolonging the agony of it all to continue the acquaintance is...is...’ Emotion strangled his vocal cords and threatened to overwhelm him, so to cover it he walked to the window and stared sightlessly out for several moments before he could choke out a response. ‘It would be...unbearable, Eleanor.’
Her silence said it all. It stretched for a good minute before she spoke again.
‘Can it be fixed?’
‘No.’
‘Are you certain? Only you’ve come such a long way these past weeks, Max, and I credit yourfriendshipwith Effie as the cause. Maybe you have misread things? Or panicked unduly? If you loathe yourself, I should imagine it is very difficult to believe another would see beyond the things you hate about yourself. Maybe she just needs a little time... Or wants to be wooed a little.’
Wooed! He would laugh at the ridiculous suggestion if it weren’t all so tragic. ‘It cannot be fixed.’
‘Most things can be fixed, Max—it all depends on how badly you want it and whether you can both be bothered to take the time and trouble to do so.’
‘We wouldbothhave to want to fix it, Eleanor.’ And she didn’t.
‘Would you like me to intervene? I could talk to her and...’
He shook his head. ‘Absolutely not! I want no interference.’ No more humiliation. ‘I’ve made my decision and so has she.’
‘Very well...’ He felt his sister’s hand rest on his shoulder. ‘All I know is—whether it be as a friend or otherwise, it is plainly obvious Effie cares for you a great deal, too. And you will regret crushing her dreams, Max. Because if you do, then whatever you have or might have is as dead as a doornail for sure and it really will be too late to resurrect it once it is done.’
Chapter Seventeen
Three antiquarians...
With a disapproving Eleanor noticeably absent from the drawing room, Max and Effie had sat in brittle silence in the half an hour since she had arrived until the sound of the most unwelcome carriage in the history of carriages could be heard on the gravel outside. There had been so many confusing and conflicting things he had wanted to say to fill the awkward void, he didn’t trust himself to say any of them without coming off as either entirely desperate or entirely pathetic. She simply looked drawn and miserable and he blamed himself for both, thanks to his sister’s persistent and unyielding argument that he was crushing Effie’s dreams regardless of the fact that it was the bane who was largely in the wrong because she had gone behind his back.
‘They’re here.’
He had never heard her voice sound so flat or so resigned. Where had all the fight and bloody-minded determination he associated wholly with her and secretly admired gone today? A stupid question when he already knew the answer.
Crushed in his fist.
But was self-preservation in this case selfish as Eleanor believed? Max had been mulling it over for hours and still wasn’t sure which of them was right. All he knew was how he felt and that was thoroughly wretched. He loathed himself—inside and out. And the silent woman before him certainly did not look as if she had any desire to be wooed. She could barely look at him.
‘I suppose we should go and greet them... Get it over with...’ He would support her in that at least. And defend her if they dared to diminish her achievements simply because of her sex. And even do his damnedest to get them to publish her research under her name exactly as he had originally promised—because a promise was a promise no matter and he couldn’t bring himself to break his to her now he had pondered things long and hard.
‘Yes... Of course. The sooner it is done, the sooner they will be gone.’ And so would she and his world would be plunged into darkness again.
Max led the way, supremely conscious of her behind him, inhaling his last whiffs of her perfume and wishing he could turn back time to the second he had uncovered the shield and sent things spinning so catastrophically out of control. They arrived at the front step as the high-sprung carriage came to a halt and, before the footman could get to it, the door flew open and a grinning, short and rotund man jumped out with his pudgy hand outstretched.
