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Marietta would have liked to have asked him more, but even she had her limits when it came to gossiping with servants. Besides, Pomeroy would see it as being disloyal and she did not want him to feel he had betrayed Max.
“How is Lord Roseby today?” she asked, as she followed his slow progress up the stairs.
“More like his old self, miss.”
Marietta pondered on that as they edged toward the master’s suite, wondering if it was entirely good news. Max’s old self, in her experience, could be both haughty and arrogant, and may prove difficult to get along with.
At any rate, Max was no longer languishing in his bed. Dressed immaculately in a dark blue coat and tan trousers, he was seated in a small sitting area that overlooked the back of his townhouse, and although his handsome face remained pale and gaunt, he rose to his feet as she entered.
“Miss Greentree.”
“Lord Roseby.”
Behind them, Pomeroy closed the door.
“I see you are much improved, Max,” Marietta declared as she sat down in the chair opposite him, but she noticed that he could not quite hide his relief as he also resumed his seat.
“As you see, hale and hearty.”
“And you’ve had your man of business here?”
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s right. I had the matter of my future to discuss, such as it is.”
“You seem in good spirits for someone who has nothing to look forward to.”
“I told you I was fine, and there was no need to call on me, Marietta.”
“Ah, but there is our agreement. I’m certain you haven’t forgotten that, Max.”
Max gave her a long look from beneath his lashes, a look she had difficulty in reading. “No, I haven’t forgotten that. I wish I could.”
“I hope you don’t intend to try and wriggle your way out of it,” Marietta said, wagging her finger at him like a governess in charge. “I won’t release you from your promise, you know.”
“This is utter madness,” he answered in an exasperated tone.
“But it is temporary madness, Max,” she reminded him. “And I’ve told you, we’re practicing, that’s all. In fact I think we should start right now.” And with that Marietta leaned forward and placed her hand on his knee.
He went still, eyeing her hand as if it might explode.
“I want you to imagine I am a courtesan, Max. A woman of experience and sophistication whom you have just met…and whom you deeply desire.”
She had dropped her voice on the final word, giving it what she thought was a sensual overtone. She never expected him to grin at her.
“Max!”
“I’m sorry, but you look nothing like ‘a woman of experience and sophistication.’ You look like…like Marietta Greentree.”
“You have to use your imagination,” she said, trying not to be irritated by him. “You’re just not trying.”
He pulled his face back into the haughty frown. “I am trying but it is too ridiculous. You have a vivid—”
“No, it isn’t. Haven’t you ever seen a woman you instantly desired? You are at a ball or a supper dance or some such thing, and you see her across the room. Just one glance—that’s enough for you to know that you want her. Everything about her entices you to her side, her elegant dress, the smooth line of her neck, her enigmatic smile. You can’t resist. You go to her and persuade her to go home with you, and in the coach you cannot take your eyes off her. Or, maybe you are riding your horse across the moors…”
“There are no moors in London.”
“Then a park!” she retorted, her eyes bright and eager, caught up in her own fantasy. “You’re riding through the park, and you see a girl up ahead, hair flying beneath her hat, riding like the wind. As you draw level you glance sideways at her and see her profile, her figure, and something in you responds. Instantly, immediately. You want her. Hasn’t that ever happened to you, Max?”
“No,” he said unhelpfully. “As I was going to say when you interrupted, you have a vivid imagination, Marietta, but it has nothing to do with reality. I see a pretty woman across the room at a ball, I may speak to her, yes, and ask her the usual bland, polite questions, but as her chaperone will be seated right beside her, watching her like a hawk, I certainly won’t be taking her home in my coach. And then there’s the galloping girl. Has the horse bolted on her, and if not…I wonder what the hell she’s doing out on her own. If she’s a lady then she’s a fairly rackety one, and if she isn’t…well, I would probably have a few qualms about whether I should become involved with her or not. The scandal, you know. Or at least, that was a consideration before I became a scandal myself.”
