Chapter 7
“You will tell me this is a poor attempt at humor.”
The study door struck the wall with more force than necessary before swinging back on its hinges, the latch catching with a dull click.
Maxwell did not rise from behind his desk.
He remained seated, one hand resting against a stack of neatly ordered papers, the other loosely holding a letter that had already been opened and set aside once before.
Roderick crossed the length of the room without waiting to be announced, his boots muffled by the thick rug, his coat still dusted from travel.
The door had barely closed behind him before the question was thrown between them, sharp and immediate, carrying none of the usual ease that marked Roderick’s presence.
“It is not,” Maxwell replied.
Roderick stopped a few feet from the desk, his shoulders still lifted from the momentum of his entrance.
His expression tightened in a way Maxwell had seen only rarely, his jaw shifting as he drew in a measured breath.
“You are engaged,” he said, as though testing the words for weakness. “To Miss Arabella Barker?”
“Yes.”
“To be married within days?”
“Yes.”
The fire cracked softly in the hearth to Maxwell’s right, the only interruption to the brief silence that followed. Roderick dragged a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead before letting it fall again, slightly disordered now. “And you thought a letter would suffice?”
Maxwell set the folded paper aside with deliberate precision, aligning it with the others. “It conveyed the necessary information.”
“It conveyed nothing of consequence,” Roderick shot back, stepping closer.
His gloved hand came down briefly against the edge of the desk, not striking it, but firm enough to signal restraint.
“You wrote to inform me that the lady I entrusted to your care is now to become your wife, and you expect me to accept it without question.”
Maxwell’s gaze lifted then, steady and unyielding. “You may question it,” he said. “It will not alter the outcome.”
Roderick held his stare for a moment longer, then turned away with a short, incredulous breath that bordered on a laugh but carried no humor.
He paced toward the window, pulling the curtain aside with two fingers to glance out before letting it fall again.
“You always did have a remarkable way of presenting disaster as inevitability,” he said. “Explain it.”
Maxwell leaned back slightly in his chair, the wood giving a faint creak beneath his weight. “There is little to explain. Circumstances required a resolution. Marriage was the most effective solution.”
Roderick turned back, his steps slower now but no less deliberate. “Circumstances,” he repeated. “You will do better than that.”
Maxwell’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “A matron observed us in a compromising situation.”
Roderick’s brows lifted sharply. “Compromising,” he echoed. He shifted his weight, one boot turning slightly against the rug as he angled himself toward the desk. “How compromising?”
“Enough,” Maxwell said.
The word settled, heavy and final.
There was a brief silence. The fire shifted again, a log collapsing inward with a soft crackle. Somewhere beyond the study door, faint movement passed along the corridor before fading again.
Then Roderick exhaled, slower this time, his shoulders lowering as the meaning settled fully. “God help us,” he muttered, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. “Eleanor will kill me.”
Maxwell’s gaze flickered briefly toward the fire before returning. “She may.”
Roderick glanced up again, something more measured settling into his expression as the initial shock gave way to thought. “And James,” he added.
Maxwell inclined his head slightly. “Also a possibility.”
Roderick let out another breath, longer now, and pulled a chair back with a muted scrape before sitting. He leaned forward, forearms braced against his knees, his attention fixed fully on Maxwell. “And you,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You thought this the best course?”
“I did.”
“You still do.”
“Obviously, I do.”
Roderick studied him for a moment, his gaze sharper now, less reactive, more searching.
The firelight caught unevenly along the edge of Maxwell’s mask, casting a shifting shadow across his collar.
“Do not mistake me,” he said. “I understand the necessity. I do. But necessity does not answer every question.”
Maxwell did not respond. Instead, he rose, the movement controlled and unhurried, and crossed to the sideboard. The decanter touched glass with a soft clink as he poured, the amber liquid catching the light. He did not drink.
Roderick watched him. “What happened?” he asked. “Not the version you would give a magistrate. The truth.”
Maxwell turned slightly, glass in hand, though untouched. “She entered my chamber,” he said. “A misunderstanding followed. A witness was present. The situation required correction.”
Roderick leaned back in the chair, one ankle crossing over his knee, his fingers tapping once against his boot before stilling. “A misunderstanding,” he said. “That sounds remarkably unlike you.”
Maxwell’s expression remained unchanged.
Roderick tilted his head, watching him more closely now. “And Miss Barker,” he continued. “How did she take this sudden turn in her fortunes?”
Maxwell hesitated, though only briefly. “With clarity.”
Roderick’s brows rose. “Clarity.”
“She understood the implications,” Maxwell said. “And acted accordingly.”
Roderick let out a quiet huff of breath, his gaze dropping momentarily before lifting again. “That sounds more like her than anything else you have said.”
Maxwell’s grip tightened slightly around the glass before he set it aside. “You failed to mention—”
Roderick’s expression shifted, something almost resembling amusement flickering at the edges. “Mention what?”
“That she is…” Maxwell paused, his gaze shifting briefly toward the desk before returning. “Unmanageable.”
Roderick’s lips curved. “Did I?”
Maxwell’s patience thinned. “You described her as unassuming.”
“She is,” Roderick replied.
Maxwell leaned forward slightly, one hand bracing against the sideboard. “She most certainly is not.”
Roderick’s smile widened, just enough to irritate. “No,” he agreed. “Eleanor’s little sister is not, though I did not know you would experience that in one day.”
Maxwell held his gaze, the silence tightening again, the air in the room feeling narrower than before.
“You should have told me,” Maxwell said.
“And deprived you of the experience?” Roderick returned. “I would not have been so unkind.”
Maxwell’s jaw set, though he did not rise to the bait.
Roderick watched him for a moment longer, then sobered, pushing himself upright from the chair. “You are certain,” he said again, more quietly now. “About this?”
Maxwell did not hesitate. “I am certain.”
Roderick nodded slowly, though his gaze did not soften. “Then I will not argue it further,” he said. “But I will ask you for one thing.”
Maxwell waited.
“Do not treat her as a problem to be managed,” Roderick said. “She is not one of your estates. She will not respond to order and distance.”
Maxwell’s posture tightened slightly. “I am aware of that.”
“Are you?”
Maxwell did not answer immediately.
Roderick studied him, his gaze steady. “She is not afraid of you,” he continued. “Not in the way others are.”
Maxwell’s gaze shifted slightly. “She flinched.”
“She recovered.”
The words settled between them.
Maxwell looked away first.
Roderick exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough. “I suppose it is done, then,” he said. “There is no undoing it now.”
“I know there is no going back on this, and I have no intention to do so.”
Roderick glanced toward the window again, his reflection faint against the glass. “You know James will pretend to be reasonable for approximately five minutes before Eleanor decides otherwise for them both.”
Maxwell inclined his head slightly. “That is consistent with my understanding.”
Roderick let out a short breath, something between a laugh and resignation. “Then I must decide which of them will attempt to kill me first.”
Maxwell’s gaze returned to him. “You assume only one will succeed.”
Roderick’s lips twitched. “You believe it will be a joint effort.”
“I believe it is likely.”
Roderick nodded, brushing a hand down the front of his coat as he straightened. “In that case,” he said, “I shall endeavor to remain out of reach for as long as possible.”
Maxwell did not respond.
The silence that followed was quieter, less charged, though no less present. Roderick moved away from the desk, his steps slower now, pausing briefly near the door before reaching for the handle.
Maxwell remained where he was, one hand resting against the sideboard, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular, as the fire behind him settled into a steady, low burn.