Chapter Thirteen
The dinner jacket was so confining that Max felt like it was strangling him.
He hadn’t worn anything that required a proper cravat—let alone one of this blinding, starched whiteness—in ages, and the stifling heat of the Cairo ballroom only intensified his discomfort.
However, he must admit he was grateful to Lucas for suggesting he pack something formal.
He’d suggested that Eden come here tonight to ingratiate herself with the powers that be in Cairo to make getting their permits a little easier, but he hadn’t expected her to insist that he come as well.
He’d thought she’d take Mrs. Carlisle—that was the entire reason the duchess had insisted she come, wasn’t it?
—but Eden had balked at the thought, claiming the night would be tedious enough.
He’d been powerless to refuse her when he realized she actually wanted to spend time with him.
So now, he stood slightly apart from the throng of diplomats and wealthy travelers with their champagne and gossip.
His dark, formal clothes were a sharp, jarring contrast to the practical, sun-faded linen he was used to.
He felt acutely out of place, and the crowd, with its blinding jewels and loud, confident laughter, made his skin crawl, reminding him how little he belonged here.
But Eden was wearing silk the color of moonlight, and she moved through the room with a mesmerizing, effortless grace that made every other woman look suddenly clumsy.
Max watched her chin lift as she navigated a particularly tedious group of English wives, refusing to let them make her feel small for being something they couldn’t fathom—a woman with ambition and money of her own.
He felt a steady, deep burn of attraction that had nothing to do with the cool professionalism he was supposed to maintain. Every time their eyes met across the room, the polite, social distance vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense heat that made his stiff collar feel even more constricting.
“Max, you must meet Colonel Ashworth and his wife,” Eden told him, appearing suddenly at his side and drawing him forward.
“Must I?” he asked blandly, but she only rolled her eyes.
The colonel, a florid-faced man accustomed to holding the floor, surveyed Max with a dismissive glance as they approached, clearly labeling him as the hired help—no one worth his notice.
“Colonel Ashworth, may I present my guide?” Eden said smoothly. She smiled at Max. “The colonel was just detailing his plans for the Suez expansion.”
Colonel Ashworth laughed a booming, patronizing laugh, his voice laced with the condescension Max had been subjected to for years—ever since he’d stopped telling people who his father had been.
“You guides are the only ones who truly understand the logistics out here. We handle the strategy, and you handle the moving of the heavy things.”
Eden’s hand slid from Max’s elbow down to his wrist, a public touch that made every nerve ending in his arm stand up straight. Before Max could offer his usual polite, anonymous deflection, she smiled sweetly at the colonel, her voice dropping just enough to command attention.
“Oh, the logistics, yes. But Colonel,” she began, her green eyes wide and innocent, “Max is far more than a guide. I apologize for the oversight. Allow me to properly introduce Maximillian Thorne, younger brother of the Earl of Warwick.”
A visible ripple went through the small circle.
Ashworth’s jaw dropped mid-sip. Max felt a sudden, fierce pride that she’d introduced him that way.
He didn’t care about the title, but the surprise on the colonel’s face—the sudden, scrambling need to readjust Max’s position in the social hierarchy—was intensely gratifying.
He read the nervous determination in Eden’s gaze and realized she was desperately validating him to the fool who had just tried to dismiss his worth.
She squeezed his wrist, and in that fleeting, charged moment, Max knew that the only thing that mattered was not the title she’d revealed, but the fact that he was the only man in the entire, stifling ballroom she would ever look at that way.
Max used the sudden, stunned silence to his advantage.
“I need a word with Lady Eden, if you’ll excuse us, Colonel.
” He didn’t wait for a reply, merely placed his hand against the small of her back and steered her toward a shadowed archway.
They slipped through a set of heavy velvet curtains that masked the entrance to a small, private balcony overlooking the city.
The noise of the party instantly muffled, replaced by the soft roar of Cairo at night.
Max pushed his hands into his pockets, the movement tugging the uncomfortable silk of his collar.
“The brother of an earl?” he demanded, his voice low, edged with both irritation and reluctant admiration. “You know I usually don’t reveal that.”
Eden leaned against the stone balustrade, lifting her face to the cool breeze. “Ashworth needs to believe you have social leverage. He wouldn’t negotiate with the hired help,” she explained. “That was the only way to get his attention.”
He stepped closer. “I’ve been getting permits approved for years without any mention of my brother’s title. It’s your own that I’m counting on, and that’s the only reason I sent you here tonight. To let those in power know they are dealing with a lady.”
She frowned. “You’ve never tried to get a permit for a woman before. Those men have no respect for me. But now that they know who you are, we have a better chance.”
He shoved his fingertips through his hair in agitation.
Perhaps she was right about that, but he still hated to be looked at for nothing more than the luck of his birth, not when he’d struggled so hard to make a name for himself here based on his own merits.
“You should have told me that was your plan,” he said at last.
“You’re right. We’re a team, aren’t we, Max?” She reached out, her fingers brushing the stiff, unfamiliar silk of his cravat, a deliberate, sensual move.
Max groaned, a low, guttural sound of surrender. How could he argue with her when she was looking at him like that? Her hand cupped his jaw, and his carefully constructed control snapped. He lowered his head, not with frantic passion, but with a slow, agonizing intent.
His mouth found hers, a careful press that immediately deepened into a dangerous exploration.
This kiss was softer than the one on the boat, tasting of champagne.
He moved one hand to her waist, pulling her flush against him.
Her lips parted under his, a soft, yielding that drew him in deeper.
He felt the rapid, shallow pace of her breath against his own.
When they broke apart, Eden’s lips were dark and parted. She put her hands on his chest, not to push him away, but to steady herself, her fingers curling into the fine wool of his jacket.
“Let’s go back out there and curry some more favor,” she murmured breathlessly, her thumb tracing the line of his collarbone. Her voice was husky and strained, yet she was not denying him the way she had before.
Max nodded, his throat tight, adjusting his cuffs as he tried to regain control of himself. “Lead the way, Lady Eden.”
He watched her smooth the nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt and walk back through the velvet curtains, leaving the quiet darkness for the loud gaiety of Cairo society. He followed, his mouth still tingling from the illicit sweetness of their kiss.
When Eden and Max returned from their evening’s entertainment and let themselves into the suite, butterflies filled Eden’s stomach at the thought of what the night might bring.
For the first time, she and Max seemed to be on the same page.
The kiss they’d shared still thrummed through every fiber of her being, and she hoped that he might want to continue where they’d left off.
They were still laughing and giddy from champagne and the night’s success. Eden held her fingers to her lips, not wanting to wake Mrs. Carlisle, but Max froze, his gaze shifting past her to the other side of the room.
Mrs. Carlisle was not only fully awake but waiting. She sat bolt upright in a high-backed armchair near the window, bundled in a thick burgundy wrapper, looking less like a gentle companion and more like a nervous, determined sentry. Her lips were pressed into a thin, unyielding line.
Max met Eden’s gaze with a look of disappointment, then, with a brief, terse “Goodnight,” vanished into his own adjoining room. A surge of disappointment crested within her, and she cursed Genevieve once again for insisting that she bring this woman along.
“You’re home very late, Lady Eden,” Mrs. Carlisle began, in a tone reserved for addressing a disobedient schoolgirl.
Eden sighed, rubbing her temples. The exhaustion of the evening—the forced smiles, the political maneuvering, the sudden, fierce heat of Max’s kiss—had finally caught up with her. “Mrs. Carlisle, it was a ball. Balls tend to run late.”
“A ball,” the woman repeated, the word an accusation.
“An event of critical social importance in this city, where introductions are made and alliances secured, and you went—unaccompanied by your chaperone—with a man whose reputation is, at best, a matter of wild speculation.” She leaned forward, the burgundy wrapper rustling.
“I was hired to ensure your reputation remains unimpeachable. If I am not permitted to chaperone you, if I am not permitted to advise you, if I am forced to sit alone in this expensive, empty suite while you publicly court disaster, then I must ask you: What, precisely, am I doing here?”
The question was desperate, laced with the wounded pride of a woman grasping for a role.
Eden paused in the act of unpinning her elaborate coiffure.
She looked at Mrs. Carlisle—not the duchess-approved accessory, but the tired, anxious woman beneath the wrapper.
Perhaps it was time to finally have an honest conversation with the woman she’d taken for granted this entire trip.
“You’re doing exactly what you’re here to do, Felicity,” Eden said, using her first name for the first time. “You’re allowing Genevieve to feel as though she has some measure of control over my safety, and your sister to feel like she has some control over your future.”
Felicity blinked, startled by the familiarity. “This is all just to appease my sister and the duchess? But I was meant to be a companion! A figure of propriety!”
“A figurehead,” Eden corrected gently, crossing the room to pour a glass of water, offering one to her companion. “Do you honestly think I, a widow with enough inherited wealth to ignore every rule of society, would hire a chaperone for an expedition that is, by its very nature, utterly improper?”
Felicity took the glass, her hand trembling slightly. “Then why, Eden? Why did you bring me all this way?”
Eden sat on the edge of the ottoman, the moonlight catching the satin of her gown.
“Because Genevieve and your sister were incredibly worried about you, Felicity. They saw you withdrawing after your husband’s death, and they knew you needed a focus, a grand project to restart your life.
The job of ‘chaperone’ was merely an excuse to give you this trip.
They did not want you to feel pitied but loved. ”
Felicity went rigid. Her face, usually pale, flushed a deep, mortified red.
“So they gave me an elaborate, costly gesture of charity.” Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
“I came here to perform a task, and if I’m not performing my duty, what am I to do?
I don’t know how to simply... be right now. ”
Eden watched Felicity’s distress, her feelings toward the woman softening. Her husband’s death had obviously taken her identity, and she was desperately trying to cling to a new one.
“Stop thinking of it as charity,” Eden commanded, her voice firm. “Look at it for what it is. A gift.”
Felicity shook her head miserably. “Gifts require gratitude, and I feel nothing but resentment. My sister should have consulted me. It’s incredibly insulting of her to decide that she knows what I need better than I do.”
Eden walked over, knelt by the armchair, and took Felicity’s trembling hands in hers.
“Look around you. This is the Shepheard, the finest hotel between London and Bombay. Outside that window is Cairo, the Pyramids, the Nile. Genevieve and your sister used my wild expedition to give you a chance to breathe, to escape the crushing weight of London society and your mourning. You have been given months to find yourself again.”
She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You are finally free to do whatever you damn well please.”
Felicity stared at Eden, the hurt slowly giving way to astonishment, and then a flicker of genuine curiosity. “You... you’re telling me to go and tour the city? To see the Pyramids and the Sphinx?”
“I’m telling you to stop trying to be the companion the duchess expected and start deciding how to be Felicity Carlisle again,” Eden said, thinking back to how lost she’d felt when she was in Felicity’s shoes.
Felicity slowly, carefully, removed her spectacles, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I don’t even know how to begin to do that. For so many years, I was nothing but Jonathan’s wife.”
“You can start by thinking about what you want to do with the rest of your life. What makes you happy? What do you love to do? Start there, and perhaps you’ll find your answer.”
Felicity rose and walked to her own room. She paused at the door and looked back at Eden. “That’s a beautiful gown, Eden. Moonlight becomes you.” And with that simple, genuine compliment, the thick layer of employer-companion formality dissolved, leaving two women on an adventure together.