Cecily glanced at her with an arched eyebrow from where she was airing out Aurelia’s dress for the evening. They were dining with Declan and Rosalie. Unfortunately, Max would not be there. She knew that much. She had already inquired. He had declined the invitation.
“A prior engagement,” she snorted, throwing her arms out wide at her sides. “What prior engagement could he possibly have to keep him from a simple dinner? He has to eat, does he not? And he never declines Will or Dec invitations! No, this is because of me.” She pressed a hand to her chest, nodding, certain of it.
Was he avoiding her because of her brother? Naturally, dallying with his best friend’s sister was a line he would be reluctant to cross. And yet he had.
Cecily shrugged as she selected a pair of brocade slippers that had seen better days from the bottom of the armoire. “Perhaps he’s preoccupied making amends to the Widow Knotgrass.”
Aurelia’s shoulders tensed. That was a possibility she had not considered. She ran her hand over her long plait of hair, tugging lightly on the loose end. Had he left her with her lips bruised and aching for more and raced off to the Widow Knotgrass, the woman he really wanted to be with before she had wrecked his assignation? Perhaps he found Aurelia a poor substitute for the lovely and far more experienced widow? Had he spent the day in the widow’s bed with Aurelia a pale memory?
She sank down at the end of her bed, clutching the bedpost with both hands as though it were a lifeline. Glancing up, she caught sight of her face in her dressing table mirror, bright flags of color riding high in her olive complexion. “That is a certain possibility,” she finally admitted.
Cecily clucked her tongue and dropped down beside her on the bed, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Come. This isn’t like you.”
Pining for Max? It most certainly was not like her. Not in a good many years, at least. But then he had never kissed her before. And there was that other side of him she had seen at Lady Chatham’s ball. When he had asked poor Miss Samantha Bell to dance. That was hardly the actions of a shallow, arrogant man.
She closed her eyes in a pained blink. A kiss from Max shouldn’t have changed anything, but it had.
Perhaps it shouldn’t have been such a surprise that Max had been the one to deliver her from tedium. Max was made for pleasure, after all.
She had to believe that the chemistry between them was unique. Surely it was not like that for him every time he kissed a woman? She refused to believe it. It had been special. He felt it, too. Hadn’t he?
She glanced up at Cecily. As though reading her thoughts, her friend shook her head in sympathy. “There are plenty of men like him. My sister fell prey to the sweet words whispered by a handsome man. I was just a girl but I remember it well. My father shouting. My mother’s tears. This man . . . he ruined her. Took Marjorie’s innocence and left her reputation in tatters.” She looked away for a moment, inhaling deeply. “My father tossed her out. She moved to the city, tried to find work. I lost track of her, but I like to think she’s . . .” Her words faded and she blinked quickly, as if clearing the memories from her mind.
“Cecily.” Aurelia closed a hand over hers. “You never told me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” She smiled a shaky grin. “Nothing to do about it now. No way to change it. I know you’re not Marjorie, but I just . . . I just don’t want you hurt, Aurelia.”
The image of the Widow Knotgrass materialized in her mind’s eye. She imagined Max kissing her . . . pressing the widow down on a bed and having his way with her with the same fervor he had displayed when he kissed her. Only with the widow, he did not stop. He was too overcome with desire. He was unable to tear himself away as he had with her.
Oh, she was a blasted fool. Of course he had not felt anything special for her.