Redeeming the Reclusive Earl - Virginia Heath Page 0,76
baggage disappearing towards the house with the butler marching behind it.
‘Smithson!’
The butler halted at Max’s bellow, then swiftly changed direction. ‘Yes, my lord?’
‘What were my sister’s precise instructions regarding Effie’s luggage?’ His arms were folded, one booted foot tapping impatiently.
‘To take the artefacts and documents directly to the study and her trunks to the Rose bedchamber, my lord.’
‘And when were you given this instruction?’
‘Several hours ago, my lord. Just after we dispatched the carriage to fetch Miss Effie.’
‘I thought as much.’ He huffed out a sigh of complete disgust. ‘Kindly show Miss Effie to her room, would you, Smithson?’ Then he stalked towards the house without so much as a backwards glance.
* * *
Max was going to murder his blasted sister! And he’d enjoy doing it! Despite having strict orders not to interfere, she hadn’t been able to stop herself. Now Effie was ensconced in a bedchamber just across the landing from him in the family wing and would be playing the part of his fiancée for the duration!
Utter torture and not a damn thing he could do about it.
With a growl he tossed his second ruined cravat aside and snapped open a third, because to compound his misery she had also insisted dinner was a formal affair, ostensibly to impress the stuffy antiquarians, but he was now of the firm belief it was also to parade Effie in front of him in a beautiful gown in the hope temptation would spur him into acting.
Well, the joke was on Eleanor because Max would be tempted if she was wearing a blasted sack, but he’d already acted and wasn’t about to risk acting again under any circumstance, so she could have saved them all the trouble! Once bitten, twice shy.
And devastated at the result.
How the hell was he supposed to sleep knowing she was just across the hall? And in the Rose bedchamber, no less. The one which he presumed his uncle’s wife had used when she was alive because it was the feminine mirror image of his. The one his sister had been using since her arrival, but had suddenly vacated out of the goodness of her manipulative heart. No wonder his sibling had gone to ground. She knew damn well he’d be fuming!
Keelhauling was too good for Eleanor! Walking the plank was too good for Eleanor! She had gone too far this time! As soon as these three dreadful days were over with, he was sending the manipulative meddler back to London with the biggest flea in her ear and banning her from returning for at least a month! It was predominantly her fault he felt so awkward in his own skin. Hers and the gawping antiquarians. And the smitten Sir Percival, whom he did not trust to not flirt with Effie despite her being fictitiously betrothed to him. Max wasn’t entirely sure he could cope with anyone flirting with her in his presence, let alone an eccentrically charming, similarly scholarly and as passionate an antiquarian as Sir Percival Egerton. Even if he was exceedingly short and round.
Although, apparently, being short and round did not prevent Sir Percival from wooing and he’d said as much.
‘Too bad she’s all yours, old chap, else I’d be after her like a shot.’
And no doubt he would be, too, once the truth came out or if Effie was similarly tempted. They were, intellectually speaking, basically two peas in a pod.
But if she was tempted by a man six inches shorter than her and as round as a cricket ball, would she be so easily repelled by a few scars? Scars which had healed and were never going to get any better. He glanced at the covered mirror still embedded in the wall and seriously considered taking a quick peek at his reflection to see if he might pass muster.
Perhaps if he only glanced at himself in profile it wouldn’t make him queasy? Just to check his cravat was tied correctly and he didn’t look ridiculous in the bronze-silk waistcoat his meddlesome sister had laid out in the absence of a valet. Because Max could not bear the thought of showing the full extent of his hideousness