Chapter 16

Max watched the men close in around Ada, and for a brief moment, he couldn’t move. The air left his lungs in a rush. His feet were rooted in the ground.

No, he wasn’t losing someone else.

He launched himself toward them, the warm air washing over him, reminding him of another summer night when violence had been necessary. Gripping the back of the coat of one of the men, he pulled him to the ground, then stepped on his chest as he moved toward the assailant who had his hands on Ada.

The world blurred around him, but Max focused on the ruffian who was trying to kiss her. Grabbing the man by the shoulder, Max whipped him back before putting his fist into the man’s face.

The criminal staggered back, and Max kept after him, hitting him viciously over and over. Another of the men tugged at Max, but Max kicked back. From the corner of his eye, Max saw the third man run toward him. After hitting the man in front of him again, he turned. But he wasn’t fast enough to stop the blade that pierced his shoulder.

Max barely felt the sting as he circled his hand around the man’s wrist, squeezing until he dropped the weapon. With a low cry, Max hit him hard in the gut. Then again. And again. The ruffian doubled over, and Max sent an upper cut to his jaw, snapping the man’s head back.

The other two men came at him, catching Max’s arms and waist. Whirling about, Max fought brutally, his fists and feet flying. He hit the ground hard, one of the men landing on top of him. Max’s hand grazed something in the dirt—the knife. Clasping the handle, he drove it into the man’s side, then pushed him over to the ground.

Max didn’t hesitate as he leapt up and went after one of the other men. He was vaguely aware of more people. The ruffians had help.

Growling and baring his teeth, Max sprang forward and slashed at one of the brigands. They were faceless animals, threats he needed to kill.

“Max, stop!”

But he was already in motion. And he needed to prevent these men from taking Ada from him. God, they hadn’t, had they?

Max had missed the man, so he lifted the knife for another swipe. A man’s hand collided sharply with the base of Max’s wrist, sending the knife flying.

Then a body slammed into him, driving him to the ground once more.

“Max, you have to stop. You’re safe. Ada is safe.”

Max fought to breathe—landing on the ground had knocked the air from his lungs again. He blinked several times, and the blur around him came into focus. Lucien’s face hovered above him, and to the right, Glastonbury.

Where was Ada?

Max pushed Lucien away, then rolled to his side and leapt up. He looked around wildly.

“Careful, Max. Just take it easy.” Lucien touched his arm, and Max shook him off.

“Where is she?”

“Here,” Ada said, coming into his line of sight. Her face was pale, her eyes wide.

Relief poured through him, but it was fleeting. He spun about. “Where are they?”

“Gone,” Lucien answered. “We fought them off, and they carried their wounded comrade away.”

The man Max had stabbed? “He’s not dead?”

“Not yet.”

“We need to go after them.” Max turned, looking for where they’d gone.

Lucien grabbed him again, more forcefully this time, his fingers biting into Max’s arm through his coat. “No, just stop.”

With a low, furious cry, Max hit him in the jaw. Lucien stumbled back. “I don’t want your fucking help.”

“Warfield, he’s not your enemy,” said a man, who Max assumed was Glastonbury.

“He’s not my friend either.”

“You can’t mean that.” A woman’s voice, but Max didn’t think it was Ada.

He couldn’t look away from Lucien. “You can’t keep from meddling in everyone’s lives, whether they want you to or not. You always think you know what’s best, that you can fix everything.”

“That’s not how I think.” Lucien set his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he brushed his hand across his reddened cheek where Max had hit him.

They’d done this before during one of the times Lucien had come to Stonehill. It infuriated Max that Lucien continued trying to help when it was clear he wasn’t wanted. “What will it take to get you to leave me alone?”

“Nothing,” Lucien said fiercely. “I will never abandon you.”

Max shouted in rage just before he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Lucien’s waist and taking him down to the ground. They landed in the dirt, and Max rose over Lucien, hitting him in the jaw.

Lucien had started the previous fight, hitting Max after he’d said something particularly insulting. Mrs. Bundle’s arrival had stopped them after a few blows. No one was preventing this tonight.

“Max, please don’t!”

Thatwas Ada.

Lucien’s fists slammed into Max’s gut, pummeling him before Lucien tried to shove and buck him off.

Someone pulled at Max’s coat. Snarling, he turned his head, ready to strike at whoever would dare to interrupt him.

Ada jerked her hand back, her gaze terrified. “Max, please.”

Max dropped his hand. He would have hit her. No, no, no.

He was a beast.

When Lucien again pushed at him, Max rolled to his back and let his arms fall onto the dirt. He stared at the sky and waited for the blows to fall.

“Let me help you.” Glastonbury offered his hand.

Max took it, and the other viscount pulled him up. Shame and revulsion swept through Max. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Ada. Or anyone, really.

“I’ll get a hack,” he muttered before taking off toward the entrance. His shoulder screamed with pain. He’d forgotten he’d been stabbed.

Ada caught up to him. “We came in your coach. I’ll go with you. Prudence and Glastonbury will take Evie and…Lucien.” She’d hesitated to even say his name.

“Are you all right?” Max was torn between wanting to check every inch of her to ensure she was safe and not wanting to see the fear in her eyes. So he stared straight ahead.

“I’m fine.”

“How can you be fine?”

“I’m better than you,” she said wryly. She gripped his elbow, and he started. Glancing at her, he saw the color had returned to her cheeks. Good.

He bent his arm and held it for her to clasp. He could at least pretend to be a gentleman.

When they arrived at Max’s coach, Og gaped at him. “What the hell happened?”

“A drunken ruffian got a little too close,” Ada explained.

“You’re all right?” Og apparently wasn’t satisfied with Ada’s answer.

“I’m fine.”

Og’s deep frown remained. Max reassured him that he was all right before helping Ada into the coach.

As they moved away from Vauxhall, seated together on the forward-facing seat, she turned toward him. “That was not at all what I envisioned for tonight.”

He couldn’t imagine it was. He’d been a fool to think he could enjoy normal activities, that he could mingle amongst regular people. He was scarcely better than the animals who had attacked her.

She twisted her lips, her gaze settling on his right shoulder. “We need to get your coat off so I can look at your injury.”

He pulled the garment back, wincing as it cut into his shoulder.

“Careful,” she said, helping him ease the coat down his arm.

Tugging it down his other arm, Max tossed the garment onto the floor of the coach. Then he removed his hat and sailed it to the opposite seat.

Ada frowned at the wound. “Waistcoat too.”

Together, they worked that garment free, and it joined the coat.

“I suppose that’s one way to justify new clothing,” she quipped softly. “Not that you needed justification.” Bringing her knee up, she half knelt on the seat, pushing herself against the cushion to allow light from the lantern so she could better investigate the wound.

“How bad is it?”

“A nasty scratch, really, thanks to your clothing. The bleeding has stopped, so I don’t think you’ll need stitching. I’ll bandage it up when we get to the club. I should see if the cook has any poultice or herbs to help it heal.”

He watched as she studied him intently, her face full of concern and gentle, but firm, capability. He thought in that moment that he might love her. That if he could ever love anyone again, it would be her.

Emotion welled in his throat. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Ada.” His voice croaked.

She straightened her leg and sat back down beside him. “I’m all right. Truly. I’ve fought off randy ruffians before. After I left my family, I had to fend for myself for several years.”

He stared at her, uncertain if she was trying to make light of the situation or if she actually thought she could have defended herself alone. “There were three of them. And one had a knife.”

“In any case, this is a moot conversation since I didn’t have to fend for myself. I had you.” She stared at him, and he nearly flinched at the depth of caring in her eyes. “Were you still in the war? From the fireworks, I mean.”

“Not exactly. I just saw that you were threatened, and I moved without thinking. I did everything without thinking.” Just as he’d done that summer night three years earlier.

And he’d nearly hurt Ada. He could never let that happen.

He looked out the window into the dark night as they made their way toward the bridge that would take them to the other side of the river and to St. James’s. “You can’t fix me,” he said softly, agony tearing at his insides. “I’m irreparably broken.”

She cupped his cheek, drawing his head back around to look at her. “I refuse to believe that. You were wounded—are wounded. It will take time to recover, but you will recover.”

He looked into her eyes and basked in the fierce devotion she had for him. How had he ever managed to deserve that from her? “You’ve no idea what I’ve done. There’s no coming back from it.” His insides twisted. In some ways, this was worse than any of the pain he’d suffered before. Or it would be, if he told her.

“Tell me,” she said evenly, her gaze holding his with a command he didn’t dare refuse. “I promise I won’t judge you. I could never think badly of you.” She continued to caress his cheek, soothing him, but only superficially. The devastation he felt cut straight to his soul.

He couldn’t look at her, at the inevitable horror that would fill her expression. So he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the squab. He forced himself to breathe, to try to calm the incessant racing of his heart. It hadn’t slowed since the fireworks.

“It was a summer evening like this, three years ago. Lucia—she was my betrothed, and we planned to marry in the autumn. She followed the army, cooking for us, washing, ensuring our camp was as much of a home as it could possibly be.” Max smiled, her face brilliant in his mind. “She was bright and cheerful, hopelessly optimistic even in war.” He cracked one eye open to see Ada watching him intently. “Like you in many ways.”

Ada answered with a soft smile. “She sounds lovely.”

He closed his eye again. “I loved her so much. I envisioned a life for us in Spain after the war, but everything changed that day. She’d made supper for me before going to wash clothes in a nearby stream. This wasn’t unusual or dangerous. She’d gone to that very spot many times before. While I was eating, one of the boys who helped at camp came to tell me she was in trouble, that I needed to go.”

Max swallowed, the memory moving slowly in his mind, ensuring he recalled each detail. As if he could forget. “I got up, fear churning in my belly so that I nearly vomited. I put on my coat and grabbed my hat, then went to saddle Arrow.”

His voice nearly broke as he recalled his beloved horse. Why had he sent him away? Because between what Arrow had seen in Spain and the loss of Alec from an accident on his own horse, Max hadn’t wanted to see the animal again. He thought of Prudence and the way he’d treated her—she couldn’t help who her parents were or how she’d been born any more than Arrow was responsible for the tragedy Max had experienced.

Ada had dropped her hand to his lap, taking his hands between hers. Her gentle stroking gave him ease and…courage.

“I found Lucia near the stream. They’d choked her to death—her beautiful throat was purple already, her ebony eyes staring sightless at the sky.” The pain was both fresh and distant. Max hadn’t allowed himself to remember her like that in some time. In his nightmares, she appeared thus, her gaze accusing him in death of allowing her to die. “They hadn’t just killed her, you understand.” He wasn’t sure if she could hear him—his voice was barely audible, the words so difficult to utter. “Her skirt was torn, her legs splayed?—”

She squeezed his hands. “I understand. I’m so sorry, Max. I can’t imagine what that was like for you.”

“Think of the very worst thing and then magnify it by a thousand and a thousand more. Infinity, perhaps.” He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut and grimaced against the wave of torment.

“Rage doesn’t begin to describe what I felt. I went in search of them, uncaring how many there were or what weapons they had. I found them not too far away, laughing and drinking, utterly careless as to what they’d done or that there could possibly be repercussions.” The memory was clear as he’d crept upon their encampment. However, from the moment he rushed forward atop Arrow, everything jumbled together—sound, smell, pain, fury.

“I rode Arrow into their camp and cut them down one by one until they pulled me from the saddle. Then I flew at them with my sword and my gun. One of them threw hot water at me—they’d been preparing their meal. That’s how I was burned.” His scarred face and shoulder twitched in recollection. “They shot me and cut me too. I don’t remember any of it, not specifically. I just remember knowing I was going to die and that I didn’t care. It was an honorable death, a necessary death, avenging Lucia.”

Max felt wetness on his fingers. He opened his eyes to see Ada wiping her cheek. She dashed the back of her hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said softly, hating that he was hurting her. “I should stop.”

“No, I want to hear the rest. Obviously, you didn’t die.”

“No.” He took a deep breath. “Lucien came. The boy had told him what happened and that I’d left camp to find Lucia.” The remaining memory was so clouded. It was chaos, really. But he remembered Lucien and his cold fury. “Lucien killed the rest of them. There were eight in total, but he won’t tell me how many I took and how many were his. He says it doesn’t matter.”

“I think I agree with him,” she said quietly, her hands still stroking his—methodically and with great care.

“He shouldn’t have come.”

“It sounds as though you’d be dead if he hadn’t.”

“Precisely. I didn’t want to live without her. What was the point?” He let out a haggard breath and shifted his weight on the seat. “I was severely wounded. It was several weeks before they sent me back to England. By then, my father had died, which I learned before departing. When I arrived home, I discovered my brother had died too.”

“He was thrown from a horse.”

Max shouldn’t have been surprised that she knew that. She’d conducted a rather thorough investigation at Stonehill.

“Is that why you sold Arrow?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t have brought him back to England with me. He is emblazoned on my mind with the horror of that day.”

“You told me you didn’t finish meals because you were interrupted once. It was the boy coming to tell you about Lucia.”

“Yes.” Oddly, he’d eaten everything on his plate the past two days. He hadn’t said anything to Ada about that, however. Perhaps he was afraid the change wouldn’t last.

The coach fell silent. Though Ada wasn’t pulling away—on the contrary, she continued to hold and comfort him—Max feared he’d finally turned her against him.

He stared at the opposite side of the coach, “I am not a good person, Ada.”

“I don’t believe that. You survived the unimaginable.”

Glancing toward her, he gritted his teeth. “You didn’t see what I did to those men.”

“I told you that I wouldn’t judge you. Please stop asking me to. I wasn’t there. Answer me one question: are you sorry they’re dead?”

She’d cut right to the heart of it. Max had asked himself that question a thousand times, along with whether he would do it again if given a second chance. “No, I’m not sorry.”

She exhaled and gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “What I don’t understand is why you’re angry with Lucien or think that he isn’t your friend. From my perspective, he is the most steadfast and loving of friends. When people like that come into your life and stand by you…” Her voice trailed off briefly. “You don’t refuse them.”

He suspected she was speaking from experience, as a young woman who’d been utterly alone. “Who is that person for you?”

“Evie. And Lucien, to a certain extent. But Evie is the reason I am not eking out a living God knows where with a child who depends on me.”

A child? Max never imagined she could have pulled him so quickly and thoroughly from his tortured thoughts. “You have a child?”

She met his gaze. “No. And I will tell you that story later since we are revealing our darkest truths. However, before we arrive at the club, I need you to understand that what happened tonight is not proof that you’re a bad person.”

Of course she knew that was exactly what he was thinking. “When I saw those men touching you, menacing you, I wanted to kill them. I may have, if not for Lucien and Glastonbury intervening.”

“I think you should remember that you were fighting in a war. I’m sure there are many other things you saw—and survived—that are terrible and that may even haunt you. The way you’ve suffered since then, especially after everything you endured, is, I think, to be expected. You weren’t just wounded in your body—you were also wounded in your mind.”

She’d managed to put into words what the last few years had been like for him. As he’d healed on the outside, everyone expected him to just return to normal. Those who knew him, anyway. Those who didn’t startled in fear or revulsion when they saw his face, confirming what he knew to be true—that he was a beast, unfit for human companionship. His external scars had helped to keep the internal wounds from healing.

“My body could be fixed,” he said woodenly. “Mostly,” he amended, gesturing toward his face. “But how can anyone repair my mind, my soul?” He genuinely wanted to know.

He suspected he already did.

“I think with time and with people who care for you, it’s possible to heal,” she spoke confidently, captivating him with her certainty. “To overcome that which you think is impossible and not only survive but flourish.”

“How are you so wise about this?”

“Because I had the same wounds, only they weren’t in my body at all. I carried guilt and self-loathing, and it was magnified by my brother and sisters. I saw myself as a worthless person, and it wasn’t until I became what I thought I should be—someone who deserved to be treated badly—that I realized I didn’t want that. Furthermore, I wasn’t that person, even if my family thought otherwise.”

He stared at her in awe. “You have such courage and strength. I feel rather weak next to you.”

She tightened her grip on his hands. “No! You aren’t weak at all, and don’t you dare think that. As I said, it takes time to overcome wounds, to heal. You’ve been doing that—slowly. If you can’t see the progress you’ve made in the past few weeks, then I will entertain the notion that you are at least feeble-minded.”

That she could provoke him to feel a flash of amusement in this moment was astonishing. “I wouldn’t want you to think that.”

“Good, because I wouldn’t anyway.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You are, however, wrongheaded about Lucien.”

He heard what she was saying, and she wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t meant what he’d said earlier about Lucien not being his friend. “Because of Lucien, I am a celebrated war hero. The truth, however, is that I attacked a squadron without provocation and had no orders to do so. Lucien reported to our superiors that we happened upon them by accident and had to defend ourselves.”

“So you’re angry with Lucien for not only saving your life, but also for protecting you from court-martial?”

“You make me sound ridiculous.” He looked away.

“That is not my intent. You’ve been living under the belief that you deserved to lose everything. But I am glad you did not, and I am especially grateful to Lucien for being such a good friend to you.”

“I did something stupid and horrible, and I shouldn’t be rewarded for it. They want to elevate my title to an earldom.” He curled his lip.

“Would you rather tell them the truth and see what happens then?”

His gaze snapped to hers. “I wouldn’t do that to Lucien. He would suffer the same consequences as me. More, probably, since he lied.”

A smile curved her lips. “You still care about him, then. I’m pleased to hear it.” She glanced toward the window. “We’re here.”

The coach creaked to a stop, and a moment later, the door opened. Ada swept up his garments, including his hat, and stepped down with Og’s assistance.

Max climbed out and immediately met Og’s still-concerned face. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Ada took Max’s arm. “He will be after I tend to him inside.”

Og looked slightly relieved. “Are we still returning to Stonehill day after tomorrow?”

After tonight, Max wasn’t sure of anything. “I’ll let you know. Night, Og.” Max walked toward the club with Ada.

She hesitated. “I don’t want to go in through the club. I know how much you dislike people staring at you, and your lack of clothing along with your bloodied shoulder will attract all manner of interest. Let’s enter on the side, down through the kitchen where I can fetch medical supplies, then we’ll go up to my room.”

Without waiting for his response, she started toward the right of the building, where he’d stolen into the ladies’ side the other night. He followed her down the stairs to the entrance, but before she could open the door, he pulled her away, pinning her back against the outer wall. She held his garments between them.

“I will never understand why what I did tonight didn’t prompt you to run away from me as fast as possible. I nearly hurt you in my frenzy.” The thought of that brought an agony he’d hoped never to experience again.

She lifted her hand to his cheek. “But you didn’t, and I trust you never will. The fireworks triggered something for you and put you in a terrible place. Then those ruffians accosted me, and you reacted from that place. It was a perfect intersection of awfulness for someone with your…wounds.”

“You think those two things happening together is why I reacted that way?”

“I think it makes sense, and I love for things to make sense.”

He stared at her clever eyes and her pert nose, the strong jut of her chin. She was the most sensible person he’d ever met. “Nothing has made sense for me in years,” he whispered. “Not until you.”

Lowering his head, he kissed her, his mouth covering hers. She slid her hand back to his nape, holding him as she leaned into his embrace.

She kissed him until he was breathless, pulling back and bringing her palm down his throat to tug gently at his cravat. “Let’s go up to my room.” She narrowed her eyes slightly. “To clean your wound.”

“All right.” He tried not to sound disappointed.

“And I’ll tell you my story. We’ll see what you think of me then.”