His Lady in Breeches

XVIII. Everardly Trouble

As the carriage neared the townhouse, Maxwell noticed Maxine massaging her wrist.

She was looking out the window, her posture naturally proud. She was definitely gentry. His eyes veered back on her hands.

"Are you hurt?"

Her head slowly turned to face him. Her pale grey eyes matched his stern look. Brow arching high, she asked, "Now you ask?"

"I did not mean to—"

"I do not truly care what you meant to do, my lord," she said, gathering her skirts. "But I would appreciate if you could ask the driver to stop the carriage here."

"Why?"

She offered a short smile. "As you may very well see, I do not dress as a footman and he will be very curious as to why you brought home a baseborn woman into your expensive townhouse."

"Baseborn? Is that what you are?"

A corner of her lips twitched in a mocking smile. "A plebeian if you must prefer then," she said, knocking on the carriage roof when he did not.

"I did not mean to demean your nature, Max."

"What would you prefer then? Low-class? Coarse?" She tilted her head to the right. The carriage was drawing to a stop. "Wretched?"

Maxwell narrowed his eyes. "You surely do make the most out of—"

"—insults?" she finished for him, offering him a disarming smile. "Of course, I do, milord." She pushed the door open and climbed out.

He followed, surprising her and the driver. "Go back to the ball," he ordered to the man. "I shall walk my friend to her estate," he said.

"Yes, milord," the driver replied and before Maxine could protest, the carriage was driving away.

She shook her head and continued on foot toward the townhouse. He walked behind her in a leisurely pace, studying her steps.

She could be gentry after all, he thought. She walked like one and she talked like one.

But from where could she be? Who was her father?

"I ought to demand that you stop following me, but since we are toward he same destination, I would appreciate if you walk on ahead," she said over her shoulder, adding, "my lord."

"Why?" he asked with doubt.

She stopped and rolled her eyes. "If you are thinking that I would attack you from behind, please, do spare me of your wild imaginations."

Maxwell was thinking precisely that. How did she bloody read his mind?

He walked past her and she continued walking behind him.

"I am not done with my questions, if you must know," he said when they turned a corner near the townhouse.

"Whyever am I not surprised?" was her sarcastic response from behind.

Her boots echoed along the pavement. She wore boots to a bloody ball!

"As you know, I am a very curious man."

"Ah, whyever am I surprised you consider yourself one?"

"What one?"

"Man."

He glared at her over his shoulder and she was smiling at him as though she had not called him an animal!

Whirling around to face the street as it was the only option for him to stop himself from strangling her, Maxwell counted until his breath was even.