Part 19 (1/2)

”Their skin must be hardened so that they can climb the chimneys without tearing their flesh to pieces. They are forced to stand in front of a hot fire so that their knees and elbows ... ” He broke off, stared at her hard, then let out a long sigh. ”No. Maybe it's best if you don't know.”

His features were pinched and his eyes were brilliant with anger. She wanted to touch him, to say that she understood, but of course, she didn't understand anything.

”I'm sorry,” she said. ”I didn't know. And you're right. I never thought about it.”

The pinched look gradually left his face and he smiled. ”If you were a regular subscriber to the Courier, you would have known. We did a series of articles last year on the lives of the poor and it didn't make for pretty reading. In fact, it created a storm of protest from our readers.”

”They sympathized?”

”The reverse. They thought we should be horsewhipped or locked up for our seditious views. Some prophesied that we would lead the country into anarchy. Most letters sounded just like Mr. Thornley.”

”No one supported you?”

”A few.” He sounded bitter. ”But the poor don't read the papers, because most of them can't read. And even if they could, they haven't the money or time to waste on newspapers. They're too busy eking out a living in mills or hacking coal down the mines so that people like us can be comfortable. They're so poor, they sell their sons into slavery-apprentices, we call them. But their daughters, they have the worst life of all. They-”

He checked himself, drew in a long breath, and let it out slowly. ”The point I'm trying to make is that the poor don't have a voice. Someone has to speak up for them. But you're right. I shouldn't have been rude to a guest in your house. I apologize for my conduct.”

This was something she had never imagined, Max pa.s.sionately involved in a cause. She knew the Courier only as a purveyor of sensational news, like her own trial. As she gazed at him now, her eyes wide and searching, she could not seem to get the real Max Worthe into focus.

Her throat hurt and her eyes burned. She spoke slowly. ”You really are the strangest man, Max Worthe.”

The smile began on his lips, spread over his face, and finally warmed his eyes. ”That is the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Sara.”

Their eyes held.

To cover her confusion, she spoke flippantly. ”And you have my permission to be as rude to Mr. Thornley as often as you like. Constance was right. He is pompous.”

Max took a long swallow of tea and regarded her thoughtfully. ”You're worrying needlessly. Anne isn't in love with the vicar.”

She hadn't realized she'd betrayed so much. ”How can you be so sure?”

He made a face. ”Because she strikes me as a sensitive person and the vicar is a clod!”

She laughed. ”It doesn't take you long to make up your mind about people, does it, Max?”

The smile gradually left his face. ”I made a mistake with you, Sara, which I bitterly regret. One way or another, I intend to make it up to you.”

”Don't-” She shook her head, jumped to her feet and quickly left the room.

Max took another swallow of tea. It wasn't all bad, he told himself. He was bringing her round. Slowly but surely, he was bringing her round. At this rate, he would have her tamed to his hand before the next century rolled around.

Sir Ivor slammed into his library and made straight for the sideboard with its tray of decanters. He poured himself a neat brandy, bolted it, then poured himself another. He wished the b.i.t.c.h had broken her neck when she'd taken those jumps. That she should have a charmed existence, a woman like that, who had cheated the hangman's noose by the skin of her teeth! She was a trollop. She'd started an affair with his son right under her sister's nose. He didn't blame William for taking her.

But he must keep away from her or, by G.o.d, he would find a hangman's noose around his own neck.

What he couldn't understand was where Lord Maxwell fitted into this. Was he the man she'd brought home as her betrothed? His wife said that he was. Well, Sara Carstairs would soon learn that she had overreached herself. Lord Lyndhurst's heir would not dream of marrying a brewer's daughter, let alone a woman who had been tried for murder. Lord Maxwell was an aristocrat. He would not compromise his family's great name by marrying a soiled dove.

All he had to do was wait and Lord Maxwell would come to him and explain himself. He wanted the story for his paper, of course. And maybe he had access to Sara Carstairs's bed as well. Sir Ivor smiled. That's all she was good for, some man's amus.e.m.e.nt.

The sound of girlish laughter came to him from the open window, and he wandered over to it and looked out. Lady Neville was in the rose garden with her footman. Another girlish giggle grated on Sir Ivor's ears. When they were first married, he'd told his wife that she had a laugh as crystal clear as a mountain stream, and he'd been made to listen to it for the last thirty years.

He sipped his brandy slowly. Jenny had a girlish laugh, but it was genuine. She was pure, and he liked them pure. He was in no hurry to deflower her. His body hardened; his breath thickened.

He put down his gla.s.s, shut the window and drew the curtains. Three pulls on the bell rope would bring Jenny to him. He went to the bell rope and pulled on it.

*Chapter Fifteen*

Dinner that evening started off well enough. There was a saddle of mutton for the main course, and it was done to perfection. Everyone remarked on the improvement in Cook's culinary skills. Only Sara seemed to realize that they had Max to thank for it. She stared at him with raised brows.

He answered that look with a slight lift of his shoulders. The problem had been easily solved. No one had ever shown the cook how to use the new stove. She'd been given a sheet of instructions, which were useless because the poor woman couldn't read and was too ashamed to admit it. Not that she'd told Max she couldn't read, but he'd soon figured it out for himself.

It never occurred to him to enlighten the others. Whatever he did would be misconstrued, and since harmony reigned at the dinner table, he decided to let sleeping dogs lie. Besides, he'd got what he wanted-a dinner he could enjoy.

It was Anne, in all innocence, who stirred things up. ”Dobbs tells me,” she said, ”that you had Arrogance out this morning and managed him very well.”

”I think it's fair to say,” said Max, ”that Arrogance managed me very well. He antic.i.p.ates what I want to do, almost before I think of it myself.”

”Max is very modest,” said Sara, teeth gleaming, her tone of voice implying the opposite. She saw Simon's face and her next words withered, unsaid on her tongue.

Simon sc.r.a.ped back his chair and got up. ”Who gave him permission to take Arrogance out?” he asked Sara. He was furious.

”Dobbs did, I suppose,” said Sara. ”What's wrong with that?”

”You let him take out Arrogance, but I can't?”

Anne said in a painfully husky voice, ”Sara has nothing to do with it, Simon. She's been away for three years. You know that Dobbs decides who rides Arrogance now. He's a highly strung thoroughbred. He can be dangerous. He's thrown you more than once, hasn't he? Obviously Dobbs thought Max could handle him.”

”How will I ever learn to handle him if I'm not given the chance? ”

Anne's eyes dropped away. ”I'll speak to Dobbs and see what he says. Maybe if Max went out with you-”

”Max!” Simon's mouth twisted in a sneer. ”How very chummy! He may have won you over, but he hasn't won me.”

”That's enough, Simon,” Sara said quietly.

He gritted his teeth. ”It's not enough, not nearly enough. Are you all blind? Can't you see what's going on? He's going to be master here! Nothing will be the same again. It would be different if he were fond of Sara, but he's not.”

He turned to Sara. ”Can't you see what he is? Oh, he's polished, I'll give you that. But he's a fortune hunter. Lord Maxwell! A courtesy t.i.tle that was bought and paid for in trade, I don't doubt. He'll ruin you, Sara, ruin us all.”

Sara rose slowly. She was clutching her napkin and her face was paper white. ”You've said quite enough, Simon. Either apologize to Max or leave the room.”

”I am not a small boy for you to lecture!”

”Then stop acting like one.”