thoughts crept back in. Of K lecturing him on how lucky he was to have a mother. And how if she still had a mother, she’d treasure every day she had with her. He’d argued that his situation was different. That the duchess hadn’t been a mother for many years. Just like K’s mother, when Bella had left his father, she’d left her children, as well.
So why, after all these years, had the duchess invited him to spend Mother’s Day at The Seasons? He had boy hood memories of holidays spent there with his brothers and his four male cousins, Nash, Ben, Carter and Rhett, Foster’s sons with his first wife, Abigail.
When Foster had divorced Abby, they’d divided their four sons between them. Foster got Ben and Carter. Abby got Nash and Rhett. Both parents had remarried and had more kids. Max and his brothers hadn’t been back to The Seasons since his parents had separated ten years ago. So what was his mother’s invitation all about?
“Max? Is something wrong?”
Max realized he’d stopped kissing Veronica and was once again staring out the window over her shoulder.
Damn you, Mother. You’re worse than K. Why can’t you stay the hell out of my life!
Max let go of the reporter and took a step back. “I’m sorry, Veronica. Maybe we can do this another time.”
“What?”
He could see she was annoyed. He didn’t blame her. He was more than a little annoyed himself at the distraction K—and his mother’s telegram—had created.
“I’ll drive you back to London.” He was glad now he’d decided to make the hour drive south on the M20 motorway from London, rather than taking the train with Veronica from Victoria Station.
Her hands shot to her hips. “I thought we were going to spend the weekend here, Max. Why the sudden change in plans?”
She would have done better kissing him again, Max reflected. He didn’t have much tolerance for female indignation. Although, he supposed she had a right to be upset.
She narrowed her eyes and said, “It’s that telegram, isn’t it? Is something going on with the duchess? I could use a scoop, Max. What do you know? Or think you know?”
“There’s nothing going on with my mother except a desire to keep all her lambs in the fold,” Max shot back.
“What mother wouldn’t want her children with her on Mother’s Day?” Veronica pointed out.
“Mine.”
Max didn’t elaborate. He wasn’t about to tell a reporter from the Times how seldom he’d seen his mother since his parents had split up. How visits with her, from the age of seven onward—when he’d been shipped off to boarding school—had been prized, because they’d been so few and far between. And how often those visits had been canceled.
He and his brothers had spent their lives in one English or European or American boarding school after another. There had been so many because whenever one or another of them had done something to get himself thrown out, the others had refused to stay where they weren’t all welcome. As the youngest, Max had created his own share of the carnage.
None of them had held a candle to Oliver. Oliver had a gift. He could destroy as easily with words as with a blow.
But, of course, Oliver had a greater burden to bear than any of the rest of them.
Max had heard the rumors about who’d really sired his eldest brother, who had dark brown eyes, rather than blue or gray, like both of their parents and the rest of his siblings. Max wasn’t sure what he believed. But he’d more than once defended both his mother’s—and his brother’s—honor.
Max had been lonely at the end, because he was five years younger than his next older brother, Payne. His brothers had all gone on to university—or not—and he’d been left behind. Sometimes he wondered how Lydia had managed. Being the only girl, and nearly two years younger than he was, she’d been all alone from the start.
“You’re not being fair, Max,” Veronica said with a petulant pout that made him realize how much he would have enjoyed having that mouth, with those full lips, taking full advantage of his body.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he said.
“Promise you’ll bring me back here?” she said, moving close again.
Rather than reply in words, he took her in his arms and kissed her, giving the effort his full attention. And comparing the kiss, inevitably, with kissing K. He and K definitely had unfinished business. Whether she came to work with him or not, he hadn’t seen her for the last time. He realized the woman he held in his arms wasn’t the one he wanted to be kissing and let her go.
“You won’t forget me, Max,” Veronica said in a breathy voice when he released her.
“Believe me, Veronica, you’re unforgettable,” Max said with a teasing wink. He would never forget how difficult it had been to concentrate on this woman when he was thinking about another.
Veronica smiled and he watched her shoulders relax.
“Excuse me while I visit the powder room,” she said. She turned and he realized she had no idea where it was.
He pointed her in the right direction. “In there.”
He almost groaned with regret as he watched the sexy sway of her hips as she walked away. He was sure she had the sexual sophistication to please him a great deal in bed. Veronica turned to glance at him over her shoulder, her long blond hair swinging free, and smiled. The invitation remained.
He should take advantage of it. He should cross the room and take her in his arms and finish what he had, by God, started.
But there was no way he could enjoy partaking of such delicious fruit until he’d settled things one way or the other with K. He was going to have to talk with her again. He was going to have to convince her to work with him. If for no other reason than to prove to himself that the woman wouldn’t—simply couldn’t—live up to his memories of her.
Maybe he ought to go to America for Mother’s Day. He could stop by The Seasons and find out what the hell his mother wanted.
More importantly, he’d be on the same continent as K. He could take a flight down to Miami and talk some sense into her. Because he wasn’t going to have any peace until he did.
5
“Another gift has arrived, Your Grace, along with a note declining your invitation.”
Bella growled with frustration, then put a hand to her heart, which was beating hard enough from anxiety to hurt. What if none of her children showed up? She couldn’t bear the thought. Did they despise her so much? Or were they truly as busy as they claimed to be?
Bella forced herself to take a deep, calming breath as she settled onto a rock-hard horsehair Victorian sofa. The sofa had survived fire and plague and pestilence over the centuries, which was why the uncomfortable thing still stood in the parlor at The Seasons.
She took several more deep breaths but didn’t feel the least bit calmed. Oliver, Riley and Payne had already rejected her invitation, citing business commitments. “Who sent the latest gift?” she asked her assistant. “Lydia or Max?”
“It’s from Lady Lydia,” Emily said.
“So Max might still come.”
“We can always hope, Your Grace.”
Bella eyed the young woman. “But you don’t believe he’ll show.”
“We can always hope,” Emily repeated. “You know how busy everyone is. According to the report from Warren & Warren Investigations, Courtland—I mean, the earl—Oliver—is purchasing ranch land in Argentina. Lord Riley is negotiating for oil tankers in Hong Kong. And Lord Payne…” A thoughtful frown wrinkled her forehead before she said, “Oh, yes. Mr. Warren reported