Rules of Passion Read Free Page A

Greentree?”
    Marietta beamed at Mr. Keith. “It is even more wonderful than I imagined, sir.”
    “Not anxious about heights then?”
    “Oh no, not at all!”
    He grinned at her, the lines about his eyes deepening. “I am glad. My friend here didn’t want to come. I insisted—when I knew you were the only one making the ascent today I thought he would be company for us. Now I wish I’d told him to stay home. He’s like a rain cloud in the corner there, threatening to spoil our fun.”
    Marietta giggled, and then bit her lip when Max shot her a hard look from narrowed dark eyes.
    “Perhaps I am not in the mood to enjoy myself,” he said in a low voice. “Perhaps circumstances won’t allow me to.”
    Marietta gave him one of her unflinching stares. “But can’t you forget your troubles for now?” she demanded, not pretending she didn’t understand him. “Look down there. How can you not feel amazed by such a sight? How can your own concerns not seem insignificant, Mr…. eh…?”
    “Max,” he said shortly. “And I am amazed. I’m just not in the mood to show it.”
    Marietta laughed at him because he was so absurd.
    She noticed a gleam in his dark eyes. He did look like a rain cloud, just as Mr. Keith had said. Or maybe he was more like a thunder cloud—a rather dangerous one. Perhaps it was not such a good idea to tease him, and yet Marietta suddenly and unexpectedly yearned to turn that frown into a smile.
    “Haven’t you heard of Max?” Mr. Keith said, lowering his voice. “He’s the scandal of the moment. He has been turned out of his boyhood home by his cousin. Perhaps now you can sympathize a little with his unhappy mood, Miss Greentree, even if you can’t condone it.”
    “Turned out of his home? No, I have not heard of him. I am only lately arrived in London. How could his cousin do that, Mr. Keith?”
    “Well,” he considered his words. “This cousin has produced proof that Max is not his father’s legal heir. In short, that Max’s father is not his father after all.”
    Marietta’s shocked gaze slid to Max.
    “Now,” Mr. Keith continued on, “we could say ‘Poor Max,’ and feel very sorry for him, or we could look at the situation from a different angle. We could say that Max has been a prisoner of his upbringing, and now he has a chance to begin again. Start afresh.”
    “I know what you’re doing, Ian,” Max said, giving his friend a narrowed look.
    “Put aside your woes, Max. Life goes on.”
    “You do not have as much to lose as I.”
    “Think of your past as a shackle to be thrown off, Max. Just imagine how much lighter and freer you will be without it.”
    “Lighter and freer to do what?”
    But he sounded resigned, as though Mr. Keith’s attempts to cheer him up were something to be borne for the sake of their friendship.
    “Max,” Mr. Keith said reprovingly, “Miss Greentree is probably the only lovely young lady in London who is ignorant of your situation. You should make the most of the moment, my friend.”
    “Thank you, Ian,” Max said gravely, and turned his face away so that only his profile showed against the pale blue sky. Handsome, wounded, brooding—the words were descriptive of the perfect Byronic hero. If she was Francesca, she would paint a picture of him standing grimly alone on the moors, or write a poem in honor of his moody good looks. But she was not dark and dramatic Francesca; she was generous and impulsive Marietta. And despite her decision not to bother with him, her mind was already seeking for ways in which to tackle the fates and make his life better.
    “Mr. Keith,” she said quietly, turning again to the aeronaught. “Has Max anything left at all? Of course,” with a glance at Max, “you do not need to tell me if it is personal.”
    “But everyone knows, Miss Greentree. And yes, Max has a few odds and ends remaining.” There was a dry note in Mr. Keith’s voice that Marietta did not understand but she let it pass. “The