Practically Wicked by Alissa Johnson

telling the truth or not.
    A woman like her was good enough to toy about with at Anover House, but she had no business pretending to be a lady at Caldwell Manor.
    It was a similar argument to the one she’d presented to Lord Engsly not two hours earlier. But pointing out that there were those who held her in contempt, and it was therefore unwise for her to stay at Caldwell, was a far cry from being informed that she was, indeed, contemptible and therefore had no right to be at Caldwell.
    Evidently, Max’s proclamation four years ago of having no care for honor had not been mere hyperbole.
    “Well, then…” Angry, disgusted, and frustrated because both emotions were tainted with a hint of shame, she walked to a nearby sideboard and grabbed the largest, fullest decanter she saw. Resisting the urge to hurl it at his head, she carried it back and set it before him on the table. “If you must be sotted to withstand my presence here, then I suggest you have at it. I am not leaving.”
    He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, as if she were some vaguely interesting species of bug. “Is that a spark of temper I see, Ice Maiden?”
    She waited a pointed beat before responding.
    “If you like,” she replied, and with a regal lift on her chin, she spun on her heel and glided out of the room.
    Devil take the library. She would keep herself occupied contemplating all the ways she could make Max Dane pay for his boorish behavior.
    Between gleaning what little information he could about Miss Rees from the staff, and distracting Lucien from the worry of having a new sister, Max was too occupied for the remainder of the evening to spare much thought for his behavior in the billiards room. He remained quite confident in his handling of the situation…Until the rest of the house found its way to bed.
    There was, Max mused as he sat in his chambers, something about the dark isolation of night that forced a man’s thoughts unhappily inward.
    No doubt the phenomenon did much to contribute to the popularity of imbibing spirits as an evening pastime. He considered indulging in that pastime, but ultimately decided that the only thing worse than facing one’s possible failings while sitting alone in the dark was facing them while drinking alone in the dark.
    And so he was regrettably sober when he began to reconsider his treatment of Anna. After much time spent scowling at the dark walnut of his door and copious amounts of pacing, Max arrived at the conclusion that he was not handling things as well as he might.
    As well as he ought .
    Because, really, he ought not be acting so much like a mad man.
    It bothered him not one whit that he wasn’t comporting himself as a gentleman. It bothered him quite a bit, however, that he had failed to comport himself as a rational adult.
    He thought he’d passed the age when emotion could unduly influence behavior. In fact, he could remember the last time he’d lost control to anger. At nine, he’d hurled a vase at Reginald’s head for an offense now long forgotten. It may have had something to do with a broken toy, or possibly over sweetmeats. At any rate, an offense had been committed and a vase had been hurled. Max’s punishment had been two lashes for the broken vase and ten lashings for endangering the heir apparent, whose head, incidentally—and much to Max’s immediate regret—had escaped breakage.
    It wasn’t the first or last lashing he’d receive, but it had been the worst. One would think he’d not have forgotten the lesson.
    Yet here he was, allowing resentment and suspicion to undermine control and common sense. All because of a rejection he’d received four years ago.
    It was absurd, baffling, and not a little embarrassing.
    Anna Rees was not the first woman to have declined his attentions. True, she was the only one to have seemingly encouraged those attentions for the sole purpose of spurning them, but even that didn’t explain his severe reaction to