Chapter 6 chapter Five

Unaware of the impending offensive, Max is in his study, comfortably with his brother-in-law, Jayden?Sean, and his friends, Simon?Hunter stayed with the Viscount St. Vincent, and they gathered here alone to chat before the formal meal began.Sitting behind a heavy mahogany desk, leaning back in his chair, Max glanced at his pocket watch. It was eight o'clock—time to join the leisure class, not to mention that he was the master.But he still didn't get up, frowning and staring at the jumping surface of the pointer, his face serious from performing such a tiresome task. He has to go to Lillian?Talk to Bowman.Today he acted like a lunatic, dazzled by desire, driven by violent passion, he hugged her and kissed her.Thinking of this, he felt as if he was sitting on pins and needles, changing his sitting position in the chair.

Max's instinct of integrity prompted him to address the matter directly.The only possible solution to this embarrassment was that he had to apologize for what he had done and promise her that he would never do it again.He'd have to spend the next month as damned as possible hiding in his house to avoid that woman.It's unrealistic to pretend nothing happened. He just wished he could understand why that happened before. For a moment behind the hedge, Max couldn't think of anything—his shameful loss of self-control, and what puzzled him even more was the primal joy he'd felt in kissing that obnoxious shrew.

"It's so boring." It was St. Vincent's voice.He sat at the corner of the desk, looking at the stereoscopic mirror. "What's the point of looking at the scenery, monuments and the like?" He continued lazily. "There should be some pop-ups with close-ups of women, Westcliff. That'd be worth seeing with this thing." "I think you've seen enough real shapes," Max replied flatly. "Have you any small interest in the anatomy of women, St. Vincent?" "You have your hobbies, I have mine." Max looked at his in-laws, gracefully non-responsive, and Simon?Hunter, for his part, seemed amused by the debate.The men here are very different in character and origin, and the only thing they have in common is their friendship with Max.Jayden?Sean should be the biggest outlier, "American Nobleman", the grandson of an ambitious "Yankee" captain; Simon?Hunter, a shrewd and courageous entrepreneur in all aspects, the son of a butcher.And finally there is St. Vincent, the bohemian ruffian and the acknowledged popular lover of women.He would show up at some trendy social occasion or party, and stay until the conversation became "boring," which means when the topic started to make sense and value, he would leave to find another conversation. New orgy.

Max never met a more cynic than St. Vincent.The Viscount almost never spoke his mind. Once he found himself feeling sorry for someone, he would immediately hide his good feelings skillfully.Lost souls, as they sometimes called him, as if St. Vincent was beyond redemption.In fact, neither Hunter nor Sean could agree with him, but this did not affect his friendship with Max. From the time they went to the same school, there isn't much that Max can remember that he didn't do with St. Vincent.St. Vincent proved a dependable friend every time, going out of his way to help Max get away with it, sharing handouts of candy from uncaring families, and being the first to Max in every fight.

St. Vincent knew well what it was like to be ignored by his parents, and his own father was not much better than Max's.Like a black joke, the two boys sympathize with each other and support each other.When they graduated and left school, St. Vincent's temperament seemed to change drastically, but Max was not a forgetful person, and he would not betray his friends. St. Vincent lying idly in Jayden?On the chair next to Sean, the two formed a beautiful picture.They both have blond hair and heavenly looks, though they look nothing alike.Sean was born elegant and unrestrained, with a nonchalant smile that can fool everyone, and his appearance is always full of joy. Leaving aside the material life that is generous and not lacking, the life that is not always easy and comfortable is not on his face. How many marks are left.Whatever difficulties stood in his way, he pushed them aside with grace and wit.

In sharp contrast, St. Vincent has a handsome and attractive face, with light blue cat eyes, and even when he smiles, there is a sinister line around his lips.With his lazy tone at all times, he has become the object of emulation in London's upper class.While he was well aware that dressing like a prostitute would undoubtedly gratify his vanity, St. Vincent also knew that any accessory would overwhelm his strikingly blond hair, so he only wore simple, tailored Dressy dark clothing. As long as St. Vincent was in the study, the conversation naturally turned to women.It was rumored that three days earlier a lady of high standing in London society had attempted suicide because St. Vincent had ended her relations with her.Surrounded by this sensational scandal, the Viscount found it very convenient to escape to Shiziyuan. "A ridiculous melodrama," said St. Vincent mockingly, playing with the rim of his brandy glass with his long fingertips. "It is said that she cut her wrist, but in fact she just scratched it with a hat pin, and then screamed for the maid to come and save her." He shook his head in disgust. "Fool. We took such care to keep the affair a secret, and she did it. Now all London knows, including her husband. What does she want from it? If it's to punish me for leaving her, she herself Will suffer a hundred times as much as I did. People always blame women in this kind of thing, let alone a married woman."

"How did her husband react?" Max asked, immediately thinking of the most practical level. "Is he likely to retaliate?" St. Vincent's antipathy was even deeper. "I suspect that he is twice her age and hasn't touched his wife for several years. He would not risk coming to me for a duel for her so-called honor. Originally, as long as she settled down and didn't bring him Cuckold, he will let her be happy, do what he likes to do. But now she's like an advertisement for her own indiscretion, little idiot." Simon?Hunter looked at the Viscount inquiringly. "It's funny," he said quietly and softly. "In this affair you speak of, she's outsmarted you in insensitivity."

"Indeed," said St. Vincent emphatically, with an alert look on his face in the light of the lamp. "I'm cautious and she's not." He shook his head and sighed world-weary. "I really shouldn't have let her seduce me." "She seduced you?" Max asked suspiciously. "I swear by my faith..." St. Vincent paused. "Wait. Since I don't believe anything, let me rephrase it. When I tell you how she seduced me, you'll have to believe it. She left hints everywhere, and started showing up everywhere I went, and she Also sent letters asking me to visit her house at my own time and assuring me that she was separated from her husband. I didn't particularly want her - I knew it would be absolutely boring before I even touched her. But Things slowly evolved, and it got annoying to keep saying no to her, so I went to her place and she greeted me on the porch naked. What else could I do?"

"Leave?" Jayden?Sean suggested, smiling at the Viscount as if he were the most popular exhibit in the Royal Menagerie. "I don't think so," admitted St. Vincent grimly. "But I'm never in a position to say no to a woman who wants to get fucked. After I've slept with someone, it's been a damn long time, at least a week, before I—" "A week of abstinence is a long time?" Max interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "Are you going to claim it isn't?" "St. Vincent, if a man sleeps with a woman more than once a week, he won't be enough. There are many other duties and responsibilities that require you to keep your energy up, not just when..." Max paused, thinking He wanted the exact wording to express it. "In the Sexual Congress." As soon as the words came out, there was a dumb silence.Looking at Sean, Max frowned as he noticed his in-laws' sudden, intense focus on dusting cigar ash into a crystal ashtray. "You're a busy man, Sean. With your career spread over two continents, you obviously agree with me."

Sean smiled and said, "My lord, since my 'House of Passion' has reserved only one exclusive seat for my wife—who happens to be your sister—I believe it's wise for me to keep my mouth shut for it is good." St. Vincent laughed lazily. "Refused to join an interesting conversation because of reason, it's really annoying." He looked back at Simon?Hunter, the latter is frowning in disapproval. "Hunter, you'd better talk about your opinion. How often should a man and a woman have sex? Is it really greedy to have sex more than once a week?" Hunter gave Max a vaguely apologetic look. "I almost agree with St. Vincent..."

Max insisted with displeasure: "It is well known that indulgence is not good for health, just like overeating—" "What you mentioned was integral to my good night, Westcliff," St. Vincent murmured grinningly, before turning his attention to Hunter. "How often do you and your wife—" "I never talk publicly about my bed," Hunter said calmly. "But you and her more than once a week?" asked St. Vincent urgently. "Damn it, yes," Hunter muttered. "You should, especially Mrs. Hunter is very beautiful." St. Vincent said tactfully, mocking Hunter's warning stare at him. "Oh, don't be angry--unless your wife is the only woman left in the world, I can't have anything against her. I don't want to be knocked down by your hard blows, and besides, happy married ladies don't Will ask of me—at least not as easily as the unhappy wives." He looked back at Max. "You seem to be the only one who sticks to that theory, Westcliff. Hard work and self-discipline are worth far less than soft jade in bed." Max frowned. "There are more important things." "For example?" St. Vincent asked, showing exaggerated patience, as if an adolescent boy was submissively listening to his grandfather's endless admonitions. "I guess you're talking about 'social progress' or something? Tell me, Westcliff..." He winked slyly. "If the devil offered you a pact that from now on all orphans in England would be well fed and fed, but in exchange you would never be human again. Which would you choose? Orphans, or your own well-being?" "I never answer hypothetical questions." St. Vincent laughed: "As I expected, the unlucky orphans, it seems." "I didn't say—" Max began, then stopped impatiently. "Forget it, the guests are still waiting. I'm glad you stay here to continue this boring topic, or you are willing to accompany me to the drawing room." "I'll accompany you," Hunter said immediately, standing up from the chair, stretching his slender body. "My wife must be looking for me." "I'm afraid my wife does too," Sean agreed, standing up too. St. Vincent cast a mischievous glance at Max. "God forgive me for having a woman put a nose ring on me - and worse, look damn willing." This happened to be what Max wanted too. The four men casually stepped out of the study, but Max couldn't help but think of this incomprehensible fact, Simon?Hunter, the most happy bachelor Max had ever known besides St. Vincent, was now bound to marriage and unexpectedly content.There are not many people who have been as clinging to freedom as Hunter, and there are very few women who have a definite relationship with him; but now Hunter is so willing to surrender his autonomy, which really surprised Max.Annabelle struck him at first as a shallow, hunter-seeking woman; however, the deep and distinctive love that existed between the two lovers gradually became clear, and Max had to admit in the end Hunter made the best choice for himself. "Don't you regret it?" He asked Hunter in a low voice as he strode towards the living room, and Sean and St. Vincent followed slowly. Hunter smiled questioningly at Max, a tall, dark-haired man with the same resolute masculinity as Max, and his obsession with hunting and sports. "for what?" "Be led by the nose by your wife." Hunter smiled and shook his head. "If my wife is going to push me, Westcliff, it's definitely going to be a completely different part of my body. Oh no, I don't have any regrets." "I guess there must be some convenience in being married," said Max thoughtfully. "A woman can come to meet your needs at any time, not to mention that a wife is more economical than a mistress. In addition, there are heirs to consider..." Hunter laughed because he counted heirs on such a utilitarian level. "I didn't marry Annabelle out of convenience. And though I haven't made a list of expenses, I can assure you that she will never be cheaper than a mistress. As for the question of heirs, I didn't even think about it when I proposed to her." Think about that." "Then why did you get married?" "I'll tell you. But not too long ago you said you hoped I wouldn't start—what did you say?—'spreading sentimental views around.'" "You let yourself believe you're in love with her." "No." Hunter retorted casually. "I did fall in love with her." Max shrugged briefly. "If you believe marriage will make you happier, then it will be." "My God, Westcliff..." Hunter muttered, then asked with a curious smile, "Have you never been in love?" "Certainly. Obviously I've found some women who are more desirable in temperament and appearance than others—" "No, no, no...I don't mean finding something 'preferable', I mean having your whole heart occupied by a woman, desperate, longing, obsessed..." Max gave him a disdainful look. "I don't have time for this nonsense." The way Hunter smiled at him displeased him. "Then love is not the deciding factor in your choice of marriage partner?" "Absolutely not. Marriage is a very important thing and should not be swayed by such fickle emotions." "Maybe you're right." Hunter replied lightly.A little too lighthearted, like not really believing what he's saying. "Of course a man like you chooses his wife rationally. I'll be interested to see how you do that." They came to the reception room, where Olivia was skillfully arranging the seats of the guests in the banquet hall.She frowned quickly when she saw Max, because until now he had left her to deal with this large group of people alone.But he returned her hateful eyes with no repentance.Going on, Max saw Thomas?Bowman and his wife, Mercedes, rushed towards him. Max shook hands with Bowman, a large, unflappable man with a broom-like mustache so thick that it almost offset the thinning hair on his head.In social situations, Bowman was always absent-minded, as if he would rather be away and do other things, and his attention was only so focused when the topic involved business—any kind of business. Sharp as a sharpened sword. "Good evening." Max said lowly, bowing and kissing Mercedes?Bowman's hands, with bony knuckles under the glove, could be used to chop carrots.She is a sharp woman, neurotic and aggressive. "Please accept my apology for not being able to meet you this afternoon." Max continued. "And please allow me to say that I am so happy that you are back as a guest at Shiziyuan." "Oh, my lord." Mercedes said in a tone. "We are very happy to be guests at your magnificent manor again! As for this afternoon--except that we cannot pay tribute to such an important person as you, we do not mind your absence. You have so many important duties and responsibilities, sure. There will be countless things filling up your time." The way she gestured with her arms made Max feel like a praying mantis moving. "Ah—I see my two lovely girls standing over there—" she called to them, her voice shrill, and her gestures exaggerated for them to come. "Boys! Boys, look who I've found. Come and talk to Lord Westcliff!" Seeing several guests standing nearby raised their eyebrows, Max tried to keep his face expressionless.Looking in the direction where Mercedes was gesticulating hastily, he saw the Bowman sisters, both of them sweeping away from the dusty little ghost figure behind the stable paddock earlier.He stared at Lillian, who was wearing a light green dress whose bodice seemed to be held in place only by a pair of small gold pins on the shoulders.Unable to control his wild thoughts, he began to imagine untying the pins and letting the green silk slide down her creamy skin along her shoulders and down her breasts— Max forced himself to lift his gaze to Lillian's face.Her glossy black hair coiled elegantly on top of her head, but the perfect hairstyle seemed too heavy for her slender neck.Her hair was combed all the way back, exposing her forehead, making her eyes look more like cats.She looked back at him, nodded carefully, and a faint blush hit her cheeks.She could see that she had no intention of crossing the room to find them—no, to find him, and Max couldn't blame her. "There's no need to call your daughter, Mrs. Bowman," he whispered. "They're having a great time with their friends." "Friend," Mercedes called out contemptuously. "If you mean that disgraceful Annabelle? Hunter, I assure you I will not tolerate—" "I have a lot of respect for Mrs. Hunter," said Max, looking straight at her. Shocked by this statement, Mercedes turned pale and immediately turned around. "If a man of superior judgment like yourself respects Mrs. Hunt, I certainly do, my lord. In fact, I have always thought—" "Westcliff," Thomas?Bowman cut in, uninterested in the subject of his daughters and their friends. "When can we come and discuss that business deal we talked about in our last correspondence?" "Tomorrow, if you like," Max replied. "We're planning a morning ride after breakfast." "I won't go riding, but I'll see you at breakfast." They shook hands, and Max left with a shallow bow, chatting with other guests who had caught his attention.Soon a newcomer joined, and people gave up their seats for this petite woman, Georgiana, Countess of Westcliff... Max's mother.She was heavily powdered, her silver hair was combed delicately, and she wore jewels of splendor on her wrists, neck, and ears, even her cane was jeweled, and its gilded handle was inlaid with with diamonds. Certain old women, though they may appear to have a bad temper, have hearts as soft and noble as gold.But the Countess of Westcliff was not like that.Her heart—whether or not that remains to be seen—was never made of gold, or any other malleable substance.Physically, the countess was not a beauty, and never was.If her expensive gown had been replaced by a plain suede dress and apron, she could easily be mistaken for an old milkmaid.She had a round face, a small mouth, flattened bird-like eyes, and a nose of unsurprising shape and size.Her most recognizable trait was that grumpy look, like that of a child who just opened a birthday present only to find that the contents were the same as the ones he received last year. "Good night, ma'am," Max said to his mother, with a wry smile. "We are honored that you have decided to attend tonight's party." The Countess often shy away from large parties like this, preferring to dine alone in her own living room upstairs, and this time she seemed determined to make an exception. "I want to see if there are any interesting guests among this group of guests." The countess replied slightly sternly, and she arrogantly scanned the audience. "However, it looks like it's the same as usual, and it seems to be a bunch of idiots." There were a few nervous giggles, as if people had chosen to believe - wishful thinking, of course - that it was a joke. "After a few more introductions to you, you might retract that opinion," said Marks, thinking of the Bowman sisters, whose impertinent and critical mother might find innumerable diversions in that irreconcilable pair. . In order of rank, Max took the lead and escorted the countess to the banquet hall, followed by other people of lower rank.Shiziyuan's banquets are notoriously extravagant, and this time is no exception.There are a total of eight large dishes, all of which are delicacies made of fish, game, poultry and beef, and each dish will be served on the table with flowers around it.The first course is turtle soup, grilled salmon garnished with capers, and sea bass and mullet baked in cream, juicy dory with delicious shrimp paste.The next course consists of game, black pepper venison, crispy roast chicken and herbed ham, lightly fried haggis floating in the hot broth.Wait, wait, the clever waiter is always paying attention, keeping the guests' glasses full, they are full, drowsy, and flushed.At the end of the meal, a series of almond cheesecakes, lemon pudding and rice soufflés were served on platters. Instead of taking dessert, Max sipped a glass of port wine while sneaking a quick look at Lillian?Bowman came to treat himself.It was a rare moment when she looked so quiet and composed, like a young and dignified princess.But as soon as she started talking—waving a fork in her hand, casually interrupting the conversation of the men—the appearance of grandeur disappeared immediately.Lillian is too blunt, too sure that what she has to say will be interesting and worth listening to.She doesn't try to impress anyone at all, and doesn't seem able to be deferential to anyone. (Port wine: port, a sweet dark red wine native to Portugal) After the meal, as is customary, port wine for the gentlemen and tea for the ladies, the guests gradually dispersed after a few rounds of idle chatter.When Max walked slowly to a group of guests gathered in the hall, among them the Hunters, he noticed that Annabelle's behavior was a bit strange.She moved so close to him that their elbows touched, and then she fanned herself overzealously, even though it was very cool in the hall now.Smelling the strong aroma blowing from her, Max squinted at her inquiringly. "Do you think it's too hot in here, Mrs. Hunter?" "Hey, yes...do you feel hot too?" "No," he said with a smile, wondering why Annabelle had stopped fanning so suddenly, and looked at him oddly. "So do you feel anything?" she asked. Max shook his head amusedly. "Can you give me a reminder of your concerns, Mrs. Hunter?" "Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if you might have noticed something special about me today." Max took a quick and objective look at her. "Your hairstyle?" he guessed.Growing up with his two younger sisters, he'd learned that whenever they asked him for advice on their appearance, without giving a reason, it usually had something to do with their hair.While it was a little weird to talk about personal appearance with his best friend's wife, Annabelle asked him like he was a brother. Annabelle smiled helplessly after hearing his answer. "Yes, the hairstyle. Forgive me, sir, if I behave queerly. I'm afraid I'm a little drunk." Max smiled calmly: "Maybe the night air will wake you up." Simon?Hunter came to them, just to catch the end of the story.He put his hand on Annabel's waist, smiled and kissed his wife's temples. "Shall I take you to the back patio?" "Okay thank you." Hunter still didn't move, his black head resting on hers.Although Annabelle couldn't see the look of fascination on her husband's face, Max did, and he was surprised to see Hunter suddenly look uncomfortable and distraught. "Sorry, Westcliff," Hunter whispered, and pulled his wife away with unnecessary panic, telling her to step faster to keep up with his long strides. Shaking his head in bewilderment, Max watched the pair disappear suddenly through the entrance to the hall. "No. Not at all." Daisy said gloomily, leaving the banquet hall with Lillian and Evie. "The gentlemen on either side of me showed no interest in me. Either the perfume was a fake or neither of them had a sense of smell." Evie looked at her blankly. "I'm...I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the word...familiar..." "If your father owned a soap company, you'd understand," Lillian said flatly. "It means that one cannot smell." "Oh. Then my dinner companions must have lost their sense of smell, too, because none of them paid any attention to me. How are you, Lillian?" "Same," Lillian replied, feeling confused and defeated. "I guess the perfume didn't work at all. But I'm sure it did on Lord Westcliff..." "Were you standing very close to him before?" Daisy asked. "certainly!" "Then my guess is that your naive approach overwhelmed him." "Oh, yes, it couldn't be more clear," Lillian said wryly, self-deprecatingly. "I am a world-famous enchantress." Daisy laughed. "I would not underestimate your charm, my dear. It seems to me that the Lord of Westcliff has been—" But Lillian was deaf to this singular insight, and the three girls went into the hall, where they glimpsed the Earl of Westcliff alone.He casually leaned one shoulder on the porch pillar, but still maintained a condescending posture.Every part of his body, from the arrogantly raised head to the confident stance exuding from the inside out, is showing the demeanor of being born in an aristocratic family.Lillian felt an irresistible urge to sneak up to him and poke his sore foot.She'd love a snarl that made him rage. He turned his head, glanced at the three girls politely, and then fixed his eyes on Lilian.At this time, his eyes were not elegant at all, like a predator, showing ambiguous interest, which almost made Lillian's breath get stuck.She couldn't help remembering the feeling of leaning against that hard, muscular body hidden under the perfectly cut black tweed dress. "He's...terrible," Lillian heard Evie gasp, and she glanced at her with pleasure. "He's just a man, dear. I'm sure when he asks the servants to help him put his trousers on, he does it one leg at a time, just like everybody else." Daisy laughed out loud at her irreverent simile, but Evie somewhat begrudgingly disagreed. To Lillian's surprise, Westcliff rose from the colonnade and came towards them. "Good night, ladies. I hope you enjoyed your dinner." Gathering her lips, Evie could only nod, and Daisy replied lively. "That is very rich, my lord." "Very good." Although he was talking to Evie and Daisy, his eyes locked on Lillian's face. "Miss Bowman, Miss Jenner... Excuse me, I would like to have a private word with your companions, if you allow..." "No problem," replied Daisy, giving Lillian a sly smile. "Take her, my lord. We have no need of her just now." "Thank you." He held out his arm to Lillian solemnly. "Miss Bowman, can you give me this honor?" Lillian took him on her arm and let him lead her across the hall, feeling weirdly vulnerable, and there was an awkward, questioning silence between them.Westcliff used to irritate her, but now he seemed to have a knack for making her feel weak - and she didn't like that at all.At the back of a majestic colonnade, he turned to face her, and she pulled her arms away from him. He was only two or three inches taller than her, and if they stood very close, their figures would fit perfectly.Her blood throbbed and beat against the walls of her vessels, and her skin was suddenly enveloped in searing heat, as if she had stood too close to a fire.Noticing her deepening blush, Westcliff lowered her thick eyelashes to gently shade her midnight black eyes. "Miss Bowman," he said in a low voice. "I assure you that no matter what happens this afternoon, you need not be alarmed by my actions. If you have no objection, I would like to find a place where I will not be disturbed, and I will talk to you about this matter." "Okay." Lillian said calmly.A one-on-one meeting with him somewhere felt uncomfortably like hinting at a tryst between lovers - which of course they definitely weren't.And she still can't seem to control the nervous tremor running back and forth in her spine. "Where should we meet?" "There's an empty morning room in the Orangery Greenhouse." "Okay, I know where it is." "How about in five minutes?" "Okay." Lillian gave him an indifferent smile, as if she was very used to making such secret arrangements. "I'll go first." So she left.She could feel him watching her from behind, and couldn't say why, she just knew he was staring at her until he was out of sight.