Compromised by Christmas (15 page)

"Very well, I should love to ride tomorrow morning,"
said Roxana deciding that she could be back before Mr. Breedon
stumbled out of his room. It would give her a few minutes every
morning to enjoy before she settled into her pretense. And she did
not want Mr. Breedon to feel as if he suffered unpleasant scenes
any time she was around him. "If her grace approves, of
course."

"Leave persuading the duchess to me," said Scully
with a wink. He patted her on the shoulder as he stood. He looked
at her chest as if to verify with his own eyes that she was
uninjured. Not that he could see the worst of the redness that was
in the crease between her breasts, and her white muslin morning
gown was cut considerably higher than the gown of last night.

Heat rose in Roxana's face. How much had Scully seen
of the way the thin silk clung to her breasts, revealing
everything. Mrs. Porter had told her that men would
always
look at a woman's bosoms if offered a chance. Roxana did not know
that she believed that until Max had stared at her almost as if he
could not look away. She had known the silk was thin, but had not
realized how thin until that moment she looked down to see where
the duke's gaze was focused.

Inexplicably her flush spread to other places on her
body, lower, across her belly and lower still. She stared at her
plate, seeking composure.

"Miss Winston?"

She looked up at Mr. Breedon's moon face.

Uncertainty hung in his expression. "Are you all
right? You do not have to ride if you do not wish."

She smiled and glanced back to where Scully had moved
to the tray of pastries and was selecting his breakfast. "You will
think me terribly vain, but I have a huge desire to wear my riding
habit in company."

"Your clothes are very pretty." Mr. Breedon's cheeks
pinked. "And you are too."

Roxana was unprepared for the compliments she kept
getting on her looks. By far the worst offender was Scully, but the
most sincere seemed to be Mr. Breedon with his simplistic comment.
"I am not used to being told so, but thank you. Are you sure you
would not join us riding?"

"I might consider it, if I wake early."

"I hope you do," said Roxana brightly, and it was not
quite as much of a strain as her earlier forced cheer.

Other guests drifted into the room and made their way
to the sideboard. Scully talked to one of the gentlemen in the far
corner. A few of the women asked Roxana if she had suffered a very
grave injury. She reassured them she had not.

Mr. Breedon leaned closer to her and said, "I was
afraid to ask if you suffered any injury last night, because I did
not want to be crude. Because of where . . . where . . ." His pink
cheeks drifted closer to purple.

He did not want to mention her chest for fear of
seeming indelicate? "I suffered only a very slight burn. I assure
you the Duchess of Trent's servants plied me with more poultices
and cold towels than were warranted."

"I did not know what to do when Trent whisked you out
of the room," whispered Mr. Breedon.

"I think he is just very used to controlling any
situation." Roxana shrugged. Would the duke be part of the riding
party that Scully made up? And her anger at being yanked around
melted when she realized her gown was transparent. Max had an odd
unsettling affect on her that was not quite fear, but close enough
to it; she'd do better to avoid him.

She put her fingers on Mr. Breedon's sleeve. "In
truth, I should much rather not speak of it, and I appreciated your
forbearance in not speaking of the incident earlier. Although I
understand you would have felt remiss not inquiring, since others
have brought up the subject."

"Just so," said Mr. Breedon who had followed her
every word with a sincere nod of his head.

One of the other ladies of the party set her plate
down at the morning table. Mr. Breedon pushed back his half full
plate.

Had Roxana given him too much food? As she watched
Mr. Breedon, Lady Malmsbury brushed by Roxana's chair, catching her
hip on the back. Roxana turned to see two white globes of poached
eggs sliding across Lady Malmsbury's plate.

Roxana envisioned yellow yolk dripping down her
front, just as Mr. Breedon reached up and tipped the plate so the
eggs slid onto the tablecloth instead of her.

"Careful," Mr. Breedon said.

"You moved your chair," said Lady Malmsbury.

Roxana stared at the yellow and white mess on the
pale green tablecloth. Had she? "I'm terribly sorry."

"I say, Lady Malmsbury, you are extraordinarily
clumsy around Miss Winston." Scully moved across the room. With an
edge of warning, he said, "Perhaps you should keep clear of
her."

What had she ever done to incur the wrath of Lady
Malmsbury? She stared at the lovely red-haired woman. In the
morning light, the woman's hair had the brassy hint of a henna
wash.

"Oh dear, you are not hurt are you, Miss Winston? I
am so dreadfully appalled. Of course you did not realize I was
behind you when you moved your chair back. I shall have to pay
better attention."

The occupants of the room looked between the two of
them, almost as if unsure which woman was at fault for the
accidents.

"Well, get a servant, do." Mr. Breedon tossed his
napkin over the mess on the table.

Roxana decided that was a task she could manage, and
she fled for the door. In the passageway a hand at her shoulder
stopped her. Roxana turned, expecting Scully, half hoping for Max,
and found Mr. Breedon pulling back his hand. "You shan't cry, shall
you?"

Roxana folded her arms across her middle. She was
used to being attacked with little or no provocation. Lady
Malmsbury's tricks were hardly of consequence. Roxana was good at
dodging unwarranted attacks. She'd keep at arm's length from Lady
Malmsbury in the future. "Thank you, no."

Mr. Breedon pulled his hands behind his back and
rocked up on his toes, and then cleared his throat. "Well, because
if you were of a mind to, I thought you might want to make use of
my shoulder."

Roxana stared at him.

"Of course, I understand if you do not want to. And I
just meant it as a friendly sort of offer. I . . ." He took a step
back.

Roxana swallowed her fear of getting too close
physically to any man and stepped forward, leaning her head against
his broad shoulder. Very slowly, as if he were aware of her past,
he put his arm about her shoulder and patted her arm.

She reached up and placed her hand against his chest
and found him more solid than she had expected. Solid and
comforting like an old quilt. His gesture was rather sweet and made
him seem all the more likable. And she did not want to like him,
because tricking him would be so much more difficult if she liked
him.

*~*~*

Fanny jerked as her bedroom door opened. She turned,
expecting Julia or Thomas; instead Scully stood looking around her
new bedchamber.

"Ah, a pretty little room for a pretty little
woman."

She was faded, not pretty, and "little" was not a
word she'd use to describe herself. "Dev, what are you doing
here?"

"It is so hard to catch you alone," he said, drifting
to the far side of the room and picking up a Dresden china figurine
sitting on her nightstand. "Do you like your little chamber?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "You should not
be in here."

"Yes, well, I am on an errand for Miss Winston." He
set the expensive figurine down and touched the gold filigree box
sitting next to her bed. Her heart beat harder knowing her wedding
ring was in that box.

Fanny glanced at the closed door. Devlin was alone
with her in her bedroom, but he made no move to take advantage of
the situation. He had put the bed between them, and while her room
was not as large as the one he stayed in, it was by no means
small.

Shaking like a leaf she turned around and returned to
her task. "I suppose it will do no good for me to insist you leave
my room."

"Well, you should have to put more verve into it than
that."

"What is it you want or Miss Winston wants?" Fanny
sighed. Everyone was on a mission for Miss Winston, it seemed.
Julia had practiced the piano for her, Thomas had finally learned a
difficult passage in French so he could recite it for her and Max
had put Fanny on her own task.

"Miss Winston asks if she might ride with me in the
mornings," said Dev casually. "I assured her that I would persuade
you to approve."

Such a spike of jealousy stabbed at her heart, Fanny
wished she'd never invited the girl into her home. She closed her
eyes, wondering if Max's attention to the girl, her children's
attention or Dev's attention bothered her the most. Silly question.
"I am not at all sure that is a good idea, Dev."

"Do you not trust me, love?"

"I of all people know you are not to be trusted."
Fanny's voice trembled.

"You need not have any concerns. I have no interest
in Miss Winston. Besides, she has already invited Mr. Breedon to
accompany us and we will of course have a groom as escort."

Fanny winced, hearing the clink of the porcelain
box.

"Fanny?"

She turned slowly. He held her ring up between his
thumb and forefinger.

"Why have you taken off your wedding ring?"

She stared at him, searching for the right response.
The foolish hope of a middle-aged woman. She finally shrugged. "I
am no longer married, am I?"

His grin flashed across his face, and she spun away.
How much had she revealed? Her heart pounded. "Fine, then, take
Miss Winston riding. Go on, then."

She heard her ring clink and the sound of his
movement across the room. His hands landed on her shoulders.

"Go, please," she whispered. "I am not married."

"Fanny—"

She spun out of his grasp, concerned that she could
not resist him if he applied the least amount of pressure. But she
could not risk pregnancy without a husband to provide cover for her
sin.

"Please, I beg of you, leave me be."

*~*~*

Max stared as Miss Winston leaned against Mr.
Breedon. His shoulders tightened and a dull ache spread to the base
of his skull. She was making fast work of enticing Mr. Breedon,
except the embrace the two shared spoke more of friendship than a
stolen cuddle.

"Joining us for church this morning, Breedon?"

The two sprang apart as if guilty of an illicit
encounter. Miss Winston was again unchaperoned. Max sighed. He
would have to watch over her more closely.

"Certainly, certainly," said Breedon.

If he couldn't keep an eye on Roxana, the next best
thing was to keep Breedon occupied.

"How about the pheasant hunting tomorrow
afternoon?"

"Uh, no," said Breedon. "I, uh, don't much like
killing things." He backed away.

Max should not have interfered unless the pair risked
passion overtaking their senses. Not terribly likely in Breedon's
case. And surely Roxana could not find Gregory overwhelmingly
persuasive.

Roxana shifted. Shaking his head, Breedon walked
away.

If she could fix Breedon's attentions and be happy
married to him, who was Max to interfere?

"Do not allow him to treat you with too much
familiarity," Max cautioned.

"He offered comfort, no more." Roxana turned in the
direction Breedon departed.

"So all appears to be going well in your laying of
traps."

"No," said Roxana.

He stopped and looked at her. Hope bubbled through
his struggle to do the right thing and assist her in securing a
decent marriage. "No?"

Her blue eyes narrowed as she studied him and Max
again felt that absurd rise of heat. Such delightfully deep a blue,
like a clear moonlit sky at midnight. Did she know how striking she
was?

"If I might have a word with you, Miss Winston."

"Certainly, your grace." She swiveled around and her
blue eyes hurtled glacial daggers in his direction. "Shall we use
the billiard room?"

Max choked. He closed his eyes, warding off the
images of Roxana in her plastered-on dress. Her breasts had been
perfection, full and cherry tipped. No good. His body flooded with
heat. His hand itched to caress her surprisingly lush curves. His
mouth watered as he thought of touching his lips to those sweet
berry nipples. He could not be alone with her in his hardening
condition. "If you would accompany me upstairs."

"Is there a problem?"

He took a step toward her, and Roxana took a quick
step backward.

The moment grew heavy with tension. Was she aware of
his arousal? She had just been in Breedon's arms, yet Max wanted to
grab her to him and let her know just how she made his blood run
hot. As if he could mark her as his. Which was about as ridiculous
a thought as he could entertain.

He should be relieved her pursuit of Gregory appeared
to be going well. Max had no place in his life for Roxana, and her
problems would only compound his.

Max gestured toward the stairs.

"Lady Malmsbury does not like me, you know." Roxana
paused for a second at the base of the stairs.

"I am sure that last night's incident was just an
accident."

"The eggs too?"

"What eggs?"

"Lady Malmsbury's eggs that Mr. Breedon saved me from
wearing." Roxana waved a hand as if it was of no import.

But it was of great import if Mr. Breedon had gained
Roxana's gratitude by rescuing her from Eliza's bad behavior. And
was Max's attraction to Miss Winston the cause of Eliza's
spite?

"Fanny's maid said your skin was only a little
reddened." Max swallowed hard as he thought about the expanse of
flesh to which he referred. "Are you in any discomfort?"

"I am fine."

He put his hand to the small of her back to guide her
toward Fanny's room, but he knew as soon as he touched Roxana that
it was a mistake. He was the one in discomfort as he resisted the
impulse to rub his fingers in coaxing circles.