Compromised by Christmas (27 page)

He abandoned his hold, seeing that Scully had her
controlled. Malmsy struggled and Scully pushed up her arms behind
her back. She yelped and went still. Dodging around the pair of
them Max opened the door to the narrow and dark wooden staircase
leading up to the attics. From there she could find her way to her
floor and bedroom.

Scully shoved her in and quickly whipped the door
closed, taking care to close it softly only at the last minute.
Then he leaned against it as Malmsy pounded on it. "She's like a
rabid dog. You might want to get dressed, son. Sounds like a bit of
a crowd gathering. I'll guard the stair door."

Max nodded, swirled around and ran back into his room
and grabbed his dressing gown, pausing only to retie the ties on
his small clothes before they fell off. "Roxana, come with me," he
whispered.

She had pulled her nightgown back on and knelt on the
bed. He bit back the surge of disappointment. Compromised was one
thing; her reputation entirely ruined and everyone in the house
knowing was another. Why the hell did he think he needed to be
caught, when he would do the right thing no matter what?

He stooped to grab Fanny's dressing gown from the
floor and wrapped it around Roxy's shoulders and shoved her toward
the servant's door. A matching door opened into her room too. He
took her elbow and guided her through the narrow passageway.

Scully nodded and mouthed, "Miss Winston," as if it
were normal to be running women through the servants' doors.

Max opened her door and leaned close to whisper in
her ear. "You had a nightmare."

Pressing a kiss to her neck, he wanted to hold her.
He did not have time. She stared up at him, her blue eyes wide and
not quite focused. Heat stabbed low in his gut. He had no time to
lose, and he gently pressed her into her room. He consoled himself
with the thought that there would be plenty of nights in the
future.

He ran back through his room and threw open his door.
Along the passageway doors opened and heads popped out. People
milled around him in various states of undress, their faces masks
of curiosity and anxiety.

"I heard breaking glass. Did you hear breaking
glass?" said Lady Angela.

"Oh, I'm sure not," said Fanny.

"I only heard a woman screaming," said Sir William
Breedon.

"I say, Trent, do you have a woman in your room?" Sir
William asked.

Fanny cast a desperate look at him. "What is going
on, Max?"

"I think the screaming was coming from Miss Winston's
room," he said.

Fanny stared at him as if he were half crazy. He
strode quickly to Roxana's door and pounded on it. "Miss Winston,
are you all right?"

Roxana opened the door, looking dazed. Her hair was
tangled and mussed, and she clutched Fanny's dressing gown to her
neck. He wanted to kiss her and hold her and reassure her that
everything was all right. Instead he repeated, "Are you all right,
Miss Winston?"

She stared at him.

"Did you hear the screaming?" asked Fanny gently,
moving between Max and Roxana.

She swallowed hard. She lied all the time; surely
this one little falsehood was not beyond her.

"I had a nightmare," she said woodenly.

"Did you scream?" asked Fanny.

Roxana broke her gaze away from Max as if it required
monstrous effort.

"I dreamed that Lady Malmsbury was trying to kill the
duke." She shot Max an angry glare. "Or he was trying to kill her.
I could not be sure." Then she closed the door.

Max winced.

The chatter around him turned to Lady Malmsbury's
welfare, as if Roxana's dream indicated harm befalling Lady
Malmsbury.

"What is behind this drape?" asked Mr. Breedon, who
had managed to walk out of his room without assistance.

"What is?" echoed Lady Angela, reaching for the
drape.

"Just the servants' stair," said Max.

"I say we need to have a look-see in your room," said
Sir William.

Better his room than discovering Scully guarding the
servants' stair. Max gestured that way. But Lady Angela was busy
pulling back the drape.

*~*~*

Roxana stared at the door. Why had Max put her back
in her own room, when he had been so adamant about being caught
earlier? Or was Lady Malmsbury's intrusion enough? Roxana wasn't
even sure Lady Malmsbury had known who she was.

Had he rethought his decision to marry her? No
problem there. She did not want to be married, but, oh stars, she
had not expected to feel so wonderful. And then be so cruelly
reminded of the male species's propensity for violence. He had
tossed and slammed Lady Malmsbury as if she were a rag doll. He had
forced her to her knees at one point. Roxana remembered too many
times the same sort of display between her parents.

Was all that necessary? Once Max held Lady Malmsbury
by the wrists, surely he did not need to toss her all over the
room. His superior physical strength should have been sufficient
restraint until Lady Malmsbury's anger played itself out. But he
had seemed determined to force his will on her when she did not
immediately comply with his request to stop screaming. Roxana
stuffed a fist in her mouth to hold back the sob that threatened to
break out.

She crossed her room and sat on the bed. She heard
the activity in the hall, but stared at the wall. She closed her
eyes, not knowing if she had failed in her mission or succeeded. In
any case, she needed to leave soon. She crossed to the wardrobe and
removed her clothes.

She had not expected to get so swept away. No matter
how wonderful she felt she could not live with the idea that if she
crossed Max he would explode in the same physical violence her
father used to cow her mother. For a few minutes she had thought
maybe she could just give in and marry him, but her dreams of a
life plying her needle had sustained her too long. Emotions
threatened the sensible plan that had sustained her for years.

Roxana ignored the tapping on her door. The door
opened. Roxana did not know whether to expect Max. She found
herself shaking.

"You better get dressed and come down to the drawing
room. I've sent for your maid to attend you." Roxana turned and saw
the duchess standing by her door, looking as regal as one could in
a fussy, furbelowed nightgown. With a wince, Roxana wondered why
women who had full figures thought that ribbons and bows would do
anything beyond call attention to the fact.

Then she knew she was only setting her thoughts on
fashion and gowns because that was much more comfortable than
thinking about what would happen with Max.

"You might wear something modest, Miss Winston."

"Yes, your grace," said Roxana.

Fanny crossed her arms and looked at her. "Are you
all right?"

"Yes, of course, I'm fine." But she was anything but
fine. She was shaking and the knot in her stomach made her woozy
with illness.

*~*~*

Leaning against his bedpost, Max tried to get control
of his wayward body. He had been so close to sinking into Roxana,
to releasing his heart and soul to her, to that physical act that
would bind him to her and her to him in a union more sacred than
marriage.

He would have thought that the interruption would
have lessened his desire, but now he just plain ached for her. He'd
had time to recognize that this act that he had engaged in many
times before had transcended just the bodily pleasure. Good God,
had he fallen in love with her?

Instead of the anguish of fearing for Thomas's
future, he felt relief, relief that he could feel so deeply about a
woman, relief that he could relax around her and did not need to be
ducal every second, and relief that he would no longer feel so
alone. He would work something out for Thomas, refuse to give him
the money to buy a commission, find a way to purchase a property
for him. The only thing Max wanted was Roxana.

His door opened, then clicked shut.

"What on earth were you thinking?" asked Scully.

"I told her I would marry her," Max said, pushing
away from the bedpost. With luck, enough of the night would be left
to have her return to his bed or go to hers.

Scully folded his arms and leaned back against the
door. "It is not like you to allow your peccadilloes to become such
a public spectacle. You have upset Fanny."

"I had no way of knowing that Lady Malmsbury
would—where did you go, anyway?"

"Malmsy was sobbing rather loudly on the stairs, so I
escorted her to her room. I also told her that I expected her to
leave at first light or I would go to the sheriff's and lay down a
complaint against her for attempting to kill you."

Max shrugged. The worst punishment she would face
would be a fine and the public humiliation of explaining why she
was in his bedroom in the middle of the night. When the crowd
intent on learning her welfare reached her room they found her
pretending sleep in her bed.

"I told her to keep her silence or I would carry my
tale to her husband."

"I ended my affair with her months ago because of her
jealousy. I told her I would no longer call upon her." Max
explained. "I cannot imagine that I was the least bit unclear, and
I have not offered her any encouragement here. I have only strived
to not be rude."

Scully made a toss with one hand. "Malmsy is married
and her own woman. What on earth were you doing with Miss Winston,
son?"

"I was seducing her, of course." Max let the "son"
go. "Lady Malmsbury's interruption was ill-timed."

"I have no sympathy. The timing was ill for me too.
Bloody hell, I don't know whether to call you out or thrash you. I
suspect I would do both, but it is unlike you to behave so badly."
Scully stared at him, his blue eyes for once quite serious. "You
have nearly destroyed her. Why would you have her in your bed?"

Max straightened, unwilling to be taken to task even
though he knew he had taken the wrong path. He should have escorted
Roxana back to her room, kissed her good night and sat her down in
the morning and explained he was willing to reconsider his stance
on marriage.

"We are talking about my future wife, Dev. I think
that is enough."

"Yes, we are talking about your future wife. Fanny is
fetching her. Get dressed, and we'll witness your formal
application for her hand down in the drawing room."

Max had no objection to making the whole thing
official, even though to do so in the middle of the night had the
ring of unsavory scandal about it. "I'll announce it to everyone
over dinner."

"You'll do no such thing," said Scully. "She has been
chasing Breedon about for the last week. You'll wait until everyone
leaves, then post the banns."

He wanted her his wife before six weeks had passed.
"I won't risk a seven-month baby as heir."

"Is there a chance of that?" asked Scully
sharply.

"No." They had been interrupted.

"Then you keep your hands off of her," said
Scully.

Scully's silent rage penetrated his brain. "Why are
you so angry?"

Scully shook his head and opened the door. "Come down
to the drawing room when you are dressed."

Max's heart leapt at the idea of claiming Roxana as
his own.

Devlin poured himself a brandy as he waited.

Roxana sat with her hands twisting in her lap and her
gaze down. She did not look like a woman happy with the outcome of
this evening's events. She should be; Max was so much better a
catch than Breedon.

Max had not shown up yet, and Fanny had gone to get
dressed. Miss Winston wore a green velvet gown with Juliet sleeves
and a rather more-opaque-than-normal fichu filling in the neckline.
Her hair was arranged severely in a smooth topknot. The cascading
curls were all tucked in and restrained. And the dazed look of a
night creature mesmerized by a lantern's light was replaced by a
look of worry. How had she ended up in Max's bed?

Devlin wondered if Fanny had asked about her
well-being. He knew from his sisters' tales that initiation into
the bedroom rites was not always so easy for women. When he
returned from settling Lady Malmsbury into her bedroom and
whispered in Fanny's ear that Miss Winston had been in Max's bed,
Fanny had stared at him.

"I cannot believe it," she repeated again and
again.

Devlin could hardly believe it either. He'd never
known Max to disregard propriety. He sipped his brandy and had a
bad taste in his mouth, not that anything was off with Max's
brandy.

The door opened and Max walked into the room. There
was a spring in his step and an expression of happiness that Devlin
had not seen on Max's face in years. Not since before the stories
of his brothers' deaths had reached him.

From the minute Max entered the room, his focus had
been on Roxana, but she kept her gaze down.

Fanny slipped in the room and came over to stand by
Devlin. He reached out and put his arm around her waist.

Max cast a look in their direction as if they were
intruding, but his offer needed to be witnessed. He knelt on one
knee in front of Roxana and reached for her fidgeting hands. She
let him take her gloved hands, but her reluctance was plain.

"Miss Winston, would you do me the great honor of
becoming my wife?" Max reached into his pocket.

Devlin had the sense he was watching an executioner's
blade fall with the stay of execution in his pocket and unable to
reach the scaffold in time. Max had used the formal, correct words,
but Devlin should have warned him to speak of love. Christ, they
were both horrible at proposals.

"Thank you. I am mindful of the honor you do me,"
said Roxana in such a small voice Devlin had to strain to hear her.
"But I do not wish to marry you, your grace."

The joy and excitement drain from Max's face. Devlin
took a step forward.