Compromised by Christmas (36 page)

He turned back to the window and looked down. "It
doesn't do for you to see me angry."

She sagged against the doorjamb. "Are you angry
now?"

"Every time I see your wounds, I am livid."

He sounded weary and resigned.

"They'll heal," she said. No important bones had been
broken. It wasn't like the time her father had broken her mother's
fingers.

"I don't know what to say when people ask about you.
There are rumors that I keep you in a cottage on my estate. Rumors
that I ruined you, that I raped you."

"No!"

What was that like for him? The exemplary duke who
had broken all the bounds of acceptable behavior and now wore a
huge black stain on his reputation. Then she had in effect made the
truth closer to that when she welcomed him into her bed.

"You accused me of it yourself," he said in a low
voice.

"I'm sorry." She could feel his anger now. It hung in
the room like a noxious, sulfurous cloud. Her legs trembled and she
had to fight to stand her ground. She wanted to flee.

"Then you just disappeared, Roxana. I had no idea if
you were safe or well."

All the time he searched for her had he feared
finding a broken woman? Did he start to believe that the gossip
about her being ruined was true? She should have let him know she
was well. But she hadn't because she'd been afraid he'd find her
and persuade her to become his wife. In the beginning she had been
too fragile, too uncertain of her ability to make it.

"I never intended to damage you," she whispered.

"No, you managed everything to a T, did you not? You
got your money and your dress shop. What I don't understand is why
you would not want this." He waved his arm to take in the room.
"Why you would not want what protection I can give you?"

"My father broke my mother's fingers when she tried
to protect me from him. They never healed right. I have an aversion
to anyone trying to protect me. I have an aversion to anyone having
rights over me. I have an aversion to depending on anyone besides
myself."

But she had learned in the last year that she needed
other people. She depended on her seamstresses, her suppliers, her
clients, and she needed him, but she was a burden in his life. She
was not something he could set to rights or demand conform to his
world.

"I've always thought I had everything. I have power
and influence and wealth. It is all tied to the dukedom, but I find
I have lost the only things that really matter to me. My influence
has dwindled to nothing since I am now thought a blackguard. I
would give it all up in heartbeat to have the people I love
back."

She took a tentative step into the room. "Max."

"I've tried to live within a code of behavior that
all this responsibility confers. But when you are around I step
outside everything I know is proper."

He seemed so alone.

"I was never part of your world. The same rules don't
apply."

"Go to bed, Roxana. If you feel well enough, I'll
take you home to your shop in the morning. Fanny and Scully will be
back any day, and it will be better for them not to find you
here."

She wanted to cross the room, but his anger was like
an invisible wall that she could not penetrate. She had not
understood how important his ethics were to him. How much had
asking him to violate his tenets hurt him? She had not thought
beyond what she wanted, and what she did not want.

"Now, go before I do something for which I cannot
forgive myself."

Cold hands clutched at her heart. What did he want to
do to her? Her knees felt weak and she backed into the bedroom. She
had not thought of what she was doing to him. All she had known was
that falling in love was not part of her plan. She sank into the
soft featherbed, feeling bleak and so alone.

*~*~*

Max stared at the door, wanting to go through to her,
but he had promised himself he would not pressure her while she was
wounded and vulnerable. He would not ask her to marry him again.
But in the past few days he had been to her shop. He'd looked at
her creations. He thought of the tiny cottage where she'd grown
from a child to a self-sufficient young woman. She made beautiful
things from scraps and discards.

He did not know that he would have fared as well
under such circumstances. She was strong-willed and fiercely
independent and incredibly talented. Perhaps she did not need
anyone to make her life complete.

He needed her, and he had to consider that he might
never have her in the way that was right. She had offered only to
become his mistress.

The door slowly swung open.

"Max?"

She stood silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by the
roaring fire he kept going in his bedroom while he slept in the
more temperate lady's room of the suite. God, he wanted her.

"What?" His "what" came out surlier than he'd
intended.

"I'm sorry I've hurt you. I'm so sorry for letting
you befriend me when I knew it could never be. I'm sorry that I
cannot be what you wanted me to be."

"Roxana." Anguish poured through him. He had never
meant for her to feel any less than she was.

"I just wanted you to know that all I ever wanted was
to be able to build a small business so I could support my brother
and sisters. I had planned this course since I was twelve. I
allowed myself to only think on it."

"But, Roxana, it was not the only course open to
you."

She shook her head. "I knew I would never truly be a
part of the ton, as I never wanted to marry. But maybe my sisters
could. I am ashamed that I misused your generosity so brazenly, but
I had already thought myself so far out of your world that I could
not allow myself to think I could be a part of it. I thought that
you would forget about me once I left."

"Would it have made any difference if I were like
Breedon, without a title?"

She tilted her head sideways.

"Not a duke?" he questioned.

"I don't know, maybe, but you are a duke. And I had
to come to London and try to follow my dream."

"You do not know what agonies I suffered believing I
had forced you into a nefarious life."

"I should have sent you word."

"Yes, you should have."

"I was afraid my father would find me."

"Which he did, because of me."

"It's not your fault. He would have noticed I sent
money and come looking for me sooner or later. He was bound to
think he could invest my earnings in some worthless scheme. I know
that I have failed."

"You haven't failed."

"I cannot afford to pay my seamstresses."

"I paid them, Roxy. It was a trifling amount."

She winced, and he realized the amount was not
trifling to her.

"They would have stayed anyway. They adore you and
what you do."

He closed the space between them and brushed her long
dark hair back from her face. Her braid had come loose again. He
could blame only his poor skill at plaiting her hair, or perhaps it
was because he tied the bow near the end; he knew it would be just
a matter of time before it would fall off, allowing her hair to
unravel, and he would have to weave the silky strands together
again.

"Roxana, I took the liberty of going over your
accounts, and you have a lot of money on the books. Your dress shop
is doing remarkably well. You just need to dun people more. There
are many unscrupulous sort who will flock to a new business with
the hopes that it will go bankrupt before they have to pay."

"You want me to succeed, then," she asked in a tiny
voice.

"I would not wish you to fail." Although he had to
admit a tiny part of him did want her to fail, so she would have no
choice but to turn to him for rescue. But that was not who she was.
She did not look for, want or expect rescue. She took on the world.
If that was what made her happy, then he wanted her to have
success.

She turned toward the bedroom, away from his touch.
He knew he should let her go. She was still weak and sore. But
letting her walk away was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

*~*~*

Roxana moved gingerly toward her living quarters. It
had once been her home and felt safe to her, but she no longer felt
safe anywhere other than in Max's bed. She had avoided that part of
the attic as she worked catching up with the things only she could
do at the shop. Patterns needed to be cut in muslin and guides for
lines of beading or embroidery chalked onto finished skirts.

In her absence a partition wall had been erected,
separating the spaces. Her stove had been moved to the far side of
the attic, making the work area warmer. The seamstresses told her
Max had ordered the changes and paid the workmen.

He had left her at the door of her shop this morning
and promised to return, but would he?

She sank down at her table, exhausted. She leaned
forward and put her head on her folded arms. She wanted to cry, but
she felt too empty to produce tears. Instead she let sleep take her
into oblivion.

"So, what do you think?" asked Max jarring her
awake.

"Think of what?" she asked.

He moved forward and set a basket on the table. She
blinked at him. The smell of roast beef and potatoes made hunger
pains gnaw at stomach. He lifted dishes from the basket. "The
changes? More like a home, is it not?"

Roxana looked around and stopped staring at a large
Rumford stove that had replaced her little potbellied stove. How
much coal would that take?

She noticed a large full coal bucket beside the
stove. Where had that come from? How would she ever afford the coal
for two stoves? The bare floor had a rug too. On the far wall were
shelves stocked with dry goods.

"You have not opened your gift."

"Is it Christmas?" Was she dreaming?

"Not yet, but you will want to use it."

She looked and saw nothing. Max pointed around the
corner of the bed. Behind the curtains stood a little tree with
unlit candles on the limbs. A large box tied with a gold ribbon sat
under the tree.

"That was the only place I could find with enough
space for it," he said.

She stared, her eyes blurring.

"Roxana, I wanted your place to feel like a
home."

She wanted to protest that ornaments and Christmas
decorations did not make a home. But that he had even thought that
she might feel ill at ease in her little room counted for
something, didn't it?

She woodenly walked toward it and knelt to open the
box. She slowly untied the ribbons and peeled back the paper.
Inside was tissue. She lifted the contents and unwrapped a cup,
then a saucer and then a lid.

A tea service. As she stared at it she knew that he
meant for her to stay here. She had refused him one too many
times.

"Thank you," she said around the catch in her throat.
"It is lovely."

He placed plates on the table and then served food on
them. Gravy slopped over onto his finger and he licked it off. "Not
used to serving food. I suppose I'll have to learn."

She stood feeling remiss. Feeling like she should be
more grateful for a practical gift that would be so useful.

"Come eat. We can light the candles later," he
urged.

She tried, but the meal tasted like dust. He watched
her as she struggled to hold back tears.

He reached out and touched her chin. "Roxana, what is
wrong?"

"I have ruined everything between us," she whispered.
"You are so kind and generous, but I cannot afford the coal for a
bigger stove."

"I can for now and you will." He slipped his hands
under her elbows and lifted her from the chair. "What would you say
if I stayed here with you?"

"Tonight?" Her heart fluttered.

"Tonight, tomorrow, the next day and night for as
long as you can tolerate me."

"I would be your mistress?"

"More than that, Roxy. I want to be with you. If it
cannot be in my world, then let it be in your world. Let me live
with you."

She stared at him, thinking of his huge estate, his
town house with the ornate plaster ceilings, marble entry hall, and
fireplaces in every room. "But you're a duke."

"Yes, and I can't change that. But I can turn over
the estates to Thomas. He can have the running of the estate until
the title is his. I needn't hold my seat in Parliament. I likely
shan't have much influence anyway as they will likely think me
mad."

The room started to swirl around her, and she could
not believe what he was saying. "But, Max, you cannot. You would
never be happy living like this."

"I admit, I am used to being waited upon, but could
we not find some common ground? I have a few investments that shall
give us a little income, and if I can restore your father's estate
so that it supports your family, perhaps in a few years we could
purchase a modest house."

She grabbed his lapels, needing to support herself.
"Max?"

"I swore to myself I would not pressure you until you
were well." He caught her hips and pulled her against him. She knew
his low hold was to save irritating her back, yet her blood began
to simmer anyway. "I just want to be with you. If you must have
your shop, then you must. I want you to continue making beautiful
clothes. If I cannot have you in my world, then I would join you in
yours."

"Max, stop talking."

He stood still as she tried to absorb what he
said.

"You have this all planned out?" she asked.

"As you lay in my bed all I could do was think of how
I could be with you. I know you don't want to marry, but Roxy, I
will never be happy living without you. It will be a marriage in
all but the eyes of the law. But I won't have any power or say over
you. However I will pledge myself to you forever just the same. I
love you."

A dam inside of her broke. "You love me?"