Compromised by Christmas (21 page)

Roxana took a hesitant sip. The liquid burned down
her throat, yet it was not unpleasant. Thoughts of her father's
excessive drinking swirled in Roxana's head. Strong spirits could
unleash his temper without warning.

She drew her toes back underneath her gown and held
out the glass. "Thank you. I do not want this."

"Do you dislike it?"

She shook her head.

"Drink it, then. It will warm you," Max coaxed.

"I am warm enough." Roxana leaned forward and set the
glass on the floor. She wrapped her arms under her legs.

Max tossed himself into the chair that he had robbed
of the footstool. The leather creaked and the fire snapped in front
of her. Any chill she might have felt was long gone, except the
chill in her heart.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Max
leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. He twisted a ring on his
pinkie.

"How well do you like Breedon?" he asked.

"I like him a lot." Actually that was no longer a
lie. She recognized Gregory expected to be coddled and his comfort
was of paramount importance to him, but unlike her father he would
never beat a woman if she did meet his needs, realistic or
unrealistic.

"Smashing." Max leaned forward, picked up her glass
and drained the liquid.

Roxana could almost imagine the taste of the brandy
on Max's lips. Gregory was nearly a perfect man for her: kind,
averse to violence, and he did not drink, but Max made her pulse
leap.

The heat from the fire scorched through her, Roxana
could feel her skin turning red from her proximity to the flames.
She wanted to scoot the stool back, but that would put her within
touching distance of Max.

"Are you getting warmer?" he asked.

"I am quite warm." The heat of the fire made her skin
hot.

"Alexander loved snow. He raved about the snow in New
England, that there were drifts taller than a man's head."

Was Max attempting to tell her about his brothers
since she had asked at the graveside? Her heart went out to him. "I
imagine that if we have this snow at home, my sisters and brother
are having snow fights."

"My brothers always had me at a disadvantage. They
would pair against me."

"Did they trounce you?" she asked.

"Never. I could not allow it."

"Oh, I always allow myself bested, especially with
the younger ones." Thinking of Mr. Breedon's reaction, she imagined
he did not have the same warm memories of snowball fights. "Perhaps
it is different for men. Mr. Breedon did not like being hit with a
snowball."

Max's voice changed, became tighter, less warm. "I
can speak with him, if you will."

"And what would you say?" Roxana spun around on the
footstool.

"Since he has demonstrated overt familiarity, I would
ask his intentions."

Roxana watched as Max plucked at his sleeve, removing
lint that wasn't there. Was he avoiding meeting her eyes?

"To what purpose?"

"Roxy, you are here without a parent or guardian and
the responsibility for your welfare falls to me. I would know that
he is treating you honorably, and tell him to desist if he has
nefarious motives or will object to your circumstances. I can
insist that he does the right thing."

Roxana looked down at her stinging hands. Just as her
mother had said, the damage to the reputation of an unprotected
young woman staying in his house would prompt Max's insistence upon
an honorable course.

But she would need Max to save his talking for later,
after she had been compromised. And she did not need the added fear
of Max's reprisals in Gregory's mind if her plan was to work. "I
should rather you did not." She lifted her head.

Max gave her a wry smile. "Do you not trust me to
remain neutral in my conversations with Breedon?"

She shrugged and looked again at her hands. She
should not have risked them. They would be her livelihood, but time
was running out for snaring Mr. Breedon in her trap. "I believe you
would strive to do the right thing, but I cannot think that Mr.
Breedon is yet prepared to make an offer."

Max picked up the brandy glass and stared into the
few drops remaining in the bottom. He tipped the glass and drained
the last of the liquid. Then he stood. "Very well, I shall restrain
myself. If you are well, Miss Winston, there are guests I need to
attend."

He sounded so resigned that Roxana asked, "Do you
enjoy having these house parties?"

He paused. "I take a great deal of satisfaction from
them."

"But do you enjoy them? Both you and Fanny spend a
great amount of time making sure that things go smoothly, that food
and entertainment is available every minute . . . saving guests
from disaster."

"Only you, Roxy." Max stopped as if he might say
more, then thought better of it. He shook his head and left the
room as her maid appeared at the door with dry stockings and
slippers.

*~*~*

Max ran into Scully as he exited the library.

"I need a drink," said Scully.

"My room," answered Max, clapping a hand on his
friend's shoulder and turning him. "Miss Winston is in a state of
deshabille
in the library."

"My, my, you make fast work of her virtue."

"I did nothing to her virtue. She was nearly frozen
and I . . . removed her shoes." Oh, God, he wanted to remove so
much more. "Her maid is with her."

Darkness crowded Max's soul, but for the maid's
interruption he would have leapt over the bounds of propriety. He
could not believe he had such a shaky hold on his self-control.

"Her shoes? That's all?" asked Scully. "I do not
think you should give her up to Breedon so easily."

"I cannot marry her. I want Thomas to have the title.
She cannot stay content with Breedon long." Max was appalled that
he'd just voiced an intention to cuckold Breedon. "Forget
that."

Scully raised an eyebrow, but forbore saying
anything.

"I did not mean it," said Max.

It was too much to hope that Scully would hold his
tongue long. "Yes, you did."

"Breedon has what she needs in a marriage and I do
not."

"And that is?"

"Blunt."

"You are—"

"Wealthy, yes, but my wealth is in land. You have not
been here for many years. Look around, do you see anything the
same?"

Scully stared at Max. "Fanny has replaced everything,
hasn't she? How much does she spend?"

"Never mind," said Max. It was not just the ornaments
of the house that had cast him into debt. Alexander had gambling
debts and Samuel accumulated substantial nursing and hospital bills
and debts of a rather mysterious sort before dying of his wounds.
"Not all of it was Fanny's decorating. My father was a spendthrift
too, plus my brothers left obligations. We need to dress for
dinner."

"Fanny hates me," Scully said as he ascended the
stairs.

"She does not hate you," answered Max.

"Yes, she does. She says I destroy her dignity. I
probably cannot afford her either."

"Well, she has never set much store in dignity before
now."

Max pushed open his bedroom door and saw red hair.
Did Lady Malmsbury know any boundaries?

"For God's sake, what are you doing here now?" he
exploded.

"We'll drink later, old boy," said Scully slinking
toward his own door.

Lady Malmsbury turned around and pouted. "I do not
understand why you are ignoring me, Max."

He'd had enough. He marched forward and grabbed
Eliza's arm and propelled her out of the room. "I have guests to
consider, my lady," he muttered between clenched teeth. "I regret
that I do not have leisure to be with you now." He shut the door in
her surprised face.

Why would she not get the message? He pounded on the
connecting door to Scully's room.

Max needed to change rooms, but as Scully opened the
door with his eyebrow quirked, Max realized that switching rooms
within the suite would not be enough of a move. Lady Malmsbury
would figure it out soon enough if she found Scully in his room.
Where was the last place she would expect to find him? Better yet,
who was the last person she would want to find herself in bed
with?

"You are getting a new suite mate. You might want to
lock the door." Interesting that the lock was on the woman's side
of the master suite. Max had never thought about that before.

"Do not put Malmsy in here," Scully warned.

"God, no." Max had a better plan.

*~*~*

Fanny sat at her dressing table and stared at herself
in the mirror. In the lamplight she did not perhaps look so old.
The tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes did not show and she
could not feel them with her fingertips.

Did Scully truly want her? Or was she a diversion
because no one else present attracted him?

After dinner, he had stood behind her chair and put
his hand on her shoulder. The gesture was possessive and familiar,
the kind a husband would make, not just a lover's caress.

Then he had gone and pulled Roxana from Mr.
Breedon.

Fanny bit her lip, feeling the rise of jealousy, but
watch as she might she could detect none of Dev's flirtation
occurring between the two. In fact, he had been quite sober. Not
the animated charmer she knew. She missed his compliments even
though she no longer believed them.

Max had watched Dev and Miss Winston take a turn
about the room, but had not made any effort to join them.

After dinner, the servants had set out card tables
and a token effort at charades for the younger set was made.

Feeling restless, Fanny lifted the shielded night
candle from her dressing table and went to the hall.

Her feet, almost of their own volition, followed the
familiar path to her former bedroom. She stood at the door and
asked herself what on earth she was doing. The wind howled outside
and she shivered.

She turned and scurried toward her room. A door
clicked behind her. Quickening her steps she headed for the safety
of her room.

"Fanny," came the low call behind her. The rough burr
of his voice made her shiver.

She spun around. In his shirtsleeves, Scully leaned
against his doorframe. He pushed the door of her old bedroom open
wide, the invitation clear.

What had she been thinking? The darkness might
conceal a multitude of deficiencies, but it provided no barrier to
touch. And Scully liked to touch. She took a step backward.

Her dressing gown was voluminous, very matronly. "I
need to get to bed. Tomorrow, with Christmas Eve festivities, will
be quite busy."

Scully's grin flashed. He walked out into the
passageway, just a few steps from her, and whispered, "I have a bed
in there."

Joining him was a lovely idea until the reality of it
set in. "Sleep. I need to sleep."

"Yes, I am good for that too." He folded his arms
across his chest. He swayed toward her, tilting his head down. "If
that is what you
really
want."

At one time he would not have bypassed the
opportunity to touch her when they were alone. His lack of desire
enhanced her fears that she had long past left behind her
attractive years. Perhaps the lack of relations with her husband in
his later years had not been just because of his age.

She took a step backwards and an emotion flashed in
Dev's eyes.

"I would not wish to offend your dignity, your
grace."

Fanny looked down.

He held out his hand. "Come, love, the snow is
falling outside and the wind is whipping. To have you with me would
warm my soul."

As she stared at his bare palm, Fanny felt her heart
sinking. He was asking for companionship. Was she no longer a
figure for passion and pleasure? Did she want her relationship with
Scully to be about calm comfort, devoid of fervor? What would they
have if they no longer shared the intense attraction that had
prompted her to violate her marriage vows?

"Come, my beautiful duchess, I want to hear you laugh
again," whispered Scully.

She detested Max's treating her like a child, yet she
hated Scully for treating her like a mature woman. She wanted
Scully to sweep her off her feet as if she had no mind of her own,
yet he left the choice to her. He would not push her or use too
much persuasion. The trouble was she wanted him to push and charm
and convince her that she should be so ridiculously foolish as to
sleep with him again.

She wavered, uncertain of which way her feet would
move.

*~*~*

After arranging for the snow sleds to be hauled out
of the coach house, Max climbed the stairs to the drawing room. As
soon as he entered, the Misses Ferris ran up to him, each grabbing
one of his arms. "Have you seen the snow, your grace?"

He nodded. The snow had continued to fall all through
the night and morning, but the wind had calmed down. Fanny had
planned caroling tonight for Christmas Eve festivities, but he
suspected they would just have to carol each other inside.

One sister bounced up, while the other tugged him
down, skewing him lopsided. "Her grace said you might arrange for
sleighing this afternoon," said Miss Ferris.

"Oh, do say you shall," said Miss Charlotte Ferris,
the younger sister by six minutes. "It shall be just the
thing."

"Of course I shall, if it will please you both,"
replied Max.

Scully arched an eyebrow at him from where he sat
sharing a book with Lady Angela DuMass. Scully did not seem to be
reading, but merely waiting for the indication of the time to turn
the page, while watching Fanny.

Max let his gaze skim over all the eligible young
women. The Misses Ferris were cute enough with their matching
button noses and heart-shaped faces. Lady Angela's fortune and
breeding were enough to counterbalance the sharp length of her
nose. Miss Lambert was demure enough with her doe-like brown eyes
and rich chestnut hair.