Compromised by Christmas (24 page)

Good God, had she meant to seduce Breedon, to endure
his kisses and poking? Did she know what she was asking for?

"I know this was his room. I saw him leaving it . . .
." Her voice trailed off as he slowly turned.

Her gaze had dropped to his crotch.

His erection throbbed in his too-tight pantaloons. He
strode across the room, slapping the bedpost for emphasis. "Do you
understand what a man does when he finds a woman in his bed?"

Roxana kicked at the covers and dove for the far side
of the bed. The jiggle of her breasts as she moved fascinated him.
Her foot twisted in the bed linens, and she tumbled to the floor
between the bed and the wall.

He should take her back to her room before any harm
was done, but as he stared at the slim white foot tangled in his
sheets and at the slender ankle where her nightgown crept up he
knew that he could no more take her back to her room than he could
raise his brothers from the grave. At this moment he disgusted
himself.

"Do you?" he repeated, hearing the raw emotion in his
words.

She tugged her foot, but it didn't come free of the
sheets. He grabbed it and put one knee on the mattress. "Answer
me."

She glared back at him, through the curtain of her
hair. "Yes, I know."

God, he hated being tricked and manipulated, but he
meant to have her. He wanted every kiss and touch that she would
have granted Breedon, and he would make sure she enjoyed every
minute of it. "Then you are doing it with me."

Warning bells sounded in his head, and he knew the
minute he took her, he had committed himself to a course of action
he would have found despicable in any other man. She was still an
innocent, and her desperation had forced her to a path he could not
like.

"I ought to thrash you," he said, rubbing his thumb
along her instep. He leaned across the bed, reaching to pull her
up. "I hate being tricked."

But as he leaned over the far side of the bed, Roxana
had ducked her head and put her arm across her face. For God's
sake, she cowered like a whipped dog in fear of a beating. How much
pressure had been brought to bear on her to force her to this? An
urge to protect her and shelter her from all harm overwhelmed him,
yet impatience and the desire that burned low in him tore him in a
thousand directions.

"Roxy?"

Devlin stood outside Fanny's room, his heart
thundering. He cleared his throat and then tapped on the door.

Fanny cracked her door. Her hand clutched at the neck
of her blue dressing gown. At least she did not wear her weeds to
bed.

"Hello, beautiful." He raised one arm up above his
head and leaned against the doorjamb, knowing the stance made his
coat hang wide open. He raised a deck of cards in his other hand
and flipped over the top card. "Care for a game of piquet?"

"Scully, I..." She stared at the knave of hearts on
top of the deck.

He leaned closer. "
Vingt-et-un?
" He needed to
get in her room.

Her luminous blue eyes widened. "What are you doing
here?"

"I want to give you your Christmas gift." He leaned
his hand in and brushed his fingers against her cheek. "Let me in,
my pretty Fanny."

"You can give me my gift tomorrow with all the
others."

"Oh, I hardly think that would serve, not this gift,
anyway." This afternoon they had been on the verge of reaching an
understanding when the shouts from the accident outside had
interrupted their
tête-à-tête.
So long after midnight, they
were unlikely to have any interruptions.

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean to give me, a
deck of cards?"

He smiled, sensing victory. Her curiosity was his
best ally. "I have it right here." He patted his breast, frowned
and then patted his hip pocket. "No, here."

His gesture drew her gaze down to the falls of his
unmentionables. He'd left off his waistcoat and consigned his
cravat to the floor of his room. Heat built in him and he began to
swell as she stared.

"That too."

She blanched, her expression turning uncertain, her
eyes still cast down. "But it's Christmas."

One-handed, he flipped the card on the top of the
deck back over. If his arousal alarmed her, the movement would
distract her attention. "You used to enjoy playing cards with me,
love."

She continued to stare below his waist. He pushed on
the door and she looked up, her eyes widening, but she had
forgotten to hold it tight. "Do not be afraid, love. I'll leave if
you insist."

He pushed around her and drew her into the room,
shutting the door. He pressed a kiss to her lips. Moisture
collected under his arms and the sooner he was rid of his clothes
the better.

He dropped to his knee. "Fanny, love, you would—"

"What are you doing, Dev?" she asked, alarmed.

"Trying to present my gift." At least he was back to
"Dev." That was a good sign. "You may not want it."

"Of course I should want it. You are being very odd.
I am not a queen requiring genuflection for presentation of a
gift."

"You are near enough to a queen. It is the only
higher rank. I know that I have no title or no expectation of one,
since I have five older brothers." He was perspiring in earnest and
botching his presentation. "You should not have interrupted me. I
had this all planned."

He tossed aside his coat, then had to pick it up to
retrieve the ring from the pocket.

"For heaven's sake, just give it to me," whispered
Fanny. "You are behaving too strange."

Scully closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.
"Fanny, dear heart, you are the most beautiful woman in the
world."

"Hardly," she snorted.

"To me, you are, and—"

"Tomorrow will be quite busy, Dev, and I—"

"Stop interrupting."

She shifted. "Dev, what are you doing?"

"Stop talking. I have never done this before and I'm
sorry if I'm making a hash of it. You would make me the happiest
man if you would agree to be my wife." The words came out in a
white-hot rush, not at all the smooth proposal he planned.

Silence was his answer. Fanny had gone quite
still.

He held out the ring, needing to fill the gap. "It
was my grandmother's ring. I know it is old, and you like new
things, but we could have the stones reset. The sapphire reminded
me of your eyes."

The ring was extravagant, the huge blue stone
encircled by diamonds.

Another gap stretched in the room. He needed to fill
it. "You could give me an answer, you know. There are twenty
diamonds. I have been assured they are quite fine specimens." And
he'd told himself he would not insist upon an answer right
away.

"I did not expect this," she whispered. Her voice
sounded tearful. "Why would you . . . you . . . now?"

"Max said I must," he answered, and then cringed. Of
all the things he should have said that was not it. He stood
holding out the ring and feeling like an idiot. Perhaps if he
kissed her and did not allow her the breath to answer, he could
salvage this miserable effort.

Yet her eyes filled with tears and she stared at the
ring in his hand almost as if it were a snake that might bite
her.

"For God's sake, Fanny, do not cry. You can refuse
me."

*~*~*

Roxana slowly lowered her arm from where it shielded
her face. Max's hand was extended, palm up. Her nerves were
shattered, and she was shaking. She stared at his hand, distrusting
the offer of assistance.

She had steeled herself to invade Mr. Breedon's
bedroom and tell him that she had mistaken her way back from the
necessary. She'd rehearsed the lie a dozen times in her head. She'd
thought it sounded plausible.

But Max was not so easy to fool. His anger charged
the air. His edict chilled her heart. Did he really intend to have
his way with her or was he just trying to scare her?

His hand moved from her foot to curl around her
ankle. His other hand grasped her upper arm, and he dragged her
back up on the bed.

He unwrapped her ankle from the tangle of bedding and
lifted the covers for her to settle underneath them. She stared at
the tented sheets and blankets.

"You're cold. Cover up," he said brusquely, as if she
was being a ninny. As if climbing into bed with him were normal. As
if she were not a in a gnarl of nerves.

She wasn't so much cold as frightened, and
apprehension made her shake. "I can leave now."

"You're not leaving." Max grabbed her legs under her
knees and thrust her under the sheets. His motion made her
nightgown ride up to her thighs, but the covers landed over her,
hiding any indecency.

"Not until we settle this," he muttered. Kneeling on
the bed, he drew off his shirt and undershirt.

Roxana felt an involuntary gasp leave her lips. She
had seen a man without his shirt before. She had seen laborers, but
Max had none of the burliness of them. He had more the physique of
a statue of antiquity. His musculature stretched smooth and long.
His skin fairly gleamed pale gold in the firelight.

His hands landed on the buttons of his falls. Her
gaze jerked to the upside-down horseshoe of his flat stomach, and
the line of dark hair that ran down under his waistband. Heat
mingled with fear stabbed through her.

He struggled with his buttons as if they were too
tight to wrestle free of their moorings, and Roxana clenched her
eyes shut. Other parts of her body clenched, and she drew up her
knees. Clearly, Max meant to take advantage of her mistake.

Her thoughts flew at lightning speed. Max was not
whom she intended to trap, but he didn't want to be married. He was
wealthy. Could her plan work with him? He was her friend and she
did not want to betray that. And his burst of anger alarmed
her.

Her mouth went dry at the thought of what he would
do. That he would do anything surprised her. She had been told he
retained, nay he had demonstrated, a certain correctness in his
behavior—although not always with her.

And a part of her, a sick, depraved part of her,
wanted him to kiss her again.

The mattress lightened, and she peeked one eye open.
Max stood beside the bed. He slid his unmentionables down, and the
only covering remaining on his body was his thin cotton drawers.
They rode low on his hips, the ties dangling over that incredibly
large bulge.

Seemingly unconcerned about his near-nakedness, he
crossed the room to the chair where he had been sitting. After
draping his clothes over the chair back, he picked up his dressing
gown. Then he walked to the fireplace, where he removed a
ribbon-tied box from the mantel.

She should have made a dash for the door, she berated
herself.

He returned and tossed the dressing gown across the
foot of the bed. His nearness made her heart gallop. She shut her
eyes again.

The box landed near her face and she flinched.

"You might as well open that. I had meant to find a
private moment to give it to you. Now is as good a time as
any."

He was giving her a gift? Now? She did not move.

"Would you like me to open it for you?" he asked.

She nodded.

He sat on the bed, picked up the box, untied the
ribbon and folded back the tissue paper. She could only look at him
and the smooth muscles flexing under his skin as he moved.

"Roxana, shan't you look?"

She tried, but as she lowered her gaze to the box,
she saw past it to his lap and she couldn't look away.

He tossed the box to his nightstand. "They're kid
leather gloves. You can try them on later."

Had he bought her gloves because he had seen the
darning on hers? That touched her in a way she didn't expect. She
brought her gaze back up to his face. His anger was no longer
visible and she searched his eyes for a sign that he had hidden it
away to let it fly later, but he watched her with a patient
concern.

"Thank you," she mumbled, and her voice was strange,
breathy and raspy.

He smiled slowly and she felt his smile in every
corner of her heart. She closed her eyes, trying to block his
effect on her.

A cool breeze from the covers lifting made her
shudder. Then Max slid in beside her. He pushed her knees down and
brushed his legs against hers. His body pressed against her side
and the heat rising off his skin made her want to push close,
except she lay frozen on her back, the blankets wadded in her
hands. How could her plan have gone so terribly awry?

His bare chest touched her shoulder and her skin
tingled. His silent nearness forced awareness through her pores.
His fingertips grazed her face as he lifted a strand of hair away.
His hand cupped around the side of her head, smoothing her hair
away from her face. He shifted up and pressed a kiss to her
forehead. "Relax. We shall be married."

No! She did not want to be married. Her eyes flew
open. "But—"

"Which is more than Breedon would have done."

Then Breedon would have been happy to buy her
silence. Roxana bit her lip. She had to salvage her plan. Her
dreams of an autonomous future with no man to control her and the
ability to support her family were on the line. How could she
convince Max to give her money? Thinking clearly when her body was
coming alive with sensations was impossible.

Max's hand skimmed over her hand, urging her to
loosen her death grip. He would be furious with her when he learned
she wanted only compensation for the loss of her virtue. But what
choice did she have? She had to pretend that she wanted him to
marry her, and then deal with asking for money in the morning. He
would hate her for her trickery.

He propped his head on his hand, his arm folded
beside her head. His gaze weighed on her.

Why hadn't he kissed her or touched her or done any
of the things Mrs. Porter suggested would happen? He'd taken off
most of his clothes, which made her breathless. But then he just
lay beside her, doing nothing.