Compromised by Christmas (25 page)

Or, well, more than nothing. The heat from his body
so close to hers chased the chill from her. She could not continue
being frightened of his anger, when it had disappeared. She
searched his expression for any sign of resentment, but his rage
was gone, replaced by a lazy confidence.

As he stroked his hand over hers, tingles danced over
her skin. How could such a circumspect touch make her melt?

"Are you quite sure you do not need explanation?"

She shook her head tightly. Mrs. Porter's
explanations had been detailed enough that they shocked her. Yet as
her mind raced over the idea of that portion of his anatomy inside
her, a shiver rushed through her.

He smiled slowly. "You are incredibly beautiful, but
this notion you have of being a sacrificial virgin shan't suffice
for long. Let go of the covers, Roxy."

She forced herself to let go of the covers. "I'm
not—"

"You are. You cannot have expected Breedon to make
every move." He picked up her hand and laced his fingers with hers.
"You did expect to have relations with him, did you not?"

"I thought if I put myself close enough that he would
need no more encouragement." Her voice sounded strange, breathy and
thin.

He brought her palm to his lips and pressed a gentle
kiss there. Nipping at the inside of her wrist, he shifted his
fingers between hers as if exploring her fingers was more important
than holding her hand. "Mayhap you have not put yourself close
enough to me. You could touch me."

"I know that." But she did not reach for him.

"I'd like you to. Come, Roxana, I am not the only one
unduly affected when we are alone together." He put her hand down
to her side, then moved to her other hand and lifted her arm above
her head. "There is heat between us."

There was more than heat. She had been aware of him
in that way ever since the first time she laid eyes on him. But she
did not want to taint her desire with the knowledge that she was
betraying him. He was the first man she had ever felt a bond of
friendship with. She did not want him to hate her, and she did not
know that her emotions would survive what she needed to do.

She wanted to touch him. She wanted to bring her
elbows together and shield herself. Caught in a horrible place of
indecision, she did nothing.

Max put his hand in the center of her chest, over her
racing heart. "You know, Breedon would not have cared if you found
pleasure."

Max expected her to take pleasure in their congress?
As her chest rose and fell, he traced lazy circles over the upper
curves of her breasts. She could have pretended whatever she needed
to with Mr. Breedon. But nothing would be a pretense with Max. Her
emotions rolled too close to the surface.

His fingers drifted to the ties of her nightgown and
he pulled the bow's string. "Do you have any bruises or injuries
from the sleigh accident? For if you do, now would be the time to
tell me."

She shook her head.

He touched the bared skin at her collar and slid his
fingertips under the edge of the material. "Did you like the
Christmas tree? It is a new thing for us, but I saw one at court
last year."

She was turning into a quivering mass, and he had not
so much as kissed her. And he wanted to talk about the Christmas
decorations? Perhaps she had misunderstood how this worked.

When she did not answer, he continued. "Finding a
tree of the right height that had grown evenly was harder than I
expected. Of course the snow made it difficult to assess." His
thumb brushed over her breastbone, exploring her cleavage. "Your
heart is racing, you know."

Roxana removed her gaze from the tester above her and
looked at Max. His face was so close she could see every dark
eyelash around his warm brown eyes. The hint of his beard showed
below his firm jaw. His lips parted and he breathed more deeply
than normal, although he managed to carry on a one-sided
conversation.

"We have always had a Yule log, though the servants
complain it is difficult to keep lit. But then, split wood burns so
much better."

"Max?"

He pushed up on his elbow to lean over her. His eyes
were dark and heavy-lidded. His breath brushed across her lips.
"Yes, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart?
"Do you mean to talk to me all
night?"

"If that is what it takes," he said, but then he
brushed his lips across hers. His touch was light and altogether
unsatisfying. She wanted more.

"What do you"—his hand curled around her
breast—"oh!"

A jolt shot from his hand to the damp place between
her legs, and his mouth covered hers again. She lowered her arm
around his neck.

He kissed her languorously as if in no hurry at all.
Her bones were melting and a building urgency made her arch into
him. His thumb skimmed over the tip of her breast, and pleasure
rippled through her, traveling directly to her womb.

He ended the kiss as if reluctant, his lips clinging
to hers. "Are you done being frightened, pet?"

His voice was rough and low. He hovered above,
waiting for her answer, with his mouth a mere hairsbreadth from
hers.

She raised her other hand and covered his bare
shoulder.

He kissed her again, lightly, teasingly, and she
found herself following him, her head lifting off the pillow as he
drew back. His lips curved in a smile before they entirely left
hers. "Now is the time for plain speaking, my adorable Miss
Winston."

His hand skimmed over her breast and she wondered how
he could speak at such a time, when she felt as if she were
unraveling.

"I'm not so frightened," she managed to whisper.

"Good, for I am deuced tired of this restraint." He
shifted his body over the top of hers and nudged apart her legs
with his knee. His weight pressed her into the mattress as he
kissed her again with more purpose and intensity.

His hands drifted over her, exploring and alternating
between places that prompted a slow swell of heat and places that
sparked and tingled with an instant fire. Each time he touched her
in a new way, he paused. giving her time to react and absorb his
possession. And as his caresses dropped lower and became more
intimate, everything seemed to spiral and pool in that secret
place.

He moved to nuzzle her neck and Roxana stared at the
tester, so aware of him, so hungry for him, her body wanton and
waiting and her heart breaking, because she knew with each low moan
and cry she was betraying him. She gripped his shoulders, her
fingers aching to explore his firm golden skin, yet restrained by
her double crossing.

He whispered sweet things to her—commands, coaxing,
and compliments. He touched her with such a mix of reverence and
patience that she knew he made love to her. It was more than a
simple seduction to him. And it was more than that to her.

"I don't want you to hate me." A sob cracked her
voice and she blinked hurriedly. She bit at her lip, trying to keep
her confession of her whole nefarious plan held inside. She could
not tell him or she risked failure, and she was out of time. But
not telling him made her feel that she was holding herself apart in
this moment that was about sharing everything.

He settled himself on his elbows as he stroked her
hair. "I could never hate you. Do not worry. I promise all will be
well." He kissed her face, trailed little nipping kisses down her
neck.

"I think—"

"Try not to think so much, pet. Just feel."

His head dipped lower until he caught the material of
her nightgown and her nipple in his mouth.

The hot wet heat of his mouth through the cotton of
her gown shot pleasure through her body, and every sensation echoed
in her woman's core. She felt too much.

He shifted back up to kiss her lips again. She
abandoned her fight of reluctance and gave over to the tightening
and tingling cascading through her body.

He tugged up the hem of her nightgown. She hardly
noticed except when his bare skin landed against her breast she
felt a new spiraling of vibrations. Her insides tightened and held
as if waiting for something to happen. Yet she was aware that there
were more steps to this intimate dance.

"Roxy, darling, am I to assume you want to be caught
in flagrante delicto?
"

"Caught?" she echoed dimly, his words not penetrating
her focus on exploring the contours of his firm body. And his hand.
Oh stars above, he touched her intimately, his fingers sliding
along the cleft between her legs.

"Clothes off?" he asked.

"Mmmm," she managed.

He lowered his head to her other breast, his mouth no
longer impeded by material.

His slipping fingers found a spot that thundered
sensations into her body in a way that she could not even call it
pleasure. It went beyond pleasure. His tongue swirled against her
beaded nipple. She was coming undone.

She moaned and tossed her head side to side, as Max's
magical touch brought her into a dangerous swirl of unimagined
yearning for something just out of reach. She searched for relief,
yet holding on to him, knowing he guided her to deliverance.
Finally the first swells of a wave of pure bliss broke over her,
drowning her in a mind-numbing pulsing paradise.

Max's weight and the pressure of his hand against the
throbbing of her body soothed her, while the tenor of his kisses
changed, as if he were now exploring her body in a way that was
less about her response and more about his interest. She struggled
to swim out of the fog of repletion.

She grew aware of the nightgown bunched at her
shoulders, that she held handfuls of his hair. She relaxed her
grip, hoping she had not hurt him in her frenzy.

He lifted up, tugging her nightgown over her head.
"How much time do I have before we are discovered?"

"Discovered?" she said, as she was suddenly bare.
Worry tapped at her complete state of contentment. She shoved it
away, preferring to linger in the afterglow.

He pulled the covers over his shoulders, although not
before his gaze had swept over her naked figure. "Roxy," he
urged.

She could hear the strain in his voice. Tension was
palpable in the tautness of his muscles under his skin. He reached
for the ties on his small-clothes.

"Roxy, how long do I have?"

She brushed her hand over his chest, pleased that the
gap allowed her to explore more, but missing the skin-to-skin
contact with him. He groaned. With his hand at the nape of her
neck, he brought her up for a deep kiss. His hunger was
unmistakable and she wanted to ease him, to give him every measure
of the pleasure he had given her. Oh God, for just this moment she
wanted to love him as if tomorrow would never come.

"How long?"

"All night?" she whispered, knowing she was missing a
matter of import in his question. Or perhaps he just liked to talk
of nonsensical things like Christmas trees when he made love.

She slithered down, pressing her lips to his chest.
Could she bring him to the place she had been?

He pushed her away while moving to his knees on the
bed. "What?"

Had she done something wrong?

He gathered the covers, piling them not so they
covered her, but so they were in between her and the door.

"Bloody hell, do not tell me you neglected to plan a
timely interruption."

"A what?" Had she not understood completely the way
to go about being compromised?

As if he could not help himself, he stroked his hand
over her curves. "How the hell did you plan to force an offer if
you did not arrange to be discovered?"

"I was to go to you," she said in a small voice.

"Roxana, if no one witnessed your disgrace, then I
could do nothing to insist—Oh Christ, you are so beautiful."

He put his hand over his face, raking into his
disordered hair. "Bloody hell, we cannot go further. Damn!"

Roxana saw the heaving of his chest as he breathed
heavily and cursed. She twisted so that she could reach the laces
of his small-clothes.

As her fingers brushed against the heavy length of
him, a shuddering groan left his mouth. He had not had any qualms
about touching her private parts, and she wanted to touch him. She
paused to run her fingers over his length. The leap of his member
under her ministrations pleased her. Anticipation began a slow
build in her again.

"Oh hell, you'll have to scream."

Like hell she would. "I will not."

But then, she didn't have to as the door clicked open
and Roxana caught a glimpse of satin, lace, and white, white skin
before Max threw the covers over her head, muffling the words that
were said, but not diluting the scream of rage and
mortification.

Roxana struggled against the covers, but Max pressed
down as if he intended to suffocate her.

Fanny drew away from Scully. Her heart pounded madly.
He had proposed and she had not expected it or been prepared for
it. She had barely allowed herself to think that he wanted to sleep
with her.

He listed his shortcomings so fast—his lack of title
or prospects, his modest income, his small estate, his work for the
foreign office that took him away for long stretches. Did he want
her to refuse? Yet all that really registered was that odd
knee-jerk response of his when she had asked him why. Anger and
hurt burned under her breast. "Max said you must what? Offer to
marry me?"

Her voice squeaked. Since when had Max interfered in
her love life? Since he became duke. He had that right. And to be
precise, she had no love life.

"Forget I said that," said Scully.

If she accepted the ring, perhaps she could console
herself that everyone would understand her foolishness. "The words
are said. You cannot unsay them."

"Then allow me to explain." He cupped his hands
around her shoulders.