Compromised by Christmas (28 page)

"We have to get married. I've ruined you," Max
said.

"Yes, but no one knows. You've taken great pains to
make sure of that, and I am grateful for your care." She withdrew
her hands.

Max stood and for a minute looked bewildered. Then he
leaned down in front of her and thumped his fist on the table
beside her. "You have to marry me, Roxana. It is the right thing to
do."

Roxana winced.

"Max," warned Devlin in a low voice.

Max kept his back to them and said in a low voice
that radiated with emotion, "Could you give me and my bride-to-be a
moment of privacy?"

"Miss Winston?" Devlin asked.

She looked up and nodded almost regally.

"We'll be just outside," said Devlin, shepherding
Fanny toward the double doors.

He moved out in the passageway and pulled Fanny
toward him.

"I cannot believe she refused him," Fanny whispered.
She looked over her shoulder. "Perhaps we should not leave them
alone."

"Perhaps she has had too many shocks this evening.
Perhaps she is just insisting he give his heart."

Fanny looked toward the door. "But no one refuses an
offer from a duke."

"So do you admire her for it, or hate her for
it?"

"Neither. It just makes me question myself,"
whispered Fanny.

Devlin suspected that was a close as Fanny could come
to admitting her marriage was not a true love match, at least not
on her side. "Love, I think now would be as good a time as any to
discuss our own future."

"I can't marry you, Dev."

Devlin groaned.

She tugged at the ring on her finger. "Although I
cannot seem to get this ring off. I will have to use butter on
it."

"Fanny, we'll settle this later. Don't fret about the
ring."

"It is too valuable for me to keep."

"It is safe where it is, and I'm not leaving any time
soon."

Perhaps a misalignment of the stars caused all offers
to be refused this night. Only how could that be on Christmas
morning?

*~*~*

As soon as Max walked away from her, Roxana stood.
Her stomach hurt. He stood on the far side of the room and raked a
hand through his hair as if needed distance to get control of his
anger. She moved to the window to look out on the clear moonlight
reflecting on the crisp snow. It looked cold outside, but Roxana
suspected it did not compare to the coldness in her heart.

Max's shock had surprised her. She had expected signs
of relief.

He walked up behind her and she could feel his
approach with every fiber of her being. Her body begged her to turn
and throw herself into his arms. Her mind warned her that her
emotions and the pleasure he had prompted from her body were too
intoxicating and would tempt her. Her heart she ignored.

"Roxy, you have to marry me. I can give you time to
adjust. I know you are fond of Breedon, but he would never suit
you."

"I know," she answered, looking up to see his
reflection over her shoulder. His image in the window was faint, as
if he were a ghost, but she knew he was all too real. Solid flesh
and tender touches, heated kisses and compassionate embraces—she
fought back the memory of being in his bed. She hated that he was
reduced to a pawn in her plan. His consternation reflected back at
her, weighing her down.

She understood now why her mother had said she needed
a champion to take care of this ugly business. She tried to prevent
her trembling from betraying her anguish.

"You know? Did you not expect Breedon to make an
offer?"

"I hoped he would not. I only want compensation."

"What?" Max raised his voice. "What are you talking
about?"

"You have, as you said . . ." The words were like
sawdust in her mouth. "You have ruined me." She straightened her
shoulders. "I would like a settlement. I am told a girl in my
position may demand money in lieu of an offer."

"Marriage will repair any damage to your reputation,
Miss Winston," he said stiffly.

"Yes, well, I would prefer money. It should make me
feel much better."

"We're getting married," he said grimly.

"What about Thomas? I thought you wished to keep him
as your heir."

"I cannot now."

"Yes, you can."

"I never, never would have done what I did if I had
any doubt that we would be married at the first possible
opportunity. I thought I made that clear."

"You made it clear that you expected us to be
married, and that I could not leave." She pushed her hand against
her stomach, trying to mitigate its churning.

"You were willing. I made sure you were willing. You
accepted my touch and experienced pleasure. No woman being
assaulted does that."

Had he forgotten her reticence? "I am certain we were
both overcome by . . . by passions."

His voice was full of venom. "I would not have
touched you if you did not want me."

Roxana spun around, unwilling to let an attack come
from behind. The fury in his voice made her fear that he would
strike her next.

He took one look at her hand against her stomach and
his eyes narrowed. His brown eyes were as hard as granite. None of
the warmth that she was used to seeing there was at all reflected
back. Was this the man who had an hour ago treated her with
reverent patience?

"Compensation is granted to a woman who is carrying a
man's bastard. You, I assure you, are not with child." He folded
his arms tightly, as if he were restraining himself from striking
her. "Your virtue, while muddied, is still intact. I have offered
marriage. I owe you nothing more."

He stared at her and she glared back, but inside she
was crumbling. Her dreams were folding in on each other. She knew
only how to strike back to hold her little piece of ground. If she
bent to his will now, she would never ever be able to hold her head
high. She would be just like her mother, forced to acquiesce to
everything her husband wanted.

"Now, say you will marry me," he demanded.

"I know you are used to having everything you want,
and that you decide what is best for everyone without consideration
for what they might desire, but I cannot imagine anything worse
than a marriage based on this coercion." Her voice was breaking. "I
am sure on calmer reflection—"

He growled and turned away from her, striding toward
the fireplace. "Damn it, Roxana, I have to marry you."

"I'm sorry."

He slapped a clock from the mantel.

As the chimney clock crashed on the floor and
splintered into a thousand pieces, she yelped.

Max stared at the splintered mess of the clock on the
floor, the inner workings spewed like animal guts on the carpet. He
could not believe he had killed the clock. Never had he allowed
himself to vent his spleen so destructively. It was not proper
behavior for a duke.

Nothing he'd done tonight was proper behavior for a
duke. Nor was this ravaging pain tearing apart his insides proper
emotion for a duke. He was supposed to be above it all, impervious
to the lower emotions, his dignity and comportment perfect.

Scully opened the door and looked in. "I think that
is long enough, son."

"This is my house," yelled Max, and he felt like a
tempestuous child. The kind of child he abhorred. The kind of child
he never was.

His gaze swung to Roxana, and she was backed against
the moonlit window, one hand still pressed against her stomach and
the other hand clasped her arm, her fingers squeezing hard.

He hadn't risked touching her, because he feared his
control. He wanted to pull her to him and hold her, but he could
not, not with Scully and Fanny watching.

Max wheeled about and headed for the door. He did not
know where he was going until a sleepy footman chased after him
with his overcoat and scarf, the scarf Roxana had given him. He
stopped and put the garments on; no need to lash out at a footman
who did his job.

The cemetery gate clanged, and he walked back to the
fresh graves. He felt more dead than alive, but then he had to
believe that being dead would remove all pain. As he stared at his
brothers' markers he could not understand why they, who had been so
alive, were dead, and he, the wooden stiff one, was the remaining
brother left alive.

A movement caught the corner of his eye, but he
dismissed it. Who would be in the cemetery on Christmas morning
besides him? His eyes were blurring anyway and it must be only an
animal.

*~*~*

Roxana thought she might shatter if she moved. The
cold glass at her back was support for her weakened knees. He would
not give her the money she needed?

Scully moved over to where she stood against the
window and took her elbow.

"Fanny, she's shaking like a leaf."

The duchess followed Scully and wrapped her arm
around Roxana's shoulder. "Come sit down."

Amazingly, her legs worked as she moved across to the
sofa where she had sat before.

"Are you very sure that you do not want to marry Max?
You will not get a better offer," said Fanny.

Roxana pressed her lips together and shook her
head.

"Might I inquire why?" asked the duchess gently.

Roxana searched for an excuse. The truth that she
could not contemplate marriage to any man would be scoffed at. "I
am sure I am not good enough for him."

Scully stood in front of her, his arms folded and for
once his flashing grin absent.

"Well, in matters of birth there are those that would
say I was not good enough for his father, although there was no
real danger that my children would succeed to the title," said
Fanny.

"But Max would have Thomas as his heir."

"Oh, Miss Winston, there is no chance of that." The
duchess's arm stiffened against her shoulders. "He will . . . he
will have his own children."

Roxana did not answer. There was no guarantee that
Max would have a son to succeed him.

"Your birth is better than mine. Your father will
inherit a viscountcy. My father was a just a commoner." Fanny waved
her hand in the air. "All that is neither here nor there."

Scully's attention shifted between the two of them,
but his gaze hardened as it returned to Roxana.

She tried to draw in a calming breath, but she
continued to shake. She looked at the broken clock on the floor and
felt chilled again.

Scully met her eyes as she turned back. Empathy
flashed in his expression before she lowered her gaze.

"I am sure this is all my fault. I could not watch
over you every minute and Max offered to help and I am sure that
too much proximity breeds familiarity . . ." Fanny seemed to run
out of energy. "This is so unlike him."

"It is not at all your fault, Fanny," said Scully.
"Max knew the line and jumped right over it. His behavior is at
issue here, not yours."

Fanny seemed more distracted than not. Roxana stared
at the floor. It was clear that the duchess and Mr. Scullin cared
about Max. While they were attempting to do right by her, their
concerns were for Max.

"He has made up for any breach of decency with his
offer. And I have refused. There is an end of it," said Roxana,
searching for dignity.

Oh God, what had she done? Her family was counting on
her, and she should have accepted his proposal when he would not
give her the money she needed. But the dream of her dress shop had
sustained her for a long time and she could not abandon it.

A duke would not let his wife's family starve.

"Miss Winston, I have known Max a long time. I can
assure you that his heart is at stake in this matter," said
Scully.

"Is it?" Roxana asked sharply. She could not stand
more guilt. Her family depended on her, and Scully intimated she
had wounded Max. She knew that she had betrayed these people,
intending to use them ill from the very minute she walked into the
house, and that was burden enough.

Her stomach churned, and she feared she would be ill.
"I have to go," she whispered.

She had to leave before she agreed to become his
wife. His heart was not engaged, she told herself. He just . . .
just lusted after her. Mrs. Porter had explained how that worked.
And damn it to hell, her heart had turned traitor to her because
she wanted to believe that Max would never hurt her, not as her
father had. But she had seen evidence of his violence, in the
killing of the fox, in his destruction of the clock, and in the way
he had made Lady Malmsbury shriek in pain as he tossed her
about.

*~*~*

Devlin sighed as he watched Fanny lead Miss Winston
off to bed. He would not be able to settle things with Fanny this
night. He rather thought it would behoove him to keep Max company,
at least until Malmsy left the house.

He went to Max's room, but it was empty. He wondered
if he had gone down to the library for a drink. As he crossed
through the entry hall a footman leaped to attention.

"Have you seen his grace?" asked Devlin.

"He went outside, sir."

"Do you have any idea where?"

"He appeared to be heading for the family plot,
sir."

Devlin had the footman fetch his coat and followed
Max outside. He turned up his collar around his ears and hiked
across the snow. The surface crunched under his feet. And Max's
footsteps where the surface had broken showed his path.

The gate clanged as he opened it.

Max stood still and solitary. His scarf was fisted in
his bare hands.

"Drink?" asked Devlin, holding out the flask he had
taken the liberty of filling while waiting for the footman to bring
his outdoor wear.

"I did not force her, Scully."

That might explain Roxana's fear. "Did she say you
did?"

"I told her she couldn't leave. I did not mean that
she . . . that we . . . that she must submit."

"It's a fine line," said Devlin, and he took a
drink.