Compromised by Christmas (3 page)

"Oh no, Mama. It is perfect."

"I apologize." Roxana ignored Julia's interruption.
"I should have asked your permission first."

"How could you?" said Julia. "We were just discussing
it before you came, Max. It is only a little grown up. Roxy said it
would not be appropriate to dress as if I were out. You should see
her dresses. She has the most splendid ball gown in red silk."

The Duke of Trent coughed, then patted Julia's knee.
"I'm sure I will have the privilege during the festivities. So do
you often
design
gowns, Miss Winston?"

She ran a finger over a seam. "I dabble a bit."

Roxy had not meant to be so transparent with her
ambitions. She just desperately needed to know if her designs would
fly in fashionable circles. She'd been told her creations were to
die for, but she had never been within an ames-ace of London to
really see for herself. She sucked in a deep breath and then said,
"A dressmaker in my village made up my wardrobe. She wants to open
her own shop in London."

It was only a small untruth, since she was the
dressmaker. While here, she hoped to discover if members of the ton
liked her dresses. Well, that and to follow her mother's
instructions to get herself compromised, not exactly to the
letter.

She stole a glance at the Duke of Trent. The very
thought of what she would have to do to accomplish her mission made
her go hot, then cold, as if she were struck with a bad case of
ague. Until now, the man she would need to enact her plan had been
a shadowy, unreal figure, not a real, flesh-and-blood man. Not that
the duke
would be the man she picked to be her pawn.

He turned toward her, as if aware of her gaze.

Doubt that she could accomplish her mission clawed
icy fingers around her neck. She was not usually so false, and Roxy
did not know if she could manage this deception well. But then, she
had no choice. This was her only chance to be free of her father's
household and keep the rest of her family from the poorhouse. As
her mother had said, it was all up to her. And she would not fail
them.

*~*~*

"So you see my dilemma, do you not?" Fanny wrung her
hands and crossed the drawing room, empty except for her and Max.
"She is very alluring and I cannot adequately chaperone a creature
like that with all my duties as hostess."

Max paused in writing an invitation to a friend. He
considered that his first thought about Miss Winston had been
sinful. He found a small amount of relief that Fanny expected that
sort of reaction from men, but that did present a bit of a problem.
A chit like her could never be left alone with a gentleman, a
prospect that was unavoidable at the house party. A less attractive
young lady could be allowed a longer leash. Given that she was on
the hunt for a husband, Miss Winston would be treading a thin line
between respectability and temptation.

"I will watch over her," Max said.

Fanny spun and faced him. "I can hardly ask that of
you. She is my responsibility."

"Worry no more. You know that you may trust me to
keep her reputation safe. She is my guest too. And her family has
seen fit to entrust her well being to us."

"You have duties too. You can hardly provide escort
for her every moment when I cannot."

Max put down his pen. He would have to lead the
gentlemen on afternoon shooting expeditions and arrange a fox hunt
as well as daily rides. "I am sending for Scully. I will tell him
if he wants to please you, he will focus his attentions on guarding
Miss Winston."

Fanny frowned. "Can you think of no one else? I know
I can trust you to do the proper thing, but asking Scully to help
is a bit like asking a wolf to guard sheep."

"He has six sisters. He of all people knows how to
keep a young lady in line." Max dismissed Fanny's distrust of his
friend. Scully may be a ladies' man, but he knew which women were
off limits. He never preyed on innocents, either. "Between the
three of us, we can protect Miss Winston's reputation."

Max wondered what Miss Winston might have on today.
Yesterday, she had worn the same green gown to dinner. She'd
removed the fichu around her neck and added a crocheted lace shawl.
As much as he'd studied her, he really could not name anything
truly amiss with her attire. But his gaze was drawn to her form
rather more than was comfortable.

Fanny wandered across the room.

He finished his letter and began one to his friend
the Honorable Devlin Scullin. Having his friend back in the house
again would be good. After he finished, Max folded the letters and
sealed them. "I shall just take these to town. Is there anything
you need?"

"I have several additional invitations too, if you
will be so kind as to post them." Fanny sighed.

"Have you seen our guest today?"

"No, she seems to spend an inordinate amount of time
in her room. I sent a footman for her a while ago."

Max paused in his trip to the door. Fanny seemed
listless. Was she upset that he meant to invite Scully again?
Usually by now she would be animatedly discussing the meals and the
room assignments and ordering new linens, carpets or chairs. There
had been endless discussions about the number of horses needed for
the hunts with his father, who had countered with his own strong
convictions about all the details. She should order blue carpets,
not yellow, and they could purchase another dozen horses, none of
which would not arrive in time to be of any use.

But his father was gone now.

"If you need to argue about whether you will serve
apricot tarts or apple fritters with the first remove, I am at your
service."

Fanny waved him off. "You are no fun. You will just
say serve apricot tarts on Friday and the apple fritters on
Saturday."

"Perhaps I could urge Miss Winston to have a strong
opinion one way or another." Max watched Fanny. Did she long to
indulge in a fit of redecorating? His father had been endlessly
indulgent, buying his stepmother anything she wanted, be it house
furnishings or extraordinary court dress. Max supposed that was the
province of a beautiful younger wife with an older husband. But Max
would not offer to let her redecorate, and she would not ask. A
wave of guilt washed over him, even though he knew indulging her
the way his father had would not be proper.

Fanny smiled a watery smile. "I do miss him."

"As do I." Responsibility weighed heavily on his
shoulders at moments like this. Yet he had so much that he could
not complain. "I shall be back before too long. I have to procure
the services of the farrier and a few whipper-ins for the
hunt."

When Max reached the stairway leading to the great
hall, Miss Winston was descending the stairs. He waited until she
reached the landing. Today she wore a long-sleeved navy gown with a
white habit shirt filling in the neckline. The dress was slightly
more sedate than yesterday's, but still not in the style of a young
miss.

"Miss Winston," he acknowledged.

She paused on the landing, her hand on the banister.
She looked down into the main hall, where the footmen stood ready
with his overcoat and top hat. "Are you going out, your grace?"

"I have errands in town."

She bit her cherry lip and for a moment her mouth was
all he could think about. That and the mistletoe that would be
spread about the house when the festivities began in earnest.

"Is there a linen draper in town?"

Max snapped his attention back to more mundane
subjects, such as clothing. "I believe so. Would you like to
accompany me?" If Miss Winston needed to go to town, his duty
required him to escort her.

"I would indeed. Will you wait while I fetch my
bonnet and cloak?"

"Certainly, Miss Winston."

She had turned to go back up the stairs, and Lord
forgive him, he thought he caught a glimpse of a red petticoat.
Surely not. Fanny had said shifts and stockings, not petticoats,
which was quite bad enough. He stared at her skirts, trying to
direct his thoughts to anything else. Conjugate Latin verbs or some
such. He had never seen any woman in semi-transparent red
undergarments, but that did not stop him from imagining the
sight.

She paused, then looked down at him. "Your grace,
might I ask you a question?"

"By all means." He put a boot on the lowest step, and
then wondered what the hell he was doing. He was supposed to be
going downstairs and out, not following her upstairs.

"Is something amiss with my dresses?"

That she was wearing them. "Er . . . no."

She folded her arms across her middle and stared him
down. "Go on."

"I am done." He paused, searching for the proper
response. Lord, he was a slowtop today. "Your gowns are quite
lovely."

She took a step down, and for just a moment he could
see the outline of her thigh under the dark material of her gown,
then her skirts slid back into place.

"You have been to London. Are they fashionable?"

He hated conversations about clothing. But then again
his conversations normally concerned the exorbitant costs, not if
the style was
au courant.
Was this gown cut a little lower
than the one she wore last night? Would the habit shirt disappear
before dinner? "I believe you are bang up to the nines, Miss
Winston. You would quite cut a dash in the city."

"Then why does the duchess look at me as if her eyes
would cross?"

"Envy?" volunteered Max, deciding he should leave
now. Reluctantly he lifted his foot from the stair.

Surprise flashed across Roxana's face, but then her
eyes narrowed with skepticism. "You do not offer that explanation
with great conviction. If it is only envy, why then did she have
misgivings about my designing a dress for Lady Julia?"

He stopped and swallowed hard. "You are very direct,
Miss Winston."

"Yes, I promise to make an effort to curb that
disagreeable tendency when the rest of the guests are here. But I
am green to society and should like to know if I am taking any
missteps."

He spun around. "Being direct is not always
disagreeable."

"Isn't it?" She had descended to the landing again
and he regretted that he had not watched. She pursed her mouth. "I
am told that gentleman prefer a more demure countenance."

"I find plain speaking refreshing." Fanny's hints and
prompts could drive him crazy with her unwillingness to just spill
whatever it was she wanted him to know. "My stepmother dearly loves
fashion, but she has been unable to indulge since donning her
weeds."

Roxana was close enough he could see how the dark
blue of her dress emphasized the color of her eyes. He could not
help think of dark nights and forbidden pleasures. A direct woman
had no qualms about asking for what she wanted. He shook his head
to clear it. He had no business thinking such thoughts about a
young unmarried woman, and he, as a rule, did not.

The knowledge that Miss Winston—Roxana—wore
diaphanous red silk undergarments muddled his thoughts. Now that he
had stepped into the role of chaperone, thinking about her
undergarments was just wrong.

"Do you really believe she is envious?" She
scrutinized him.

"Yes, I am sure of it." He took a step back, wanting
to break the web of fascination woven around him. Perhaps he should
resume his liaison with Lady Malmsbury. He had mayhap allowed too
much time to pass without a mistress.

It occurred to him only then that he needed to send
word that he would need the curricle and a tiger to accompany them,
rather than the gig he'd asked be sent around. They could not ride
alone to town without an escort. Not that he would ever allow his
improper thoughts to solidify into bad behavior.

Hoping to catch the servants before they had
harnessed the wrong rig, Max stepped onto the landing to lean over
the rail to call down to a footman waiting in the front hall.

Roxana shifted to the side, flinching. For a second
he stared at her. What had she expected him to do?

"I am delaying you," she said softly. "I can walk to
town another time."

He could not allow that, not if he meant to be a
proper guardian. "I would welcome your company. I would enjoy some
direct
conversation. I hope that we can become friends."

Friends sounded nice. He had not known her very long,
but she intrigued him, and friendship would keep him from thinking
too much about her undergarments.

Miss Winston folded her arms and cocked her head to
the side as if taking his measure. He felt lacking. He had not been
wholly forthright.

"Miss Winston, if Fanny has any objection to your
wardrobe it is that young ladies just out dress in white muslins
and muted fabrics. They leave the silks and satins and bolder
colors to their married counterparts."

A faint furrow appeared between her brows. In a very
small voice she said, "Oh."

Emotions raced across her face. She suddenly seemed
young and inexperienced and a bit crestfallen. Society would eat
her up if she always wore her heart on her sleeve. "I suppose that
is how being direct can be thought disagreeable."

"No, oh no." She lifted her chin. "I am quite glad
you told me. Friends are honest with each other, are they not?" She
gave a little laugh and a skittish wave of her hand. "I have other
gowns . . . but with my coloring . . . ah, well."

Which only made him look at her lily-white skin. But
if she had had all new attire made up just for this house party . .
. "It is only a smallish gathering, after all. I am sure you need
not abide by the most rigid of strictures. Darker colors in the
evening should be fine. I am sure none of the Lady Patronesses will
be among the company."

"Since I shan't be presented in London, I will never
need their approval for Almack's. But I should not like to
embarrass her grace. She has been very generous in offering this
opportunity to me."