by Kristi Astor
From the minute Max entered the room, his focus had been on Roxana, but she kept her gaze down.
Fanny slipped in the room and came over to stand by Scully. He reached out and put his arm around her waist.
Max cast a look in their direction as if they were intruding, but his offer needed to be witnessed. He knelt on one knee in front of Roxana and reached for her fidgeting hands. She let him take her gloved hands, but Scully could see her reluctance.
“Miss Winston, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?” Max reached into his pocket.
Scully had the sense he was watching an executioner’s blade fall with the stay of execution in his pocket and unable to reach the scaffold in time. Max had used the formal, correct words, but Scully should have warned him to speak of love. Christ, they were both horrible at proposals.
“Thank you. I am mindful of the honor you do me,” said Roxana in such a small voice Scully had to strain to hear her. “But I do not wish to marry, your grace.”
Scully watched the joy and excitement drain from Max’s face. Scully took a step forward.
“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 Scully 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?” Scully asked.
She looked up and nodded almost regally.
“We’ll be just outside,” said Scully, 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.
Dev 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.”
Scully 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. She could see his consternation.
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 want only 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, Roxana 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 is a baron. 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 seemed to harden 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 forward. 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.
Scully 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 Scully.
“He went outside, sir.”
“Do you have any idea where?”
“He appeared to be heading for the family plot, sir.”
Scully 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 Scully, 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.”
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 Scully, and he took a drink.
“I am not used to dealing with virgins. I told her to scream and she refused. She was not averse to pleasure.”
Scully lifted an eyebrow.
“Yes, I’m sure. We had intimacies enough that I could tell it was new to her.”
Which wasn’t exactly the question Scully meant to ask, but he could tell Max was searching for the exact moment when things had gone wrong.
“Why would she not scream if she felt I was abusing her? A scream would have settled the matter of her being compromised before it had gone so far.”
“Compromised?”
“She meant to catch Breedon,” Max said bitterly.
“Ah, but you had switched rooms with him.”
“For God’s sake, what did I do wrong?” Max bent his head and held it in his hands.
“Did you tell her that you loved her?”
“I—no.” Max frowned. “She’s not interested in love.”
“On the contrary, all women are interested in love, especially from a husband.” Scully took another drink.
“No, she wanted money. I can only comfort myself that she wanted money from Breedon.”
Scully
choked on the brandy and coughed.
Max took the flask from him and drained it.
When Scully could breathe again, he asked, “Did you agree to give her money?”
“No, I thought to force her to marriage, by refusing it.” Max handed back the empty flask. “Despicable of me.”
He moved away from Scully. “I don’t have the ready to spare anyway.”
Scully put the information in the back of his brain. He’d sort it out later when he was less wrapped up in his own pain. “You know, you are not the only one who has been refused this night.”
Max paused and then looked over his shoulder.
“I mean to try again, though. My ring is stuck on Fanny’s finger.” Scully barked a laugh. “Some justice in that.”
Max returned and threw an arm around Scully’s shoulders. “Fine Christmas this is turning out to be.” He gestured toward his brothers’ graves. He started to speak, but was unable to get the words out.
Funny, Scully had not thought Max would take the death of his brothers so hard. Scully had thought himself closer to Samuel and Alexander than Max. When they had asked him how Max would deal with their deaths, he had not realized how deeply it would wound Max.
“Do not give up just yet.” Scully tossed his arm around Max’s shoulders so they could toddle along like two peep-of-day boys who needed to lean on each other to stand. “She is terrified of something.”
“Who, Fanny?”
“No, Roxana.” Well, possibly Fanny too, thought Scully, but Fanny tended to be more dependent.
Max snorted. “Do not be absurd. Roxy is afraid of nothing. That is one of the things I admire about her.”
They took a few steps toward the house, then Max stopped. “The only thing is, I believe she was put up to coming here and being compromised by the richest man here.”
Alone in her room, Roxana finished packing. Her shaking hands hardly allowed her to complete her task. Her mind was swirling with condemnations of herself.