by Kristi Astor
She would have to find another way to get to London and open her dress shop.
Stay with the duke.
The thought kept intruding.
Marry the duke.
No, she could not give him control of her.
She feared if he approached her, she would fall apart. When the girl assigned as her maid appeared at first light, she had her summon footmen to take her trunks down. Perhaps the Breedons would allow her to ride with them to the next town.
But as she descended to the front hall to see what she could arrange to transport her trunks, the footmen were carrying her bags out of doors and lifting them onto a carriage.
She took a step toward the door.
Scully walked through the hall, brushing his hands. Roxana drew up short. Were they sending her away? Had Max decided he could not tolerate her presence? If so, that would solve the problem with transportation. Except they would send her home instead of to London.
“Miss Winston, might I have a word with you?”
She nodded, swallowing hard.
He led her into the library. He gestured for her to have a seat. She noticed two empty glasses and an empty decanter on the table between the two easy chairs.
“Merry Christmas,” he began with his easy smile.
“Merry Christmas,” she managed her voice croaking.
“Are you all right?” Scully asked. He leaned forward and studied her.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you quite certain?”
“I’m fine,” she repeated.
“Max did not injure you in any way?”
Roxana met his eyes firmly. “Not in any physical way.”
Scully’s eyes narrowed. “Max said you asked for money.”
Her ability to stand her ground dissolved, she looked down at her clasped hands. Had her behavior been dissected and the entrails read? Her skin heated.
“For the damage to my good name?” She had not meant to sound uncertain.
“Why do you need money?”
“I cannot say.”
Scully folded his arms. “So was your plan all along to come here and blackmail a man?”
Roxana refused to answer. She stared at her hands. Scully stood and she clenched her eyes closed. Something landed in her lap; she opened her eyes and saw several bank notes.
“You don’t deserve it.”
Had Max changed his mind? “Did Max . . . ?”
“Max loves you, whether he knows it or not.”
Roxana felt hot tears sting her cheeks as she gathered the funding for her dreams, and an amount that would keep her brother and sisters fed and warm for years. “I’ll repay it all.”
Scully went still.
Max must have changed his mind. Either that or the light of day had returned reason to him and he remembered he did not intend to marry.
“I am ever so grateful for your intercession.” She sprang out of her chair and headed for the door. Now she could follow her dream and open her dress shop. And if her heart ached at the thought of leaving, she told herself she was doing the right thing. She would never give a man the rights that marriage conferred upon a husband. Therefore she could never give Max what he wanted. And he would realize that her leaving would be best for both of them.
Chapter Fifteen
Max woke late in the morning. His sleep had been late in coming and fitful. Desire tormented him all through the night. He had been so close to burying himself in Roxana’s willing body when they were interrupted. He could scarcely think of anything else. Never had he anticipated with so much intensity the joining with a woman. He had gone past want. He needed her.
He shoved down the throb of his body. Just because he was more than ready for lovemaking did not mean she was as prepared. He might have ruined everything with his impatience. His gut twisted and his head ached. That she might have interpreted his unwillingness to wait as a lack of concern about her disturbed him.
The copious amount of wine he and Scully drank last night did not help his pounding head, but that did not mitigate his desire for Roxana. Yet, a certain optimism coursed through his blood.
Roxana had been confused, upset and overwhelmed by all the events of yesterday. If he just restored their friendship, gave her time to become used to the idea that they had to marry, she would come around. He would invite her up to London to stay for the season. Her whole family could come. He could afford to feed and house them, at least. He would tell her if she still did not want to marry him at the end of the season he would bow out of her life. But he had no intention of letting that happen.
In their heartfelt discussions last night, he and Scully had come to the conclusion that women much preferred the courtship to the engagement. Surety was more of an attraction to men. He would court Roxana and make her acknowledge that she enjoyed being with him.
When he thought of her response to him in bed, he knew her resistance was naught but a paper tiger. When he convinced her to come up to town, he would have to book lodgings or stay with a friend. And if Fanny could not cope with shepherding Roxana about, he could have one of his aunts come and stay too.
He growled at his reflection in his shaving glass as he realized he would have to restrain his physical desire. He would have to wait for marriage, to demonstrate to her that he could control his urges. That would be the hardest part, but dear God, madness had overtaken him last night. It was never well done to ignore the rules.
He knew that.
Finishing his ablutions and patting dry his freshly shaved face, he took an extra minute to put his razor in the cupboard.
He rushed downstairs, only to be waylaid by Fanny outside the breakfast room.
“Is Miss Winston with you?” she asked, her face puckered in worry.
“No, of course not. Is she not in her room?”
“No, she is gone and her things are gone, and what am I to tell her mother?”
“She can’t have vanished into thin air.” Panic crashed over Max like a rogue wave that would drown him. Had his actions of the night before prompted her to run away? He could not believe she had disappeared.
He took the stairs two at a time and threw back her door. The room was neat; the bed already made or never slept in. The cupboard drawers were empty, the wardrobe was empty; no sign of her occupation remained in the room. It was if she had never been. Yet he had not dreamed such a perfect, irritating creature.
Also missing was the pouch of his mother’s jewelry. Anger clenched at his guts. She was not only an extortionist, but also a thief? He shook it off. It was his fault. He had not listened when she said she needed money. He bent his head and raked his hands through his hair.
A paper peeked out from behind the writing desk. Max shifted the desk from the wall and retrieved the letter. He skimmed down the contents, reading the reports of health, the loss of tenants because of a raucous party, a great deal of focus on food or the lack thereof, and then the instructions for compromise, disjointed and vague. A tear stained the page.
Hellfire and brimstone, here was the proof that Roxana’s plan was not her own. That she had been forced to . . . but the letter writer clearly wanted Roxana to accept marriage.
Max stared at the tiny crisscrossed writing and the tear that blurred the words. Had the tear been Roxana’s?
He had to go after her.
Desperation made strange bedfellows, thought Roxana as she looked around the building she had just leased. The storefront downstairs would allow for her shop. The attic above provided a long work area complete with skylights to take advantage of the sun, and the storage room behind the shop would provide fitting and changing rooms. And she would make her living space in a far corner of the attic.
Her breath hung in the air. Water had run in from the windows set in the roof and stained the ceiling, but she was excited. The money she had saved hitching a ride with Lady Malmsbury would help her fund the necessary modifications to the building.
She hadn’t intended to ask the
woman who had made an enemy of her for a ride, but when her trunks accidentally got carted out with Lady Malmsbury’s baggage and stowed on her carriage, she’d bribed her ladyship’s coachman to let her ride on the box with him to the nearest posting town.
At the coaching house, when Roxana had not moved off the box fast enough, Lady Malmsbury had spied her and then said, “You were the one in his bed. I saw dark hair, and I have not seen a maid of the house with hair so dark. Nor would he have made such an effort to conceal the identity of a servant.”
“His grace has treated us both ill,” answered Roxana. “I apologize for stowing away on your carriage, but I wished to get away quickly.”
Lady Malmsbury’s green eyes flashed, but then she asked Roxana’s destination and agreed to carry her to the city. Other than listening to Lady Malmsbury’s rants Roxy had tried not to think about Max. That he had been the woman’s lover made her chest ache, and while she did not believe above half of what Lady Malmsbury said, that half hurt.
Still, that was in the past, and Roxana had her seed money for her business and she’d found a great location. Max had given her the way to pursue her dream, and for that she would be ever grateful. If her money seemed to be disappearing a little faster than she wished, she would open her business soon and earn it all back. And as soon as she knew her father had left home and could not abscond with it, she would send money home.
Max knocked on the door of Wingate Hall and waited patiently. He was astounded that a footman failed to open the door when he approached on horseback. His carriage was a day behind him; he had ridden on ahead, hoping to run across Roxana. He could not believe he had not encountered her on the road. He’d even followed a mail coach for several miles, checking the passengers when it stopped at its posting inn.
Where the hell was she?
He fisted his hand and banged on the door, but as he looked around, the Hall had the signs of abandonment about it. The drifts of snow in the corners of the stairs indicated they had never been swept clean. The windows were streaked with dirt and the pleasure gardens to the left of the house appeared terribly overgrown.
He backed away and saw not one puff of smoke from any of the chimneys. Were they away?
Max pulled out the letter and reread the postmark. It had come from this county and this was the return address.
He scanned the horizon. The smell of wood smoke hung on the air. Once he spotted the column of smoke he followed it down to the small cottage. He led his horse toward the signs of life.
He knocked on the weathered wood door and a girl with blond hair and freckles and Roxana’s blue eyes opened it. She stared at him while wiping her hands on her apron.
“I beg pardon for my interruption. I am looking for the Winstons.” Max had the horrible suspicion he had found them.
She looked over her shoulder and then dipped her gaze to the floor. “Won’t you please come in, sir?”
“I’m Trent,” he began.
Her gaze shot up and he was again reminded of Roxy. Yet this girl was younger and less self-assured. He could see from her startled reaction she recognized his title.
“Let me get my mother, your grace,” she said with a curtsy. “Jonathon, come take the duke’s horse.”
“Is your father home?” Max removed his hat.
She shook her head and then scrunched her nose. “Is Roxy with you?”
Max paused in looking around the tiny parlor crammed with broken and worn furniture.
A boy scrambled by him, coughing.
Max stopped him. “Tell me where I might put him up, and I’ll take care of him. You go back inside.”
The girl pulled her threadbare shawl tighter around her narrow shoulders. Max was suddenly aware that he was letting out the heat and it was undoubtedly a precious commodity for a family living in complete poverty.
No wonder Roxana had asked for money. Seeing this wretched existence, he marveled that she had not stolen his mother’s jewelry. Instead she had entrusted her maid to return it to him with Roxana’s thanks and an apology that she had not had time to write a proper note.
Where the hell was she? Fear gripped his heart and squeezed hard.
Fanny dismissed her maid and settled into bed. Scully assumed Max’s duties as host after Max left, telling everyone he had to escort Miss Winston home. It was as if a new outburst of the plague had begun, the exodus of people needing to leave because of sick relatives on Christmas morning had been so massive. Other than the insatiable curiosity of the remaining guests, Fanny was relieved.
She was glad of Scully’s support, but she did not think she could put him off much longer. He was growing increasingly impatient with her unwillingness to change her mind or discuss why she did not want to marry him.
Yet she could not believe he really wanted to marry her, and he had dropped off to a campaign of hand kisses and touching the small of her back in a way that made her shiver, although she had to think it the grossest overreaction. He was probably counting the days until he could leave and forget that he had made such a rash offer.
For several nights she had stayed awake waiting for him to come to her room, but he had not. And she was too old to make do on so little sleep.
She hovered in that land of nod.
Suddenly she startled awake. Had she heard a tap on her door or only dreamed it? Her body didn’t differentiate. Her flesh came alive, hungry for Dev’s touch.
The door opened and Dev came in holding a nightlight. He bent and put the candle on her nightstand. And she was still not sure it was not a dream.
“Sleeping, love?”
She struggled to sit up in her bed. She bit her lip, fearing to say anything that might make her wake.
Dev flopped onto the bed beside her. “I am exhausted. How does Max manage all this host duty stuff and nonsense?”
All right, she was awake. If she were making this dream he would behave like a lover, not an overgrown boy. “Dev, you should not be here.”
He toed off his shoes and they thumped on the floor. “I’m tired of trying to court you gently. I want more than that.”
Had he been trying to court her gently?
“You want me too, Fanny. You know you do. I have seen you watching me across the room. I shall be glad when everyone is gone and I can be free with my affection.”
He scooted up on the bed and raised himself on his elbows.
“I was not aware you were using—”
With hardly any warning, he kissed her.
“—any restraint.”
He kissed her again as if he meant to devour her. After a whimper of surprise she kissed back with the hunger she had been trying to hide. Every pent-up emotion she’d felt for the last ten years came out in her response. The taste of him swirled in her mouth, and he breathed harder and faster.
He pushed her nightcap off and slipped his hands through her hair. He eased back, nibbling at her lips and murmuring, “So sweet, love. You taste so sweet. Let me stay with you tonight.”
He stared down at her, his blue eyes begging.
Fanny did not know if she could fight herself any longer. She found herself shivering with longing every time he drew near to her, every time he tossed his smile in her direction, and his touch made her mindless.
“Put out the light,” she said.
His grin flashed, and she closed her eyes, fighting back the urge to treat this too nonchalantly. This was too rare an event for her to partake lightly. Letting him stay the night in her bed would change her life forever.
His weight shifted away from her and her eyes popped open. Fear that he might leave made her heart choke.
He slid off the bed and shed his jacket and unbuttoned his unmentionables. His urgency to draw his shirt over his head and step on one pantaloon leg to draw off the other leg made him tip and hop sideways.
A giggle bubbled up from deep inside her and the sound startled her as it left her mouth.
“Ah, there is the Fanny I know and love.”
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br /> His small-clothes dropped and her giggle ended. His male member jutted proud and erect in front of him. He stood still for a minute as if letting her soak in the sight of him naked.
When she was finally able to draw her eyes away from the thick length of him, rising from that dark thatch of curls, she noticed other things. She drank in the strength of his thighs, and the rippled expanse of his stomach—so much for the paunch he had claimed. Her gaze forayed up his lightly furred chest, with the whirls of hair around his flat dark nipples. Every change to his body marked his new maturity and his strength. Her mouth watered.
Dev watched her patiently. He had not been near so patient the first time, the only time they made love. He reached over and slowly pulled back the covers. He slid in beside her and rolled to settle on top of her. His weight pressed her into the feather mattress, and she noticed the care he took to mount her gently.
His body had changed, but the changes marked him as more mature. His shoulders were broader, and she thought he might be bigger in other ways.
He nibbled at her lips and she felt a sigh leave them. She wished the changes to her body had been improvements.
“Fanny, love, as you can see, I am ready for you, but there is no hurry.”
He was clearly no longer a boy and she was no longer dealing with the play of an impatient young man.
He shifted to nibble at her neck. As his body slid along hers, she felt his hardness pressed into the juncture of her thighs. Through her nightrail, she felt the probe of that part of him. She turned her head to the side to allow him to taste her neck. The candle flame flickered in front of her, too bright.
“You forgot to blow out the light,” she whispered.
“I didn’t forget,” he said, and then he kissed her deeply.
His hands dropped to her shoulders, and she winced. Fear gnawed at her stomach. She wanted the light out so she did not have to see him gulp down disappointment. His hand slipped lower and he eased her nightrail up her legs. She reached to hold it down.
“Fanny!” he protested.
“The light,” she whimpered.