Compromised by Christmas (7 page)

Her eyes flitted up and then away. An expression of
alarm crossed her face. She flattened against the wall and darted
to the side.

Good grief, he must have made her feel cornered. He
turned and leaned against the wall and made sure his gaze did not
stray below her neck. "I assure you, Miss Winston, you are
perfectly safe. We are in a room full of people."

She caught her elbows in her hands and the gesture
made her neckline gape for just a second, and his promise to
himself to look no lower than her chin was broken. He mentally
chastised himself and then decided he had done no harm in
looking.

As he raised his gaze he noticed the simple cross she
wore on an old chain. Most of the young ladies in the room had
strands of pearls and earbobs made of gold and precious jewels.

"I doubt you can bring any gentleman up to scratch in
the few weeks of the house party."

She looked up at him. "I have to try." She turned as
if she would rejoin the company.

He reached out and touched her arm. A flash of heat
traveled up his hand and snaked down to his gut. Damn his
abstinence, which was making him react with too much heat.
"Why?"

"Because this is my only chance to secure a decent
future for my family."

Not for herself? How bad was her situation? She was
not the first girl who would be sacrificed on the altar of family
finances, yet unease crept through him. How could he protect her
from the travails of self-sacrifice?

He looked at the determination in her jaw, the
strength of will that radiated off of her, and smiled. "I highly
doubt that, Miss Winston. You strike me as the sort that would
manage to avail yourself of another opportunity and another until
you achieved success."

She looked at his hand on her arm, and he resisted
the urge to stroke up her sleeve, across her shoulder. Putting his
hand around her nape and drawing her to him would be simple. He
could feel her still, like a skittish horse, prepared to bolt, but
not quite of a mind to, yet. "Come, you like plain speaking, Miss
Winston. Are you thinking about what you shall have to bear if you
marry Mr. Breedon?"

Did she understand she would have to bear Gregory's
complaints and fancies of persecution as well as his children? The
idea of that lout touching her curdled Max's spleen. She was much
too fine for him.

She looked at him directly. "I have only this
opportunity, and I have no intention of wasting it by being
undecided."

"Miss Winston, you are beautiful enough to attract a
great many admirers. Surely you do not mean to settle on a suitor
so quickly."

She stared at him, a hint of uncertainty around her
eyes. Was she unused to compliments? His mistresses had often
complained that he was ungenerous with them.

"And Mr. Breedon was not one of the gentlemen invited
because he is in want of a bride. He is invited only because Fanny
is fast friends with his mother. He has slipped the noose on many
occasions before."

Roxana's head dipped, and he stared at the white part
in her dark hair. Damn, he wanted to pull her to him and whisper
dozens of compliments in her ears. But he had not pulled her to a
corner to seduce her. His thoughts swam. He had pulled her aside to
warn her that Breedon had made it clear he wanted a woman who
brought as much wealth to a union as he did. Nor would it be the
first time a penniless young woman had dangled herself in front of
him only to look foolish when Breedon failed to take the bait. Or
worse yet, nibbled at the bait, but threw the hook back.

"See here, Mr. Breedon has said time and time again
that he will marry only a woman of equal wealth. He may be
flattered by your attentions, but he is not likely to marry you."
Although, Roxana's fresh-faced beauty might be enough persuasion
for even Breedon to throw over his long-held plans to further gild
his pockets.

Scully peered around the corner. "A turn about the
room or a tryst in a corner?"

Max pulled his hand back from Roxana's arm and looked
at his friend's quirked eyebrow. Scully had managed that
unpardonable trick of raising one brow and he tended to make use of
it whenever he found opportunity. He took an exaggerated long step,
sliding his tall lanky body around the corner and pushing back a
shock of straight dark hair that defied all but the most liberal of
bear-grease applications.

Apparently Scully had forgone the application of
pomade and was suffering for it, but then the idiot had arrived a
full two days before his traveling carriage and valet. His clothes
must have been stuffed in a valise tied to his saddle, given their
sad, wrinkled state. "May, I present Devlin Scullin to you, Miss
Winston."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Scullin," she said.

"Miss Winston," Scully acknowledged, raising his
glass to his lips as if he was offering her a toast.

"Is that tea?" asked Max, amused but wishing his
friend to perdition. No wonder Scully drove Fanny to
distraction.

"Of course not. Found your brandy in the library.
Haven't been here in a crow's age, but I haven't forgotten where
things are. Malmsy is looking for you."

Scully looked at Roxana and sidled up beside her,
crooking out his arm. "Trust me, all will go better if you hang on
me."

Roxana looked at him as if he was half-crazed. But
then, Scully had that effect on people.

"He has a good heart," said Max, suppressing a smile.
"And it is your own fault that you haven't been allowed in the
house forever. My father banned you."

"Oh, good, I thought it was Fanny."

"She said you could not come if you meant to make a
fool of yourself."

"But that is what I do best." Scully turned toward
Roxana, who leaned away from him, although she delicately placed
her fingers on his raised arm. "Ah, but then I am directed to make
a fool of myself over you, Miss Winston."

Pain flickered in Roxana's expression. "Really?" she
asked.

Scully's white teeth flashed in his face as brilliant
as a stroke of lightning. His smile was one of his best assets. Max
watched Roxana to see how Scully affected her. An answering smile
tugged at her lips. Max felt a wash of relief. He could always tell
from their reaction the women that would fall under Scully's charm.
Roxana was amused, but not buoyed.

Scully patted her hand on his arm. "And here when I
expected a dreadful task, I find a most delightful charge. I cannot
think of a better way to spend my holiday than to tag after a
fetching morsel like you."

Max kicked him.

Scully looked at him, startled. Hell, Max'd startled
himself. He couldn't remember the last time he'd kicked anyone,
perhaps when he was twelve in a cricket match. Probably Scully then
too. He'd never thought to request Scully keep mum about the task
given him.

Scully took another drink and reached over to set his
glass on the mantelpiece. "Here she comes. I must say I am
surprised to see her here."

"Fanny did not know."

"Ah yes, well . . ."

"What are you talking about?" asked Roxana.

"Ah, sweetness, it is time for us to take a turn
about the floor," Scully said to Roxana. "I shall be the envy of
every gentleman in the room, and of course the ladies will be
coveting your gown. Shall we stir the pot a bit, my most pretty
Miss Winston?"

"Do not let his flattery turn your head, Roxy. His
heart has long been given," Max warned her.

She glared at Max. "All these ineligible eligible men
at my disposal, whatever will I do?"

Scully laughed. "How droll. Is she always so droll,
Max?"

"You would not want Scully anyway. He is poor as a
church mouse and without expectations," Max told her.

"Max, there you are!" Lady Malmsbury flew forward
into his arms. "I have been looking all over for you, darling."

Red curls tickled his nose and cloying perfume made
him want to sneeze. What had he seen in her? She pressed her full
breasts up against him as she kissed his cheek. Ah, he remembered.
But her figure suddenly felt too fulsome.

"Ah, Lady Malmsbury, have you met our houseguest,
Roxana Winston?" He put his hands on Eliza's shoulders and pushed
her back, heaving in a deep draught of breathable air.

Eliza's reddened mouth rounded into an
oh.
She
swiveled. Her green skirts dragged over Max's legs. Fondling her
necklace—his parting gift of emeralds—she batted her darkened
eyelashes at him. More than one of his shirts had been sacrificed
to her penchant for artifice.

Finally, she acknowledged the introduction. Lady
Malmsbury slowly looked Roxana up and down. Max winced.

Scully pulled Roxana closer to him. "Isn't she a
pretty thing, my lady?" Scully flashed his smile at Max's
ex-mistress.

But his comment reminded Max of what Roxana had said
earlier. "By the by, I am only two years older than Breedon."

"You have got it bad, son." Scully shook his head as
if Max were a lost cause.

Max bit his tongue to keep from disputing Scully's
right to call him "son." Even if Scully managed to convince Fanny
to marry him—and marriage had never been a sure thing when it came
to Scully—they would have to have a long heart-to-heart about
whether marrying Max's stepmother would confer the title of
stepfather upon Scully or rather would not.

And what did he mean, Max had it bad?

Lady Malmsbury leaned in close and said, "You will
hate the room I am in. It is all pink ruffles and lace."

"That is my sister's room."

"Oh, dear. Well, I suppose it is more private."

"I thought you looked good in pink," muttered Max,
but no woman could look better than Roxana. His gaze followed
Roxana walking away on Scully's arm. They headed straight for
Breedon. Christ, he couldn't trust Scully with anything.

Eliza had said something about green, and Max had no
idea what she'd said, but her eyes were narrowing as she looked
across the room to where Scully led Miss Winston around. And just
what traps was Roxana planning to lay?

*~*~*

Roxana pulled her crochet hook through her lace and
looked around the room. She sat beside Lady Angela DuMass, a young
woman near Roxana's age. Other women were engaged in various
activities; Lady Malmsbury preened before one of the gilt-encrusted
mirrors, the duke's two elderly aunts played cards, several women
sat gossiping in one corner, but the gentlemen were absent. Max had
led the men off on a masculine pursuit after nuncheon.

"That is lovely lace." Lady Angela pointed her long
sharp nose at Roxana's lap. "You do that very fast."

"Thank you," said Roxana.

Lady Malmsbury wandered over, glanced at Roxana's
handiwork and sniffed. "I confess I much prefer Brussels lace."

Roxana resisted the urge to grit her teeth. "Of
course, there is none prettier." Nor more expensive. "I prefer it
too." The impulse to touch the chemisette that filled in the
neckline of her green dress guided her hand to her neck. She wanted
to point out that it was trimmed with expensive Mechlin lace. She
lowered her hand. "I'm fond of Battenburg lace too."

"Oh, but one uses that only for table linens," said
Lady Malmsbury.

The duchess entered the room with a couple followed
by a petite young woman whose fawnlike eyes dominated her face.
Fanny led the newcomers around, reacquainting everyone. They
eventually made their way to where Roxana sat.

She stood and made her curtsy to Lord and Lady
Lambert and their daughter. After a polite exchange Miss Lambert
greeted Lady Angela with a hug. They began an excited chat,
catching up on things that had happened since the close of the
London season. Fanny patted Roxana's arm before moving away.

As the older Lamberts drifted to other acquaintances,
taking Lady Malmsbury with them, Roxana's status as an outsider was
painfully obvious. She moved to the side of the sofa, so the two
girls could continue their animated exchange. But she could not
help but overhear their conversation.

"Mama said we must come posthaste, for if the Trents
were inviting us, the duke must be considering marriage. Before,
when they invited my parents, my older sisters were not invited,"
said Lady Angela.

Miss Lambert appeared startled by the notion, her
brown eyes growing larger. "Do you think he picked us to come?"

"The duchess invited you," said Roxana and then
wished she could bite off her tongue. She didn't know what prompted
that tiny irrational surge of jealousy to make her want to burst
their bubble.

Two pairs of eyes, one of pale blue and the other of
velvety brown, turned in her direction.

"After the duke came home, she decided to invite more
of the younger set," Roxana said, trying to undo the damage. Who
was she to interfere with their hopes and aspirations?

"Who?" asked Lady Angela.

"Yes, who else is invited?" echoed Miss Lambert.

Roxana knew the names only from the place cards she'd
written out and the room assignments. The names meant nothing to
her. She searched in her mind's eye for the last minute additions,
who had not arrived yet. "The Misses Ferris, Lord Hampton and a Mr.
Allensworth. Mind you I do not know if they will come."

"No one would turn down an invitation to this
Christmas party unless they were on their deathbed," said Lady
Angela.

"Yes, everyone fights for invitations. I have heard
their hunts are the best and the food is to die for, and then the
gifts they give . . ." said Miss Lambert. "We were so afraid they
would not continue the house parties after the old duke
passed."

"Gifts?" said Roxana weakly.

"And the other sons," said Lady Angela. "The duke has
had a great deal of tragedy in recent years."

"But he bears it so well," said Miss Lambert.

The girls both sighed in unison. Roxana wondered if
Lady Julia was more mature.