by Kristi Astor
“Max?”
“Shhh. Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She leaned up on her elbows, scrunching the pillow under her chest.
He wiped his hands on a towel, then hung it on the washstand.
“That packet you sent was legislation you plan to present to Parliament, I trust?” she asked.
“It won’t pass,” he said quietly.
She twisted to look at him.
Running a hand through his hair, he turned and sat in the armchair that had been positioned by the bed. She drank in the long length of his thighs encased in doeskin breeches and the white of his shirt. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees.
“No one I’ve talked with shall support passage. I don’t have enough leverage to get the bill through.”
“So it is too late to help me.”
“It already was too late to help you,” he said.
“Why did you write it, then?”
“Because it needs done.” He stood. “Are you hungry?”
Roxana felt a surge of disappointment that he would leave the room. He seemed intent on stuffing her with food. She shook her head.
Nearly every time she woke, he was there, but then he would leave as if he did not want to be with her. Had she ruined everything between them?
“I’ll bid you good night, then.” He walked toward the connecting door.
“Max, would you stay awhile? I don’t want to be alone.”
“Neither do I,” said Max as he shut the door between them.
She found the padded dressing gown and slipped her arms into the sleeves. Moving gingerly, she pushed open the door separating their rooms.
He stood at the window, leaning on the sill.
“Max?” Her hands were shaking and she did not know what she would say, but she hated the distance that had sprung up between them.
“It’s almost Christmas,” he said.
So it was an anniversary of sorts for them. “You shan’t have the house party this year?”
He turned and looked at her, folding his arms across his chest. “Not without a hostess. Fanny has married Scully. They have gone to his home.”
The coolness of Max’s room made her senses spring alive. She could hear her heartbeat, the breaths they took. The faint scent of bay rum from him and sweet basil from the salve he used on her hung in the air. “Why do you leave when I wake?”
He turned back to the window and looked down. “It doesn’t do for you to see me angry.”
She sagged against the doorjamb. “Are you angry now?”
“Every time I see your wounds, I am livid.”
He sounded weary and resigned.
“They’ll heal,” she said. No bones had been broken. It wasn’t like the time her father had broken her mother’s fingers.
“I don’t know what to say when people ask about you. There are rumors that I keep you in a cottage on my estate. Rumors that I ruined you, that I raped you.”
“No!”
What was that like for him? The exemplary duke who had broken all the bounds of acceptable behavior and now wore a huge black stain on his reputation. Then she had in effect made the truth closer to that when she welcomed him into her bed.
“You accused me of it yourself,” he said in a low voice.
“I’m sorry.” She could feel his anger now. It hung in the room like a noxious, sulfurous cloud. Her legs trembled and she had to fight to stand her ground. She wanted to flee.
“Then you just disappeared, Roxana. I had no idea if you were safe or well.”
All the time he searched for her had he feared finding a broken woman? Did he start to believe that the gossip about her being ruined was true? She should have let him know she was well. But she hadn’t because she’d been afraid he’d find her and persuade her to become his wife. In the beginning she had been too fragile, too uncertain of her ability to make it.
“I never intended to damage you,” she whispered.
“No, you managed everything to a T, did you not? You got your money and your dress shop. What I don’t understand is why you would not want this.” He waved his arm to take in the room. “Why you would not want what protection I can give you?”
“My father broke my mother’s fingers when she tried to protect me from him. They never healed right. I have an aversion to anyone trying to protect me. I have an aversion to anyone having rights over me. I have an aversion to depending on anyone besides myself.”
But she had learned in the last year that she needed other people. She depended on her seamstresses, her suppliers, her clients, and she needed him, but she was a burden in his life. She was not something he could set to rights or demand conform to his world.
“I’ve always thought I had everything. I have power and influence and wealth. It is all tied to the dukedom, but I find I have lost the only things that really matter to me. My influence has dwindled to nothing since I am now thought a blackguard. I would give it all up in heartbeat to have the people I love back.”
She took a tentative step into the room. “Max.”
“I’ve tried to live within a code of behavior that all this responsibility confers. But when you are around I step outside everything I know is proper.”
He seemed so alone.
“I was never part of your world. The same rules don’t apply.”
“Go to bed, Roxana. If you feel well enough, I’ll take you home to your shop in the morning. Fanny and Scully will be back any day, and it will be better for them not to find you here.”
She wanted to cross the room, but his anger was like an invisible wall that she could not penetrate. She had not understood how important his ethics were to him. How much had asking him to violate his tenets hurt him? She had not thought beyond what she wanted, and what she did not want.
“Now, go before I do something for which I cannot forgive myself.”
Cold hands clutched at her heart. What did he want to do to her? Her knees felt weak and she backed into the bedroom. She had not thought of what she was doing to him. All she had known was that falling in love was not part of her plan. She sank into the soft featherbed, feeling bleak and so alone.
Max stared at the door, wanting to go through to her, but he had promised himself he would not pressure her while she was wounded and vulnerable. He would not ask her to marry him again. But in the past few days he had been to her shop. He’d looked at her creations. He thought of the tiny cottage where she’d grown from a child to a self-sufficient young woman. She made beautiful things from scraps and discards.
He did not know that he would have fared as well under such circumstances. She was strong-willed and fiercely independent and incredibly talented. Perhaps she did not need anyone to make her life complete.
He needed her, and he had to consider that he might never have her in the way that was right. She had offered only to become his mistress.
The door slowly swung open.
“Max?”
She stood silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by the roaring fire he kept going in his bedroom while he slept in the more temperate lady’s room of the suite. God, he wanted her.
“What?” His “what” came out surlier than he’d intended.
“I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. I’m so sorry for letting you befriend me when I knew it could never be. I’m sorry that I cannot be what you wanted me to be.”
“Roxana.” Anguish poured through him. He had never meant for her to feel any less than she was.
“I just wanted you to know that all I ever wanted was to be able to build a small business so I could support my brother and sisters. I had planned this course since I was twelve. I allowed myself to think only on it.”
“But, Roxana, it was not the only course open to you.”
She shook her head. “I knew I would never truly be a part of the ton, as I never wanted to marry. But maybe my sisters could. I am ashamed that I misused your generosity so brazenly, but I had already thoug
ht myself so far out of your world that I could not allow myself to think I could be a part of it. I thought that you would forget about me once I left.”
“Would it have made any difference if I were like Breedon, without a title?”
She tilted her head sideways.
“Not a duke?” he questioned.
“I don’t know, maybe, but you are a duke. And I had to come to London and try to follow my dream.”
“You do not know what agonies I suffered believing I had forced you into a nefarious life.”
“I should have sent you word.”
“Yes, you should have.”
“I was afraid my father would find me.”
“Which he did, because of me.”
“It’s not your fault. He would have noticed I sent money and come looking for me sooner or later. He was bound to think he could invest my earnings in some worthless scheme. I know that I have failed.”
“You haven’t failed.”
“I cannot afford to pay my seamstresses.”
“I paid them, Roxy. It was a trifling amount.”
She winced, and he realized the amount was not trifling to her.
“They would have stayed anyway. They adore you and what you do.”
He closed the space between them and brushed her long dark hair back from her face. Her braid had come loose again. He could blame only his poor skill at plaiting her hair, or perhaps it was because he tied the bow near the end; he knew it would be just a matter of time before he would have to weave the silky strands together again.
“Roxana, I took the liberty of going over your accounts, and you have a lot of money on the books. Your dress shop is doing remarkably well. You just need to dun people more. There are many unscrupulous sort who will flock to a new business with the hopes that it will go bankrupt before they have to pay.”
“You want me to succeed, then,” she asked in a tiny voice.
“I would not wish you to fail.” Although he had to admit a tiny part of him did want her to fail, so she would have no choice but to turn to him for rescue. But that was not who she was. She did not look for, want or expect rescue. She took on the world. If that was what made her happy, then he wanted her to have success.
She turned toward the bedroom, away from his touch. He knew he should let her go. She was still weak and sore. But letting her walk away was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
Roxana moved gingerly toward her living quarters. It had once been her home and felt safe to her, but she no longer felt safe anywhere other than in Max’s bed. She had avoided that part of the attic as she worked catching up with the things only she could do at the shop. Patterns needed to be cut in muslin and guides for lines of beading or embroidery chalked onto finished skirts.
In her absence a partition wall had been erected, separating the spaces. Her stove had been moved to the far side of the attic, making the work area warmer. The seamstresses told her Max had ordered the changes and paid the workmen.
He had left her at the door of her shop this morning and promised to return, but would he?
She sank down at her table, exhausted. She leaned forward and put her head on her folded arms. She wanted to cry, but she felt too empty to produce tears. Instead she let sleep take her into oblivion.
“So, what do you think?” asked Max.
“Think of what?” she asked.
He moved forward and set a basket on the table. She blinked at him and then realized she smelled roast beef and potatoes, and hunger pains gnawed at stomach. He lifted dishes from the basket.
“The changes? More like a home, is it not?”
Roxana looked around and stopped staring at a large Rumford stove that had replaced her little potbellied stove. How much coal would that take?
She noticed a large, full coal bucket beside the stove. Where had that come from? How would she ever afford the coal for two stoves? The bare floor had a rug too. On the far wall were shelves stocked with dry goods.
“You have not opened your gift.”
“Is it Christmas?” Was she dreaming?
“Not yet, but you will want to use it.”
She looked and saw nothing. Max pointed around the corner of the bed; behind the curtains stood a little tree with unlit candles on the limbs. A large box tied with a gold ribbon sat under the tree.
“That was the only place I could find with enough space for it,” he said.
She stared, her eyes blurring.
“Roxana, I wanted your place to feel like a home.”
She wanted to protest that ornaments and Christmas decorations did not make a home. But that he had even thought that she might feel ill at ease in her little room counted for something, didn’t it?
She woodenly walked toward it and knelt to open the box. She slowly untied the ribbons and peeled back the paper. Inside was tissue. She lifted the contents and unwrapped a cup, then a saucer and then a lid.
A tea service. As she stared at it she knew that he meant for her to stay here. She had refused him one too many times.
“Thank you,” she said around the catch in her throat. “It is lovely.”
He placed plates on the table and then served food on them. Gravy slopped over onto his finger and he licked it off. “Not used to serving food. I suppose I’ll have to learn.”
She stood feeling remiss. Feeling like she should be more grateful for a practical gift that would be so useful.
“Come eat. We can light the candles later,” he urged.
She tried, but the meal tasted like dust. He watched her as she struggled to hold back tears.
He reached out and touched her chin. “Roxana, what is wrong?”
“I have ruined everything between us,” she whispered. “You are so kind and generous, but I cannot afford the coal for a bigger stove.”
“I can for now and you will.” He slipped his hands under her elbows and lifted her from the chair. “What would you say if I stayed here with you?”
“Tonight?” Her heart fluttered.
“Tonight, tomorrow, the next day and night for as long as you can tolerate me.”
“I would be your mistress?”
“More than that, Roxy. I want to be with you. If it cannot be in my world, then let it be in your world. Let me live with you.”
She stared at him, thinking of his huge estate, his town house with the ornate plaster ceilings, marble entry hall, and fireplaces in every room. “But you’re a duke.”
“I’m abdicating. Thomas can have the title.”
The room started to swirl around her, and she could not believe what he was saying. “But, Max, you cannot. You would never be happy living like this.”
“I admit, I am used to being waited upon, but could we not find some common ground? I have a few investments that I shall have a little income from, and if I can restore your father’s estate so that it supports your family, perhaps in a few years we could purchase a modest house.”
She grabbed his lapels, needing to support herself. “Max?”
“I swore to myself I would not pressure you until you were well.” He caught her hips and pulled her against him. She knew his low hold was to save irritating her back, yet her blood began to simmer anyway. “I just want to be with you. If you must have your shop, then you must. I want you to continue making beautiful clothes. If I cannot have you in my world, then I would join you in yours.”
“Max, stop talking.”
He stood still as she tried to absorb what he said.
“You have this all planned out?” she asked.
“As you lay in my bed all I could do was think of how I could be with you. I know you don’t want to marry, but Roxy, I will never be happy living without you. I love you.”
A dam inside of her broke. “You love me?”
“I think I have loved you from the moment you turned to me and said you would curb your disagreeable tendency to speak directly.” He stroked her hair back from her face. “Or perhaps from the moment I learne
d you wore scandalous red undergarments.”
How had he known about her red shifts? “I thought you had changed your mind.”
“How does one change one’s heart?” he murmured against her hair.
“Max, this is more than I can take in.”
He kissed her forehead, then pulled her head to his shoulder. “Ah, well, you will need me to apply your salve for the next few days. So shall we see how it goes?”
Was he really willing to give up everything to be with her? Live in a tiny attic corner, when he had a manse with at least a hundred rooms? How would he make do without servants when he employed scores of them?
“Max, the thing is, I have given my heart to a duke and I think I want to marry him.”
“Roxy—”
She cut him off, putting her fingers to his lips.
“Our worlds do not overlap much, and it will present many challenges, and unfortunately time apart will be inevitable. But I have been gone near a week and my workers have been able to keep my dress shop thriving. Perhaps I do not need to be here every minute. And I do think it would behoove me to spend more time in society. I had so many ideas for dresses after the house party. With a few supplies I could design anywhere.”
His lips curled up under her fingers.
“What?” she asked, curious as to what made him smile in the middle of a serious discussion.
“You absolutely beam when you talk of designing dresses. You should be wearing your creations more often. Besides, I’ve already consulted a barrister about relinquishing the title.”
“Yes, but you see, there is this one thing I want that you cannot give me as a commoner.”
He frowned. “I’ve rather thought it might be a relief to be rid of the burdens. There is so much debt and I do not know that I could find the time to repair your father’s estate when I have so much to manage now.”
He might think so now, but she knew Max would never be satisfied being idle. Roxana leaned and picked up the papers that had been folded and placed on a shelf. She handed the bill he’d drafted to him. “I want this.”
“It will take me twenty years to get this made to law.”
“We have the time.” She shrugged.
