by Kristi Astor
“Your father is in the Fleet; he will not harm you ever again. I’ve taken precautions that he will not be released.”
“Yes, but Max—what precautions?”
“Guaranteed his loans as long as he is kept in prison.” Max grimaced. “It is hardly ideal, but his creditors won’t relinquish their claims until everything is paid in full. Nothing will be paid off for fifty years.”
“You did this all in a week?”
“No. I’ve been to your family’s home. I began working on it months ago, but I did not want to move forward without your blessing.”
“You did not ask for my blessing.”
“No. When he did this to you, I decided to act. I should have preferred to kill him. If I had caught him at this, I would have strangled him with my own hands.”
A shudder of unease passed through her. She heard his fury and thought he might have been capable of murdering her father. Just as he had slit the poor fox’s throat and tossed Lady Malmsbury around the room, bashing her into furniture . . . and the clock. Roxana remembered with sudden clarity why she never wanted to be married.
“Roxana, I promise you that I will never raise a hand to you.”
She plucked at his shirt. She believed in her head, but her heart bore wounds that were not so easily ignored.
“Come, love, I have had thirty years of controlling my behavior—I will not allow myself to behave like a beast.”
“But what you did with Lady Malmsbury . . .”
“She had my razor. I was afraid she meant to cut you. I would do anything to protect you, or any of my own, but I would never, never strike you.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “I cannot promise you I will never be angry, but I would cut out my own heart before I would hurt you.”
“I cannot promise that I will not be afraid.”
“Ah, my brave Miss Winston. I cannot think that you will be afraid for long. Not just anyone would have set out on their own and established a flourishing business against her family and friends’ wishes, especially since you could have accepted my offer of marriage. If I grow too full of choler to contain it, I will kill a clock or some such.”
She reached up and pressed a kiss to his chin. “Very well, make me your wife.”
“Then I would give you one last gift,” he said, and reached into his pocket. He drew out a diamond-and-emerald ring and pulled up her hand to slide the ring on her finger.
“But I have nothing to give you this Christmas.”
“You have already given me your heart; what more could I need?”
“Plum pudding,” said Roxana, identifying the smell wafting from the basket he had brought.
He glanced reluctantly toward the bed, then pushed her toward her chair. “Finish eating.”
“You know, Max, I would speak plainly.”
He draped her napkin in her lap. “Yes.”
“I am not so injured as to preclude that.” She gestured toward the bed. “If you could perhaps allow me the top.”
“Dinner is already cold, it can wait,” he said, lifting her out of her chair and bringing her up for a kiss.
“I’ll warm it on the stove, later.” But they never made it back to their meal, for they were too busy sharing their gift of love for each other.
Epilogue
Christmas Eve had dawned cold and dreary, although Max and Roxana were warm with her new stove heating their little love bower. The tree filled the air with pine scent and the waxy smell of burnt candles.
Roxana sat in her padded dressing gown, scraping out the last of the plum pudding bowl with her finger and licking it. Hardly the manners of a future duchess, but Max knew she would never do it in front of anyone but him. He was just happy to see her appetite back, and he suspected there was more than a hint of teasing in her slow sliding of her finger out of her mouth.
Max tied on his last clean cravat and bent over to kiss her. “I have to return to the town house. I have no clean clothes.”
“I’m closing the shop early today. I cannot think I will have any customers this afternoon.”
He smiled, thinking they would have all afternoon and all day tomorrow to themselves. “This is my happiest Christmas ever,” he whispered into her hair. The only thing that could have made him happier was to have his whole family back, but that wouldn’t happen.
“Non, non! You cannot go in, sir,” protested Madame Roussard. “You cannot see his grace now.”
“Goodness, is it that late already?” asked Roxana.
Max pulled out his watch. “It is a little past eight.”
“Who do you think it is?” Roxana stretched.
“Scully?” Max shrugged. “They probably found my note.”
“I need to get dressed.”
“You won’t have to tomorrow, love. I promise.” Max moved to the door as he heard steps on the stairs.
A head cleared the floor and then a familiar body came into view. It was an apparition. Shock stabbed Max in his chest. He grabbed the partition wall. Then the apparition hit his head on the attic roof.
“You cannot abdicate, old fellow,” said the apparition, rubbing his crown. “You’ll put a spoke in everything.”
Ghosts didn’t speak and they did not bump their heads. Max looked back and forth between the two men, barely absorbing things. Scully stood with his arms folded and that annoying look of pity on his face.
“Alexander?”
Roxana stood at his back and put her hand on his shoulder. “I ought to kill you,” said Max. Instead he crossed the space and clapped his brother to him. “Who the hell did I bury?”
“More like a what,” said Alexander, patting him on the back. “But that is a whole other story.”
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Copyright © 2005 by Karen L. King
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ISBN: 978-1-4201-3234-2
