Julia Justiss - Regency Betrayal

He studied her a long moment; she couldn’t tell from his face whether he felt relief or exasperation. ‘You needn’t give me a final answer now. Why not think on the matter for a few days?’

‘That won’t be necessary; I am resolved on this. As soon as my stepmother recovers from the shock, we will pack and leave for Denby Lodge.’

For another long moment he said nothing. ‘I am no Henshaw to try to force your hand, even though I believe your leaving here without the protection of an engagement is absolutely the wrong course of action. However, if you insist on refusing it, know that if at any time you decide to reconsider, my offer will remain open.’

Truly, he was the kindest of men. The shock and outrage and dismay of the day taking its toll, she felt an annoyingly missish desire to burst into tears.

‘I will do so. Thank you.’

He bowed. ‘I will send a note to Lady Denby, offering to call and tender my apologies if she permits. Will you let me know before you leave, so I might bid you goodbye?’

‘It would probably be wiser if we go our separate ways as quickly as possible.’

‘As you wish.’ He approached her then, halting one step away. Her body quivered in response to his nearness.

‘It has been a most … interesting association, Miss Denby.’ He held out his hand and reluctantly she laid hers in his as he brought her fingers to his lips. Little sparks danced and tingled and shivered from her fingernails outwards.

‘I will remain always your most devoted servant.’

Snatching back the hand that didn’t want to follow her instructions to remove itself from his grasp, she curtsied and watched him stride out of the room, telling herself this was for the best.

And the sooner she got back to Denby Lodge, the better.

Max stalked from Lady Denby’s sitting room towards the library, anger, outrage and frustration churning in his gut. Encountering one of the guests in the hallway, avid curiosity in his eyes, Max gave him such a thunderous glare, the man pivoted without speaking and fled in the opposite direction.

Stomping into his haven, he went straight to the brandy decanter, poured and downed a glass, then poured another, welcoming the burn of the liquor down his throat.

What a calamity of a day.

Throwing himself into one of the wing chairs by the fire, he wondered despairingly how everything could have gone so wrong. It seemed impossible that, just a few bare hours ago, he’d halted on the threshold of the conservatory and breathed deeply of the fragrant air, his spirits rising on its scented promise that life was going to get better.

Instead, events had taken a turn that could end up anywhere from worse to disastrous.

Reviewing the scene in the glasshouse, he swore again. Hadn’t Vienna taught him not to embroil himself in the problems of females wholly unrelated to him? Apparently not, for though, unlike Madame Lefevre, he acquitted the Denby girl of deliberately drawing him into this fiasco, by watching over her he’d been dragged in anyway.

And might very well be forced into wedding a lady with whom, by her own admission, he had virtually nothing in common.

True, Miss Denby had turned down his offer. But he placed no reliance on her continuing to do so, once her stepmother brought home to her just how difficult her situation would be if they didn’t marry.

His wouldn’t be as dire, but the resulting scandal certainly wouldn’t be helpful. With a sardonic curl of his lip, he recalled Miss Denby’s blithe assumption that since he already had a reputation as a rake, the scandal wouldn’t affect him at all. He’d been on the point of explaining that, even for a rake, there were limits to acceptable behaviour and ruining a young lady of quality went rather beyond them.

But if the danger to her own reputation wasn’t enough to convince her, he wasn’t about to whine to her about the damage not wedding her would do to his own.

There might be some small benefit to be squeezed from disaster: if he were thought to be a heartless seducer, he’d no longer be a target for the schemes of matchmaking mamas and their devious daughters. However, for someone about to go hat in hand looking for a government posting, the timing couldn’t be worse. Being branded as a man unable to regulate his behaviour around women certainly wouldn’t help his chances of finding a sponsor … or winning back Wellington’s favour.

He seized his empty glass and threw it into the fireplace.

He was still brooding over what to do when Alastair came in.

‘Devil’s teeth, Max, what fandango occurred while I was out today? Even the grooms are buzzing with it—some crazy tale of you trying to ravish some chit in the conservatory?’

Max debated telling Alastair the truth, but his hot-headed cousin would probably head out straight away to track down Henshaw and challenge him to a duel, pressing the issue until the man was forced to face him or leave the country in disgrace.

Of course, being an excellent shot as well as a superior swordsman, if Alastair prevailed upon Henshaw to meet him, his cousin would kill the weasel for certain—and then he’d be forced to leave England.

He’d complicated his own life sufficiently; he didn’t intend to ruin Alastair’s as well.

‘I … got a bit carried away. Lady Melross and her crony came running in before I could set the young lady to rights.’

Alastair studied his face. ‘I heard the chit’s bodice was torn to her bosom, the buttons of her pelisse scattered all over the floor. Devil take it, Max, don’t try to gammon me. You’ve infinitely more finesse than that … and if you wanted a woman, you wouldn’t have to rip her out of her gown—in a public place, no less!’

Wishing he hadn’t tossed away his perfectly good glass, Max rummaged for one on the sideboard and poured himself another brandy. ‘I’m really not at liberty to say any more.’

‘Damn and blast, you can’t think I’d believe that Banbury tale! Did the Denby chit deliberately try to trap you? Dammit, I liked her! Surely you’re not going to let her get away with this!’

‘If by “getting away with it”, you mean forcing me to marry her, you’re out there. I made her an offer, as any gentleman of honour would in such a situation, but thus far, she’s refused it.’

Alastair stared at him for a long moment, then poured himself a brandy. ‘This whole story,’ he said, downing a large swallow, ‘makes no sense at all.’

‘With that, I can agree,’ Max said.

Suddenly, Alastair threw back his head and laughed. ‘Won’t need to worry about the Melross hag blackening your character in town. After bringing her party to such a scandalous conclusion, Jane ’s going to murder you.’

‘Maybe I’ll hand her the pistol,’ Max muttered.

‘To women!’ Alastair held up his glass before tossing down the rest of the brandy. ‘One of the greatest scourges on the face of the earth. I don’t know what in hell happened today in the conservatory and, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s an end to it. But I do know you’d never do anything to harm a female and I’ll stand beside you, no matter what lies that dragon Melross and her pack of seditious gossips spread.’

Suddenly a wave of weariness come over Max … as it had in the wake of the Vienna disaster, when he’d wandered back to his rooms, numbed by shock, disbelief and a sense of incredulity that things could possibly have turned out so badly when he’d done nothing wrong. ‘Thank you,’ he said, setting down his glass.

Alastair poured them both another. ‘Ransleigh Rogues,’ he said, touching his glass to Max’s.

Before Max could take another sip, a footman entered, handing him a note written on Barton Abbey stationery. A flash of foreboding filled him—had Miss Denby already reconsidered?