LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter Nine

      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?

      But when he broke the seal, he discovered the note came from Lady Denby.

      After thanking him for his offer to apologise and his assurance that he stood by his proposal to marry her stepdaughter, since Miss Denby informed her she had no intention of accepting him, there was really nothing else to be said. As both Miss Denby and her own daughter were most anxious to depart as soon as possible, she intended to leave immediately, but reserved the privilege of writing to him again when she’d had more opportunity to Sort Matters Out, at which time she trusted he would still be willing, as a Man of Honour, to Do The Right Thing.

      An almost euphoric sense of relief filled Max. Apparently Lady Denby hadn’t managed to convince her stepdaughter to ‘Do the Right Thing’ before leaving Barton Abbey. With Miss Denby about to get everything she wanted—a return to her beloved Denby Lodge and a ruination that would allow her to wait in peace for the return of her Harry—Max was nearly certain

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