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At that threat, Max abandoned discretion and set off at a run. If he hadn’t already been prepared to tear Henshaw limb from limb, the scuffling, panting sounds of a struggle that reached him as he rounded the last corner, followed by the unmistakable rip of fabric, had him ready to do murder.
Seconds later, he lunged over a potted fern to find Henshaw trying to pin a wildly struggling Miss Denby down on the bench, his free hand clawing up her skirts. As a clay pot fell over and shattered, Henshaw looked up, his hands stilling.
The smirk on his face and the lust in his eyes turned to surprise, then alarm as he recognised Max. But before Max could seize him, Miss Denby, taking advantage of Henshaw’s distraction, kneed him in the groin, then caught him full on the nose with a roundhouse left jab of which Gentleman Jackson would have been proud.
Howling, Henshaw released Miss Denby and staggered backwards, one hand on his breeches front, the other holding his nose. Blood oozing through his fingers, he snarled, ‘Bitch! You’ll regret that!’
Max grabbed him by the arm and slammed him against the wall, regrettably with less force than he would have liked, but he didn’t want to break a glass panel in Aunt Grace’s conservatory.
Securing him against it with a stranglehold on his cravat, Max growled, ‘Miss Denby will not regret her rejection. But you, varlet, will regret this episode for the rest of your life unless you do exactly what I say. You will apologise to Miss Denby, then pack your bag and leave immediately, before I tell the world and Lady Melross how you tried to attack an innocent and unwilling young lady.’ Giving Henshaw’s cravat a final twist, he released the man.
Henshaw shook his arms free and retreated several steps, trying to repair his ruined cravat before giving it up as hopeless. ‘You dare to threaten me?’ he blustered. ‘Who will believe you? A flagrant womaniser, sent away from Vienna in disgrace, disowned by your own father!’
‘Who will believe me?’ Max echoed, his voice silky-soft. ‘Your hostess, my aunt, perhaps? Or Lady Melross, seeing your elegant attire as it now appears?’
Fury and desperation might have briefly clouded Henshaw’s judgement, but the reference to his dishevelled clothing snapped him back to reality. Obviously realising he could not hope to prevail over the nephew of his hostess, especially in his present incriminating state of disorder, he clamped his lips shut and looked down the pathway, eyeing the exit.
More concerned with assisting the lady, Max resigned himself to letting him go. ‘Are you unharmed, Miss Denby?’ he asked, stepping past Henshaw to her side.
‘Y-yes,’ she replied, her voice breaking a little.
The path to the doorway free, Henshaw backed cautiously away, his wary gaze fixed on Max. After retreating a safe distance, he tossed back, ‘I won’t forget this, Ransleigh. I’ll have retribution some day … and on the bitch, too.’
‘You don’t follow instructions very well,’ Max said softly, an icy contempt filling him. ‘Now I’m going to have to thrash you like the cur you are.’
But before he could take a step, abandoning any pretence of dignity, Henshaw bolted for the door. Much as he would have liked to give chase and thrash the man, Max concluded his more urgent duty was to see to Miss Denby, who stood trembling by the bench, holding together the ripped edges of her bodice.
Her cloak had fallen off during the struggle and her pelisse, now lacking its buttons, gaped open over her white-knuckled hands. Her beautiful dark eyes, wide with shock and outrage, looked stricken.
Max cursed under his breath, wishing he’d tossed the bounder through the glass wall after all. ‘I entered a few minutes ago and heard voices, but didn’t realise what was transpiring until … it was almost too late. I’m so sorry I didn’t intervene earlier and spare you that indignity. Say the word and I’ll track down Henshaw and give him the drubbing he deserves.’
‘Beating him further will serve no useful purpose,’ she said, attempting a smile, which wobbled badly. ‘Though I might wish to hit him again myself. He has ruined one of my best ugly gowns.’
Thankfully, some colour was returning to her pale cheeks and her voice sounded stronger, so Max might not have to pursue the man and rearrange his skeleton after all. ‘You did quite a capital job on your first round, though I don’t believe you succeeded in breaking his nose, more’s the pity. Who taught you to box? That roundhouse jab was worthy of a professional.’
‘Harry. He took lessons with Jackson in London while he was at Winchester. Satisfying as it was to land the blow exactly where I wished—on both parts of his anatomy—that won’t help my biggest problem now, which is how to get back to my chamber and out of this gown. My stepmother would have palpitations if she saw me like this. Not that I would mind being ruined, but I should be indignant if anyone were to try to force me to marry Henshaw.’
‘That sorry excuse for a man?’ Max said in disgust. ‘I should think not.’
‘A sorry excuse indeed, but stronger than I anticipated,’ she said, looking down at the fingers clutching her torn bodice. ‘I thought I could handle him, but …’ She took a shuddering breath, as if shaken by the evidence of how close she’d come to being ravaged. ‘If only you had accepted my first offer! I’m certain you would have c-compromised me much more g-genteelly.’
She was trying to put on a brave face, but tears had begun slipping down her cheeks and she started to tremble again.
Making a vow to seek out Henshaw wherever he went to ground and pummel him senseless, Max abandoned discretion and drew Miss Denby into his arms. ‘If I were to compromise you, I would at least make sure you enjoyed it,’ he said, trying for a teasing tone as he cradled her, gently chafing her hands and trying to use his warmth to heat her chilled body. ‘And it would have been done with much more expertise and finesse. Like this,’ he said and kissed just the freckled tip of her nose.
The last time he’d encountered her in the conservatory, he’d burned to plunder her mouth and let his lips discover every wonder of nose, chin and eyelids. As indignant as his aunt would be that a guest of the Ransleighs had been assaulted, all he wished for now was to erase from her memory the outrage that had just been perpetrated against her.
To his relief, she gave herself into his hands, snuggling with a broken little gasp against his chest. For long moments, he simply held her, one finger gently stroking her cheek, until at last the tremors eased and she pulled back a bit, still resting in the circle of his arms.
‘You do compromise a lady most genteelly,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Mr Ransleigh. I shall never forget your kind assistance.’
‘Max,’ he corrected with a smile. ‘I should be honoured to have you call on me at any time.’
Before she could reply, a loud shriek split the air. ‘Miss Denby!’ a shrill female voice exclaimed. ‘Whatever are you about?’
A sense of impending disaster stabbing in his gut, Max looked over Miss Denby’s head to see Lady Melross hurrying toward them.
Chapter Seven
Clutching the ragged edges of her bodice, Caroline stared in horror as Lady Melross marched up to them, her eyes widening with shock, then malicious glee as she perceived Caro wrapped in Ransleigh’s arms, her bodice in ruins.
A sick feeling invaded Caro’s stomach. How could things have gone so hideously wrong? In Lady Melross’s accusing eyes, Mr Ransleigh, who had protected and comforted her, must now appear to be the one who’d tried to ravish her. And the old harpy would lose no time in trumpeting the news to all and sundry.
‘This isn’t what you think!’ Caro cried, furious, frustrated, knowing the denial was hopeless. Oh, that she might run after Henshaw and rake her fingers down his deceitful face!
Ransleigh had never wanted to compromise her. Now, through the hapless intervention of the detestable Henshaw, the scandal he’d scrupulously avoided would fall full upon him.
It was all her fault … and she couldn’t think of a single way to stop it.
‘Not what I think?’ Lady Melross echoed. ‘Gracious, Miss Denby, do you believe me a simpleton, unable to comprehend what I see right before my eyes? No wonder a little bird told me I might find something interesting in the conservatory.’
‘A little bird?’ Caro echoed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, I had a note … from someone who knew about your rendezvous. Or maybe you sent it yourself, Miss Caroline?’
‘Henshaw,’ Caro whispered, her eyes pleading with Max, who’d already stepped away from her, his face going grim and shuttered the moment he saw Lady Melross charging toward them down the glasshouse path, Lady Caringdon trailing behind.
Henshaw must have sent the note, wanting Lady Melross to find them with her gown in tatters, ensuring a scandal public enough that they’d be forced to marry.
Surely Max Ransleigh understood that?
‘You, Ransleigh,’ Lady Melross said, turning to Max, ‘I wouldn’t have expected something this lacking in taste and finesse … although after Vienna, I suppose maybe I should have. What a sly thing you turned out to be, Miss Denby,’ she continued as she snatched up Caroline’s cloak and tossed it over her shoulders. ‘There, you’re decent again.’
Lady Caringdon stared at them both accusingly. ‘Aren’t you a rum one, Ransleigh, sneaking around, keeping your distance from the company while you plotted to seduce an innocent right under the nose of her chaperone! And you, young lady, have got exactly what you deserve!’
‘Indeed!’ Lady Melross crowed. ‘Don’t you understand, you stupid girl? Ruining yourself with Ransleigh won’t earn you the elevated position in society you expect, for his father isn’t even receiving him! While you were immured in the country at that dreary horse farm, he was creating a scandal—’
‘Lady Melross,’ Max broke in on the lady’s tirade, ‘that is quite enough. Abuse me as you will, but I cannot allow you to harass Miss Denby. She has suffered a shock and should return to the house at once to recover. Miss Denby,’ he continued, turning to Caroline, his voice gentling, ‘will you allow these ladies to escort you back to your chamber? We will talk of this later.’
‘I should like to settle it now—’ Caro said.
‘No, in this at least, Ransleigh has the right of it,’ Lady Melross broke in. ‘You cannot stand there chatting in that disgrace of a garment! Come along, both of you. Though I cannot imagine what you could say that might excuse your behavior, Ransleigh, before you present yourself to Lady Denby, you’d best go and make yourself respectable.’
‘Perhaps it would be better if I talk with Stepmother first,’ Caroline conceded. Poor Lady Denby would be close to hysterics if the outcry about this disaster reached her before Caro did. She’d need to explain and calm her down before Max called on her.
Lady Caringdon sniffed. ‘Poor Diana. What a tawdry, embarrassing predicament—and with dear Eugenia set to make her bow next spring! Dreadful!’
‘Dreadful indeed,’ Lady Melross said, sounding not at all regretful. ‘Come along now, and wrap that cloak tight about you, miss. I shouldn’t want to shock any of the proper young ladies we might encounter on the way. Doubtless Lady Denby will summon you later, Ransleigh. Perhaps you’d better go and acquaint your aunt with the débâcle you’ve created in the midst of her party.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Ransleigh said to Caro, ignoring Lady Melross’s disparaging remarks. ‘Get some rest. I’ll see you later and make everything right.’ Giving her an encouraging smile, he stepped back to allow Lady Melross to take her arm.
Having a sudden change of heart, Caroline almost reached out to snag his sleeve and beg him to walk in with her. If only they could face Lady Denby now, together, and explain what had happened, surely they could sort it out and keep the dreadful Lady Melross from spreading her malicious account of the events!
But she suspected Ransleigh wouldn’t deign to explain himself with Lady Melross present, and there was no chance whatsoever that the lady would let herself be manoeuvred out of escorting her victim into the house.
‘I will call on Lady Denby soon,’ he told Caro, then moved aside to let them pass.
‘Speak with me first!’ she tossed back as, Lady Caringdon seizing her other arm, the two women half-led, half-dragged her down the path.
They marched her into the house and up the stairs, relentless as gaolers. Initially they peppered her with questions, but her refusal to provide any details eventually convinced them she intended to remain silent.
With a final warning that it was useless to turn mute now, as her character was already ruined, they ignored her and spent the rest of the transit speculating about how devastated Lady Denby and Mrs Ransleigh would be and how fast the scandalous news would spread.
While they chattered, Caro’s mind raced furiously. Should she ask Max Ransleigh to seek out Henshaw, drag him in so they might jointly accuse him? Was Henshaw still at Barton Abbey to be accused?
Trapped between the two dragons, she had no way of determining that. Should she try to explain immediately to Lady Denby, or wait until after she’d consulted with Mr Ransleigh?
She had only a short time to figure out what she wanted, while her whole life and future hinged on her making the right decision.
When she reached her rooms and her erstwhile ‘rescuers’ discovered neither her stepmother nor her sister was present, they finally stopped plaguing her and rushed off. Doubtless anxious to compete over who could convey the interesting news to the most people the fastest, Caro thought sardonically.
She hoped her stepmother would not be one of those so informed, vastly preferring to break the dismal story herself. In any event, Lady Denby’s absence gave her the opportunity to summon Dulcie and change before the tattered evidence of the disaster could further upset her stepmother. Reassuring her maid, who gasped in alarm upon seeing her in the ruined gown, that she was quite unharmed and would explain later, Caro sent her off to dispose of the garment.
Watching the girl carry out the shreds, Caro smiled grimly. It certainly wasn’t the way she would have chosen to do it, but the escapade in the glasshouse had effectively ruined her. At least now she’d be able to purchase gowns that didn’t make her wince when she saw her image in a mirror. With that heartening thought, she scrawled a note asking Mr Ransleigh to meet her in Lady Denby’s sitting room at his earliest convenience.
As she waited for her stepmother to return, she tried to corral the thoughts galloping about in her mind like colts set loose in a spring meadow. How could she turn Henshaw’s despicable conduct to best advantage, managing the scandal so she would be able to return to Denby Lodge and her horses, while leaving Mr Ransleigh’s good name unblemished?
Only one thought truly dismayed her: that having heard Lady Melross testify that she’d received a note bidding her come to the conservatory, Max might think, in blatant disregard of his wishes, she had arranged for Lady Melross to find them, trapping him with treachery into compromising her after persuasion had failed.
Trapping herself?
How to avoid that fate? Too unsettled to remain seated, she paced the room. In the aftermath of Henshaw’s unexpected attack, her still-jangled nerves were hampering her ability to think clearly. The bald truth was she’d underestimated the man, dismissed him as a self-indulgent weakling she could easily handle.
It shook her to the core to admit that, had Max Ransleigh not rushed to her rescue, she probably could not have successfully resisted Henshaw.
How understanding Max had been, lending her his warmth and strength as she had struggled to compose herself. Bringing her back from the horror of what might have been to a reassuring normalcy with his gentle teasing. Renewed gratitude suffused her.
They must find some way out of this conundrum. She refused to repay his generosity by trapping him in a marriage neither of them wanted.
But when she recalled his parting words, a deep sense of unease filled her.
‘I’ll make everything right,’ he’d said. Initially, she’d thought he meant to track down Henshaw and force him to confess his guilt. However, if Henshaw had already scuttled away from Barton Abbey, leaving Max bearing the blame for her disgrace, Ransleigh’s sense of honour might very well force him into making her an offer.
And that wouldn’t do at all. For one, he’d told her quite plainly he had no wish to marry and she could think of few things worse than being shackled to an uninterested husband. The image of her cousin Elizabeth came forcefully to mind.
Nor did she want to cobble her future to a man with whom she had little in common, whose wit engaged her but who agitated and discomforted her every time she was near him, filling her with powerful desires she had no idea how to manage.
Before she could analyse the matter any further, a rapid patter of footsteps in the hallway and the buzz of raised voices announced the imminent return of her stepmother.
Praying Lady Melross had not accompanied her, Caro braced herself for the onslaught.
A moment later, the door flew open and Lady Denby burst into the room, Eugenia at her elbow. ‘Is it true?’ her stepsister demanded. ‘Did Mr Ransleigh truly … debauch you in the conservatory, as Lady Melross claims?’
‘He did not.’
‘Oh, thank heavens!’ Lady Denby exclaimed. ‘That dreadful woman! I knew it had to be naught but a malicious hum!’
‘There was an … altercation,’ Caro allowed. ‘But events did not unfold as Lady Melross supposed.’
‘Surely she didn’t find you wrapped in Mr Ransleigh’s arms, your gown in disarray, your bodice torn?’ Eugenia asked.
‘My gown had been damaged, but it was not—’
‘Oh, no!’ Eugenia interrupted with a wail. ‘Then you are ruined. Indeed, we are both ruined! I shall never have my Season in London now!’ Clapping a hand to her mouth, she burst into tears and rushed into her adjoining room, slamming the door behind her.
Lady Denby stood pale-faced and trembling, tears tracking down her own cheeks as she looked at Caro reproachfully. ‘Oh, Caro,’ she said faintly, ‘how could you? Even if you had no concern about your own future, how could you jeopardise Eugenia’s?’
‘Please, ma’am, sit and let me explain. Truly, it is not as bad as you think. I’m certain that virtually nothing the detestable Lady Melross told you is accurate.’
Lady Denby allowed herself to be shown to a seat and accepted a glass of sherry, which she sipped while Caro related what had actually transpired. When she got to the part about how Mr Ransleigh’s timely arrival had prevented Henshaw from overpowering her, Lady Denby cried out and leapt to her feet, wrapping Caro in her arms.
‘Oh, my poor dear, how awful for you! Bless Mr Ransleigh for having the courage to intervene.’
‘I owe him a great debt,’ Caro agreed, settling her stepmother back in her chair. ‘Which is why we need to somehow stop Lady Melross from circulating the falsehood that he compromised me. I can hardly repay Mr Ransleigh’s gallantry by forcing him to offer for me, a girl he hardly knows. That would not be fair, would it?’
‘It doesn’t seem right,’ Lady Denby admitted. ‘But if you don’t marry someone … how are we to salvage anything? And my dear, the truth is, this scandal could ruin Eugenia’s Season as well!’
‘Surely not! She’s not even a Denby! Once Lady Gilford and Mrs Ransleigh learn the truth, I’m certain they will enlist their friends to ensure my difficulties do not reflect badly on my stepsister.’
That hope seemed to reassure Lady Denby, for she nodded. ‘Yes, perhaps you are right. Grace and Jane would think it monstrous for poor Eugenia to suffer for Henshaw’s villainy. But how are we to salvage your position, my dear?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ Caro evaded, guiltily aware that she had no desire to ‘salvage’ it. ‘Will you allow me to discuss this alone with Mr Ransleigh first, before he speaks with you? I expect him at any moment.’
‘Very well,’ Lady Denby agreed with a sigh. ‘It’s all so very distressing! I must go and comfort Eugenia.’
After giving her a final hug, Lady Denby walked out. Knowing that she would be meeting Max Ransleigh again any moment set every nerve on edge.
The fact that, despite her agitation, an insidious little voice was whispering that wedding Max might not be so disastrous after all filled her with a panicky agitation that drove her once again to pace the room.
From the very first, he’d affected her differently than any other man she’d ever met. Being near him filled her with a tingling physical immediacy, a consciousness of her breasts and lips and body she’d never previously experienced.
Yesterday in the conservatory, that strange but powerful attraction had urged her to touch him, kiss him, feel his mouth and hands on her. Thought and reason vaporised into heat and need, into a burning, irresistible desire to know him, to let him know her. She’d craved that contact with a force and single-mindedness she would never have believed possible.
Even with the threat of the Curse hanging over her, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to bring her rioting senses under control and walk away if he’d made any move at all to entice her to stay.
The power Henshaw had exerted over her while she struggled to escape him had frightened her, but what Max inspired in her was even more terrifying … because she hadn’t wanted to escape it. Indeed, recalling him poised motionless on the bench, inviting her kiss, making no move to cajole or entice, letting her own desire propel her to him, was more coercive than any force he could have employed.
She’d been as powerfully in his thrall as … as her cousin Elizabeth had once been to Spencer Russell, the reprobate she’d married. The man who’d charmed and wed and betrayed, and almost bankrupted her cousin before a fortuitous racing accident had brought to an end Elizabeth’s humiliating existence as a disdained and abandoned wife.
Caro did not want to be ensnared by an emotion that dazzled her out of her common sense, nor be held captive by a lust so strong it paralysed will and smothered rational thinking.
Just as she reached that conclusion, a rap sounded at the door.
Her heartbeat stopped, then recommenced at a rapid pace as a stinging shock rippled through her, setting her stomach churning. Wiping her suddenly sweaty palms on her gown, she took a deep breath and walked to open the door.
Chapter Eight
As expected, Max Ransleigh stood on the threshold. Looking solemn, he took her hand and kissed her fingers.
A second wave of sensation blazed through her. Clenching her fists and jaw to try to dampen the effect, she mumbled an incoherent welcome and led him to a chair. Though she was still too agitated to want to sit, knowing he would not unless she did so, she forced herself into the place opposite him.
‘I’m so sorry to have involved you in this,’ she began before he could speak. ‘Though I did invite you to compromise me, I hope you realise I had no part in setting up the situation in the conservatory today! I would never have gone behind your back to create a scandal in which you’d already assured me you wanted no part.’
‘I believe you,’ he said, calming her fears on that matter, at least. ‘I expect it was Henshaw who sent Lady Melross the note, wanting her to find you with him in a state dishevelled enough to ensure you’d be coerced to wed him.’
‘Thank you. I would hate to have you think I’d use you so shabbily. Lady Denby has agreed to let me speak with you privately before she comes in, so shall we discuss what is to be done?’