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.
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
