can force us to marry.’
Leaving aside that dubious claim, he said, ‘If it’s ruination you seek, why did you not approach my cousin Alastair? His reputation is even more scandalous than mine.’
‘I considered him, but thought he wouldn’t suit. For one, it’s his mother’s house party and he wouldn’t wish to embarrass her. Second, I understand that since being disappointed in love, he’s held females in aversion, whereas you are said to genuinely like women. And finally, since your plans for your career were recently shattered, I thought perhaps you would understand what it is like to have your future dictated by the decisions of others, with little control over your own destiny.’
His eyes widened, for the observation struck home. Despite the impossible nature of her request, he felt a rush of sympathy for this young woman who’d lost the only advocate who could guarantee her the life she wanted, while everyone else was trying to force her into a role not of her choosing.
She must have seen the realisation in his eyes, for she said, ‘You do understand, don’t you? Despite the setback in your choice of career, you are a man; you can make new plans. But when a woman marries, everything she owns, even power over her very body, becomes the possession of her husband, who can sell it, game it away, or ruin it, as he pleases. You must admit, few gentlemen would permit their wives to run a horse-breeding farm. I don’t want to see Papa’s lifetime of work pass into the hands of a man who would forbid me to manage it, who might neglect, ruin—or even sell it! My horses! There’s no one I trust with Papa’s legacy, except for Harry. So … won’t you help me?’
The whole idea was outlandish, as she herself had admitted. He ought to refuse categorically and send her on her way … before someone discovered them and she was compromised in truth. But he hadn’t been so intrigued and amused for a very long time. ‘You’re in love with this Harry, I suppose?’
‘He’s my best friend,’ she said simply, her gaze resting on the glass panes behind them. ‘We’re comfortable together and we understand each other.’
‘What, no passionate declarations, or sighs, or sonnets to your eyebrows? I thought all females dreamt of that.’
She shrugged. ‘It might be lovely, I suppose. Or at least my stepsister, who always has her nose in a Minerva Press novel, says so. But I’m not a beauty like Eugenia, the sort of delicate, clinging female who inspires gentlemen to poetry. Harry will marry me when he gets back from India, but that’s no help now.’
‘Why don’t you just contact him about entering into an engagement?’
She sighed. ‘If I’d been thinking rationally at the time, I would have asked him to announce we were affianced before he left for India. But Papa had just died unexpectedly and I …’ her voice trembled for a moment ‘… I wasn’t myself. Not until weeks later, when my stepmother, fearing Harry might never return, began pressing me to marry, did I realise what Papa’s demise would mean to my work and my future. Meanwhile, Stepmama keeps trying to thrust me into society, hoping I will meet another gentleman I might be persuaded to marry. I shall not.’
‘I sympathise—’ and he truly did ‘—with your predicament, Miss Denby. But what of your family, your stepmother and stepsister? Do you not realise that if I were to agree to ruin you, the scandal would devastate them as well? Surely you wouldn’t wish to subject them to that.’
‘If we were discovered embracing in the garden at a London ball during the height of the Season and refused to marry, it might embarrass Stepmother and Eugenia,’ she allowed. ‘But I can’t believe anything that happens here would even be remembered by the time next Season begins. In any event, Eugenia’s a Whitman, not a Denby, so there’ll be no contagion of blood and her dowry is handsome enough to make gentlemen overlook her unfortunate connection of a stepsister. By next Season, any stain on your honour for not marrying a girl you were thought to have compromised would have faded also.’
Max shook his head. ‘I’m afraid you don’t know society at all. So, though I am, ah, honoured that you considered me for your … unusual proposal—’
She chuckled, that unexpected reaction throwing him off the polite farewell he’d been about to utter.
‘It’s rather obvious you were not “honoured”,’ she retorted. ‘But speaking of honour, did you serve with the Foot Guards at Waterloo?’
‘Yes, in a Light Guard unit,’ he replied, wondering where she meant to go now with the conversation.
‘Then you were at Hougoumont,’ she said, nodding. ‘The courage and valour of the warriors who survived that engagement will have earned you many admirers. Once most of the army returns home, you will have supporters aplenty to champion your cause. If you cannot be a diplomat, why not rejoin the service? But while you are lounging about, being naught but a rogue, why not do something useful and rescue me?’
‘Rescue you by ruining you?’ he summarised wryly, shaking his head. ‘What an extraordinary notion.’ But even as the words left his lips, he recalled how he’d told Alastair earlier that he’d be glad if his aborted career were good for something.
Despite the dreadful dress, Miss Denby was an appealing chit, perhaps the most unusual female he’d ever encountered. Spirited and resourceful, too, both factors that tempted him to grant her request, no matter how imprudent. Because despite what she seemed to believe, compromising her would cause an uproar and he would be honour-bound to marry her.
A realisation that should speed him into giving her a firm refusal and sending her away. But as his thoughtful gaze travelled from her hopeful face downwards, he suddenly discovered the hideous dress’s one redeeming feature.
Miss Denby might be a most unusual young woman, but the full, finely rounded bosom revealed by the low-cut bodice of her evening gown was lushly female.
His senses sprang to the alert, flooding his body with sensation and filling his mind with images of ruining her … the scent of orange trees and jasmine washing over them as he tasted her lips … caressing the full breasts straining at her bodice, rubbing his thumb over the pebbled nipples while she moaned with pleasure …
He jerked his thoughts to a halt and his gaze back to her face. She might be startlingly plain-spoken, but she was unquestionably an innocent. Did she have any idea what she was asking, wanting him to compromise her?
Instead of bidding her goodbye, he found himself saying, ‘Miss Denby, do you know what you must do to be ruined?’
Confirming his assessment of her inexperience, she blushed. ‘Being found alone in a compromising position should be enough. You being a gentleman of the world, I thought you would know how to manage that part. As long as you don’t go far enough to get me with child.’
For an instant, he was again speechless. ‘Have you no maidenly sensibility?’ he asked at last.
‘None,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘Mama died giving birth to me. I was my father’s only child and he treated me like the son he never had. I’m more at home in breeches and topboots than in gowns.’ Catching a glimpse of herself reflected in the glass wall, she shuddered. ‘Especially gowns like this.’
He couldn’t help it; his gaze wandered back to that firm, rounded bosom. Despite the better judgement urging him to dismiss her before someone discovered them and the parson’s mousetrap snapped around him, a pesky thought started buzzing around in his mind like a persistent horsefly, telling him that
