If that weren’t bad enough, he was also a bloody marquess now, and a wealthy one, at that. Dunwitty was everything a proper gentleman should be, what every young lady longed for.
Would it be so surprising if, given the choice between him and Dunwitty, Rose preferred Dunwitty?
But she’d kissedhim, cried out forhim, gazed up at him with her pink lips curved in that secret smile, and her beautiful green eyes hazy with desire. She’d touched him with such sweetness yesterday, such tenderness, and she’d fallen apart so beautifully in his arms.
Surely, that must mean something? Rose wasn’t the sort of lady who’d give herself to a man she didn’t care for. But would she still care for him, once she found out what he’d done?
“I see you understand me, Grantham.”
Max jerked his attention back to Dunwitty. “Perfectly, yes, but I’m not entirely certain you understandme. As you said, my reputation for ruthlessness is well known. I’m not the sort of gentleman you want as your enemy, Dunwitty.”
“It’s Oxenden now. And I don’t take orders from you, Grantham.”
Such arrogance. Max could almost admire it.
Dunwitty rose from his chair, but he paused at the door. “I’m leaving for Oxfordshire early tomorrow, to see to my grandfather’s affairs. But I will attend your ball tonight, Grantham, and Iwilldance with Miss St. Claire.”
“Just dance with her?” He didn’t like the sound of that. Just the thought of Rose in Dunwitty’s arms made bile crawl up his throat. But he’d endure it, and the next day, Dunwitty would be gone.
Dunwitty smiled. “That’s up to Miss St. Claire.”
* * *
There was an entire floor between Rose’s bedchamber and the ballroom, but the echo of laughter reached her as soon as she stepped into the corridor, coaxing a smile to her lips.
The Christmas Eve ball was to take place this evening. The guests were decorating the ballroom with the garlands they’d gathered on their sleigh ride this morning, and Grantham Lodge was positively shaking with the tumult.
Was there anything more pleasing than laughter at Christmastime?
Oh, dear. That was dreadfully sentimental of her, but such merriment put her in mind of the Christmases they’d had at Hammond Court.
If anyone had told her Grantham Lodge would be a scene of such an explosion of Christmas cheer, she wouldn’t have believed a word of it, but this house wasn’t at all the cold, joyless place she’d first thought it was.
It had been alonelyplace, that was all. Now it wasn’t any longer.
She closed her bedchamber door and made her way down the stairs to the ballroom, pausing in the doorway to take in the scene unfolding before her, breathing deeply of the fresh, clean scent of the pine boughs.
It was every bit as chaotic as it sounded.
As far as the garlands, Max had been as good as his word. At his direction, they’d all risen early this morning and gathered in the entryway, still blinking the sleep from their eyes, to find three handsome sleighs waiting for them in the drive, the horses pawing at the ground, and the bells on their harnesses jingling.
They’d set off into a glorious morning, with blue skies above, and the sunrise gilding the new snow a pale pink. They spent all morning gathering greenery, then returned early in the afternoon to sit down to a splendid luncheon. Afterward, Rose had gone upstairs to rest before the ball, but she hadn’t wanted to miss the decorating.
Everyone was here, all of them talking at once, and the ballroom was already half-smothered in greenery. It was rather a mess, to be honest, but everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, and joyous occasions often were messy, weren’t they?
No one had noticed her yet, so she allowed herself to linger in the doorway for a bit, searching for a tall, broad-shouldered figure with wavy dark hair. She found him at once, as she always seemed to do these days, as if her heart were leading her gaze directly to him.
Romantic nonsense, yes, but the truth was, there might be a wild boar running loose in the ballroom, and Max would still be the first thing she saw when she opened the door.
He was standing near the fireplace, helping a group of ladies tie bits of gold thread to the ends of what looked like dozens of kissing balls, the clumsiness of his big hands on the delicate bundles causing peals of laughter to ring out from that corner of the room.
Lady Emily was by his side, smiling coquettishly up at him, her dark eyelashes fluttering, and Rose’s heart sank. Perhaps it would be best if she returned to her bedchamber and spent the rest of the afternoon contemplating her own foolishness in kissing a duke who’d made no secret of the fact that he was considering a betrothal to another lady.
But just as she was about to scurry out the door, a feminine voice called out to her. “Rose! Do come and help us with these boughs, won’t you? I’m afraid we’re making a mess of them.”
She glanced back to find Francesca and Prue beckoning her over. They were seated on a settee, a mountain of greenery on the floor beside them, and both of them were nearly buried in pine boughs.
“Thank goodness you’re here!” Prue waved a helpless hand at the pile of greenery in her lap. “However did we end up with so many boughs, Franny? For pity’s sake, what am I meant to do with them all?”
