Sally MacKenzie Bundle (193 page)

“Oh? And what were you discussing?”

Heavens, Stephen’s voice had an edge to it. What did he think she’d be discussing with the little man? She opened her mouth to tell him to stop being absurd, but the Mouse was already speaking.

“Nothing. Just this and, er, that. I was on the point of leaving, actually. If you’ll excuse me?” The man bobbed his head and darted off through the palms without giving them the opportunity to reply.

Stephen snorted. “What were you doing hiding in the foliage with that rodent, Janey?”

Why did Stephen sound so accusatory? She looked at Lord Motton; he was frowning as well. “I was not hiding with the man. I was standing here, and he came up to speak to me. Things like that happen at a ball.”

“Don’t be saucy with me, sister mine. I know what happens at balls. And let me ask you this—at how many balls have you seen the Mouse?”

“I don’t know. I don’t pay attention to the man. He’s very forgettable.”

“I can tell you how many,” Stephen said. “None. Zero.”

“What do you mean? I see him everywhere.” He’d been in Town for at least as many Seasons as she had.

“Everywhere but balls.” Stephen shot a significant look at Lord Motton. The viscount’s face was carefully blank.

The men obviously knew something they weren’t sharing with her. How annoying. She snapped open her fan. It was getting infernally hot in here. “So are you going to tell me why he doesn’t go to balls?”

Stephen shrugged, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “He doesn’t dance.”

Lord Motton made an odd noise that sounded like a laugh turned into a cough. Jane scowled at them both and plied her fan faster.

“Zeus, Janey, are you trying to start a gale in here? You’re going to blow us clear across the Channel.”

She’d like to blow Stephen
into
the Channel. Perhaps she’d just break her fan over his head. She hated being kept in the dark. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.” Stephen pointed his finger at her. “But here’s something I
am
telling you—stay away from the Mouse.”

Jane pointed her finger back at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s harmless.”

“Oh, no he’s not.” Stephen glared at her.

Lord Motton cleared his throat. “If I may interrupt this little sibling squabble?” He turned to Jane. “I do believe your brother is correct in this case, Miss Parker-Roth. You should most definitely avoid the man.”

“Why?” Trust the men to band together.

“Because,” Lord Motton said, “I have evidence someone—or several someones—are taking a marked interest in Clarence Widmore’s work.”

“Oh?” This was interesting. “Who besides Lord Ardley?”

The viscount looked as though he was grinding his teeth, but Stephen was the one who hissed at her. “
Will
you keep your voice down?”

“What, the palms have ears?” But she did glance behind her. No one looked to be within earshot.

“Precisely.” Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly was the Mouse chatting with you about?”

“Er…” Oh, dear. Perhaps Stephen and Lord Motton did have a point. “Clarence and, well, his drawings.”

“That’s odd. Clarence was a sculptor mainly,” Stephen said.

“Right. But he also drew.” Lord Motton reached into his pocket. “I was looking for you tonight partly to show you this.”

He handed the scrap of paper over to Stephen. Jane tried to steal a look, but Stephen was careful to shield it from her. His eyebrows shot up and he gave a low whistle. “I guess old Clarence did draw once in a while. That’s Ardley and Lady Farthingale.”

“Obviously. And you’ll note this is only part of the full sketch,” Lord Motton said. “There must be other members of the
ton
depicted.”

“Like the Mouse?” Jane asked. That was the only logical explanation for the man’s questions.

Lord Motton nodded. “He’s not in this portion of the drawing, but, yes, it would seem so. Do you have any idea who else might be involved, Stephen?”

“No, sorry. I’ve heard rumors about a new club—well, not new, precisely. More an old club that’s changing. No one will say much—never more than a word or two, and then whoever is speaking stops, looks around, and changes the subject.”

“Damn.” Lord Motton glanced at Jane. “Your pardon, Miss Parker-Roth.”

Jane waved her hand dismissively. “Please, my lord, don’t regard it.”

He smiled briefly and then turned to point something out to Stephen. “What’s that, do you know?”

Jane tried again to see the drawing, but Stephen held it up, out of her sight.

“It’s a rather well-done rendering of
Magnolia grandiflora.
” Stephen handed the sketch back. “Clarence was obviously very talented in a number of areas. He could easily have drawn for
Curtis’s Botanical Magazine
had he wanted to.”

“I see.” Lord Motton put the paper back in his pocket. “And do you happen to know where I could find one of these plants?”

Stephen laughed. “You might try the garden here. Last time I looked, Palmerson had an excellent specimen.”

“Really? Then I think we should—”

“Why, look who’s here!” Lady Lenden came up in a rustle of silk and a choking cloud of lily of the valley, Lady Tarkington behind her. She appeared completely unaware that she had just interrupted the viscount. “Lord Motton and Mr. Parker-Roth! How wonderful. We don’t see enough of you gentlemen, do we, Bella?”

“No, indeed. I believe this is the first time I’ve laid eyes on you two all Season.”

Jane rolled her eyes. It was not as if the women had had many opportunities to encounter Lord Motton and her brother—the Season was barely underway.

Lady Tarkington tapped Stephen on the arm with her fan. “Are you just back from foreign climes with crates full of exotic plants, sir?”

Neither of the women had yet even blinked at Jane. Had she vanished? She looked down. She could still see herself. She reached out to brush one of the palm fronds. It moved. So she hadn’t turned to vapor and disappeared.

“No, Lady Tarkington,” Stephen was saying, “I’ve been here since the Season opened; I suppose our paths just haven’t crossed.”

“Ah, well, we will have to fix that, won’t we, sir?” Lady Tarkington dimpled up at him.

Stephen shrugged. “Unfortunately I leave shortly for Iceland.”

“Oh, dear. What a tragedy! What can we do, Lydia?”

“I don’t know.” Lady Lenden put her hand on Lord Motton’s arm and stroked it. “You aren’t going away as well, are you, Lord Motton?”

Jane had never liked Lady Lenden, but she truly detested her now. The woman had just passed her thirtieth year. She was forty years younger than her husband, the earl, and had done her duty promptly, presenting him with his heir and spare in the first three years of their marriage. She had been amusing herself with other men ever since. It was common knowledge her third child, a daughter, was the product of her liaison with Mr. Addingly.

Lord Motton removed his arm. “Not from London, but I’m afraid I must leave this little group. I was just about to ask Miss Parker-Roth to stand up with me for the next set.” He turned to Jane. “Would you care to dance, Miss Parker-Roth?”

Jane grinned at him. She had lov—admired him for years, but he’d just risen even higher in her estimation. “Why, thank you, yes, my lord. That would be very pleasant.”

“Miss Parker-Roth?” Lady Lenden laughed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you standing there among the palm fronds.”

Was the woman blind? Jane nodded and smiled politely. She could afford to be gracious—she was going to be dancing with Viscount Motton in a moment.

“Yes, Miss Parker-Roth, how nice to see you.” Lady Tarkington had a slight edge to her overly sweet voice. “We made our come-out together, didn’t we? Seven—no, I suppose it’s going on eight Seasons ago, isn’t it?” She laughed. “Dear me, and I’ve been married to Tarkington six years already—how time does fly!” She paused, adopting a vaguely pitying look. “You never did marry, did you?”

A host of replies occurred to Jane, but she realized they would all make her sound like a harridan. She had sisters, though. She knew how to play this game. She smiled as pleasantly as she could. “I haven’t sworn off the wedded state, Lady Tarkington. I just have not been as fortunate as you in finding true love.”

Ha. Tarkington was a fat, old, ugly spider of a man, whose only redeeming feature was his title.

Lady Tarkington’s smile turned brittle. She was clearly trying to think of a suitably caustic rejoinder she could sugarcoat sufficiently so the men wouldn’t notice its acidity. Lady Lenden came to her assistance.

“Time marches on, Miss Parker-Roth, as I’m sure your looking glass has told you. Not all of us can wait for love.”

Jane raised her eyebrows and looked Lady Lenden in the eye. “I know, but I do admire how you’re making the best of things.”

Lady Lenden and Lady Tarkington both sucked in their breath; Stephen turned his sudden bark of laughter into a cough.

Lord Motton smiled briefly. “If you’ll excuse us? I believe the next set is forming.” He took Jane’s hand, placed it on his arm, and directed her toward the dance floor before the ladies could recover from her effrontery.

“Are we actually going to dance?” Miss Parker-Roth looked surprised when they did, indeed, join the couples gathered on the ballroom floor.

“I think it advisable, don’t you? We did tell the ladies that was our intention. No need to further ruffle their feathers.” Ah, excellent. A waltz. He put his hand on her back. She blushed and dropped her eyes to his cravat.

She was such an intriguing mix of fearlessness and timidity. She’d stood up to those two harpies just now without any apparent hesitation, and she’d certainly been brave—and bold—last night. He grinned as they moved through the opening steps. Definitely bold. Could he persuade her to be even bolder?

He glanced over the room—and happened to meet Aunt Winifred’s eye. Damn and blast. He looked away immediately, but the damage had already been done. Winifred was sure to have noted his expression, which, given his thoughts at that particular moment, must have been markedly lascivious.

“I don’t like either of those women,” Jane was saying. “I never have.”

He directed their steps so fat Mr. Clifton and his partner were between them and Aunt Winifred. Were the other aunts lurking about the room somewhere? He’d thought one of their ancient beaus had escorted them to Miss Welton’s musical evening. “They are not especially popular.”

Miss Parker-Roth snorted at his cravat. “Oh, yes they are.”

“Excuse me?”

She finally looked up at him. “Admit it. They are quite popular with the male members of the
ton.
”

He choked back a laugh at Jane’s innocent double entendre. Yes, those particular ladies had had frequent intimate contact with many of the
ton
’s male members, though not his. “Why do you say that?”

She shrugged. “I’ve watched men watch them. As Lady Tarkington so kindly pointed out, I’ve endured more than a few Seasons. You must have noticed Lady Lenden, in particular, has two exceedingly large—”

Miss Parker-Roth’s sense of decorum finally caught up with her tongue. She flushed violently.

He couldn’t resist the temptation. “Yes? Two exceedingly large…?”

She frowned fiercely. “You know.”

“I do?” He’d danced them into a less crowded spot where they were less likely to be overheard.

“Yes. You
are
male.”

“Ah.” He was suddenly feeling exceedingly male—almost painfully male—and the sensation had nothing to do with Lady Lenden or Lady Tarkington. “But I confess I’m not entirely certain what you’re getting at. Two arms? Eyes? Br—”

“Yes!”

“—ows?”

“No!” She blew out a sharp, short breath. “You are being purposefully obtuse.”

“I am?” Miss Parker-Roth was just about emitting sparks.

He had a sudden overwhelming desire to see what kind of sparks the lady could emit in his bedchamber…in his bed…

Oh, Zeus. Aunt Winifred was arguing with Aunt Gertrude and gesturing in his direction. He swung Miss Parker-Roth through a turn that put them behind a sturdy pillar.

“Yes, you are,” Miss Parker-Roth was saying. “I have brothers, Lord Motton. I am familiar with the male thought processes. John may not show much interest in females unless one is speaking of botany, but Stephen…” She rolled her eyes. “You know Stephen is called the King of Hearts.”

“He
is
a very accomplished card player.” And his skill with cards was one reason he’d got that nickname. Motton was not going to discuss any other possible reasons for the moniker with Stephen’s sister.

Miss Parker-Roth gave him a very long, skeptical look. He smiled blandly back at her. It was past time to redirect the conversation.

“Miss Parker-Roth, I assure you I am not an admirer of either lady—nor is Stephen, for that matter.”

“Then why did they come rushing up to you like that?”

“Hmm. That is an interesting question.” Why
had
the women sought him out? He could understand them looking for Stephen, even though Stephen had long ago made it clear he did not dally with married women. Stephen
was
the King of Hearts. Women found him devilishly attractive for some reason. But women, as a rule, did not flock to Viscount Motton. Oh, he’d had the occasional pleasant liaison, but he’d never had Stephen’s success. And he’d never been interested in furthering his acquaintance with ladies of the
ton.

A young cub and his giggling partner galloped toward them, and he pulled Jane close to avoid a collision. Her breasts brushed his waistcoat; he breathed in a light scent of lemons. His unruly cock responded immediately.

The music had better not end soon. Aunt Winifred’s eagle eye would be sure to note the bulge in his breeches.

Apparently, too apparently at the moment, he was now interested—very interested—in furthering his acquaintance with one particular lady of the
ton.

“I don’t know why they accosted us.” Perhaps he was wrong; perhaps it was only Stephen they’d been seeking. He glanced over at the palms. Stephen had left—probably to lighten some peers’ pockets in the card room—but the women were still there, talking furiously to each other, their lips shielded by their fans, their eyes…