Sally MacKenzie Bundle (6 page)

“Of course not, my lady.”

“There’s no ‘of course’ about it. I sincerely doubt Lord Westbrooke is a eunuch.”

“What?”
Lizzie sat up abruptly, causing the contents of the chamber pot to slosh dangerously. Robbie a eunuch? She didn’t completely understand the specifics but—the image of Robbie as he had appeared the night before flashed into her mind. No sultan would put such a man in charge of his harem.

Betty’s face had turned a dark purple, rivaling the puce in Lady Bea’s gown.

“Ye can’t mean—”

“I most certainly can. Surely the rumors flying through this house party have reached your ears—wherever those ears were resting last night.”

An uncomfortable silence greeted this statement. Lizzie squeezed her eyes shut. Lady Bea could not be suggesting…

Her stomach twisted again. Sarah had been queasy in the mornings with her pregnancies.

The room started to spin. Someone—Meg?—took the chamber pot from her hands and pushed her head down between her knees.

Surely she could not be with child? There must be more to the process than merely touching hands or the entire female populace would be increasing. True, Robbie had not been wearing gloves….

A slightly hysterical giggle bubbled up in her chest. No, he had not been wearing gloves.

“Lizzie!” Lizzie cringed as Meg’s voice hissed in her ear. “What
have
you been up to?”

Lizzie grunted. Perhaps if she closed her eyes and kept them closed, everyone would go away. She buried her face in her hands for good measure. This was a dream, that was it. A bad, bad dream. She would wake up in a few moments, shudder, and get on with her day.

“Don’t think you can hide from me.” Meg’s voice was still buzzing in her ear like an annoying insect. “I mean to find out exactly what happened in here last night.”

“Mmphft.”

Meg laughed. “And don’t think you can hide from Lady Bea, either. She looks very determined.”

She sounded very determined also.

“You may go, Betty, but I shall have more to say to you later. And take that disgusting chamber pot away—
far
away—and dispose of it.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Lizzie kept her face in her hands. She heard Betty leave the room. There was a long pause. She began to wonder if the gods had smiled on her and she’d been left to suffer in solitude. Well, not complete solitude. Meg had not left her place on the bed next to her. But perhaps Lady Bea had departed?

She lifted her head cautiously. No. Lady Beatrice was still there, scowling at her.

“Would you like to explain what exactly is going on, Lady Elizabeth?”

Oh dear. She felt as if she were fourteen, being called on the carpet by her brother for some infraction.

No, that was ridiculous. She was twenty years old, a woman grown. This was her fourth Season. A lady of her age and experience did not need a chaperone, and certainly should not be cowering in fear of a dressing-down. Lady Bea was more of a companion really, an older woman to satisfy society’s strict notions of propriety.

Lizzie straightened her spine, took a sustaining breath, and looked Lady Bea in the eye.

Her stomach clenched immediately. She dropped her gaze to stare at her hands.

“Uh. I think…I believe…I’m just not accustomed to…”

“I should hope you are not accustomed to such activities, miss. I can’t imagine what your brother will say. The least you could have done was gotten Westbrooke’s betrothal ring on your finger before you got his—”

“Lady Beatrice, I believe you are laboring under a misapprehension.”

“Oh? And what would that misapprehension be? Are you prepared to tell me that Lord Westbrooke has nothing to do with your current malaise?”

“Yes. Definitely. It is all my own doing.” Lizzie cleared her throat. “Last night, well, I believe I had one glass of ratafia too many.”

“Hmph.”

Lady Beatrice stared at her, most directly at her stomach. Lizzie placed her hands over that area and tried to breathe slowly.

“You are
positive
your current indisposition has nothing to do with a certain lord?”

“
Yes!
” Lizzie took another deep breath and struggled to recover her composure. “Yes, indeed. Most assuredly. Lord Westbrooke’s presence—”

Meg made a very unusual noise, something between a squeak and a whoop. Lizzie and Lady Bea both turned to stare at her. Meg grinned back at them.

“So Robbie was actually in your room last night, Lizzie? I had heard the rumors, but I hadn’t believed them. How splendid! Not that I’m really surprised, though I would have thought he’d have chosen a more conventional setting for his proposal. When is the wedding?”

“Uh.”

“Yes, miss, when
is
the wedding?” Lady Bea frowned so that her brows met over her nose. “While it is fortunate that Lord Westbrooke apparently restrained his animal urges, the fact remains that he was here in your bedchamber.”

Lizzie studied her fingernails. “Robbie did not propose.”

“What?”
Meg’s voice squeaked with indignation. “What do you mean, he didn’t propose? He
must
have proposed! You’ve loved him forever. And he loves you. How could he not have asked you to be his countess? Why else would he have sought you out in your room?”

Lizzie blinked at Meg. Robbie loved her? Where had Meg gotten that notion? Lizzie had hoped—prayed—for years that he did—that he would—but when she was being completely honest with herself, she had to admit he didn’t treat her much differently than her brother did. Meg must be confusing that brotherly sentiment with the kind of love Lizzie wanted—romantic love. Kisses-and-wedding love.

“He didn’t seek me out, exactly. His being here was more of an accident.”

“An accident? How could Robbie have come to your room by accident?” Meg scowled. “Surely he wasn’t looking for some other lady’s room?”

Lady Bea snorted. “Fleeing more like—and from his own room. It is too bad Lord Needham won’t rein in his daughter, but then that would require him to drag himself out of his brothels and gambling dens, wouldn’t it? Lady Felicity is far from the dirtiest dish in the Brookton cupboard.”

Lizzie nodded. She reminded herself of that fact whenever she wanted to strangle the other girl. The Earl of Needham was a large pill for any prospective suitor to swallow. True, the earl’s vast wealth had to make marriage to his daughter more palatable, but the embarrassment of having a father-in-law in trade—and such a trade—had made many a man choke on his proposal. It didn’t help that Felicity refused to consider any matrimonial applicants below her father’s rank.

“Be that as it may, miss, you cannot entertain naked men in your room and not promptly attire your finger with an engagement ring.”

Meg squeaked again. She was becoming a regular mouse.

“Robbie was
naked?”

“Well…yes.” Lizzie feared she would spontaneously combust from mortification. “In a manner of speaking, that is.”

“Hmm.” Lady Bea’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “And how can a gentleman be naked
in a manner of speaking?
”

Lizzie would not meet the older woman’s eyes. “It was dark.”
After Robbie snuffed the candles.
“I really didn’t see….”
Enough.

Lady Bea narrowed her eyes. “Immaterial. He was naked and in your room. He has to wed you. I am astounded that he did not propose the moment the door closed behind me. If word of this gets out—”

“Word won’t get out.”

“Word
always
gets out. Granted, only Lord Peter saw Westbrooke enter your window, and I suppose it could be argued he was mistaken since no one actually witnessed the earl with you, but still, as they say, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

Meg nodded. “And Felicity will stoke the flames.”

“No, I don’t believe she will in this case.” Lady Bea arranged her ample form in the upholstered chair by the fireplace. “She clearly wants Westbrooke for herself—just as he clearly does not want her. I expect he will offer for you this morning, Lizzie, so you must get dressed and go out. One would hope that he would address me first, as I am your chaperone, but given the fact that he has known you since infancy and is one of your brother’s closest friends, I doubt he will stand on ceremony.”

Lizzie rubbed her suddenly wet palms on her nightgown.

“Do you really think he will offer for me?”

“How can he not? He has compromised you quite spectacularly. Of course he will offer. He is probably searching the estate for you now.”

The thought of Robbie looking for her made her feel amazingly better.

Damn.

Robbie dodged behind a topiary bear. He’d taken a brisk walk around Lendal Park, searching for his equilibrium. He still had a number of days to live through this blasted house party. He couldn’t be trying to strangle Tynweith’s guests every time they mentioned Lizzie’s name—though Lord Peter had done far more than that. He forced his fists to relax. Every time he thought of the scene in the breakfast parlor, he wanted to hit something, preferably Lord Peter’s face. He would love to reorder his features. He would be doing the women of the world a favor, making Lord Peter’s countenance reflect the ugliness of his character.

He’d hoped to make it back to the house without encountering anyone wishing to discuss last night’s unusual activities, and here was Lizzie, not twenty feet away, examining an oddly shaped bush. Sunlight filtered through her thin muslin gown, outlining her long legs.
God.
He rubbed suddenly damp palms on his breeches. Muslin should be outlawed or at least restricted to darkened areas, free of revealing sunbeams.

He had not slept well. He’d been haunted by dreams of Lizzie’s white skin, her lovely small breasts and delicate pink nipples, her golden hair—
all
of it, curling over her shoulders, around her breasts, sweeping the curve of her lower back…and the separate patch nestling between her thighs.

He was going to spill his seed in Tynweith’s blasted garden if he didn’t think of something else immediately.

Escape. That was it. He needed to get back to his room undetected. He’d chosen this route because it went through one of the less popular gardens—Tynweith had actually discouraged the ladies from exploring it, telling them it was not suitable for their finer sensibilities. Why hadn’t Lizzie taken the hint and avoided the place?

He would just have to choose a circuitous route to his room. He peered around the other side of the bear.

Double damn. Lady Felicity, hands on hips, scanned the hedges. Her nostrils flared.

God, was she a hound that she could sniff him out?

What was so bloody attractive about the shrubbery today? This garden was sadly overgrown. The bear he was hiding behind, for instance. It definitely needed a trimming. Just look at…

Robbie’s jaw dropped. The bear was not a bear at all, but a very large woman. A very large, very enceinte, very naked woman doing some very odd things with her bushy fingers.

Tynweith’s gardener was clearly demented. Well, Tynweith had an odd kick to his gallop as well. Why Lady Beatrice accepted this house party invitation was beyond him.

Felicity was headed his way. He felt a sudden affinity for Odysseus, forced to sail between Scylla and Charybdis. Well, it was clear who the six-headed monster was. And really, he’d be happy to be sucked into a certain whirlpool.

He left the shelter of the obscene bear woman.

“Lizzie.” He kept his voice low. Felicity probably had preternatural hearing. “Walk with me, will you?” He grabbed her elbow and tried to hustle her away from disaster.

“Robbie!” She smiled widely up at him. “Have you been looking for me?”

“Uh…” He smiled back, thinking quickly. Clearly the answer was supposed to be yes. She would not be happy to hear the truth—that he had wanted to sneak past her. “Actually, I didn’t expect to find you here. Didn’t Tynweith discourage you ladies from exploring this garden?”

She shrugged. “I suppose he did. I got a bit lost and wandered in the wrong direction, I guess. But I found you.” She grinned.

God, she was beautiful, especially when she was practically glowing up at him like this. But he couldn’t stand here admiring her. Felicity would find them in a moment. True, Lizzie’s presence would put paid to any compromising plans Felicity might harbor, but he didn’t care to spend any time in that she-devil’s company.

“Yes. Well. Tynweith was correct. This is not an appropriate place for you. Come along.”

Lizzie didn’t move.

“This
is
a very odd garden. Can you tell me what this topiary is designed to depict? I’ve been studying it for the last five minutes and I cannot puzzle it out.”

“Oh, for—” They were running out of time. He could almost feel Felicity breathing down his neck. He looked at the bush. “It’s a dog.”

“Well, yes, I discerned that. But what’s it doing? What’s that part there?”

“That? That’s, uh, that’s…”
Bloody hell!
“That’s not something you should be looking at. Now come along.” He tugged on her elbow again, and this time she came with him, though she kept looking back at the lascivious vegetation.

“Why are you in such a hurry?”

“Shh. Felicity is just on the other side of that hedge.”

“Not anymore.”

“Blast!” Sure enough, Felicity was back by the pregnant bear creature. She was looking the other way—perhaps she had not seen them yet. There was a slight break in the foliage just up ahead. “Hurry.”

Robbie dragged Lizzie through a gap in the hedge. She tripped on a root, and he caught her against his chest, holding her tightly and turning so her dress would not draw Felicity’s attention to their hiding place.

They were in a small bower with just enough room for two people to stand close together. Very close together.

Robbie breathed in Lizzie’s light, lemony scent mixed with sunlight and vegetation. Her body was so soft against his. Her breasts. Her thighs. His hands smoothed over her bottom, pulling her toward him. He wanted her close. His palms moved up her sides, slid to her back.