The Naked Viscount (12 page)

Damn it, her stomach was fluttering again. “Flirting with me will stir up the gossips, you know.”

“I hope it does. I want to throw Satan and his hounds off our scent, so they think we are together simply to enjoy each other's company.”

Jane clutched Lord Motton's sleeve. “Do you see the man who was following us? Is he still there?” She started to turn her head to look, but he stopped her.

“Tsk, Miss Parker-Roth, please remember—you're supposed to have eyes only for me.” He lifted her hand and kissed it, effectively sending all thoughts out of her head. “Don't worry. I have my people on the watch for trouble.”

“I'd feel more confident if I knew whom I needed to avoid. I—”

Edmund brushed a strand of hair off her face. “You'd probably stare at the fellow so intently even a blind man would know it. I think it safer if Satan thinks our association is purely romantic—which he will not do if you go searching behind every painting and potted plant for a villain.”

She took a deep breath. “All right, you may have a point.”

“Of course I have a point.” He started walking toward the entrance. “One reason I wanted to attend this exhibition was to have society—and Satan—see us together. The sooner the
ton
take note of my courtship, the better.”

“Ah.” Courtship. Blast it, now her heart was behaving erratically as well. This was all playacting—she must remember that.

“And the added advantage of this particular excursion is it starts people thinking we are interested in art, so they won't remark on it when we visit the Harley Street gallery. I spoke to your mother this morning and learned it is only open on Thursdays.”

“I see.” Did Mama think Lord Motton was courting her daughter? Oh, dear. That could be very awkward. “Did Mama find your question, er, odd?”

He shrugged. “Not that I could discern. She's an artist. I assume she thinks everyone should want to tour any available gallery.”

“But…she didn't find it remarkable that you would be interested in escorting me?”

“Hmm. You know, I'm not sure I mentioned you.”

Of course he hadn't. He was a man. Men, in her experience, didn't mention lots of interesting details, and the details they did mention often weren't interesting at all. It wasn't as if he needed Mama's permission to escort her. She was twenty-four—not a young debutante. “Where was my mother this morning, by the by? She certainly wasn't in the breakfast room helping me stave off your aunts!”

He laughed. “She's wilier than you—or perhaps just more experienced with my aunts. She had chocolate in her bedchamber. I caught her in the corridor shortly before we left—perhaps when you were fetching your bonnet.”

Just as Jane had suspected. “That is what I am going to do tomorrow.”

“I'm not sure that would be wise. If you do, I'll wager Aunt Winifred will remark on your absence and point out your room is right next to mine—”

“She wouldn't!”

“She would. And she'd go further to remind all the aunts that the key to the connecting door has been lost for years.”

“It has?” Damn, she knew she was blushing. She cleared her throat. “So the door is locked?”

Edmund's lips slid into a slow smile. “Oh, no. It's unlocked. Permanently.”

“Ah.” So the viscount could come into her room—and she into his—at any time and no one would know. She shivered.

How was she ever going to get any sleep?

“Cold?”

“Oh, no. I'm fine.” She hoped she wasn't blushing again.

He smiled, but thankfully didn't comment. They'd reached the entrance, and Motton handed the old man at the door their admission fees.

“Thank ye, milord.” The man grinned, revealing a large gap where a few of his teeth were missing. “Iffin I may say so, yer lordship, yer lady's portrait could be 'ung 'ere, she's that lovely.”

He slipped the fellow an extra coin for the compliment. “I couldn't agree more.”

They strolled into the big room. The light streaming in from the high windows cast a halo around Jane's figure and burnished her rich brown hair, making the red in it gleam. The man at the door had been right—Jane was beautiful. Someone should paint her portrait and hang it on the walls here.

Though perhaps not here. Here the walls were infernally cluttered, as usual. Paintings were hung from rafters to floor with no space between them to slip a shilling edgewise.

“You know that man just wanted the vail, don't you?” Jane asked.

“Hmm?” Her eyes were the same shade as her hair. How had he not noticed that before?

“I'm sure he must say that to any male he thinks he can gull, even those escorting the veriest crone.” She snorted. “Actually, now I see he spoke the complete truth. Look at the woman in that portrait. She must be eighty if she's a day—and she couldn't have been attractive in her youth.”

He took Jane by the elbow and turned her to face him. “I will not have you denigrating yourself. The man was completely correct. You
are
lovely.”

Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened—and then she blushed and laughed. “You're blind, my lord.”

He shook her arm slightly. “No,
you're
blind, Jane.”

She shook her head and looked away. “You're the only one ever to say I'm at all out of the ordinary.”

“Am I, Jane, or am I the only one to insist you hear me? Has no man told you how beautiful you are?”

She snorted. “My brothers surely never have.”

“Of course they haven't—they're your brothers. But you've survived all those Seasons—you can't persuade me not a single man has complimented you.”

“Well…perhaps, but it was idle flattery. I am quite aware I am not a diamond of the first water, my lord.”

“You are not in the common way, that's true, but you
are
lovely.” For some reason it was important to him she believe his words. “I would not say so if I didn't think it. I do not deal in Spanish coin.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks were very red. Good. “Well, er, thank you then.” She was obviously uncomfortable accepting the compliment, but at least she did so, albeit grudgingly. “Now come look at this painting with such a very amusing cat.”

He followed her from painting to painting, commenting on any that caught her attention, but giving them hardly more than a cursory look. He was far more interested in Jane, in her changing expressions, the range of emotion in her voice, the play of light over her hair.

He forced himself to pay some attention to their surroundings. He couldn't rule out the possibility that one of the other gallery visitors was a threat. Thankfully, the room wasn't crowded. A scattering of people sat on benches to study the paintings hung near the floor or to rest their sore feet; two men in a corner passionately debated the brush technique in a portrait of an old woman; another fellow trained his quizzing glass on a landscape featuring a shepherd, a sheep, and a mostly naked nymph. Motton's men, stationed around the room, tried to blend in and look more interested in the paintings than the people.

A woman came in with two small children, a girl of about seven and a boy who could not be much older than five. It was immediately apparent to everyone present that she'd made an extreme error in judgment in selecting the exhibition as a suitable outing for her charges.

“I wanna go to the park.” The boy did not bother to lower his voice.

“Yes, dear, but we went to the park yesterday.”

“I wanna go to the park!” The volume increased. The boy crossed his arms and stuck out his lower lip.

“But I've already paid our admission, dear. Now come look at this darling kitty.”

The boy planted his feet solidly in place. Nothing and no one was going to move him. “I hate kitties. I wanna go to the
park.
”

At this point the young girl joined the fray to ill effect. “You are such a baby, Oliver.”

“Oh, dear,” Jane murmured. “I'd offer to help, but…”

“Indeed.” Motton eyed young Master Oliver. The lad's face was rapidly assuming the hue of a ripe apple. “Nothing is going to help this situation except departure—either theirs or ours.”

“I am
not
a baby!” Oliver had an excellent set of lungs.

“You are!” The girl put her hands on her hips and chanted, “Baby Oliver, Baby Oliver.”

Oliver yelled and lunged, grabbing a fistful of the girl's hair; she shrieked and burst into tears; their mother, if that was who the older female was, merely wrung her hands and tried to make soothing noises.

“Now, Oliver, dear, do stop that. We'll go to the park next. Juliet, sweetheart, you know ladies don't scream…”

“I am going to scream if we don't go now,” Motton muttered. Jane gurgled as if she was repressing a laugh while he directed her toward the exit. Most of the other visitors had the same idea.

“That poor woman was overwhelmed,” Jane said as they stepped back into the sunshine. “But I suspect she has spoiled those children terribly.”

“Or perhaps they are just evil little beggars.” Where was his carriage? He consulted his watch. They'd stayed a far shorter time than he'd planned. Jem should be back with the coach in five or ten minutes; in the meantime it was a beautiful day for a short stroll. He put his watch back and started down the walkway with Jane on his arm.

She tilted her face up to catch the sun. “Oh, no, I don't believe they are evil.”

“You don't?” He considered her. “You're a disciple of Monsieur Rousseau and John Dryden then?” He snorted. “Noble savages. I'll grant you those children were savages, but I have serious doubts about the noble part.”

Jane shrugged. “All children have their disagreeable moments.”

“Ah, but do they ever have any agreeable ones?”

“Of course.”

They walked along in silence. Motton contemplated the notion of children. He had to have at least one—an heir—but, frankly, children made him nervous. He had no experience with them.

He watched an elderly woman cross the street.

Children had made his mother nervous, too. No, not children—him. An active young boy was far too upsetting to her delicate constitution. And his father? His father had felt his job was done once Motton had successfully taken his first breath.

But Jane…She had brothers and sisters. And her parents, unlike his, seemed to enjoy their progeny.

What would it be like having children with Jane?

“What's that noise?” Jane asked.

“What?” He listened. There was a rattling behind them. More than a rattling now—a rumble. It was getting closer…

He whirled around. A man on a bright yellow dandy-horse, one of those damn newfangled velocipedes, was hurtling down the walk straight at them.

“I don't know why you had to grab me like that. We must have presented quite the spectacle, sprawling on the ground.” Jane allowed Lord Motton to lift her down from the carriage.

She was a mess. Her bonnet was squashed sideways and her hair was halfway down her back; her dress was muddied; her hem, torn; and her gloves would simply have to be thrown out. Lord Motton was not in much better sartorial shape. “I don't know what my mother and your aunts are going to say. It looks as if we've been wrestling in the dirt.” Which they had been.

Thank God the day wasn't windy or her skirts might well have been up around her ears. As it was, the London passersby were treated to a shocking display of ankle and, yes, leg.

“The man was going to hit you, Jane.” Lord Motton sounded slightly sulky. Oh, dear.

“I know, my lord. I'm sorry to be ripping up at you so. You were very kind to watch out for me.” Jane couldn't keep a little testiness from creeping into her voice. This had been one of her favorite bonnets. “But I believe I could have stepped out of the way to safety by myself.”

Lord Motton frowned. “I'm not certain of that. This was not a case of a runaway dandy-horse. That fellow was aiming at you.”

“Now, don't be ridicu—”

“I am not being ridiculous. Did you note he kept going? He never paused to inquire about your welfare or render assistance.”

“Well, of course he didn't stop—he couldn't. That was rather the heart of the problem.”

“I don't think so.” He escorted her up the walk to the front door. “In fact, I wonder if that woman with the beastly children wasn't part of the plot.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, now you truly are allowing your imagination to run wild. It was just an unfortunate mishap. You know the sudden prevalence of these dandy-horses is leading to a number of pedestrian accidents. Surely you've read about it in the papers.”

“Yes, but—”

The door swung open. Williams stood there, looking far from his usual precise self—apparently sartorial disaster was in the air. The butler sounded little like himself either.

“Oh, my lord, I am”—he coughed and obviously tried to get himself under better control—“it is fortunate you have returned. There is an Incident in progress involving the Animals.”

“Oh? And I assume Aunt Winifred's monkey is at the center of it?”

“Indeed, my lord. I—”

A tremendous crash emanated from the drawing room, quickly followed by a chorus of barking and shouting. A large orange cat shot out of the room and across the entry, followed by Edmund's aunt Cordelia moving faster than Jane would have thought possible.

“Come here, Kumquat, love.” Cordelia smiled briefly as she caught sight of them. She pushed her cap back out of her eyes. “Hallo, Miss Parker-Roth. Edmund, you might wish to look into the drawing room, especially if you have any knickknacks there you value. Winifred's monkey is at it again.” She frowned at their clothes. “Or have you already been in? I don't believe I saw you there.”

“We just got home,” Edmund said. “But I shall attend to the, er, situation immediately.”

“That is a very wise idea. Kumquat and I are going to retire to our room until things calm down—that is, if I can find Kumquat. She does not care for such hurly-burly goings-on.” She pushed her cap back again. “Please excuse me.”

Cordelia hurried off in Kumquat's wake, while Edmund, muttering under his breath, headed for the drawing room.

“If I might be so bold as to say so, Miss Parker-Roth, you might wish to follow Miss Cordelia's example,” Williams said, “and retire to your room until the Incident is over.”

Jane smiled reassuringly, she hoped. “Thank you, Mr. Williams, but I believe I'll go along and see if I can be of help.” With luck no one would notice that her attire was at sixes and sevens
before
she entered the room, and so would attribute her dishevelment to whatever was occurring there.

She cracked the door open and was met with a blast of sound—barking, screeching, squawking, and shouting. She slipped inside just as Edmund yelled, “Silence!”

This worked on the women and even the dogs and parrot, but had no effect on the monkey. It screeched at Edmund from the mantel and then picked up a small porcelain dragon and flung it at his head. Edmund caught it.

“I say, well done!”

“Shut up, Theo.” The viscount didn't even glance Theo's way.

“Edmund, your language!” Gertrude glared at him.

“But Theo is correct,” Winifred said, clapping. “That
was
well done. An excellent catch.”

“What I
want
to catch is your blood—”

“Edmund!” Gertrude said. “There are ladies present.”

“—blasted monkey.”

“And speaking of the presence of ladies, you are presenting a dreadfully shabby appearance.” Gertrude frowned. “Why is your coat torn?” Her frown deepened. “And you have mud on your boots and breeches.”

“I must say”—Mama had strolled over to whisper to Jane—“life is never dull in Lord Motton's household.”

“Not when the aunts are in residence at least.”

“It quite takes me back to when all you children were young.”

Jane grinned. “And you never let us have a monkey.”

Mama gestured at the destruction around them. “For obvious reasons.”

The room did look as if a whirlwind had passed through it. Three occasional tables lay on their sides, figurines and other trinkets spilled over the carpet, and an upended footstool rested on its cushion, legs in the air like a dead bug. A shepherdess's head lay by Jane's foot; she bent to pick it up and saw its headless body under a loveseat. She righted one of the tables and put the shepherdess pieces together.

Diana barked one more time and then returned to her place at Louisa's feet, apparently of the opinion Lord Motton could handle the situation without her help. Helter and Skelter, however, had recovered their usual exuberance and were leaping about, yapping as if Edmund had never spoken.

Theo squawked, flapping his wings. “That's the way, lads. Show the little bug—”

“Theo!” Lord Motton and Winifred shouted at the same time.

Theo snapped his beak shut and dropped his head. “Aw, Theo's sorry. Theo's sorry.”

The monkey, now swinging from the curtains, was wearing a red leather leash around its middle. If it could be lured close enough, it could be captured relatively easily.

“Aunt Dorothea,” Lord Motton shouted over the din, “I think matters would be improved if you'd take your dogs elsewhere.”

“That's what I was telling her before you arrived, Edmund.” Louisa stroked Diana's head. “They even provoked Diana to raise her voice.”

“Your precious Diana would have barked at the demmed demented monkey even if Helter and Skelter hadn't, and you know it.” Dorothea glared at Louisa.

Louisa glared back at her sister. “I know no such thing. Diana is a perfectly behaved lady, aren't you, beautiful?” She made kissing motions at the greyhound, and Diana licked her face.

“You know, Jane,” Mama said, “I love my daughters, but I was always glad I didn't have all girls.”

Jane heard a scratching on the door and opened it. Mr. Williams stood there, a cut-up apple on a tray.

“Cook believes the beast might be lured into captivity with food,” he said.

“Excellent idea.” Jane took the tray and closed the door. “Lord Motton, your cook has sent up some treats to entice the monkey closer.”

“Treats?” Theo flapped his wings. “Theo likes treats.”

“Don't you dare.” Lord Motton scowled at Theo and then strode over to take the tray from Jane. “Thank you.” He turned back to his aunts. “Dorothea and Louisa, I must ask you and your dogs to leave. Now.”

“But—” Dorothea began.

“Edmund—” Louisa said.

“Now!” Lord Motton's tone brooked no arguments.

“Oh, very well, but I don't see why I have to leave.” Louisa sniffed. “Diana is not creating a rumpus like Dorothea's animals.”

Edmund just stared at Louisa, brows raised. She stared back, then blew out a short, sharp breath and departed with her greyhound, their noses tilted in the air at identical angles.

Getting Helter and Skelter out the door took a good deal more effort, but finally they and Dorothea left as well.

“Thank God,” Lord Motton said as the door shut behind them. “Now, let us see if we can capture this beast.”

“I don't know why you don't call him by his name, Edmund,” Winifred said.

The viscount merely glared at his aunt.

Mama leaned over to murmur in Jane's ear. “What is the animal's name?”

“Edmund.”

“Pardon me?”

“You heard correctly, Mama. Miss Smyth named her pet after the viscount.”

“Oh.”

“Here, Aunt,” Lord Motton said as he handed the tray with the apples to Winifred. “I imagine the monkey is most likely to come to you.”

Winifred wrinkled her brow. “Yes, of course, but he does sometimes take exception to Theo.”

“Then give the bird to Edmund.” Gertrude wrinkled her nose. “His attire is in such deplorable disarray, a few feathers—or worse—won't make a difference.”

“That's a splendid idea. Here, Theo, go to Edmund now.”

Lord Motton's expression was somewhere between disgusted and appalled. “Can't you just put the parrot on the back of a chair?”

“I don't ‘put' Theo anywhere; Theo chooses to alight where he wishes.” Winifred looked at Lord Motton quite reproachfully and then turned to the parrot. “I know Edmund is not being terribly hospitable at the moment, Theo, but I do need you to move to his shoulder, if you would be so kind.”

“Awk,” Theo said, fluttering over to land on Lord Motton. He examined the viscount through one eye and then the other. “Scurvy dog.”

Lord Motton was moved to reply, “Anytime you'd care to leave, I shall be happy to show you the door.”

Winifred laughed as Edmund the monkey leapt down to grab an apple slice. She grabbed his leash. “The moment you find a wife, Edmund, you can wave a fond farewell to all your aunties.” She turned to wink at Jane. “So I suggest you not waste any time.”

 

Jane waltzed around Lord Easthaven's ballroom with Baron Wolfson. Apparently Lord Motton's interest in her at the Palmerson ball had woken the
ton
's male bottom-dwellers to her charms. The decrepit, the spotted, the corseted, the padded—they were all desirous of dancing with Miss Parker-Roth. She had not sat out a single set.

To be fair, she had also danced with Lord Motton and a few other presentable gentlemen, but the bulk of her partners had been like Baron Wolfson—far from prime catches on the Marriage Mart. Truthfully, she was surprised the baron even knew there was a ballroom in Lord Easthaven's house; she'd only ever seen him in the refreshment room, drooling over the lobster patties.

And speaking of lobster patties, Lord Wolfson might consider cutting back on his consumption. His dimensions must rival Prinny's. At least the size of his belly ensured he kept her at the proper distance—and the farther from him she was, the better. The man smelled of garlic and dirty linen.

She glanced up at his fleshy face. His eyebrows bore a startling resemblance to graying moths, his nose tended toward the bulbous, and his lips were unpleasantly thick.

He smiled. His teeth were yellow and crooked.

She dropped her gaze to consider his cravat pin. That was far more attractive, if a trifle gaudy—a ruby, surrounded by delicate gold filigree. Quite distinctive—

“What?” Jane jerked her attention back to the baron's face. What had he said? Something about Clarence's house…

His mothlike eyebrows jumped to the top of his forehead and his fat lips pulled into a disgustingly oily, expectant smile. And those teeth—she returned her gaze to his cravat. “I'm sorry, my lord, I was woolgathering. Would what be possible?”

“A private tour of Widmore House, of course. Just the two of us.” The moths did a little jig on his forehead.

“Excuse me?” The man wasn't expressing an amorous interest in her, was he? She might be twenty-four and stuck to the back of the farthest, darkest, dustiest marriage shelf, but surely he didn't think she was so desperate she'd consider any sort of connection with him? He was thirty years her senior, besides smelling of garlic and dirty linen. “I'm not staying at Widmore House any longer, my lord. There was an unfortunate incident—someone broke into the house—and we decided it wasn't safe to remain in residence.”

“How terrible.” He sounded suitably concerned, but something in his expression—something about the look in his eyes—was not quite right. He looked almost…predatory.

Old fat Lord Wolfson? Was she daft? Perhaps she'd had too much champagne.

She blinked and looked again. It must have been the flickering candlelight. Now he looked perfectly ordinary.

“Was anything taken, Miss Parker-Roth?”

“No, I don't believe so. But of course I'm not familiar with the house and its contents—Mama and I had only been there a few days.”

“I see. And where are you staying now?”

She felt an odd sense of relief. If Lord Wolfson were truly interested in her, he'd already have discovered all the details of her living arrangements. The temporary Widmore servants had certainly not kept their tongues between their teeth. “Lord Motton lives next door and is a friend of my brothers John and Stephen. He very kindly took us in. All his aunts are in residence, so two more females are hardly noticed.”

The moths jigged again. “Oh, I'm certain Lord Motton notices
your
lovely addition to his household.”

“Er…” Something about his tone made her long for a nice hot bath. Thank God the music was drawing to a close. “Ah…”