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 compromisin
g 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.
Her arms were now wrapped tightly around his waist, and—God!—her fingers were tracing the curve of his buttocks. Then they slid up under his coat.
He was panting.
“Lizzie.” He put his mouth close to her ear—he couldn’t risk Felicity hearing him, could he? He brushed his face against her hair, sweet and silky. It would be a sin not to taste her throat, he was so close.
She tasted of sun and salt. Soft and feminine.
Lord, did she purr? She tilted her head, giving him room to kiss the spot behind her ear.
Was she panting also?
“Lizzie…”
“Mmm?”
Christ, her lips…they grazed his chin, his cheek, and then her mouth found his.
He was going to die. His head, his heart, his groin were going to explode.
Her lips were so soft. They welcomed him, promising heaven—and he was a dying man, desperate for salvation. He ran his tongue along their seam. She whimpered, opening for him.
He had known Lizzie forever. He had loved her as long. But he had lusted for her only since her come out and never quite like this. This was a mistake, a terrible mistake. He was starting something he could never finish; promising things he could not give.
It made no difference. He could no more stop his plunge into her warm, wet mouth than he could stop breathing.
Actually, he could stop breathing.
But he could not stop kissing Lizzie. Felicity could have marched into this private bower with Lady Beatrice and all the ton—even James, Lizzie’s brother—and he would not have, could not have stopped. She tasted of life, of hope, of all that he wanted and could not have.
His lips left hers and moved down her throat. He loosened the neck of her gown.
“When,” she breathed as he ran his tongue into the crease between her breasts.
“When will…ohh.” She made a breathy little noise as his fingers skimmed over her skin and dipped down to free her breast from her corset.
“When will we…”
His mouth found her nipple. She shuddered.
“Oh, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He grunted. He was incapable of any more coherent response. He flicked her nipple with his tongue, and then had to cover her mouth with his when she squeaked.
God, this was heaven—or as close to heaven as he could ever hope to get. He wanted her naked. He wanted his hands, his mouth, on her from her throat to her ankles. He wanted to see her, to taste every inch of her.
His mouth found the pulse at the base of her throat.
“R-Robbie.”
She was moaning. Good. Could he make her squeak again? He touched her nipple and heard her breath catch.
He could.
“R-Robbie…when…Oh. Oh, do that again.”
She pressed closer. Her belly cradled his hardness. She rubbed against him. Heaven. If only…no, he wouldn’t spoil things by pining for what couldn’t be. He would enjoy the present moment.
It was a very good, a splendid moment.
“Do what again, love? This perhaps?” He cradled her breast with his hand and kissed its nipple.
“Oh, yess…” She put her hands on his hips and pulled him closer still. “When…ohh…when…will…we…”
“Hmm?” He moved to lave the other nipple. She arched back, giving him more room to explore, pressing her hips even tighter against his.
“Don’t…stop.” Her hands pressed into his buttocks. She twisted against him. Could he bring her to satisfaction just by fondling her breasts? It was a challenge he was happy to undertake.
“Robbie…what are you doing?”
The last word came out in a squeal.
“Shh.” He had never felt so powerful, so alive. “Not so loud. We don’t want to attract attention.” Thankfully, Felicity must have moved on. If she heard them, found them…well, if he wasn’t more careful, Lizzie was going to find herself chained to him for life.
“I don’t mind.”
“Hmm? What don’t you mind?”
“I don’t mind if we attract attention.”
“Lizzie, sweetheart…the scandal.”
She smiled up at him, her eyes glowing. “There won’t be a scandal, Robbie.”
“There won’t?” She must be more drunk with lust than she’d been with ratafia the night before. Her face was flushed, her hair was coming out of its pins, and her breasts…her breasts were completely, beautifully exposed. He traced a circle around one nipple and watched it pucker in response. “You look rather scandalous to me.”
She rubbed against him. “I feel very scandalous.” She ran her hands up his waistcoat. He watched her pink tongue moisten her lips and bent to capture that tongue again.
She giggled and pulled back before his mouth touched hers. “There won’t be any scandal because we’re betrothed.”
He felt the blood drain from his face. He felt limp—everywhere. He couldn’t wed Lizzie. She was passionate. She would want children. She would not want a useless excuse for a man.
Despair, all too familiar, choked him.
“Aren’t we betrothed?”
He hated seeing that lost look in her eyes, but he would hate more the disgust and pity he would see on their wedding night when he had to admit he was incapable of consummating their union.
He tried to smile, tried to sound blasé.
“I’m sorry—did I propose?”
The sting of her hand hitting his cheek actually felt good.
Chapter Four
She hated him.
Lizzie strode up the path to the house. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She was afraid she would do both if anyone spoke to her.
“You don’t look happy.”
It was Meg.
“I’m not.”
“What happened?”
Lizzie shrugged and kept moving. It was quite impossible to get any words past the huge lump in her throat.
Meg fell into step beside her. “Did you see Robbie?”
Lizzie nodded.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She shook her head. She most definitely did not want to talk about it. She lengthened her stride.
&nbs
p; Unfortunately, Meg lengthened hers as well.
“Surely he proposed?”
“Gaa.”
“He didn’t? How could he not have?”
Excellent question. How could he not have? He should never have taken such liberties with her person if he were not going to offer for her immediately. Ha! Immediately? He should have offered for and married her before he touched her in such a way. He had had his hands on…Her breasts throbbed in memory. Her breasts and…She flushed and bit her lip. She would not think about the other part of her that throbbed.
And it was not just his hands! His mouth. His tongue.
She swallowed a moan. Oh, lud—she would go mad. She was so angry. That was it. Anger was making her stomach feel so peculiar. Achy. Shivery.
She was so angry she was panting.
She had to get to her room.
“Are you all right, Lizzie?”
“I…I really need…to be alone, Meg.”
“Oh, Lizzie.”
The sympathy in Meg’s voice stabbed through her.
She would not cry. Not now. Felicity, Charlotte—anyone could see her. She would not give them the satisfaction of witnessing her distress.
She walked even faster.
Meg must have decided she needed solitude, because by the time she reached her room, she was alone. She shuddered with relief as she shut her door—and then she shuddered into tears.
What had happened in the shrubbery?
She ran her hands up over her stomach to her breasts. She wanted to strip off her clothes and touch her own skin. Something was definitely wrong with her. It was not only anger that pulsed deep inside her. It was something else, something dark and bewildering.
What had Robbie done to her? His kisses had caused this problem. Each touch of his lips, of his hands, had wound something inside her tighter and tighter like a spring, until…until what? She didn’t know.
She really did feel like screaming.
If she had only waited, if she had kept her tongue between her teeth—she shivered—between his teeth—she felt certain he would have done something, taken her to some point of release, and she wouldn’t feel so…upset.
Sally MacKenzie Bundle Page 5