Sally MacKenzie Bundle

by Sally MacKenzie

  “Good God, no! What we’d find would be a case of the pox.”

  “I don’t know, Johnny. The man who wrote this guide seems verra enthusiastic—of course, he did include an advertisement for Dr. Ballow’s Special Pills, so I don’t know if we can trust his recommendations completely. Still, it’s not every day we get up to Town, ye know. Need to see the sights, as it were.” Mac got him out of his coat and went to hang it up.

  “Believe me, I don’t want to see any more sights. I’d leave for the Priory tomorrow if I could.”

  Mac’s voice was muffled by the wardrobe. “Ye aren’t usually quite so anxious to go home, Johnny. What happened?”

  “I may have gotten myself a wife.”

  “What?” Mac spun around and banged his head on the wardrobe door. “Bloody hell, now I’ve got a headache to match yers.”

  “Where’s Miss Peterson, Bea?” Alton, Lady Beatrice’s butler, glanced out into the night. “Surely you didn’t misplace her?”

  Lady Bea sighed and stepped past him into the entrance hall. “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly? What do you mean?”

  She handed him her cloak. “Let’s go upstairs, Billy, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  He took her arm as they walked up to their bedroom.

  “Lord, it’s good to be home.” Bea collapsed onto the sofa. “I don’t know how many more of these social gatherings I can take.”

  “That bad?” Alton poured them both a glass of brandy.

  “Yes.” She patted the seat beside her. “Come give me a hug.”

  Alton handed her the brandy and settled down next to her. She rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Mrrow!” Queen Bess, Bea’s large orange cat, leapt up and draped herself over Alton’s pantaloons.

  Bea laughed. “Did you miss me, Bess?”

  “Her highness always misses you, Bea.”

  “That’s what you say, but I know better. Bess is completely content to have you for company. See whose lap she prefers?”

  “She’s spent more time with me recently.” He dug his fingers into the thick fur behind Bess’s ears. Her highness closed her eyes and purred.

  “That’s because I’ve had to waste hours trotting from ballroom to drawing room.” Bea rolled her eyes. “Have I told you how idiotic the ton is?”

  “I believe you may have made that observation once or twice before.”

  “Become a dead bore on the subject, have I?”

  Alton kissed the top of her head. “Bea, you could never be boring.”

  Bea snorted. “You must be the only one to think so.”

  Alton eyed her current colorful attire, but wisely held his tongue.

  Bea stroked Queen Bess’s ears. “Well, the good news is, I believe I’ve lost my chaperone duties.”

  “Hmm.” Alton left Bess to Bea’s ministrations and stroked one of Bea’s curls instead. “You do seem to have lost your charge. Have the society tabbies torn Miss Peterson into little pieces and scattered the bits over the ballroom floor?”

  Bea laughed. “No, not quite, though she did manage to create a splendid scandal this evening. Mmm. Keep doing that.”

  “This?” Alton massaged the back of her neck. “Or this?” He leaned over and kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear.

  Bess meowed and moved to Bea’s lap.

  “Both.” Bea tilted her head to give him more room to roam. He did so for an enjoyable few minutes. When he reached her lips, he kissed her and sat back.

  “So, where is Miss Peterson?”

  Bea sighed. “Emma took her to Knightsdale House.”

  “Ah, yes. A footman did come round earlier for her things. But I thought the marchioness was in Kent.”

  “She was until she heard the rumors about Meg and her propensity to disappear into the shrubbery.”

  Alton nodded. “I knew Miss Peterson’s actions would come to no good.”

  Bea sat up and glared at him. “Are you saying you told me so, Mr. Alton?”

  He pulled her back down to him. “Of course I am. I’m a boring old man, remember? Anticipating disaster is one of the requirements of my position.”

  Bea chuckled. “True.”

  “So Emma was angry?”

  “Very. It didn’t help that she arrived just in time to hear Lady Dunlee telling everyone she’d seen Meg half naked with a man in the bushes.”

  “Hmm. I thought the girl was a bit more discreet than that.”

  “She is—or has been. It was one reason I allowed the behavior to continue. She is twenty-one, after all. It’s expected she would be a little curious, much as Emma would like to deny it.” Bea grinned. “Meg hasn’t had the benefit of associating with an especially knowledgeable footman, you know.”

  “Now, Bea, you know you were the one who seduced me. I was a naïve young man when you lured me into your father’s attic.”

  “You were, weren’t you? Not that I knew any more than you did—I just knew what I wanted.” She kissed his cheek. “I’d say we’ve done quite well together.”

  Alton grunted.

  Bess meowed.

  “Shh, your highness.” Bess bumped her head against Bea’s hand. “Yes, yes. I’ll scratch your ears, Bessie.”

  “So who was the man Miss Peterson was entertaining in the vegetation?”

  Bea’s hand paused—and Queen Bess complained. Bea resumed her stroking.

  “Bennington.”

  “Bennington?”

  “Yes. I don’t know what Meg was thinking. The man is about as exciting—and as attractive—as leftover mutton.”

  “He does have an extensive plant collection, however.”

  “Plants!”

  “Mrrow!” Queen Bess protested Bea’s strident reaction.

  “Shh, Bessie.” Bea ran her hand from her highness’s ears to her tail and sighed. “I think you are right, Billy. That must have been what attracted Meg.” She frowned, her hand moving methodically over Bess’s back. “Well, you can be sure if I’d seen her duck out with him, I’d have been after her in a trice.”

  “Of course. So she’s engaged to the viscount?”

  “Oh, no, thank God. Parker-Roth stumbled upon them. Dispatched Bennington before Lady Dunlee came on the scene. Unfortunately for him, the woman assumed he’d been the man rearranging Meg’s clothing and shared her observations with half the ton.”

  “So Mr. Parker-Roth is angry that he needs pay for a good deed with his freedom?” Alton asked. “That’s understandable. The man was innocent of any wrongdoing after all.”

  Bea snorted. Bess hissed, jumped down from Bea’s lap, and retreated to a nearby chair.

  “He may have been innocent in the garden. He was somewhat less than innocent in Lady Palmerson’s parlor. Much less than innocent.”

  “Really? So he’s not adverse to wedding Meg?” Alton began pulling the pins from Bea’s hair.

  “Oh, he’s adverse all right. You know how men hate to be forced into anything.”

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  Bea rolled her eyes and started untying his cravat. “And idiot Meg has declined his offer. She can also be extremely obstinate.” She pulled his cravat free of his neck and dropped it on the floor. “I would love to see how this battle is waged—but not enough to stay in London.”

  Alton’s hands froze. “You’re planning to leave Town?”

  “As soon as I can.”

  He sat back. “I will miss you.” His face was as impassive as only an excellent butler can manage. “Where do you go?”

  “To the Continent with you, you lobcock. We are finally getting married.”

  “Married?” Alton frowned. “Bea—”

  “Shh.” She put her finger on his lips. “I don’t want to hear all your arguments. You’ve repeated them for years and I am still not impressed. You promised to wed me once Meg was settled. She is as near to settled as can be now. I’m no longer needed here—in fact, I’ve been relieved of my duties. I am, after all th
ese years, free to follow my heart and I intend to do so.”

  “I still don’t think—”

  “Don’t think. I am going to marry you, Mr. William Alton, so just get that through your thick skull.”

  “But—”

  Bea covered his mouth with her own, ending one discussion, but beginning a much more interesting exchange.

  “Charles, I’m worried about Meg.”

  “I know you are, sweetheart. I’ve been watching you pace the bedroom for the last five minutes.”

  Emma stopped by the fire and gazed into the flames. “What could have gotten into her? I never thought she’d do something so hare-brained as go off into the shrubbery with a man. She’s not a debutante. She’s twenty-one. This is her second Season. You’d think she’d have more sense.”

  Charles grunted.

  Emma scowled at the hearth. “I should have come to Town earlier. I know I should have. I thought about it when I received Lady Oldston’s letter, but Henry was getting a tooth, and you know how fussy he is when he’s teething. He won’t go to Nanny at all. I must have been up two straight nights with him.”

  Charles grunted again.

  “To be truthful, I assumed Lady Oldston was just being a jealous old cat. But then I got the note from Lady Farley.” She turned toward Charles. “Can you believe Lady Farley said Meg was no better than she should be? I was so furious, I wanted to come to Town just to wrap my hands around her scrawny, wrinkled neck.” She blew out a short breath. “And then Sarah wrote. I knew I—”

  Emma really looked at Charles. He was sitting in bed, propped up against the headboard, covers down to his waist. The candlelight flickered over a vast expanse of skin—strong neck, broad shoulders, muscled arms and chest, the light brown curls sprinkled down to his…

  “Are you naked?”

  He grinned and peered under the bedclothes. “It appears I am. Would you care to see for yourself?”

  Suddenly, she would—very much. It had been almost two months since she’d felt his weight. Her body ached for him.

  She took a deep breath. “You are trying to distract me.”

  “No, I am trying to seduce you—to lure you into my bed so I can kiss every inch of your body and bury myself in your heat.”

  She grabbed the back of a handy chair. Her knees threatened to give out.

  She tried to concentrate on something other than her sensitive breasts and the throbbing between her legs.

  “Why didn’t you write me about Meg, Charles? If Sarah noticed, you must have—or at least, Sarah must have told James and he must have mentioned it to you.”

  “Well, he didn’t.” Charles shrugged. Emma watched his muscles shift.

  Meg. Think about Meg.

  “How could James not have said anything? How could you not have seen what was going on?”

  “Because, Emma, I’ve not made a habit of going to balls and other social events. I don’t want to hear the silly chatter that goes on there, and I certainly don’t need to see the latest crop of young girls.”

  She straightened. “I should hope not.” She did not like to think of Charles looking at other women—or of other women looking at Charles.

  He smiled briefly. “I go to the House of Lords, to White’s, to meetings with likeminded men. I come home and read—and miss you and the boys and Isabelle and Claire.”

  “Oh.”

  “And, as you say, Meg is not a debutante. She survived last Season with Aunt Bea. I didn’t think there was cause for concern.”

  Emma sighed. “Neither did I, but obviously I was mistaken. What am I going to do?”

  “Come to bed. You’ve fed Henry?”

  “Yes. He should make it through the night now.” She smiled. “He’s a greedy little devil.”

  “Just like his father. I have missed you dreadfully, you know.”

  “As I’ve missed you.”

  She came over and climbed into bed. Charles stretched out his arm, and she laid her head on his shoulder, putting her hand on his chest. He held her close.

  He was so big and solid. She got used to sleeping alone when he was in London, but she much preferred having his comforting body next to hers. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling his scent, soaking up his warmth and strength.

  She wanted this for her sister—this connectedness. This love. Would Meg find it with Mr. Parker-Roth?

  How could she? Scandal was not a very good matchmaker.

  Charles started stroking her hip, reminding her of all the other reasons she missed him.

  “I should have come to Town when I first received Lady Olston’s letter.” She ran her fingers through the short, springy hair on his chest. “I should have been Meg’s chaperone instead of Lady Beatrice.”

  Charles shifted to lean up on one elbow. He started unbuttoning her nightgown. “Emma, you had the children to care for. You know they are happier in the country.”

  “Hmm.” His fingers felt so good brushing against her skin. She knew his mouth would feel even better. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the children would do fine in London, and then we wouldn’t be away from you so much.”

  He grinned down at her. “Well, I’d certainly like to have you here.”

  And she would like to be here, if she could spend all her time in bed with him. She ran her hands over his shoulders and chest. She felt his erection heavy against her leg, and her body came to life. Heat and dampness blossomed between her thighs. She remembered so clearly it was almost painful just what he felt like sliding deep inside her.

  Need and a sharp emptiness expanded in her womb.

  He kissed her eyelids. “But London is not a good place to raise children. It is much too dirty and noisy. And if you were going to all the society events with Meg, you’d be exhausted all the time.”

  “Yes, but—oh.” Charles’s hands were on her breasts now. She wanted his tongue and lips there.

  “Meg is not a silly, young girl, Emma. She is twenty-one, in her second Season, independent, and strong willed. She is more than capable of making her own decisions.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  Charles put his finger on her lips.

  “I do understand that you feel the need to take responsibility for too many people. Let Meg live her own life. You have Charlie and Henry and Isabelle and Claire and me to take care of. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Part of loving is letting go, sweetheart. It’s time to let Meg go. From what Robbie tells me, Parks is a good man. She could have done much worse. Would have done much worse if Bennington had been found with her.”

  Charles sounded so reasonable. “Perhaps you are right.”

  “Of course I am right. I’m always right.”

  She pushed on his chest. “No, you’re not.”

  He covered her hand with his and grinned down at her. “No? Well, I think I’m right in saying it’s time to stop talking about Meg.”

  “Well…” She sucked in her breath as his hand skimmed over her breasts again.

  “And I am also right in my opinion that this nightgown is very much in the way. I want to have your beautiful body naked under mine.”

  He started to pull her nightgown up. She lifted her hips to assist him, and then sat up to yank the gown over her head. She sent it sailing off into the shadows.

  “On that point at least, Lord Knightsdale, I will not argue.”

  Chapter 5

  God, he had to piss.

  Viscount Bennington pushed himself into a sitting position and paused. His head throbbed, his jaw ached, and he felt every damn scratch from his encounter with Palmerson’s holly bush.

  He was in Lord Needham’s house. He felt like hell.

  He cradled his poor head in his hands. How many bottles of port had they consumed last night—or was it this morning? His mouth felt like the bottom of a horse’s stall.

  He should have gone home after that scene in the shrubbery. He would have if he hadn’t stepped out of the
alley right into Claxton’s path. Of course the man had wanted to know what had happened to him. He’d looked like he’d been set upon by brigands.

  He had been. Damn Parker-Roth. The bounder had given him no warning, sneaking up behind him like that. He’d had no chance to defend himself.

  But then what did he expect from horse dung like Parker-Roth?

  Lord Peter emitted a loud snore from a nearby couch. Bennington considered stuffing his cravat in the man’s mouth. The linen was beyond saving anyway, covered with blood as it was.

  Really, the scene in the garden had all been Miss Peterson’s fault. She had lured him into the bushes. Not that he hadn’t known what she’d wanted, of course. It wasn’t a secret. She’d been working her way through the men of the ton. At least he’d offered marriage.

  He snorted. She was little better than a light-skirt. He was well quit of her.

  Lord Peter must be the loudest snorer in Christendom. Bennington picked a snuff box off a nearby table and flung it at the man. It bounced off his shoulder. He didn’t waken, but at least he turned over.

  Blast. Would Miss Peterson tell Knightsdale what he had done? He didn’t relish explaining to the marquis that his sister-in-law was Haymarket ware, but he would if he had to. He could only tell the truth, after all.

  Damn, where was the bloody chamber pot? You’d think Needham would have several in evidence given the number of men scattered about the room.

  He struggled to his feet. Perhaps Needham had a water closet, but he didn’t have time to go searching for it and he sure as hell couldn’t make it to the privy out back.

  He couldn’t abuse the potted palm…it would just have to be the hideous urn by the door. The way he felt, he could probably fill the damn thing to the brim.

  Lady Felicity rested her head against the cool glass of the window and watched the sun struggle through the sooty London air. One ray of light managed to reach the garden, illuminating the tangled mass of greenery.

  Once she had thought the garden exciting, a place for endless trysts. Now it merely looked untidy. Well, of course it did. The gardeners had all quit. They were tired of not being paid.