Sally MacKenzie Bundle

by Sally MacKenzie

  “But luring men into the shrubbery?”

  “Is perfectly fine as long as it’s the proper man who is lured.” Mrs. Parker-Roth grinned. “I’m sincerely hoping Meg can lure my son into more misbehavior.”

  Lord Bennington’s impressive nostrils flared with disdain. “I see Miss Peterson is still attempting to lure men into the shrubbery.”

  “Is she?” Lady Felicity turned and glanced over the balustrade. Miss Peterson stood at the base of the terrace steps with Lord Frampton. The man was scowling, his arms crossed. “I doubt she’ll be successful. The baron looks as if he does not intend to be lured anywhere.”

  “Wise man.” The nostrils flared again. “Miss Peterson is not worth the trouble.”

  “Oh? And how do you know that?”

  Bennington cleared his throat. “I, um”—he coughed and glanced away—“I may have once—”

  “Lord Bennington, you’ve been trysting in the bushes! I never knew you were so wild.”

  The viscount looked so adorably embarrassed, Felicity wanted to kiss him. Well, kissing him—and other activities—had been her purpose in getting him out of the ballroom, but his current flustered state made him even more enticing. And was he preening just a bit as well? Did he think he was now a rake? She smiled to herself. Hardly. Unless she missed her guess, he was a rank neophyte in intimate relations.

  However, she would be delighted to expand his experience. More delighted than she’d expected. She felt an odd warmth when she considered the issue. Excitement, yes, but something else. Something unfamiliar.

  Bennington hunched a shoulder. “I may have taken a turn in the garden with the woman. As I say, it was not an activity I wish to repeat.”

  “Poor man.” She patted his forearm. She would make certain that he did wish to repeat any activities they engaged in. “At least you did not get caught like Parker-Roth.”

  That was the wrong thing to say. Bennington’s face froze. One would have thought someone had rammed a stick up his arse. He stepped back and turned toward the ballroom door.

  “I don’t wish to discuss it.”

  “Of course not.” Damn. She knew in a vague sort of way that Bennington didn’t admire Parker-Roth, but she’d had no idea such rancor existed between them, at least on Bennington’s part. She could scream in frustration. She’d worked for the last half hour to get the man to herself. If he went back inside, all that effort would be wasted.

  The odd warmth twisted in her chest. It must be the lobster patties hadn’t agreed with her. She couldn’t feel…sad at the thought of missing her planned seduction of Lord Bennington, could she?

  No, it was just that she didn’t have time to waste. Every morning she woke certain someone had discovered her father was floating down the River Tick. Once word was out that she was a pauper, she could put paid to any hope of catching a husband.

  She wanted to grab Bennington’s arm and dig in her heels. How could she keep him on the terrace?

  She got help from an unexpected quarter.

  “Blast!” Bennington muttered. He stopped short. Felicity bumped into his back. She had to stop herself from wrapping her arms around his nice, solid waist.

  “What is it?” she whispered. She peered around him. Talk of the devil! Parker-Roth was standing on the terrace, blocking the door to the ballroom. He did not look happy.

  They might have been invisible for all the notice Parker-Roth took of them. It was obvious what—whom—he was looking at. Felicity watched Miss Peterson pick up her skirts and dash into the darkness, leaving Lord Frampton a free man.

  Parker-Roth strode across the terrace and descended the steps in record time.

  “I say, Parker-Roth—”

  “Later, Frampton.” The man didn’t bother to glance at the baron. He had his quarry in his sights. He went off into the greenery.

  Frampton shook his head and climbed back to the terrace. “You’d think they’d be a bit more discreet, wouldn’t you?”

  “Definitely,” Bennington said. “Miss Peterson will have no reputation left if she does not take care.”

  Frampton nodded. “Thought there would be an engagement announcement after the Palmerson affair, but apparently not. Wonder what the problem is.” He shrugged. “Not my concern.” He coughed. “I’ll not spread the tale, of course. Wouldn’t want to be the one responsible for earning her the cut direct.” He paused, then frowned. “Though I might put the word in an ear or two. Warn an unsuspecting lady. Wouldn’t want some well-mannered miss to be led astray.”

  “No, indeed.” Felicity stepped out from Bennington’s shadow. It was vastly amusing, watching Frampton’s eyes widen. There was even sufficient light to see his face turn a dull red. “Thank you, my lord. I will consider myself suitably warned.”

  “Lady Felicity, I didn’t mean y—I mean, I didn’t see you there.”

  “No? And here I was certain your comments were addressed directly to me.”

  Frampton made an odd strangling noise which he quickly turned into a cough.

  “Of course they were,” Bennington said. “You should definitely stay clear of Miss Peterson, Lady Felicity. The girl is not the thing at all.”

  The warmth in her chest grew. Was Bennington trying to protect her?

  She blinked. Her eyes were suddenly wet. No one had ever tried to protect her before. Certainly the thought had never occurred to her father.

  She really must get Lord Bennington into the bushes.

  “Lord Bennington, perhaps we could be of some assistance here. If we were to join Miss Peterson—and Mr. Parker-Roth if he has found her—for a stroll, the lady’s presence in the garden would be completely unexceptional, wouldn’t you say?”

  Bennington’s brows contracted. “I—”

  “That’s a splendid idea.” Lord Frampton’s relief was palpable.

  “I don’t know. I—”

  “Lord Bennington, you are too modest.” Felicity laid her hand on the viscount’s sleeve.

  “I am?”

  Both peers gaped at her. She smiled back.

  “Indeed you are. Don’t you agree, Lord Frampton, that Lord Bennington’s consequence would most assuredly keep Miss Peterson from disgrace?”

  Lord Frampton blinked. “What? Oh! Oh, yes. Definitely.” He turned to Bennington. “If you will only lend your support, my lord, I’m certain disaster will be averted.”

  “Well…”

  Felicity would swear Bennington puffed out his chest. She tugged on his arm. “Come, Lord Bennington. We should not delay.”

  “No, definitely not!” Frampton moved, blocking the door to the ballroom. “Please don’t waste another instant.”

  Felicity felt the moment Lord Bennington gave in. The arm under her hand relaxed. “Oh, very well. I guess I can’t turn my back on a young woman who could use my help.”

  “Exactly.” Felicity started toward the stairs, keeping her hand firmly on Bennington’s arm. “If you’ll excuse us, Lord Frampton?”

  “Of course.”

  “The girl deserves whatever she gets,” Bennington muttered as they descended. “She is definitely no better regarded than she should be.”

  “Hmm.” Felicity stroked Bennington’s forearm. This mix of excitement and…affection was quite overwhelming. “She should be better—much better.”

  “What?” He looked at her hand on his arm, then up to her face. The poor man was so puzzled. She could hardly wait to enlighten him. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean”—they passed beyond the reach of the ballroom light into deep shadows—“that I would be very much worth the trouble if you were to come with me into the bushes.” She trailed her fingers up his arm to his biceps.

  He sucked in his breath as she let her other hand graze the front of his pantaloons. “Someone will see us.”

  “I don’t think so.” She knew Easthaven’s garden intimately—she had been intimate with enough men in it. For the first time that thought was distasteful. Well, if she were successful
with her plan, she would no longer be entertaining anyone but Bennington. She smiled.

  She’d been steering the viscount toward her favorite spot from the moment they’d left the stairs. It wasn’t far. “I think we can find a nice dark location where we can have a moment of privacy—several moments. As many moments as we need.”

  Here it was. Thankfully Miss Peterson had not found it before them. She stepped through a break in some dense bushes into a small clearing around a sturdy tree. The bushes served as an admirable screen and the tree—well, occasionally one needed the support its trunk provided.

  “Shouldn’t we be looking for Miss Peterson? We told Frampton we’d come to her aid.”

  Felicity smiled and reached for the fall of his pantaloons. “I think Miss Peterson can fend for herself. Didn’t you say she deserves whatever she gets?” She grinned. “I suspect she wants to get Mr. Parker-Roth. Just as I want to get you.”

  “Uh, but—ack!”

  Mmm. The man was already large.

  “Shh, Lord Bennington.” She opened a button. “Sound travels at night, you know.”

  “Uh.” He was panting. He lowered his voice as she lowered his fall. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “I thought that was obvious. I’m making myself well worth your trouble.” She smiled. “I find myself unable to resist you.”

  Oddly, it was true.

  “Me?” Bennington almost squeaked. It was clear no one had seduced him before. The warmth in her chest grew. She was quite hot, really.

  Bennington was flushed as well. “I, ah, oh.”

  He fell free in her hand. She’d never handled an organ so impressive. She cradled it in her fingers, and felt it grow more impressive still. She eagerly looked forward to a closer inspection, but first…

  She ran her tongue over her lips. “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Please.”

  The man didn’t need a second invitation. His lovely, thick, wet lips covered hers and his tongue plunged between her teeth.

  Mmm. Delicious.

  “Are you bored, Lord Bennington?”

  “God, no. Never.” He explored her ear with his tongue. “Call me Bennie, sweetings. Bennington is so formal.”

  She shivered. “Mmm, Bennie, that feels so good.” When would he attend to her breasts? She arched a bit to encourage him.

  He was most perceptive. His hands slid down and lifted her free of her corset. He bent his head and sucked.

  Ah. She was hot and getting hotter. It was a very good thing the tree trunk was handy. She let go of him and leaned back against it. Her knees were threatening to give out.

  She closed her eyes to better concentrate. It had been so long, she’d forgotten how good a man’s touch felt. She’d forgotten how the place between her legs throbbed. She was so swollen, so achy, so wet. She needed—desperately needed—Bennington to attend to a very specific part of her anatomy. Immediately. Sooner than immediately, if possible.

  Bennie knew. Thank God he wasn’t a dolt. She felt him lift her skirts, felt his warm breath on her thighs. She arched toward him. His tongue. She needed his tongue. Please, God, just the slightest flick of his tongue. Just the tip, right there.

  She was going to scream.

  Lud! Bennie had a lovely, lovely mouth. And a very skilled tongue. He was taking her to release so quickly. She was almost there. She—

  She had the oddest feeling she was being watched.

  She opened her eyes—and looked directly into Lady Dunlee’s disapproving face.

  Chapter 11

  She was letting her emotions run away with her. She should stop and confront Mr. Parker-Roth. Hadn’t she decided just this evening to take charge of her life?

  Her feet kept flying over the grass.

  She would take charge tomorrow, in a more public location, far, far away from the man currently pursuing her.

  She dodged around a shadowy shrub.

  Why was he pursuing her? Couldn’t he take the hint that she did not want his company?

  A vine grabbed at her hair. She ducked and tripped over a root, almost falling full length into an ungainly rhododendron. Her skirts tangled around her legs and something hard poked into the sole of her foot. Her silly little dancing slippers had not been designed for any activity more strenuous than a lively reel. They had certainly not been meant to be taken on a mad dash through the shrubbery.

  She panted, heart pounding, and pushed her hair out of her face. How close was he? Was it possible he wasn’t following her at all? Perhaps he’d realized the impropriety of haring off after her into the bushes. After all, the man did not seem overly fond of scandal. Perhaps—surely—he’d reconsidered.

  “Miss Peterson?”

  “Ulp—” She pressed her lips tightly together, but it was too late. The sound had already escaped. Damn. She couldn’t see him yet, but he wasn’t far away. Her name hadn’t been much more than a whisper, yet she had heard it clearly.

  She had to hide. Where? The infernal garden was not half so dark as it had seemed from the terrace. She needed someplace darker, someplace sheltered. Some snug little hidey hole where, with a bit of luck, she could secrete herself and watch Mr. Parker-Roth walk right past. Then she’d be able to return to the ballroom by herself.

  A stray beam of moonlight illuminated a streak of mud on her dress.

  It would take more than luck for her to reenter Lady Easthaven’s ballroom. It would take a miracle. How could she get Emma’s attention to let her know she wished to return home? Would she be required to lurk in the bushes until her sister noticed her absence and sent out a search party?

  She repressed a groan. She couldn’t worry about that now—she had more pressing concerns. She heard the scrape of a pebble. Definitely more pressing.

  She raised her skirts higher and ran. Another branch pulled at her hair, sending it tumbling over her shoulders. She would not be surprised if she were adorned with more than one stray leaf. She rounded a substantial yew—and knew hope.

  Easthaven must have decided to experiment with the picturesque style of garden design, because the vegetation here was extremely wild. She had never been especially enamored of overgrown plantings, but if the excessive leafage screened her from Parks tonight, she might become a devotee.

  She spotted a small forest of pine trees clustered together to shield the garden from the back alley. Perfect! She’d squeeze her way past the feathery branches to the stone wall. No one would find her there. She could watch Parks go by and then—

  “Eek!”

  A large, bare, male hand closed around her upper arm.

  “Going somewhere, Miss Peterson?” Mr. Parker-Roth’s voice held a distinct edge—and blast it all, the man wasn’t even breathing hard.

  “Uh…” She certainly was breathless. She swallowed, staring at his large male fingers. They were so dark against her pale skin. He had spent too many hours working in the sun among his plants.

  He pulled, turning her. She took a sustaining breath. God willing, she’d manage more than a squeak when she spoke. She forced her lips into a smile.

  “Mr. Parker-Roth. Fancy meeting you here.”

  Heavens, did he growl? His face was expressionless, but a muscle jumped in his cheek. His eyes narrowed slightly.

  She wanted to look away. Instead she raised her chin and stared back.

  A peculiar heat coiled deep in her middle. Odd. The evening had turned unseasonably warm. She needed a fan—not that she could use it with his hand holding her hostage.

  “A man might wonder, Miss Peterson, what you are looking for in this darkened garden.”

  “Really? I thought that would be obvious. Solitude, Mr. Parker-Roth. I am seeking solitude.”

  His fingers tightened and she drew in a sharp breath.

  “You are hurting me, sir.”

  “My apologies.” He loosened his hold. “I find your answer somewhat disingenuous, Miss Peterson. You left the ballroom in Lord Frampton’s company. Rather odd behavior, wouldn’t you say, for some
one wishing to be alone?”

  Exceedingly odd behavior, but she certainly was not going to admit that. “The man is not with me now, is he?”

  “Only because he refused your invitation to scandal.” Parks took a deep breath as if he were struggling to control his temper.

  “Balderdash. He merely did not care to take a turn in the garden.” She forced her smile wider. “And my desire for solitude struck me rather suddenly. It came on when I saw you approaching in the ballroom and intensified when you stepped onto the terrace.”

  Did she actually hear his teeth grind? Impossible! Still, his nostrils flared and his jaw looked as if it had been carved from marble. His eyes narrowed to slits.

  This might be the first time she’d encountered someone literally speechless with anger.

  Perhaps she had pushed him more than was wise. She wet her lips. Yes, circumspection might have been the better course, but he wouldn’t harm her, would he?

  If he decided to turn nasty, there was little she could do. She certainly couldn’t free herself from his grasp—he was much too strong. And she was too far from the ballroom to call for help. She—

  No. She was letting her imagination run wild now. Mr. Parker-Roth was a gentleman. Of course he would not harm her.

  Just as Lord Bennington was a gentleman…

  But Lord Bennington had been amorous. Mr. Parker-Roth was merely murderous.

  “Miss Peterson—”

  “Mr. Parker-Roth, do not say another word. Please. Just return to the ballroom. I shall be fine by myself.”

  His grip tightened again, but he relaxed his fingers the moment she inhaled.

  Why should he be agitated at all? It was not as if she had accepted his offer of marriage. What she did or didn’t do was no concern of his. He was being completely unreasonable.

  Unfortunately her heart was being unreasonable as well. It was pounding so hard, she had trouble breathing. She felt slightly ill. Her stomach was…shivering and her cheeks were hot. She was fevered, that was it. Hot and…throbbing. Damp in the most embarrassing place…