Sally MacKenzie Bundle

by Sally MacKenzie

  “Oh?” He tried to focus through the fog of lust clouding his brain. “Can you tell where it’s hung?” If Clarence kept to pattern, that would tell them the next Pan’s location. “It’s not one of the rooms in Widmore House, is it?”

  Jane shook her head and a few errant wisps of hair floated briefly across his face. The lemon scent intensified.

  Focus, Motton. You are not going to write a treatise on Miss Parker-Roth’s hair.

  “No, I don’t think so. See, he’s drawn all these other paintings as if they were in a gallery.”

  “Hmm. So could it be the Royal Academy? Is it Somerset House?”

  “No, I’m almost certain Cleopatra never exhibited there. It’s a bit of a sore point with her. In fact, she was complaining about the academy the last time we saw her, just before she went off on her honeymoon.”

  “All right, so if it’s not the Royal Academy, where is it?”

  Jane straightened and looked at him. “It must be the private gallery Mama and a few of her friends set up on Harley Street. She dragged me there once. I think at least one of the rooms has a black-and-white tile floor.”

  “Splendid.” Motton folded up the sketch pieces. “Give me the street number and I shall go there tomorrow.”

  She was frowning again. “I will not. If you go, you will go with me.”

  Why did she have to be so pigheaded? “Miss Parker-Roth, we discussed this. With Satan quite possibly involved, it is far too dangerous for you to participate in the search any longer.”

  She stuck her damn little nose in the air. “I’m not aware that we discussed anything, Lord Motton; you merely blustered about like a misguided male protecting a weak little female.”

  He wanted to shake her. “And what is wrong with protecting females? You are most definitely weaker than I am.” And if Miss Parker-Roth didn’t start acting sensibly, he would be delighted to give her a demonstration of his strength. He could easily immobilize her and have his wicked way with her if he wanted to. Which he didn’t, of course. Well, not without her enthusiastic cooperation.

  “Nothing, exactly. It’s the condescending, patronizing, superior attitude that goes with it. The feeling that because you are physically bigger and stronger than I am, you are also more intelligent.” She snorted. “More intelligent? Ha. Why deal with roundaboutation? Men far too often treat me as if I had feathers for brains.”

  He smiled in spite of his annoyance. “Surely your brothers never made that mistake?”

  She grinned at him. “Not more than once. I was not shy about correcting them, even if it required a good wallop with a hard object.”

  He would like to have seen Jane trying to educate John and Stephen—and the younger brother as well. “I understand that, Jane, but you must understand this situation is completely different.” Maybe if he tried again, the message would get through her hard head. “I cannot stress enough how dangerous Satan is.”

  “Oh, you’ve frightened me quite well, my lord, but that won’t deter me. And it will cause less comment if I appear at an art gallery than if you do. My mother is an artist.”

  “And you always accompany her to the galleries, correct?”

  “Er, well, perhaps not.” Damn, he had a point.

  “How many times have you taken in our artists’ offerings, Miss Parker-Roth?”

  “This Season?” The man was going to make her grovel, wasn’t he?

  “Yes.”

  “Ah, well, this Season has barely begun. I still have plenty of time to view a gallery or two.” Perhaps she could still wriggle out of this bind she’d got herself into.

  “All Seasons, then. How many times since your come-out have you attended any sort of art display with your mother?”

  Blast, he had her. “I can’t recall.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “The truth, Jane.”

  “Oh, very well. I went with her once to the Royal Academy and once to the Harley Street gallery. I have enough of paintings and pictures at the Priory. I don’t need to stare at more art in London.”

  The damn man smirked and crossed his arms. “So your attending the gallery will be as odd—odder, actually—than my doing so. I am quite the connoisseur, I’ll have you know.”

  He was quite the unconscionable prig. If there were a Pan handy, she’d bash him over the head with it. “I am not going to let you go alone. You know you need my help; you are just too stubborn to admit it.”

  “I do not need your help.” He was gritting his teeth again.

  “You do, and if you don’t take me with you, I will go on my own.”

  The thought of Jane looking for the sketch by herself turned his blood to ice. She had no experience with villains; she couldn’t even begin to understand the precautions she should take. And if it truly were Satan he was dealing with, he couldn’t afford to split up his men, having some guard Jane and others watch his back. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You may rage at me all you like, but unless you intend to lock me in a dungeon or tie me to my bed, I am going.”

  Tie her to her bed…

  Focus.

  He scowled at her. She scowled back and raised her chin. She clearly did not intend to let herself be persuaded—or bullied.

  He knew when to throw in the towel. “Very well, you win.” She tried to repress her grin of triumph, the minx, but she wasn’t quite successful. Well, he was going to demand some concessions in return. If she insisted on being involved in this, he would insist on keeping a very, very close eye on her. “But to keep you safe, I need to stay by your side—so I shall pretend to be courting you.”

  “What?” Jane lifted her hand to her chin to ascertain her mouth wasn’t hanging open. Courting her? What did he mean by that? Yes, they’d just engaged in some rather heated exchanges, but that wasn’t courting, that was Lord Motton taking what she had shamelessly offered him. He was a man. He wasn’t going to turn down such opportunities. Even her brother John had a mistress.

  Not that Lord Motton would ever cross the final line with her—of course not. But, well, men were just very different from women.

  And she must not forget he’d managed to ignore her for more than seven years. She might have been longing for him, but he had definitely not been doing the same for her.

  “It’s not so shocking,” he was saying. “I think the ton will believe it. As you point out, I spent a good bit of time with you tonight. People may already be speculating about my intentions. The aunts certainly are.” He grimaced. “They have made it their mission to see me wed.”

  “Ah.” Now she understood. “So this playacting is for your benefit as well.”

  “Partly, I suppose. But it is mostly for your safety.” His expression was serious. “Even though you scoff, Jane, you do need protecting. You’ve never dealt with a black-hearted bastard like Satan. You can’t handle him.”

  She tilted her chin. Lord Motton was back to frightening her—and he was doing an excellent job—but she refused to be frightened. “And you can?”

  His face went from serious to chilling. “I can.”

  “Ah.” Her heart was suddenly pounding in her throat. Perhaps she would be a little frightened…

  The doorknob rattled.

  “Eep!” She slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her squeak. Was that Mama? Lord Motton might find himself more than pretending to courtship; he might find himself forced up the church aisle.

  “Try not to look quite so guilty,” Lord Motton murmured as he walked past her to open the door.

  Not look guilty? Ha! She was guilty. She was alone with a man in a locked room, which was bad enough, but when one considered what she’d been doing with that man—

  Oh, dear God. She looked down to be certain her dress was where it belonged.

  “Aunt Winifred and Theo. What a…surprise,” Lord Motton said. He stepped aside so his aunt and her pet could enter.

  At least it wasn’t Mama—though perhaps this was worse.

  “Awk!” Theo tur
ned his head to examine Jane and then flapped his wings, sending strands of Miss Smyth’s hair flying around her face. “Something’s rotten in Denmark.”

  “Theo, please!” Miss Smyth’s eyes met Jane’s and then dropped to consider Jane’s bodice. Jane clutched her skirts to keep from shielding her breasts from the woman’s scrutiny. Surely Miss Smyth didn’t look disappointed that Jane’s clothing was not in total disarray? “I’m certain there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation why Edmund had his study door locked, Theo.” Miss Smyth smiled at her nephew. “Edmund?”

  “Yes, Aunt?”

  “Would you care to elucidate?”

  “No.”

  Dear God, why wasn’t Lord Motton concocting a plausible explanation? Did he want his aunt to think the worst? “Ah, you see, Lord Motton and I…”

  Lord Motton raised an eyebrow. Damn. Jane tried again. “Lord Motton and I were merely…we were just…we had some business of a private nature…”

  Lord Motton turned back to consider his aunt. “You are the one who escorted Miss Parker-Roth to my study, Aunt Winifred, and then left her unattended. I find it hard to fathom why you seem so concerned with the proprieties now.”

  “You had asked to speak to her, if you will remember. I got the impression you had a matter of some import to discuss. And I didn’t think poor Jane was up to spending time in a roomful of aunts.” Miss Smyth raised her eyebrows. “But I did not lock the door.”

  “I did need to speak to Miss Parker-Roth, and I didn’t wish to be interrupted.”

  Miss Smyth snorted. “I would imagine not.”

  Lord Motton merely stared at his aunt. Jane stared at the floor.

  Miss Smyth waved her hand. “Oh, I suppose it doesn’t matter. I’m certainly not going to spread any tittle-tattle.”

  “Tittle-tattle.” Theo examined Jane. “Tiny titties. Bitty bubbies.”

  Jane felt herself flush. She knew she didn’t have an especially impressive bosom, but she certainly didn’t need a rude parrot bringing her deficiencies to Ed—to everyone’s attention.

  “Theo!” Miss Smyth glared at her parrot.

  “Aunt”—Lord Motton almost spat the word—“control your pet or I’ll be using his feathers to stuff pillows.”

  “Pillows!” Theo reared back. “Shiver me timbers! Ye won’t be makin’ a pillow out o’ me.”

  “I will if you don’t mend your manners, you obnoxious bird.”

  “Edmund, it’s beneath your dignity to argue with a parrot.”

  “Right. I won’t argue.” He looked Theo up and down; Theo sidled closer to Miss Smyth’s head. “Perhaps I’ll make him into a feather duster instead of a pillow.”

  “Jiminy!”

  Miss Smyth shooed her pet away from her hair. “Theo, much as it pains me to say so, you have indeed merited some punishment, but Edmund would never really pluck you.”

  Lord Motton leaned toward Theo and bared his teeth. “Don’t bet on it.”

  “Lord a mercy, save me, save me!” Theo flapped his wings so vigorously he knocked some of Miss Smyth’s pins askew, causing her coiffure to list drunkenly.

  “Edmund, you are not helping matters.” She tapped Theo on the beak. “Now apologize to Miss Parker-Roth, sir. Your behavior has been beyond boorish. I am very sorry to say I am ashamed of you.”

  Theo ducked his head. “Aw, Theo’s sorry. Theo’s sorry.”

  Miss Smyth looked at Jane again. “Please forgive Theo, Miss Parker-Roth. He is a bit of a birdbrain on occasion.”

  “Er, yes, of course. Do not give it another thought.” It was past time to change the subject, but Jane couldn’t think of a new topic to save her soul.

  “And, in any event, Theo is wrong. You have a very nice bosom”—Miss Smyth smiled—“as I’m sure Edmund has been telling you.”

  “Ah.” She was going to spontaneously combust from embarrassment. There was no question of it. She closed her eyes and felt the heat sweep through her. She must be red as a beet.

  “Aunt!”

  “Well, you wouldn’t want Miss Parker-Roth to get the wrong impression, Edmund. Young women can be very sensitive about such matters.”

  Poor Jane looked miserable, and any further conversation with Aunt Winifred and Theo would just add to her misery. “I believe it’s time for Miss Parker-Roth to retire. You can see she’s fagged to death.”

  Aunt Winifred clicked her tongue. “Edmund, you are as bad as Theo. Wasn’t I clear? A gentleman should never make disparaging comments about a lady’s appearance.”

  He took a deep breath—he would not shout. “I’m not making disparaging comments; I’m stating the obvious.”

  “Obvious. Ob—”

  He glared at the parrot. “Don’t push your luck.”

  Theo snapped his beak shut and hid his head under one of his wings.

  “Miss Parker-Roth has had an exhausting day,” Edmund said.

  “Indeed.” Aunt Winifred nodded. “That’s why I came to see why you were keeping her from her bed.”

  Had Winifred stressed that last word? He would ignore it. “Miss Parker-Roth, are you tired?”

  Jane sighed and nodded. “I’m afraid I am rather.”

  “Then I shall escort you to your room. Where have you put her, Aunt Winifred?”

  “In the blue bedroom.”

  “Ah. The blue bedroom.” He was going to strangle his aunt.

  “Yes. I thought that would make her feel more secure. I told her if she felt alarmed during the night, she need only call out and you would come and assist her—didn’t I, Miss Parker-Roth?”

  “Y—yes.” Jane sent him an uncertain glance.

  He would like to reassure her, but he was too angry. The thought of sleeping next door to Jane, knowing she was in the viscountess’s room, connected to his by a door whose key had been lost years ago…well, sleeping would very likely not be something he would do much of.

  “You will assist her if she is disturbed in the night, won’t you, Edmund?”

  Strangling was too kind an end for Aunt Winifred. He forced his clenched teeth apart. “Of course.”

  “I really—there’s no need—I’m perfectly fine,” Jane said. “And if my current bedchamber is inconvenient, I’m sure I can share my mother’s room.”

  “No, no, your bedchamber is fine.” Aunt Winifred patted Jane’s hand. “You’ve suffered quite a shock to your nerves, dear. You must allow Edmund to ease your…distress.” She grinned and waggled her eyebrows. “Men have to be useful for something, don’t you think?”

  And what the hell did his elderly, virginal—Good God, surely Winifred was virginal?—aunt mean by that comment?

  He didn’t want to know.

  “Shall we go, Miss Parker-Roth? Aunt?”

  “Oh, you two run along. I believe I’ll have a word with Gertrude before I find my bed.”

  “Very well. Good night, then.” Motton nodded and then guided Jane out of the study.

  “Your aunt must be completely scandalized,” Jane said. Thank heavens Miss Smyth hadn’t arrived earlier when her dress had been down around her waist.

  Lord Motton looked down at her, one eyebrow raised. “Did she appear scandalized?”

  “N—no. Not exactly.”

  “Not at all. Apparently Aunt Winifred has decided you will make an excellent viscountess.”

  “What?” Jane’s stomach clenched. Lord Motton must be revolted by the situation. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

  “She’s put you in the viscountess’s room.”

  “Oh.” Her stomach lurched and then clenched tighter. “But there’s nothing to that. She told me the house was very crowded with all your aunts here.”

  He snorted. “There are plenty of bedrooms. No, Aunt Winifred is a master tactician. She used the same ploy a few years ago at one of my house parties, putting Alex Wilton and the former Lady Oxbury in adjoining rooms.” He laughed. “Worse, she forced Lord Kilgorn to share a very small bedchamber with his estranged wife.”

&nb
sp; “Oh? Well, her ploys succeeded. Both those couples have growing families and are rumored to be very unfashionably in love.” And would Miss Smyth’s efforts be as successful in this instance? Jane wondered.

  Heavens! Where had that thought come from? How absurd.

  “Perhaps I should apologize for Aunt Winifred’s actions at that gathering,” Edmund said as they started up the stairs. “I think your brother John suffered as a result.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  “It was right after that party that Lady Dawson—then Lady Grace Belmont—jilted John at the altar.”

  Jane sighed as they reached the top of the stairs. “It was quite horrible, being in the church that morning and waiting and waiting for Grace to appear, but I’ve always believed it was for the best. I never thought John and Grace well matched. The betrothal was all Grace’s father Lord Standen’s doing. John went along because he wanted a patch of Standen’s land for his roses—not the best reason to enter a marriage.”

  “Hmm. John is a bit of a madman when it comes to plants.”

  “A bit?” Jane laughed. “I’d say so.” They stopped in front of her door. “I think Grace’s defiance in that instance was what finally persuaded Lord Standen to ask Miss O’Neill to marry him—something he’d have done long ago if he weren’t such a stubborn, prideful man. The idiot just couldn’t stomach the thought of a poor Irish cottager becoming the Countess of Standen.”

  “And now she’s given him his heir.”

  Jane laughed. “And perhaps a spare. Had you heard she’s said to be in the family way again?”

  Edmund gave her a very intent look and she felt herself flush again. Damn her tongue—how could she have spoken so boldly?

  She put her hand on the door—the door that opened to a room that was connected to Edmund’s…

  “My lord, I am sure you mistake your aunt’s intentions. Miss Smyth barely knows me.”

  He snorted. “Miss Parker-Roth, my aunt would have been a great asset in the war against Napoleon. She is far better at gleaning intelligence than any mere spy. I am quite certain she knows everything about you—maybe even things you don’t know yourself.”