“Reputation. Yours ain’t great, you know. Don’t want mine to suffer, too.”
When had Lord Frampton turned into such a prude? Was this the man who’d been flinging bachelor’s buttons at his friends just four years ago and who’d tried to introduce a piglet into Charles’s drawing room?
He looked back at the ballroom this time. Relief washed over his features.
“Maybe Parker-Roth will take a turn about the grounds with you.”
“What?” She followed Frampton’s gaze. Parks had finally stepped onto the terrace. He did not look happy.
She picked up her skirts and ran.
“I don’t know what to do about Meg.” Emma pleated the fabric of her gown and then smoothed it flat. She’d asked Mrs. Parker-Roth to step into a deserted sitting room. She definitely did not want to discuss such a sensitive topic in the ballroom. Far too many nasty ears would be cocked to catch every whisper.
Mrs. Parker-Roth’s hand appeared in Emma’s line of sight and patted her knee. Emma looked up. How could the woman remain calm? Her own stomach was knotted so tightly even the sight of a lobster patty made her nauseous. The way the ton had treated Meg in the ballroom—
She sniffed back tears and reached for her handkerchief.
“I have made such a botch of this.”
“No. How can you say so?”
Emma blew her nose. “You are just being kind. I should never have let Meg come up to Town with only Lady Bea to chaperone her.”
“Lady Knightsdale—”
“Please, call me Emma.” Her voice broke.
“Emma, then.” Mrs. Parker-Roth took the hand that did not contain Emma’s crumpled handkerchief. “Lady Beatrice is a rather eccentric character—”
“Rather? She is going to marry her butler.”
“Yes, I know.” Mrs. Parker-Roth smiled. “She does follow her own path, but you must not think she is a complete ninnyhammer. On the contrary, she is awake on every suit. I’m certain she knew exactly what your sister was doing.”
“How could she have?” What sane woman would let her charge entertain men in the bushes? “Did she want Meg to ruin her reputation?”
“Of course not. But you know Lady Bea isn’t especially concerned about reputations. Agatha was right on that score.”
The knot in her stomach tightened, if that were possible. “A woman who cares nothing for reputations should not be a chaperone.”
“I didn’t say Bea cared nothing for reputations.” Mrs. Parker-Roth’s tone was reproachful. “She just cares about other things more. Meg’s happiness, for example.”
“Yes, but—” Emma closed her eyes. Everything was such an awful mess. How could she have told Charles’s aunt that she was an incompetent chaperone? But she was. She’d let Meg run wild.
On the other hand, who could have imagined Meg running wild anywhere but through a field of unusual vegetation? If anyone had asked her before this infernal Season, Emma would have sworn the only reason Meg would drag a man into the shrubbery would be to secure his help in identifying a rare plant.
Who was this girl who was her sister?
“I just don’t understand. Meg’s always been, well, different, but not reckless. She’s not a light-skirt.”
“No one would think for a moment she was.”
“How can you say that? Half or more of the ton in that ballroom think so—they are even saying so.”
Mrs. Parker-Roth dismissed the ball goers with a wave of her hand. “Gossip only. They are enjoying today’s scandal—they will enjoy tomorrow’s scandal tomorrow. Do not worry.”
“Not worry? The gossip will force Meg to come h-home and spend her d-days a s-spinster.” Emma closed her lips firmly to repress the wail that threatened. “It’s not that I don’t want Meg home. I l-love her.” She sniffed. “I want her to be h-happy.”
She took off her spectacles and sobbed.
She felt an arm go around her shoulders, urging her close. She breathed in the scent of roses and linen, and rested her cheek against Mrs. Parker-Roth’s warm, soft chest.
She had not felt a mother’s touch in over twenty years.
She cried harder. Mrs. Parker-Roth just held her.
“You’ve done a splendid job, Emma,” Mrs. Parker-Roth rubbed her shoulder. “You took on so much responsibility at such a young age.”
“No. I’ve made micefeet of everything.”
“Nonsense. You are being foolish beyond permission.”
“I’m not.” Emma sat up and blew her nose. “Meg’s reputation is in shambles and I’ve insulted Charles’s aunt. I’m sure Lady Beatrice will never speak to me again.”
“Of course Lady Bea will speak to you. You’re Charles’s wife and the mother of his sons. You are making him very happy.” Mrs. Parker-Roth grinned. “Actually, Bea is probably thanking you right now.”
“She couldn’t be.”
“Indeed she could. You know she has no patience with the ton. She hates society entertainments. She’s always bored and desperate to escape when she has to attend them. I imagine it’s the reason she drinks so much. It’s imbibe or scream.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Yes, I do. Bea would much rather be home with Mr. Alton. She does love him, you know.”
Emma sighed. “I hope you are right.”
Perhaps she should take Meg home to Knightsdale and come back next Season to start over. Some people would remember Meg’s missteps, but many would have forgotten, their attention taken up with new scandals.
It was a good idea. The boys had more freedom in the country. The air was healthier. Perhaps Charlie would not have gotten an earache if they’d stayed home. And country society was much more congenial. In fact, perhaps it would be best not to come back to London at all. She could host a house party and fill Knightsdale with eligible bachelors, much like Lady Beatrice had done with ladies when Charles inherited the title and was looking for a wife.
“I think we should go home.”
“No, Emma, don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It is retreating.” Mrs. Parker-Roth shook her head. “It is admitting defeat.”
“Well, I am defeated!” Despair sat on her chest again like a lead weight. “If only…” If only Mother hadn’t died. If Meg had had a real mother growing up, she probably would be happily married today—not dashing off into the vegetation with any stray man.
It was as if Mrs. Parker-Roth had read her mind. She put her hand on her arm. “Do not blame yourself for your sister’s behavior.”
“But—”
“No buts, Emma. You cannot live Meg’s life for her, no matter how much you try.” Mrs. Parker-Roth smiled slightly. “Believe me. I have six children, and I can assure you, no matter what I do, no matter how much I try to direct them, they all do exactly as they please. It can be exceedingly annoying, but ultimately it is what you want—to raise strong, independent people who know their own mind.”
“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, Fel
icity 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—
The Naked Gentleman Page 14