The Naked Gentleman

by Sally MacKenzie

  Perhaps he had put the wrong emphasis on a word. Who the hell knew? Didn’t the girl comprehend that it was a miracle he was actually forming coherent sentences?

  “You are incorrigible, madam.”

  “I am not! How can you say so?”

  “How can I not say so? Have you not made a habit of frequenting the darker corners of the ton’s vegetation with a variety of men? One would think, if you were an intelligent woman, you would have learned your lesson after your encounter with Bennington.”

  That got to her. He grabbed her hand before it connected with his face. Did she think to frighten him with that glare?

  “At the risk of repeating myself, Mr. Parker-Roth—go away!”

  “And at the risk of repeating myself, Miss Peterson, no. I am not leaving you alone in this garden.”

  “Sir, you are not my keeper—”

  He swore his head was going to explode. He had never been so angry—he actually saw red.

  “Bloody hell, woman.” He grabbed her shoulders. They felt so delicate under his hands. He could break her as if she were a porcelain doll. Had she no sense at all? “Someone needs to be your damn keeper and I don’t see a blasted queue forming for that honor.”

  Miss Peterson raised her chin. There wasn’t a hint of fear or caution in her eyes. By God, she did belong in Bedlam.

  “I do not need a kee—”

  He had heard enough. His mouth came down on hers without conscious thought. Let her taste the danger she flirted with.

  Taste. Mmm. Yes. She tasted hot and sweet. He licked the line between her lips—they softened, opened. He slipped inside. Her weight sagged against him.

  This was much better than arguing.

  He stroked the dark, wet wonder of her mouth. God, it was so good—as good as he’d dreamed since that bloody evening in Lady Palmerson’s parlor. Better.

  Well, not quite. In his dreams, Miss Peterson was naked, gloriously, splendidly, completely naked.

  Another jolt of lust targeted his groin. He was going to explode.

  He slid his hands down her back, past her hard corset to the lovely soft expanse of her bottom. He traced its contours, cupped it, pressed it closer to his ache.

  Was he scandalizing her? Frightening her? He didn’t want to—

  She made an odd little noise in the back of her throat and wiggled closer. Another movement like that and he was going to disgrace himself.

  The most recalcitrant part of him throbbed in anticipation at the thought. He sent it a stern reprimand and flexed his hips back slightly as he kissed her jaw. Her breathy pants and little moans filled his ears. She smelled of roses and need.

  Good God. Her hands slid down his back, under his coat tails, to his posterior. The minx! She was tugging on him, trying to pull him back against her.

  She was in serious need of a thorough lesson, and he was going to—

  Damn.

  “John—”

  “Shh!” He covered her lips with his fingers. Yes, he was right. It was a wonder he’d heard anything over the blood roaring in his ears, but he had. Someone was approaching.

  A meeting would be most inadvisable. Miss Peterson looked delightfully wanton and he…well, his pantaloons were much too fitted to disguise his current sentiments.

  He tugged her farther into the pine trees.

  They reached the stone wall separating Easthaven’s garden from the alley before Meg had completely recovered. Really, if Parks hadn’t wrapped his arm around her waist and supported her, she would have melted into a puddle on the ground. He was almost carrying her.

  “John—”

  This time she didn’t need his muffling fingers. She heard a woman’s voice clearly.

  “Confess—you enjoyed it.”

  Oh, lud! It was Lady Dunlee.

  She swallowed a groan and put her head on Mr. Parker-Roth’s chest. His hand came up to tangle in her hair—hair that was shockingly tumbled over her shoulders and back.

  His fingers comfortingly massaged her scalp.

  She really was ruined this time. Once was bad enough, but to be found in the bushes twice with Mr. Parker-Roth? Lady Dunlee could dine out on this tale for the rest of the Season—if not the next Season and the next.

  A man snorted. “I will not. I don’t see why you must keep dragging me into the shrubbery, Clarissa. We have a perfectly good bed at home.”

  Bed? Clarissa? That was Lady Dunlee’s Christian name and the man speaking sounded like Lord Dunlee, but…

  Bed?!

  Were they going to sleep in the shrubbery? They couldn’t…surely they were far too old to use a bed for anything other than slumber.

  Meg peered out through the pine needles.

  “I can’t help it, Edgar. You know how these spells come on me. I get so hot—flushed and damp. I can’t stand being in the stuffy, close air of the ballroom. And then, well, sometimes I get…”

  The woman giggled!

  “Sometimes I really can’t wait. And you weren’t protesting very vehemently a few moments ago, my lord.”

  Lord Dunlee cleared his throat. “Well, no. Always ready to be of service, of course, my dear. It just seems at our age…my rheumatism…well, a bed is vastly more comfortable, don’t you agree?”

  “Sometimes. And sometimes a quick…encounter…on a secluded garden bench is exactly what I need for my comfort.”

  “I’d say so. You were like a wild animal, my dear. I hope I have not lost any buttons.”

  “If you have, we’ll just have new ones sewn on.”

  “But I have to reenter the ballroom.”

  “Then I’d best check to see all is in order, hadn’t I?”

  Lud, surely Lady Dunlee wasn’t going to…? She was! She put her hand on Lord Dunlee’s…

  Meg buried her face in Mr. Parker-Roth’s cravat. Were they going to resume whatever activity they’d been engaged in?

  Thankfully not.

  “Clarissa, you must give me time to recover.”

  “Oh, pooh. Very well.” Lady Dunlee emitted a short, disgruntled-sounding sigh. “You used to be able to perform more than once in an evening.”

  “I used to be many years younger.”

  Lady Dunlee laughed. “True—as was I. And I must say whatever you lack in quantity, you more than make up for in quality.” She made a funny little purring sound.

  Meg covered her ears with her hands, but she couldn’t completely block out the conversation.

  “I can’t wait for the next time.”

  “The next time will occur in our bedchamber, madam. Now straighten your gown and behave yourself.”

  “Must I?”

  Yes. Meg squeezed her eyes tightly shut and stuck her fingers in her ears. Please, behave. Go back to the ballroom.

  How could she ever look at Lady Dunlee again without seeing—hearing—this scene?

  “They’ve left.”

  Meg lifted her face from Mr. Parker-Roth’s cravat. He had a distinctly bemused expression in his eyes.

  “What were they—”

  He covered her lips with his fingers again. “Sound travels at night.”

  Her stomach twisted. “They must have heard us, then.”

  Mr. Parker-Roth rolled his eyes and pulled her toward the back wall. “I believe they were too involved in their own activities to be eavesdropping. However, that is not the case now.”

  Meg followed behind him. Fortunately there was a narrow path by the wall so they weren’t forced to battle the vegetation. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for the back gate. I don’t believe you will be reentering the ballroom.”

  Meg pushed her hair off her face. No, she would definitely not be gracing Lady Easthaven’s ballroom again tonight.

  “I’ll—”

  The man stopped so suddenly, she bumped into him.

  “What is it?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Yes, I do.” She hated to be patronized. She ducked under his arm—and sto
pped.

  Thankfully, she was still hidden by the overgrown pine trees. Through their branches, she saw Lord and Lady Dunlee on the other side of a small clearing. They were frowning at Lady Felicity. Lady Felicity was…well…she was leaning against a tree. She had a very odd expression, and her dress was…was…

  “Is there someone under Lady Felicity’s dress?”

  “What…?”

  Mr. Parker-Roth put his hand over her mouth once more. Really, the man was becoming extremely annoying. Still, she was appreciative of his action this time. She might otherwise have brought unwelcome attention to their presence.

  “Lady Felicity,” Lady Dunlee said, “just whom might you be entertaining down there?”

  Chapter 12

  “What was he doing?” Meg had been trying to puzzle out the answer to that question ever since she’d seen Lord Bennington emerge from under Lady Felicity’s skirts in Easthaven’s garden two days earlier. “He’s not a physician.” She frowned, replaying the scene in her mind for the hundredth time. “Though Lady Felicity did look very odd. Do you suppose she was in pain?”

  “She was not in pain.”

  Mr. Parker-Roth sounded distinctly testy. Meg glanced over at him. His ears looked distinctly red, as well. Was he embarrassed? Why?

  He did not meet her gaze, but lengthened his stride so they were almost galloping across the lawn at the Duke of Hartford’s estate on the Thames.

  “Will you slow down? We are not in a footrace, are we?”

  “No, of course not.”

  If anything, the man increased his pace. Meg put out her hand and caught his arm.

  “What is the matter?”

  “Nothing is the matter.”

  She blew out a short, annoyed breath. “I am not a complete ninnyhammer. Something is the matter.”

  Mr. Parker-Roth stopped and looked at her. “Why didn’t you ask your sister about the scene in the garden?”

  Meg felt her cheeks flush. She avoided Parks’s eyes. “I don’t know. It was too hard to describe, I suppose. Too odd. I mean, who would believe a grown man would be under a woman’s skirts in the garden outside a ball? It is…absurd.”

  “Exactly. Just put it out of your mind.”

  She couldn’t do that, either. She’d tried. There was something about the tableau that would not let it be forgotten.

  “Lord Bennington and Lady Felicity are engaged now.”

  Parks snorted and resumed his breakneck pace down the hill toward the group of people playing bowls.

  “I would hope so.”

  “Why?”

  He stopped again. “Miss Peterson, please. You may not understand exactly what Lord Bennington was up to, but you certainly understand he should not have been involved in any activity requiring a visit beneath a lady’s skirt.”

  “Of course, but—”

  “And he was discovered by Lady Dunlee.”

  Meg snorted herself this time. “Lady Dunlee is not one to preach propriety after what she was doing in the garden.” She paused. What had Lady Dunlee been doing?

  “Lord and Lady Dunlee are married. What they do between themselves cannot be construed as scandalous.”

  “I was scandalized.” She didn’t need to know the specifics to know something shocking had occurred.

  “You are a virgin. You don’t count.”

  “What do you mean, I don’t count?” She grabbed his arm again. She might not be experienced, but still…“Weren’t you scandalized?”

  Mr. Parker-Roth flushed. “I might have been surprised, yes. I hadn’t considered…one doesn’t usually consider…” He shrugged. “But scandalized? No. As I say, they are married. A certain degree of…intimacy…is to be expected in marriage as a matter of course.”

  Meg shook his arm. “But in the bushes? Lady Dunlee?”

  Parks shrugged and started walking again. She fell into step beside him. Lord and Lady Dunlee were old. Who would have thought old people could still engage in activities requiring screening by bushes?

  She should have thought it. Lady Dunlee was quite possibly younger than Papa and Harriet, and they were certainly very…ardent. Of course, they had only been married a few years, but still, if marital enthusiasm were limited by age…

  No, it wasn’t Lady Dunlee’s age that made the incident in Easthaven’s shrubbery so shocking, it was her role as society’s arbiter of decorum. She’d shamed Lord Bennington into a marriage proposal minutes after she’d been…well, she’d been doing something that involved a secluded garden bench and potentially missing pantaloon buttons. For her to then act outraged at what Lady Felicity and Lord Bennington had been doing—

  What had they been doing?

  “I do wish you would explain the situation to me.”

  Parks almost broke into a run. “I am not explaining anything to you. It would be most inappropriate. Ask your sister if you are so curious.”

  “Has anyone told you that you are a shocking prig?”

  He glared at her. “If you don’t care for my company, please seek a more congenial companion. I don’t believe I’ve been forcing you to stay by my side.”

  “I was just trying to be polite.”

  “That’s a first.” He muttered the words, but she still heard him quite clearly.

  She should take his hint and leave him alone. She certainly had not intended to seek him out. She’d been extremely annoyed with the man and had planned to ignore him thoroughly. But she couldn’t. When she’d seen him arrive with his mother and Miss Witherspoon, she’d been drawn to him like a moth to flame. And then Mrs. Parker-Roth had suggested he take her for a stroll. She’d known he hadn’t wanted to do so, but she hadn’t refused when he’d offered.

  Well, she’d had a question to ask him, which he’d now made abundantly clear he had no intention of answering, ever.

  He was outpacing her again. Surely a man with even a modicum of manners would match his step to hers? She hurried to catch up.

  No, not a moth to flame. The analogy was more a fly to dung. A maggot to rotting meat.

  She could not ask Emma what Lord Bennington had been doing under Lady Felicity’s skirts. For one thing, Emma was not very pleased with her at the moment. The ton’s attention had been on the delightful scandal of the viscount and the disreputable earl’s daughter, but Emma’s eyes had focused on Meg’s muddied gown and tumbled hair. She had whisked her out the back gate before she had even approached the ballroom and had rung a peal over her the entire carriage ride back to Knightsdale House.

  No, she was definitely not going to ask her sister anything about scandalous behavior.

  “Your son does not look very interested in my sister.” Emma leaned forward in her chair on the terrace and frowned as she watched Mr. Parker-Roth stride across the lawn below her. Meg had to almost run to keep up.

  “I would say he’s very interested.” Mrs. Parker-Roth, ensconced in the chair next to her, sounded almost smug. “Exceedingly. I’ve never seen him take such an interest in a female before.”

  The woman must be addled in the head. If Mr. Parker-Roth was showing interest in Meg, Emma would hate to see what his disinterest looked like. “How can you say—oh!”

  Lord Henry had found a dead fly and was preparing to pop it into his mouth. Emma dove for his chubby little hand.

  “No, Henry. Dirty!”

  She wrested the disgusting item out of his fingers. He howled for a moment and then crawled off in search of another revolting morsel.

  “Henry!”

  He giggled and crawled faster. Emma lunged and grabbed him around his waist. He tried to wiggle free.

  “No you don’t, you little monkey.”

  She plopped him down to stand at her knees. He blinked up at her and then squealed with glee, the two small teeth in his bottom gum glistening like tiny pearls. He grabbed her skirts, balancing on his fat little legs.

  “It might have been more relaxing if the duchess had not made this a family party,” Mrs. Parker-Roth said, lau
ghing.

  “Definitely. Dealing with Henry is like wrestling a greased pig—not that I’ve ever wrestled one, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Emma frowned. Why did she feel so overwhelmed with Henry? He let himself down and crawled over to investigate an ornamental frog. “Charlie wasn’t this active.”

  “Charlie is your oldest. Henry watches him and tries to do what he does.”

  “But they are two years apart. There is no possible way Henry can match Charlie’s actions.”

  “Tell Henry that.”

  Henry had lost interest in the stone frog and was busily pulling flowers out of a planter.

  “Henry!”

  He grinned and crawled back toward them.

  “Stephen is two years younger than John, and he was always trying to do whatever John did. Thankfully John was rather cautious or Stephen would have had many more bruises—and I would have had many more gray hairs.”

  “And yet you had six children.” Emma handed Henry a biscuit.

  Mrs. Parker-Roth chuckled. “Well, I wasn’t thinking of tending the babies when I was making them. My husband is very…persuasive.”

  “Ah.” Emma glanced at Mrs. Parker-Roth. The woman had an odd, dreamy expression.

  Lud! Mrs. Parker-Roth must be close to Papa’s age. Of course Papa had married Harriet only a few years ago and Charles thought they still—

  A knot of panic twisted Emma’s stomach. Surely the woman would not share any details of…?

  No, she could not consider it. A change of subject was in order—or a return to the original subject.

  “Why do you think your son is interested in my sister?” Emma asked. “He was almost running away from her a moment ago.”

  Mrs. Parker-Roth grinned. “I know. He had a very hunted expression on his face, did he not?”

  “He did. And men do not like to be hunted—at least, Charles did not. That’s why he married me—to avoid being fox to all the matrimonial hounds after he inherited the title.”

  The other woman laughed. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “Of course. He said—”

  “Oh, pooh.” Mrs. Parker-Roth flicked her fingers at her. “That may have been what he said. That may even have been what he believed at one point. Men do so hate to expose their feelings. Much easier to say—and think—they are marrying for convenience rather than love. But do not fool yourself. The marquis is madly in love with you.”