Robbie looked over his shoulder again. Felicity must be just around the corner. In a second, she’d be on them.
“You may hide in the conservatory.” Lizzie crossed her arms. “I am staying with Lord Tynweith.”
“For God’s sake—”
“Lady Elizabeth”—Tynweith interrupted Robbie—“might you be losing sight of your, um, goals here?”
Lizzie turned red. “I can’t take him inthere. ” She tilted her head at the conservatory door.
“And why not?” Suspicion and anger surged in Robbie again. “You were in there with Tynweith.”
“Westbrooke, you’ve run out of time.”
Robbie looked back again. Damn. He saw Felicity’s slipper. In less than a second, the rest of her would follow and he’d be well and truly caught.
He yanked Lizzie into the conservatory, shutting the door on Tynweith’s chuckle.
What would Robbie say if he saw Tynweith’s statue?
“Let’s sit here to talk.” Lizzie pointed to the stone bench on the landing.
“Is that where you sat with Tynweith?”
Lizzie felt her cheeks flush.
“I didn’t think so. You were very hesitant to let me in here. I want to know why.” Robbie started for the steps. Lizzie grabbed his arm.
“I’m certain you’d be more comfortable on the bench.”
“Lizzie, get it into your head that I am not sitting on that blasted bench. Why don’t you just show me what has you turning five shades of red? I’m going to find it anyway.”
No. She could not show him Tynweith’s obscene statue. She would die of mortification.
“Am I red? It must be the heat.” She fanned herself with her free hand. “It’s cooler up here. Come, sit on the bench.”
“No.” He peeled her fingers off his sleeve and descended the stairs.
Lizzie followed him. Could she stop him if she grabbed hold of his coattails or would he just drag her along behind him?
“There really is nothing of interest here, Robbie. Meg or Mr. Parker-Roth might enjoy spending some time studying the vegetation, but I never thought you had a keen interest in botany.”
“I don’t.” He stopped and picked a leaf out of her hair. “And I didn’t think you did, either. Apparently, I was mistaken.” He let the leaf flutter to the ground and turned away. Thank God he was headed in the opposite direction from the embarrassing statue.
“What were you talking to Tynweith about?”
“Oh, nothing.” Once she had convinced the baron that she did not want to engage in any amorous activities, he had proved quite rational. He’d proposed various plans to make their respective love interests jealous. Not that she approved of Lord Tynweith trying to make another man’s wife jealous, of course. And some of his notions were rather distasteful. And risky. If they didn’t prod Robbie to offer for her, she might well find herself compelled to marry Tynweith. She shuddered. Robbie turned back to face her.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” She was certainly not going to tell Robbie a word of her conversation with their host. “I have a chill.”
“How can you have a chill? You just said you were over warm.”
“Well, I was chilled just then.” She knew how to end this conversation. “It’s a female matter.”
“Oh.” Robbie flushed. “I see. Well.” He clasped his hands behind his back and frowned. “You still haven’t told me what you were talking to Tynweith about.”
“He merely wished to return my brooch. He found it in the garden this afternoon.”
“Oh? Where in the garden?”
“Where do you think?” How could the man mention the garden in that tone, as if he were accusing her of something? He was the one who had taken outrageous liberties without honorable intentions.
Maybe she didn’t want to make him jealous. Maybe she would just strangle him with a handy vine. And now the man was glowering at her.
“You’ve been busy today, haven’t you? Does James know you make a habit of entertaining men in the bushes?”
“What?!” God give her strength, shewas going to murder him. “You are the only man I’ve visited the shrubbery with, much to my chagrin.”
Robbie snorted. “Come, Lizzie, I am not a complete slowtop. You had leaves in your hair just now. You came to this very private location with our host—or are you telling me Tynweith forced you?”
“Of course not, but that doesn’t mean—”
“Lizzie, if Tynweith just wished to return your brooch, he would have done so in the music room. Putting his hand in his pocket does not require this privacy. Putting his hand elsewhere, well…”
“Stop it!” She had to clasp her own hands together to keep from slapping him.
“But what I can’t understand is why you didn’t want to let me come in here. Tynweith is gone. What are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding anything.” Lizzie took a step toward the door. “Surely Lady Felicity has departed. I believe I will go up to bed.”
“Just a minute. What’s over here?” Robbie wandered down a path next to a large fern.
“Nothing.” Lizzie followed him. She was safe. The offending statue was on the other side of the conservatory. “Will you come along? You are as bad as a terrier in search of a badger hole.”
“I am not—oh.”
“What?”
Lizzie pushed up next to Robbie.
“Oh, my.”
Tynweith had more than one unusual statue in his conservatory.
Chapter Eight
“What are they doing?”
“Nothing.” Robbie grabbed Lizzie’s arm and started to turn her away. She resisted.
“They are obviously doingsomething. ” She studied the sculpture. The man might be the twin of the fellow she had backed into across the way. He had his hands on a woman’s shoulders and his face was contorted in what looked to be pain. No wonder. The woman, crouched at his feet, had her mouth around the tip of his poor swollen, um…
“Is shebiting him?”
“No, she is not biting him.”
Robbie sounded very odd, as if he were strangling. Lizzie looked up at him. His cheeks were flushed. His ears were red. He would not meet her eye.
“How do you know? He looks like he’s in pain.”
“He is not in pain.”
“Are you certain?” Lizzie examined the artwork again.
“For God’s sake, Lizzie, it’s only a statue. A tasteless, obscene statue. Tynweith should be drawn and quartered for exposing you to it.”
“He didn’t expose me to this one.” The man did have a very odd expression. She’d never seen anything like it. If it wasn’t pain, what was it?
Robbie rubbed his forehead. “There are others?”
“At least one other. That’s why I didn’t want you to come in here. But this statue is much more interesting than the one I saw with Tynweith.”
“It isnot interesting.”
“I think it is. I have never encountered an artwork like it.” Lizzie thought about her tour of the garden that afternoon. “Hmm. On second thought, perhaps I have. Do you suppose Tynweith’s gardener uses these statues as inspiration? I have to say, stone is a much better medium than vegetation.”
“Lizzie!” Robbie took her firmly by the shoulders and turned her toward the main path. “We are leaving right now. I am sorry I didn’t take your hint immediately and stay by the door. Why didn’t you just tell me it was unwise to venture into the foliage?”
“I doubt you would have listened. You were quite determined, if you will recall.”
Lizzie’s thoughts strayed to their other excursion into the leafage. She had thoroughly enjoyed those activities—before the unpleasant ending, of course.
She slowed her steps.
Meg had told her to avoid any tête-à-têtes with Robbie, but she had not been given a choice this time. And after her experience with Tynweith, she doubted she could convince anyone she was interested in
another man.
Lady Beatrice’s plan was more appealing.
Could she cause Robbie to become addicted to her by giving him some kisses, some cuddling? This was a perfect location to engage in those activities. Once he was suitably addicted, he would marry her, and once the knot was tied, he would realize he belonged with her. He would be happy. It was just a matter of getting that thought through his thick skull.
So, where could she persuade him to repeat his actions of the afternoon? Not on the landing—that would be too exposed if Tynweith should happen to come back. However, there were a variety of lovely shadowy places at hand, little nooks framed by potted trees and draped in flowering vines. Surely not all of them were occupied by inappropriate artwork.
“Look at that lovely flower, Robbie.”
“I am not interested in flowers.”
Yes, it was fortunate she had come to the conservatory with Tynweith. There was something about being presented with a real flesh and blood man in an isolated location that clarified one’s thinking. The thought of being held against Tynweith’s body, of kissing him—she shivered. Repulsive.
“Are you cold again? Perhaps you should consult a physician.” Robbie turned red again. “I’ve never heard of, um, female complaints causing so many temperature changes. Are you quite certain you don’t have a fever?”
“I do not have a fever.” She stopped. Yes, being presented with a flesh and blood man in an isolated location definitely clarified one’s thinking. She knew exactly what she wished to do with this particular specimen, and she’d found the perfect spot in which to do it. She tugged him in the desired direction.
“How do you know anything about female complaints? You don’t have any sisters.”
Embarrassment must have clouded his thinking. He went with her without a protest.
Tynweith was of the opinion Robbiewas strongly attracted to her, and Tynweith was a male, after all. He should have a better understanding than any female of the mysterious workings of Robbie’s mind. But then why hadn’t Robbie offered for her? He’d had the perfect opportunity—several perfect opportunities—to do so. Tynweith had had no satisfactory answer to that question.
She would give Robbie another opportunity now to offer for her—or at least to become more addicted to her.
“I don’t know anything. It just stands to reason. If all females were prone to such temperature changes, they’d be donning and shedding their shawls constantly.”
“Hmm.” This was definitely the perfect spot for giving Robbie a teasing taste. And for taking a taste herself. A large broad-leaved plant shielded them from prying eyes. But how should she initiate the activity? She couldn’t very well fall against him as she had this afternoon.
“I suppose you have a point. Perhaps you should feel my forehead. Is it unnaturally warm?”
He touched her with the back of his hand. She put her hands on his lapels. His body was so hard, so different from hers. She ran her fingers over the cloth. It was very much in the way. She wished she had his skin under her fingers instead. The cloth was rough; his skin had been warm and smooth. Wonderful. She drew in a deep breath. His musky, spicy scent mixed with the smell of flowers, leaves, and earth.
“No.” Robbie’s voice was slightly husky. “You feel quite cool to the touch.”
“That’s odd. I feel very hot. Perhaps you should feel my cheeks, too.”
His hand moved down to cup her jaw, his thumb stroking over her skin.
She turned her head to brush her lips over his palm. She set her fingers to work on his waistcoat buttons.
“You are not overly warm.” His voice was definitely husky.
“Are you certain? I think my temperature must be rising.”
She spread his waistcoat open and ran her hands over his shirt. This was better. Not as good as skin, but better than the armor of his waistcoat. She could feel the strong beat of his heart, the heat of his body.
An odd, intense light flickered in his eyes. She reached up to touch his lips, to trace their outline. He kissed her fingers.
She held her breath. She didn’t want to startle him, to wake him from this fragile, seductive web she was trying to spin.Come closer. Kiss me like you did in the garden.
His head dipped toward her.
Closer.She tilted her face up, waiting….
His mouth brushed lightly over her eyes.
“Mmm.” She wanted to grab his head and hold it still, but she kept her hands flat on his chest and waited. He kissed her cheekbone, her eyebrow, her jaw.
Her lips felt swollen, throbbing. She needed to feel his mouth on them. She was ready to beg, but she stayed still.Patience. If she pressed him, she knew he would wake to the impropriety of their activity. He would push her away, rant at her, drag her back to Lady Beatrice.
She did not want to leave the conservatory until he was well and truly addicted.
His hands were moving. Down to her hips, over her seat, feeling her outline. More than her lips throbbed now. She felt hot and damp between her legs; her breasts ached; her nipples tightened. Still she stood quietly, letting him explore at his own pace.
His hands slid up her sides, over her back, to her neck. They cradled her jaw again.
She opened her mouth slightly, touching the tip of her tongue to her aching lips.
“Are you still warm?” His voice was a rough whisper.
“Yes.” She whispered back. “Can’t you feel me? I am very, very hot.” She let her hands wander over his chest. He did not draw away. She slid them around to his back, down to his hips, watching his face. The odd light in his eyes glowed brighter. She stroked his buttocks and felt his muscles move under her fingers.
She felt a hard ridge against her belly, too, but she was careful not to rub against it. Poor man. He was swollen again. She did not want to hurt him. At least he did not act as if he were in pain. She smiled up at him.
“I’m getting hotter. And you? Are you feeling slightly warm?”
He grunted. Words appeared to have deserted him. No matter. His tongue was exceedingly eloquent without uttering a syllable. It swept through her mouth, stroking and teasing, filling her and then withdrawing.
Her knees melted, and she sagged against him. She hoped she didn’t hurt his swollen part, but she couldn’t help herself. He didn’t flinch—that was good. She tilted her head back farther, resting against his chest, and opened her mouth wide to his invasion.
He shifted her so her front was no longer pressed against his body. One arm supported her, cradling her against his chest, while his free hand slid from her jaw, over her throat, to the neck of her dress. It hovered there, just grazing her bodice, teasing her. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts higher. Her nipples ached.
“Impatient, love?” The words whispered over her cheek.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Please. I need…”
“This?” His fingers slipped under the fabric.
She wanted to cry with relief. She was very glad she had not bothered with a fichu.
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
His hand cupped her breast, lifted it, stroked it. Then his finger circled her nipple—around and around without touching the aching center. His mouth left hers and moved to her forehead.
She was panting. Moaning.
“Please.”
He chuckled. “Please what?”
“Please…touch…”
He did. He rolled the hard little nub between his thumb and forefinger.
“Oh!”
She was going mad. The ache between her legs was unbearable. She was hot and wet and…empty. She needed something, but she didn’t know what.
Did Robbie know? Could he give it to her?
“Robbie.” She tried to press herself against him, but he would not let her move. “Robbie, please.”
“Areyou feverish, love? Now you do feel hot, very hot. I think I might be able to help.”
He bent his head and licked her nipple. Lud, it felt so good. And then he
took her into his mouth and sucked.
“Robbie!” She twisted her hips. Why Robbie’s mouth on her breast would make the emptiness between her legs throb was a mystery, but it did.
“Robbie…”
“Shh, love.” He slid his hand down and cupped her ache through her skirts. “Is this what you need?”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes. His touch felt wonderful, but…She arched her back, pressing against his hand. She needed something more, something just beyond her grasp. “Robbie, I…you…please.”
His fingers moved, found the center of her need, and she shattered.
“Robbie!”
He captured her wail in his mouth.
Robbie had never seen a more beautiful sight. Lizzie was limp in his arms, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dazed. He held her close, stroking her hair, and grinned.
God, he felt wonderful.
He had never brought a woman to satisfaction before.
He wanted to do it again. He wanted to feel Lizzie’s passion again, see her overcome with need, hear her moan with desire and gasp her release. He wanted to carry her up to his room, strip off her clothes, kiss every inch of her beautiful body, and then slide his length deep inside her.
It would be heaven.
Could he do it? Perhaps. He felt he could. If only there was a soft bed nearby. It was too far to go to his room. He would never last. He looked around. The ground was covered with sharp stones and dead leaves. There was no space here. Where else? The bench by the door was too hard. Too exposed. What if Tynweith came back? He knew they were here. He might check to see what was taking them so long. Or Felicity. She might find her way into the conservatory.
God, what if she walked in on them? What if she found him between Lizzie’s white thighs, just as MacDuff had….
Anxiety spiraled through him. His breath got short, his palms grew damp, his stomach roiled—and a very important part of him shrank. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Lizzie’s hair. Damn it to hell. He was small and limp. Useless.
He swallowed, squeezing his eyes tightly together, clenching his jaw. He sniffed. Bloody hell. He would not cry. He had not cried for years, not since he’d realized his problem was not an aberration but a curse. He’d gotten used to the situation, God damn it.
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