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Authors: Sally MacKenzie

Bedding Lord Ned (27 page)

BOOK: Bedding Lord Ned
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She put her own head down and pushed harder, rolling farther and farther until she bumped up against a dainty boot.
“Oh!” She looked up into Lady Juliet's face; the other girl was sitting on what could have been the bottom of a snowman but which had been turned into a chair. Mr. Cox was about ten feet away, building their snowman by himself.
Lady Juliet pointed back the way Ellie had come. “I believe you've strayed out of your territory, Miss Bowman.”
“Er, yes.” Ellie looked over her shoulder. She
was
rather far from Jack. She looked back at Lady Juliet. “Why aren't you helping Mr. Cox?”
Lady Juliet yawned. “I'm far too exhausted to move.”
“But all you've done today is ride around the park in a sleigh.”
Lady Juliet's lips slid into a small, satisfied smile; she strongly resembled Sir Reginald after he'd consumed a large saucer of cream. “I didn't get much sleep last night.”
“Why—oh.” Realization hit Ellie like a punch in the stomach. Lady Juliet had spent the night with Mr. Cox.
No, she couldn't have. The thought was too shocking—but for some reason, she felt certain she was right.
Lady Juliet smiled back at her, not embarrassed in the slightest.
“Well, then, I'll just go back to work,” Ellie said. She was horrified—and horridly envious. Not that she wanted anything to do with Mr. Cox, of course, but Ned ...
She pushed her snowball back the way she'd come as quickly as she could.
“That's far bigger than a head, Ellie,” Jack said when she reached him.
“Then use it for something else.” Even she could hear the annoyance in her voice.
Jack's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't comment.
“I say, Jack, can you give me a hand here?” Ned said from a few feet away. He was struggling to lift an extremely large ball of snow. “Miss Wharton was a bit overzealous—she could have stopped when this was half its size.”
“Of course. I'll be right there.” Jack smiled at Ellie.
“Seems like Miss Wharton has taken a leaf from your snowman building book, eh?”
“Oh, stop teasing me.” Ellie pushed a strand of hair out of her face. She was feeling terribly out of sorts. She wanted to
do
something. “Here, maybe I can help.”
Jack grinned at her. “Maybe you can.”
“Jack,” Ned said, “this isn't getting any lighter.”
“Right.”
Ellie was already on her way—stupid, even she realized that. She was nowhere near strong enough. Jack was right behind her. She should just get out of his way.
She was starting to step aside when she heard Jack whisper, “Forgive me.” Then she felt a hand on her back and a quick shove.
She went flying straight at Ned.
 
 
What the hell was taking Jack so long?
Ned heard something that sounded like an outraged squeak and looked around his ball of snow just in time to see Ellie coming at him.
“Uh!”
He dropped the snow and grabbed Ellie, but he had no hope of saving their balance. They fell backward like a tree going down in a storm.
“Oof!”
At least the snow cushioned their landing somewhat. He could still breathe if he restricted himself to shallow pants. “Are you all right?”
Ellie gasped and nodded. Likely she'd had the breath knocked out of her as well.
He took inventory. He wiggled his toes, shrugged his shoulders. Nothing felt broken. His rump was sore and would likely be much sorer later, but his back seemed fine. He shifted—oh.
He closed his eyes briefly as lust, finally freed from the shock of his sudden change in altitude, roared through him. Ellie might be covered in a multitude of layers, but he could still feel the imprint of her breasts mashed against his chest and the wide, soft expanse of her hips right above ... Somehow they'd fallen so her legs were on either side of his and ...
Oh, damn. Hopefully she'd assume the hard length suddenly pushing up against her woman's place was a rolled up bit of one of their coats. She was quiet; she'd laid her head on his chest, probably still working on getting her breathing under control.
And then everyone else appeared, looming over them with expressions of surprise and concern.
And amusement, damn it. What else should he expect from Jack?
“Need some help?” Jack asked, extending a hand.
At Jack's voice Ellie stiffened and tried to scramble to her feet. Oh, blast! Ned grabbed her hips, pressing them to his to preserve his hope of ever fathering children.
She lifted her head, which had the distracting effect of pressing her more tightly against his cock, and glared at him.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Your knee almost squashed my, er, ah ... a very sensitive part of me.”
“Oh.” She turned bright red.
Wonderful. Their audience must be enjoying the show. He'd swear he heard someone—likely Jack—snigger.
“Let me just ease out from under you,” he said, lifting her off him. Then he got to his feet and pulled her up. He frowned at Jack. “Did you have something to do with what just happened?”
“Yes,” Ellie began, “why did you—”
“Fail to catch you when you slipped?” Jack said. “I'm very sorry.”
“Are you both all right?” Ash asked, clearly concerned.
“Yes,” Ned said. Well, he shouldn't speak for Ellie. “Are you all right, Ellie?”
She nodded but glared at Jack, who looked back at her with an expression of angelic innocence. Ned frowned. He'd seen that look countless times growing up. Jack was definitely guilty of something.
“You shouldn't be standing here in the cold,” Jack pointed out helpfully. “You're both covered in snow and will be damp very soon.” He smiled. “You don't want to catch a chill, especially before tomorrow's ball.”
Ned would just as soon miss the damn ball, but he didn't want Ellie to get sick.
“Lord Jack is very right, Lord Edward,” Mr. Humphrey said. “You can't be too careful. Why, just last winter I was out in the snow and caught a very bad cold that went to my chest and might have carried me off, the doctor said, had it not been for my youth and my hardy constitution. And of course Miss Bowman, being of the delicate sex, must be guarded most carefully by us stronger and more knowledgeable men, so I really must urge you to think of her safety”—he bowed—“or I shall be happy to take it upon myself to escort her to the castle where she may procure dry clothes and sit by the fire with a bracing cup of tea.”
Ned felt Ellie bristle. Humphrey's hardy constitution might be more at risk than he knew if she got her hands on him right now. “Very true, Humphrey,” he said, ignoring the glare Ellie had now turned on him, “about being cold and damp, that is. I definitely think dry clothes are in order. I assume you can manage without us?”
“Indubitably,” Jack said. “And Mama and Father might help once they return from their sleigh ride.”
Ash laughed. “Yes, do go ahead. You both look exceedingly bedraggled, and I believe I just saw Ellie shiver.”
“I'm f-f-fine,” Ellie said, teeth chattering.
“Oh, Miss Bowman,” Miss Mosely said, “do hurry inside. I am quite worried for you.”
Ned took Ellie's elbow and tugged slightly. She was still glaring at Humphrey—a waste of effort as the man was completely oblivious to her displeasure. He was currently conferring with Miss Mosely about the most efficacious treatment for the ague.
“Then we'll be off,” Ned said, tugging again. This time Ellie came along.
“Mr. Humphrey is very annoying,” she muttered as they walked away from the group.
“Yes, he is, but he is right in this instance. We do need dry clothes.”
“Only because J-Jack pushed me into you.”
“What?” He stopped, pulling her to a stop as well. “What do you mean? Jack might be reckless, but he's not insane. He wouldn't do something like that.”
She lifted her chin. Her cheeks and nose were bright red from the cold. “Well, he d-did.” She swatted impatiently at a strand of hair that had fallen over her face and shivered.
He should be shot for keeping her standing in the cold. He took her arm and started walking again. “We can talk about this later; now we have to get you inside.”
“I am not some hothouse f-flower,” she grumbled, but she came along.
This was actually a good thing, now that he thought about it. Everyone would be outside for a while, so he'd have some time alone with Ellie—the perfect opportunity to discover if she required a husband.
He stood aside to let her precede him into the house. “Careful, the floor may be slippery.”
“I kno—eek!”
He caught her as her feet started to slide out from under her, and for a moment she clung to him. He rather liked the feel of her in his arms.
“Oh.” She flushed redder than she'd been from the cold and jerked backward. “I'm sorry.”
“It's nothing, Ellie.” He extended his arm. “But do hold on. Falling here on the marble will hurt far more than tumbling in the snow.”
They made it across the entry and up the stairs to the bedroom floor without further incident. He stopped outside her room. “Meet me downstairs in the library once you've changed, will you? I've a subject I wish to discuss.”
She gave him a cautious look and then nodded. “Very well.”
He continued to his room to find Reggie sprawled in a patch of sunlight on his bed. Mama's cat did not care to be disturbed; he gave Ned an annoyed look and jumped down, leaving behind a rumpled but empty coverlet.
“No red drawers for me today?” he asked Reggie's departing tail. Reggie ignored him.
Ned pulled his wet shirt over his head. Perhaps Ellie had taken his advice and worn the scandalous things under her skirts. He still couldn't understand how she'd come to have them. He peeled off his wet pantaloons. They were something a woman like Lady Heldon might wear. Very shocking and ...
Stimulating apparently. He frowned down at his bouncing cock. Clearly it was past time for him to marry again.
He'd rather wed Ellie than Miss Wharton, now that he considered the matter without Miss Wharton's tale of woe echoing in his ears. He and Ellie had a shared past; he was comfortable with her ...
He frowned as he buttoned the fall of his dry pantaloons securely over his misbehaving organ. He
had
been comfortable with her, but surely they could be comfortable again. If it was a monthly issue, it would pass, though he'd seen Ellie enough over the years that he thought he'd have noticed if she had regular moods.
He shrugged and pulled a clean shirt over his head. He'd learned once he'd married Cicely that he wasn't ever likely to understand female emotions.
He reached for his cravat. And Ellie would like Linden Hall. It wasn't very far from Greycliffe—she could see her family regularly. And she liked Mama, too. And Mama liked her—she looked upon her almost as a daughter already. In fact, Mama and Father would be delighted, even though Ellie wasn't the match Mama had arranged for him.
He snorted. The Duchess of Love couldn't want him to wed Lady Juliet now that the girl was clearly enamored of Cox—and especially if she and Cox had been doing what he suspected they'd been doing last night.
He paused with his cravat half tied. Why had Mama never thought to match him with Ellie?
He shrugged. She must think, as he had, that he considered Ellie an honorary sister.
He picked up Cicely's miniature from his desk and looked at the young girl in the picture. Surely Cicely would approve as well. Ellie had been her closest friend.
He started to slip the painting into his pocket, but stopped. Even though he was confident Cicely would approve, he probably shouldn't bring her likeness along to his proposal.
He put the painting into his desk drawer and then strode out of his bedroom. He paused with his hand on the door to the corridor. Wait a minute—where the hell was Reggie? He looked around the sitting room. No cat.
Oh well, he had more important things to think about than wondering where Mama's pet had got to. He jerked open the door and hurried downstairs. He needed to see to having some tea ready for Ellie—and brandy for him.
Chapter 17
Men can be such idiots.
—Venus's Love Notes
 
 
Ellie frowned at her reflection in the bedroom mirror. Why in the world had Jack pushed her? He hadn't been angry; no, he'd obviously thought he was helping her in some way, making her fall against Ned and land spread out over him like a blanket.
Her face turned redder than her silk drawers, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She was going to spontaneously combust from embarrassment.
She should have been embarrassed out there in the snow, but she hadn't been. Oh, no, embarrassment had been the farthest emotion from her thoughts. She'd been far too overcome by the feel of Ned under her.
He'd felt wonderful, even better than when she'd fallen against him in his room that first day. He was so solid, so hard and broad and male. She'd wanted to burrow into his coat—into him—and stay there forever. She'd completely forgotten they were surrounded by the other members of the house party.
Thank
God
Lady Heldon and Percy hadn't been there to observe her. If they had, the story would be all over the neighborhood already. Of course, it might still spread ...
She bit her lip and tried to swallow her sudden panic. Surely no one could tell she'd wanted to stay draped across Ned? Yes, she should have scrambled up immediately, but ... but ...
She forced herself to take a deep breath.
Everyone must have concluded she'd had the wind knocked out of her. That was it. Or perhaps they'd thought she'd been frozen in shock by it all. Yes, she liked that. The elderly spinster paralyzed by such close contact with a male body.
Or perhaps the moment hadn't lasted as long as she'd thought. Perhaps it had been drawn out only in her mind, like the time between the moment you realize you're going to take a nasty fall and the time you crash into the ground. It seems like forever, but it actually happens very quickly.
She forced herself to smile. She would act as if nothing unusual had occurred. If she behaved as she always did, anyone who did have a suspicion would decide they were imagining things. They would—
Her smile froze. Damn it, had
Ned
been able to tell what she'd been feeling? And when she'd slipped coming inside just a little while ago and grabbed him, had he noticed how tightly she'd clung to him?
Maybe that's what he wanted to talk about in the library.
Oh, dear God.
She'd stay in her room. He couldn't force her to come down. She would merely tell him when she saw him in the drawing room later that she'd been too cold or too overcome by—
No. She wasn't going to hide any longer. If he had noticed, she'd admit it. Hadn't she decided to be strong and decisive and persuade Ned he should consider marrying her? Perhaps she'd even try to flirt with him again.
Hmm, flirting was probably a bad idea. After her feeble attempt outside, she had to conclude she'd no skills in that area. She'd likely do such a poor job of it, Ned would decide she'd taken ill and send for a doctor. She would just have to find the courage to come right out and tell him how she felt.
Gaa! Her stomach threatened to revolt at the thought.
She glared at her middle in the mirror. Her stomach would have to behave. She would take her nerves firmly in hand. She could do this.
Maybe.
No, there was no “maybe” about it. She
would
do it.
She surveyed herself one more time—and grimaced. Her courage would benefit from a more enticing covering. Her dress was a muddy brown that she'd thought would compliment her eyes and hair, but which just made her look like a mound of dirt. And she'd never really noticed how much this frock resembled a burlap sack. Well, at least it was warm.
She couldn't even wear her red drawers to make her feel daring. They were far too wet, so she'd draped them over the desk chair by the fire to dry. They should be safe. She'd had Thomas and another footman shove the wardrobe as close to the wall as possible, so Reggie would have to lose some weight to squeeze through the hole into her room. Once she got back, she'd stuff the drawers securely under the mattress.
She made her way down the stairs to the library, took a sustaining breath, and knocked.
“Come in,” Ned called.
She stepped inside and shut the door behind her. It was rather scandalous for an unmarried man and woman to be alone in a room with the door closed, but she was certain no one here would blink an eye. It was just Ned and Ellie, nothing to be concerned about.
She took another deep breath. She must make it something to be concerned about. She must be scandalous, or at least alluring.
Or maybe just direct. Yes. Just tell him what she wanted. This was her golden opportunity.
Ned was standing by the fire next to two leather wing-chairs. He smiled at her. “Oh, good, I was going to ask you to shut the door. I have a proposition to put before you that I don't care anyone overhearing. Come, have a seat.”
“Ah.” An odd sort of despairing, slightly maniacal laughter bubbled up in her throat, but she swallowed it. Another man—another woman—and a proposition might involve talk of secret trysts and stolen kisses; unfortunately, she couldn't fool herself for even an instant into thinking those notions had crossed Ned's mind. No, likely he only wanted to see if she'd be interested in looking over his plans for his spring plantings.
She joined him by the fire and perched on the edge of one of the chairs. He took the other, crossed his legs, and jiggled his foot.
Hmm. He was nervous, too.
“I had Dalton bring in some tea,” he said, gesturing to the tea cart. “Would you care for some?”
Ned wasn't drinking tea. She cleared her throat, gripping her hands together. “I see you have the decanter there. Might I have a glass of brandy, instead?”
He frowned at her. “Have you ever had brandy?”
Drinking brandy was far too daring an activity for a boring old spinster like Ellie Bowman. “There's always a first time.”
“Actually, no, there's not always a first time. I'm quite certain many ladies go to their grave never having tasted the stuff.”
She was not going to give in. “But I'm chilled.” Whether it was from the cold or nerves, her stomach was certainly shivering. “I've always heard brandy is warming.”
“Tea is warming, too.”
“But brandy is more warming, isn't it?”
Ned was still frowning at her, damn it. She forced herself to look calmly and determinedly back at him. If he refused to pour her a glass, she'd snatch the blasted decanter from him and get her own drink—even if she had to use a teacup. She needed some liquid courage to get through this interview.
“Very well, I don't suppose one glass will hurt you.” He smiled. “And it might help relax you a bit. You seem a little tense.”
“I suppose I am.” Ha! A
little
tense? That was like saying they'd just had a little snow.
He filled a small glass halfway with the amber liquid and handed it to her. “Just be careful. A little goes a long way.”
“I'm sure.” Did he think she was a ninny? She might not have had brandy before, but she'd had ratafia and Madeira. She took a sip.
And thought she was going to die. The brandy burned her tongue and her mouth before tracing a line of fire down her throat. “Ah.” She swallowed again. “Ah, ah.”
Ned reached for her glass. “I
thought
tea would be a better choice.”
She leaned away from him, putting one hand up to hold him off while clutching her glass to her chest. “No, I'm fine. I was just a bit, er, surprised.”
He sat back, worry creasing his brow. “You don't have to drink it, you know.”
“I know. I like it.”
One of Ned's damn eyebrows flew up.
“No, I do.” Now that the brandy had finally arrived at her stomach, it was making her feel warm and almost happy. Her nerves began to unknot. She took another, more cautious sip and was relieved to find the liquid went down much more easily this time. “See? It just takes some getting used to.”
“Well, don't get too used to it. I don't want to have to carry you upstairs because you're too tipsy to manage on your own.”
She quite liked the idea of Ned carrying her upstairs. “What was this proposition you wished to discuss?”
“Ah, yes.” Ned took a swallow of brandy himself. “I had an interesting conversation with Miss Wharton during our sleigh ride.”
Damn, perhaps she didn't want to hear this. She took another sip of brandy. “Oh?”
“Yes. It seems her parents have given her to the end of the Season to find a husband; if she doesn't, they will marry her off to an elderly neighbor.”
“Oh, dear.” Her heart sank, and she swallowed some more brandy. Ned didn't feel he needed to save Miss Wharton from that fate, did he?
“It is shocking to me that parents can be so unfeeling.” He studied her face. “Your parents aren't pressuring you to wed, are they, Ellie?”
“N-no.” She took another sip of brandy. “Though I can sympathize with Miss Wharton. I don't believe Papa cares if I ever marry, but Mama has been reminding me more and more often how, if I insist on remaining a spinster, I'll have to rely on my sisters' charity once she and Papa are gone. It's very depressing.”
The brandy had taken away all the shivering and tightness in her stomach. It was even taking the edge off her worry about Ned and Miss Wharton. She felt quite detached, almost as if she was floating.
“So you've changed your mind about remaining single?”
She blinked at Ned. For such a handsome man, he was a bit slow in his understanding. “I never chose to be single. It just happened.” She drank some more brandy. “Or, rather, marriage didn't happen. We females don't have a lot of choice in the matter, when all is said and done.”
She wasn't being completely truthful, but she wasn't quite ready to tell the entire truth—that he'd been married to Cicely, and there'd been no one else she'd wanted to wed.
Maybe she'd never tell him that—there might be such a thing as too much truthfulness. She should just say that she wanted to dispense with spinsterhood now by marrying him.
She hadn't yet had enough brandy to manage
that
speech.
Ned nodded. “I suppose you are right, but I confess I'd never considered the matter until I spoke with Miss Wharton. I now understand why the poor girl has been chasing Jack so assiduously.”
“Yes.” Damn it, he
was
going to offer for Miss Wharton. She couldn't let that happen without at least trying to state her case. It wasn't as if he loved the girl, and her impetuosity would drive him mad in short order. He needed a friend— he needed Ellie—to point out what a mistake he'd be making if he offered for her.
“But you ... I ...”
Just say it, you numskull!
“I-I want ...”
“Yes, Ellie?” Ned leaned forward, looking solicitous, but clearly without the faintest inkling of what she felt for him. “What do you want?”
You.
But she couldn't make her lips form that word. She held out her glass instead. “More brandy.”
His face wrinkled up as if she were holding out a used chamber pot. “That's not a good idea.”
He was likely correct, but she was desperate. One more glass—perhaps one more sip—and she'd be able to find the courage to tell him what she felt. This was no time to be cautious. “Please?”
His frown deepened. “You'll be sick.”
“No, I won't.” And even if she were, it would be worth it. She eyed the decanter. “Just a little more?”
“Oh, very well, but Mama will be exceedingly annoyed with me if I get you foxed.” He filled her glass barely halfway. “And slow down. You are drinking far too quickly.”
“Um.” She took a sip. “So the, er, proposition you mentioned?” Perhaps she could approach the problem from a different, less obvious angle. “I'm still not clear on what it might be. Does it involve Miss Wharton?” She took a sustaining breath. “And if it does, shouldn't you be speaking to her rather than me?”
“No. Or, rather, not yet.” Ned poured himself more brandy as well. “If you decide to accept my proposal, then I've no need to talk to Miss Wharton.”
“Er, proposal?” The brandy had definitely gone to her head. Her ears were buzzing. Her heart had lurched into slow, hard thuds, and her lungs were stubbornly refusing to take in air.
Breathe, ninny. He doesn't mean a
marriage
proposal.
“What proposal?”
BOOK: Bedding Lord Ned
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