Sally MacKenzie Bundle (11 page)

When Lizzie had left him in the shrubbery, he’d walked Tynweith’s estate again. Bloody hell, he must have traversed every damn inch of the place. If the baron had been thoughtful enough to provide a handy cliff, he might have thrown himself over the edge.

No. He stared at his reflection as Collins fussed with his linen. He wasn’t that desperate, not yet. Almost, but no—he would not let himself go down that road. Death was a coward’s way out. He hoped to God he wasn’t that spineless.

“I heard about the, um, bumble broth last night.” Collins handed him a cravat.

“Did you? A pity you weren’t here.” Robbie wrapped the muslin around his neck. “Perhaps you could have prevented Lady Felicity from inviting herself into my bed. That, by the by, is one of your duties—ascertaining that no females get lost in my sheets.”

Collins had the grace to blush. “She had not arrived by the time I left, I assure you, my lord. If I had suspected she would be so brazen, I never would have, um…. Well, I would have stayed here. I would not have let her cross the threshold.”

“Yes, I’m certain you would have done battle with her and kept her out. I am hoping a sturdy lock will accomplish that task as well. The door does have one—you are to persuade Tynweith’s butler to give you the key before I retire tonight.”

“Yes, my lord. I’m certain that will not be a problem.”

“I hope not, or you
will
have to remain to guard my slumbers. I do not want to go capering naked over the portico roof again.”

Robbie finished tying his cravat and stood. Collins held his coat. Clearly the man had something on his mind.

“Yes? What is it, Collins?”

“About last night, my lord.” The man looked down and brushed the coat’s lapels. If there was any dust on the cloth, Robbie couldn’t see it.

Robbie swallowed a sigh. He had hoped to avoid any detailed discussion of the previous evening. It appeared that was a vain hope. He had employed Collins as his valet for almost ten years. He knew the man. If there was something on his mind, it was going to come out eventually. Might as well get the unpleasantness over with.

“You have something to say about last night?”

“Happens I do, my lord.” Collins cleared his throat and straightened. “Betty told me Lady Elizabeth was feeling poorly this morning.”

“I’m not surprised—she was drunk as an Emperor last night. Shot the cat, did she?”

It was a wonder she hadn’t cast up her accounts when Lady Felicity and Lady Caroline had burst into her room. Their entrance had certainly unsettled his stomach.

He would definitely need to keep a close eye on her for the duration of the house party if overindulgence in spirits had such a notable effect on her behavior. She could have given London’s top courtesans lessons in seduction last night. Just the memory made his useless organ stiffen.

She’d been exceedingly bold in Tynweith’s garden as well, and she’d been sober then. What was the matter with her? A chill settled in his gut. Had someone slipped an aphrodisiac into her wine? He would not put any trickery past some of Tynweith’s guests. Or Tynweith himself. A man who cultivated a garden of obscene vegetation was not a man to be trusted. Hell, the blackguard probably grew some potent herbs on his estate. He would have to ask Parks.

For now he would watch Lizzie. He would dog her every step. She was safe as long as he was with her. But alone—any of the bounders at this house party might take gross advantage of her. Lord Peter, for example, the rutting bastard. He’d wager Lizzie would not have kept her virginity if Lord Peter had encountered her in the shrubbery.

Damn. Just the thought made his heart pound and a red haze veil his eyes. He’d kill any man who took advantage of Lizzie. She was so sweet, so generous, so responsive. If only he were capable….

“Yes, my lord.”

Robbie blinked. He’d forgotten Collins was in the room.

“Betty did say Lady Elizabeth had a severely unsettled stomach. She blamed the ratafia for her condition, but Lady Beatrice thought…at first she suspected…that is, she believed you had visited Lady Elizabeth in her chamber.”

“Get to the point, man.”

“Lady Beatrice thought perhaps Lady Elizabeth was increasing.”

The thought of Lizzie growing heavy with his child caused a jolt of pure lust to shoot through him. The feeling was followed immediately by an aching emptiness that made his head spin. If only it were true. He would give anything….

He forced his mind away from the matter. He had learned a long time ago that no amount of wishing or praying or bargaining with God made a thimbleful of difference.

“That is absurd.”

“Well, yes, my lord. Of course it is. A woman does not exhibit signs of breeding immediately after one night of pleasure. And I know you have not been frequenting her bed before this.”

“Collins!”

The man stepped back in alarm. Robbie struggled to get hold of his temper. “I have not been frequenting Lady Elizabeth’s bed.”

“I know, my lord. Haven’t I just said so?”

Robbie took a breath and counted to ten.

“I did not frequent her bed last night either.” He paused. That was not completely truthful. “That is, not in that way.”

“My lord?”

“Damnation. The point is, Collins, there is no way that Lady Elizabeth could be increasing. The necessary activity did not occur.”

Collins looked disappointed, for God’s sake!

“Why didn’t it, my lord?”

“What do you mean, why didn’t it? Lady Elizabeth is a gently bred young woman who also happens to be the sister of one of my closest friends. Why would you think I would take such advantage of her?”

“My lord, I meant no disrespect. Lady Elizabeth is also a young woman who is clearly in love with you. Betty is certain on that point. And you care for her, do you not?”

“Yes. No.” Robbie wanted to smash something, perhaps Collins’s face. But it wasn’t his valet’s fault that he was defective. “I do care for Lady Elizabeth, but not in that way.”

Collins just stared at him.

“Well, not exactly in that way. You don’t understand. The notion is absurd. I cannot wed Lady Elizabeth.”

“But why is it absurd, my lord? You are almost thirty. You need to produce an heir. Lady Elizabeth would agree in a heartbeat to wed you—Betty says her mistress has turned down other offers, waiting and hoping for yours. There’s no other lady you prefer, is there?”

“Collins…”

“And I know—well, at least I think—you do not prefer men, but even if you did, you would need to overcome those feelings to get an heir.”

“Collins!” Robbie felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. “I do not prefer men.”

“I didn’t think you did.” Collins shifted position, holding Robbie’s coat up almost as a shield. “My lord, I am sorry to be so bold, but I am waiting for your proposal as well. Betty and I would like to marry. If you wed Lady Elizabeth, we will be able to do so easily. If you don’t…well, neither of us wishes to leave our employers, but…. You see the awkwardness of the situation?”

“Yes, Collins. I do understand. I’ll speak to Lady Elizabeth.”

“So you will propose?”

“No. I will discuss your situation with her during the house party. We will find a solution to your problem.”

“But what about
your
problem, my lord? Will you find a solution to that as well?”

Robbie shrugged. His problem had no solution. “Perhaps. Now it is almost time for dinner. Are you going to stand there holding that coat all evening or are you going to help me into it?”

“Help you into it, of course, my lord.”

Collins held the coat out and Robbie slipped his arms into its sleeves. He would put on his society clothes and his society smile and his society charm. He straightened his cuffs and looked in the mirror one last time.

“You look complete to a shade, my lord.”

Robbie nodded. Indeed. Lord Westbrooke always looked all that was proper. He forced a smile.

Lord Westbrooke always had a joke. Lord Westbrooke was always amusing. Lord Westbrooke was the master of inane chatter, of the bon mot.

Society had no inkling of how miserable the witty Lord Westbrooke really was.

“You look beautiful, Lizzie,” Meg said. “Doesn’t she look beautiful, Lady Bea?”

“Are you sure I don’t need a fichu?” Lizzie studied her reflection. Betty had been a bit too zealous in altering this dress. There was a shocking expanse of skin exposed. Her poor little breasts were almost popping out. “Perhaps a shawl?”

“Pshaw!” Lady Bea examined Lizzie’s chest through her lorgnette. Lizzie clenched her hands to keep them from flying up to cover the area under inspection. “Leave the shawl and other drapery in your room.”

Lady Bea was not a proponent of excessive modesty. Lizzie eyed the plunging neck of the older woman’s coquelicot dress. At least a large rope of diamonds, emeralds, and rubies covered much of the wrinkled and dimpled flesh. With the bunches of lime green ribbons festooning the red cloth, she looked like a very ripe apple hosting an inchworm soiree.

Lady Bea winked at Lizzie. “That dress is just the thing to bring Westbrooke to his senses.” She chuckled. “
All
his senses.”

“Um.” Lizzie flushed. After her interlude in the shrubbery, she wanted Lord Westbrooke to keep his offensive senses to himself. “I believe a fichu would be perfect. Betty, could you get my favorite brooch for me?”

Lady Bea pointed her lorgnette at Lizzie. “Timidity never won any battles, missy, or any husbands.”

“So you are saying society’s dictate that unmarried women be meek and well behaved is humbug?” Meg asked, grinning.

“Of course. Most of those asinine rules were conceived by dried up old maids.”

Lizzie looked at Meg. She appeared to be biting her tongue as hard as Lizzie was. Surely Lady Bea, with over sixty years of unmarried life in her dish, would qualify as an old maid.

“I still can’t believe that idiot has not yet offered for you, Lizzie. It’s not as if there is anything standing in his way.” Lady Beatrice frowned. “I never thought he was such a cod’s head.”

“We have a plan to make Lord Westbrooke come up to scratch, Lady Bea,” Meg said. “Lizzie is going to make him jealous. We thought he might need a goad to get him moving toward the altar.”

“Hmm. Some men respond better to a carrot.”

“A carrot?” Lizzie asked.

“A taste of what they will get if they step into parson’s mousetrap.”

Lizzie flushed. Robbie had already had a large taste of that.

“A kiss here; a cuddle there. They get a craving for you. An addiction. It takes over their bodies—especially a prominent part of their bodies—and their minds. You become all they can think of. You invade their dreams. Finally, they are willing to do anything to have you—even become a tenant for life.” Lady Bea sighed, then frowned. “Just be certain you get a ring on your finger before you give Westbrooke, or any man, much more than a taste, Lizzie.”

“My lady, I can’t find the brooch.” Betty had Lizzie’s jewelry case open and a worried look on her face. “When did ye last wear it?”

“I had it just this afternoon, Betty. Are you sure it isn’t here?”

“As sure as I can be, my lady. It’s the brooch with yer initials ye’d be wanting? The one Lady Gladys gave ye for yer come out?”

“Yes, that’s the one. I know I wore it this afternoon.”

“Could it have come off somewhere? Ye did say the clasp was weak. Ye were going to get if fixed when ye got back to Lunnon.”

“Yes, but the clasp wasn’t
that
weak. I can’t imagine—”

Lizzie flushed. Maybe she could imagine. There had been a significant rearranging of her dress in the shrubbery. It was possible the brooch had become detached at that point.

It was too late to go looking for it tonight. It would be safe where it was. No one else would be making use of that odd little bower in that even odder garden.

“Never mind, Betty. I’ll find it in the morning.”

“And you don’t need it tonight.” Lady Beatrice headed for the door. “Come on, before all the brandy is gone.”

“So what exactly happened last night, Westbrooke?”

“Nothing.” Robbie watched the door to the drawing room. Where was Lizzie? He took a sip of brandy, smiling slightly. He would wager she would avoid the ratafia tonight.

Lady Felicity hadn’t made an appearance either. He knew not to hope she’d left the house party so soon. Collins had best procure a key from Tynweith’s butler. He wanted the door to his room securely locked before he climbed into bed tonight.

“Nothing? Then how do you explain the wild story my valet told me this morning? Something about you cavorting naked in Lady Elizabeth’s room. Not quite your style, I would have said.”

Robbie glanced at his friend Parks—John Parker-Roth. The man kept a straight face, but his damned eyes gleamed behind his spectacles.

“Why didn’t you come out and gape with the rest of the house party, Parks? Your room is right next door. Didn’t you hear the commotion?”

“Certainly. And I did poke my head out when I got up to pour more brandy. Didn’t look as though another body was required in the corridor. I had better things to do than gawk and gossip.”

“Had your nose in some plant book, did you?”

“Repton’s
Fragments on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening.
Shall I tell you about it?”

“God, no.”

Parks laughed. “It’s not too technical. There are quite a few pictures.”

“Pictures of shrubbery.” Robbie remembered a certain section of shrubbery and flushed. Parks’s gaze sharpened. The man never missed a thing.

“Hmm. I wonder what is so embarrassing about shrubbery? Take care or your face will be as red as your hair.”

“Stubble it, Parks. And my hair is brown.”

“No,
my
hair is brown. Yours is red.”

“Oh, for God’s sake! We’ve had this stupid argument ever since Eton.”

Parks’s face grew serious. “Yes we have, but you’ve never missed your sense of humor before. What’s wrong, Westbrooke?”

“Nothing. I’m just not nine years old any longer.”

“No, you’re almost thirty—two months younger than I, if I recall correctly.
Did
something happen in Lady Elizabeth’s room last night?”