Sally MacKenzie Bundle (154 page)

Sarah was caught up in the most amazing dream she had ever had. She was in a large, soft bed and somehow her warm flannel nightgown had vanished. But she wasn’t cold. No, she was actually warm. Very warm. There was something large and hot next to her. She was pressed up against it. It felt sinfully wonderful. She breathed in the warm scent of brandy and linen.

She felt a delicious pressure on her lips. Firm yet soft. Like velvet. Seductive. Her mouth moved to explore the new sensation and was rewarded with a moist heat.

Wake up, a small voice said. Something this good cannot be right.

Sarah silenced the voice.

She heard a funny little growl and the pressure left her lips. She whimpered, wanting it to come back, and it did, but on her neck this time, just under her ear. She raised her chin to give the lovely pressure more room. It moved down her neck in small nips and licks, stopping just short of her aching breasts.

Something warm and strong kneaded the back of her neck, then followed her spine down to her hips, skirting the parts that most burned for its touch. Her body was on fire. She twisted, panting.

“God, you’re good, sweetheart.”

A male voice.

Her eyes flew open. She looked up into warm amber eyes, golden hair, and sculpted lips…now heading down to sample the tip of her breast.

She screamed and shoved against a very naked chest. She screamed again, pulling back her hands as if burned.

“What the…”

The man sat up, frowning. Sarah took the opportunity to grab the pillow under her head and swing it at him.

“Get back, you, you—lecher!”

“Lecher?”

The man ducked. Sarah swung again and hit him solidly on the ear.

“That’s what I said. Get out of my bed. Get out of my room or I’ll scream the place down.”

“You’re already screaming, sweetheart.”

“Well, I’ll scream louder.” She sat up, lifting the pillow high in both hands, ready to knock him onto the floor if he wouldn’t climb out on his own.

His eyes got an odd, intent expression. He was not looking at her face. She dropped her eyes to see where he was looking.

“Ack!” She slammed her pillow down to cover her chest.

That was when the door banged open and another woman screamed.

“James!”

“Damn,” the man muttered. “Aunt Gladys. Why the hell is she here?”

Chapter 2

Sarah stared in horror at the crowd of faces at the door.

The nasty innkeeper, alternately sneering and wringing his hands. A pair of sniggering footmen. The drunken lord from last night trying unsuccessfully to muffle his laughter. And two elderly women, one tall, one short, their wrinkled faces and bright, inquisitive eyes framed in stylish bonnets.

“James,” the taller one said again, this time without screaming. She and her companion stared at Sarah’s pillow; it was all that stood between her and complete exposure. She flushed and slid lower in the bed, pulling the thin blanket up to her chin.

“Aunt, how delightful to see you. Pardon me if I don’t get up.” James could feel a hot blush surge over his face. He wouldn’t be surprised if his entire body was red, including the unruly part that was making an unseemly tent in the thin blanket. He shifted position.

“James…” His aunt appeared lost for words.

He smiled slightly as he surveyed the people at his door. Lady Gladys Runyon, his father’s older sister, tall and angular with over seventy years in her dish, stared at him, her deep flush echoing his own. Lady Amanda Wallen-Smyth, her constant companion, was beside her. Lady Amanda, who was in her mid sixties, was small and delicate looking. An illusion only. Let the slightest scent of gossip waft her way and she was after the details like a ferret down a rat hole. Now her shrewd brown eyes darted around the room, taking careful note of everything—the girl’s clothes by the fire, his breeches on the floor. Finally they latched onto the girl herself. He swore he saw the old Ferret’s nose twitch. The girl crept even lower under the blanket.

Robbie had finally mastered his laughter. Now his face bobbed up above Aunt Gladys’s head. His mouth moved like that of a beached fish, but no sounds came out. He was making slashing movements with his hand across his throat. James wasn’t sure what he was trying to convey, but cutting someone’s throat, preferably Robbie’s, seemed like a very good idea.

“Robbie, kindly show Aunt Gladys and Lady Amanda downstairs. And close the door when you leave.”

“James…”

“Yes, Aunt. I’ll be down directly. Now please go along with Robbie.”

James sighed with relief as the door finally shut. He turned to the girl. She was still clutching the blankets to her chest, eyeing him warily. She certainly was a very odd whore.

“Please don’t scream again,” he said. “My poor ears have suffered enough.”

“Then don’t do anything to make me scream.” Her eyes strayed down to his chest and then skittered back to his face. “Do you have
any
clothes on?”

He grinned. “No, do you?”

All the skin he could see turned as red as her hair. He wished he could see if her blush extended as far as his had, but there was no time. Aunt Gladys would not be waiting patiently. If he wasn’t downstairs quickly, she would be back upstairs hauling him out of bed, naked or not.

He frowned slightly. Now that he didn’t have a pillow attacking his ears, he could focus on the girl’s voice. It was very nice, soft and educated. She certainly didn’t sound like a local whore or even a higher-priced London demi-rep.

“You sound American.”

“I
am
American.” The girl was being very careful to keep her eyes on his face. For a whore, she was amazingly embarrassed by his bare chest. “From Philadelphia.”

“That’s a long way to come to visit the Green Man, sweetheart. We’re quite proud of the place, but I’m shocked that its fame has spread across the Atlantic.”

“I did not come here to stay at the Green Man,” she snapped, “and I can’t say I’m much impressed with an inn that lacks locks on its doors.”

James chuckled. “True, so if you didn’t come to enjoy the questionable hospitality of the Green Man, why are you here?”

“To see my uncle. The stagecoach got in too late for me to go directly to his home last night.”

James thought he knew all the people in the neighborhood very well, but he hadn’t heard of a villager who had an American niece. “Your uncle? Who’s your uncle?”

“The Earl of Westbrooke.”

James felt his jaw drop.
“Westbrooke’s
your uncle?”

“Yes.”

James swore he saw golden flecks of fire flash in the girl’s hazel eyes.

“My name is Sarah Hamilton, and my father was the earl’s younger brother.”

“David. He did go to America.” James nodded. “So you are here to see the Earl of Westbrooke.” He smiled. Then he grinned. Then he collapsed back on the pillow and howled with laughter.

“Oh, God,” he gasped. “The Earl of Westbrooke! I can’t believe it!”

Sarah clutched the blanket tightly to her chest and stared at the man convulsed with laughter on the bed. This morning could not get any more bizarre. Was the man a lunatic? Naked or not, she should have thrown herself on those ladies’ mercy while she’d had the chance.

“I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” The man sat up and grinned. “In fact, I should be crying, not laughing. But I’m not unhappy. This unusual incident may prove to be the best thing to happen to me in a long time.”

Sarah tried to keep her eyes on his face. It would have helped if he would show the least embarrassment about his naked state, but now that the older ladies were gone, he seemed quite comfortable in his skin. It was very nice skin. The blanket had slipped down to pool at his hips, revealing a fine dusting of golden hair, slightly darker than that on his head. She felt the shocking urge to use her fingers to trace its path from his collarbone to his navel, over the planes of his chest and the muscles of his flat belly. She flushed, looking up to find his eyes on hers.

“Sweetheart, I would love to let you do whatever it is you’re thinking of, but if I don’t get dressed and downstairs promptly, Aunt Gladys will be storming back in here to help me.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“No? Well, perhaps it’s just my dirty mind that’s imagining all the lovely things we could be doing if I didn’t have to be downstairs—and if you weren’t a lady, of course.”

He turned to swing his legs off the bed. Sarah admired the ripple of muscles in his broad back before she dove under the covers. She heard him laugh, then move around the room.

“Coast is clear,” he said. “I’ll be right outside the door when you’re ready.”

Once she heard the latch click, she pulled the blankets off her head and took a deep breath. Well, at least now she knew who the mysterious James was. That is, she knew what he looked like. She burst into a hot blush. She knew what quite
a lot
of him looked like.

Still, she didn’t know his surname. What was she to call him? Not James. She had never addressed a man by his Christian name. But then, she had never slept with a naked man before. Naked with a naked man! If her face got any hotter, she would set the bed aflame. She slid out from between the covers and darted over to the fireplace to retrieve her clothing.

If she had to find a man in her bed, she had certainly found an excellent specimen. She knew the Abington sisters would tell her that she shouldn’t notice such things, but she wasn’t blind, and only a blind woman would not have found this man wonderful with his dark blond hair, broad shoulders, and amber eyes. And his voice! It made her think of warm honey. Mellow and deep and magical. It had certainly cast a spell over her.

She pulled her dress over her head and dug a comb out of her reticule. She surveyed her hair in the mirror. She should have braided it last night, but then it wouldn’t have dried. Well, she had paid the price. Now it was a mare’s nest—a red mare’s nest. She started to tug her comb through the mess, remembering how the Abington sisters had bemoaned its unfortunate hue.

“Maybe it will darken as you get older,” Clarissa Abington had said when Sarah was thirteen, “and look more like your father’s.”

“Just keep your bonnet on, dear, and no one will notice,” Abigail whispered.

“Sometimes, Sarah, men think girls with red hair are
fast
, so you must be especially careful.” Clarissa waggled her stumpy index finger under Sarah’s nose. “Red hair is a curse—it’s that simple. Men will assume you are a whore.”

Sarah’s hand stilled. Had the man in her bed this morning thought she was a whore? Heart pounding, she leaned against the wall for support. Exactly what had happened last night?

She took a deep breath and tried to suppress her rising panic. Was she still a virgin? Certainly she would know if she wasn’t, wouldn’t she? She would feel…different.

Well, she had certainly felt different when she awoke this morning. Was that enough? She did not know. No one had ever bothered to explain the mechanics of procreation to her. Was being alone with a man sufficient? The Abington sisters had always been so careful that none of their students was ever by herself with a gentleman caller. Sarah put her hands to her hot cheeks. She had not just been drinking tea alone with a man in the school parlor! No, she’d been in
bed
with him. At night. Unclothed.

Sarah put a shaking hand on her stomach. Could there be a child growing within her right now?

And why had the man laughed when she’d told him who she was? He had appeared to believe her. He must realize now that she was not a whore.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She would not let her imagination run away with her. There was nothing she could do about it at the moment. She would just tie her stomach into knots fretting.

She wrapped her hair into a bun at the back of her neck and fastened it there with her hairpins. She surveyed the result. Not elegant, but at least she no longer looked like a red haystack. She opened the door.

The man was waiting in the hall, as promised. He looked very elegant and unapproachable with clothes on.

“There you are.” He offered her his arm. “Let’s go downstairs and brave the dragons.”

Sarah stepped closer. Now that he was standing, she saw that he was quite tall. She was used to looking men in the eye, but she came only to this man’s shoulder.

“You’re not going to introduce her to your aunt, are you, James? I can take her down the backstairs and settle up for you if you haven’t had time.”

Sarah started. She had not noticed the other person in the hall. It was the red-haired man of last night. She frowned. Why had he put her in his friend’s room? She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, but James was already talking.

“We’ll sort this all out downstairs, Robbie. I don’t relish discussing my business in the hall, nor do we need to go through this more than once.”

“But, James, you can’t—”

James raised his hand. “Be careful what you say, Robbie. I am most certain you will regret it.”

Robbie stared, then shrugged. “As you will. I suppose you know what you’re doing. You always do.”

Another door opened and a third man stepped into the corridor. He was shorter and broader than the other two, with curly, brown hair. “Morning, James, Robbie, ma’am. Uh, witnessed the commotion this morning. Shall I take charge of the, um, lady?”

“Good morning, Charles. Do come along.” James looked down at Sarah. “Forgive me for not taking the time to make introductions, dear. I assure you, it is better to wait until we have some privacy downstairs.”

Sarah nodded. She had no idea what was going on and decided it was better to hold her tongue. She saw Charles shoot Robbie a questioning look. Robbie shrugged.

The little group walked along the hall and down the stairs, stopping before a closed door. “Courage,” James whispered, touching her hand.

Sarah and the men stepped into a private sitting room. The tall elderly woman and her shorter companion looked up from their tea. The companion wrinkled her nose, as if she’d happened upon a pigsty.