Sally MacKenzie Bundle (211 page)

She searched all the pockets quickly and then again, more carefully. Nothing. They were completely empty. Damn. The viscount must have taken the paper out and put it somewhere else. Where? Perhaps he’d hidden it amongst his socks.

There was something rather intimate about going through a man’s clothes.

She looked in the wardrobe and clothespress, pushing breeches and coats aside, lifting socks and shirts, cravats and waistcoats and—she blushed and put that particular stack of clothing down. Nothing. Where else might he hide a scrap of paper quickly? He hadn’t had much time. Lily had said he’d just taken off his coat and then had gone back downstairs.

She peered around the door to the bedchamber proper. Hmm. The desk was the most obvious place to look. Too obvious? Perhaps, but she’d start there and then move on to the drawers of his cabinets and the bedside table. She might get lucky. After all, he was in his own home. He had his men guarding the place. He must feel secure, maybe secure enough not to go to great lengths to hide something. The paper might even be lying on the desktop.

It wasn’t. Jane slid into the desk chair. She shivered. This was where Edmund sat to write at least some of his correspondence—perhaps his private letters. Whom did he write to? He had no parents, no siblings. Did he have friends with whom he shared the events of his days, his thoughts? Did he perhaps keep a journal?

He didn’t keep a terribly neat desk, though. The surface was gritty—he must have sanded a letter and not cleaned up properly afterward. She brushed the residue into a basket and opened a drawer. Paper. Could he have hidden the sketch here? She ruffled through the sheets—nothing. She opened another drawer—penknife, quills, sand, blotting paper, sealing wax, magnifying glass—nothing of interest here either.

She peered in every drawer, even the very small ones, and looked in every nook and cranny. She found a few balled-up bits of paper, some stray blobs of sealing wax, a broken stub of a pencil, and lots of dust.

There was no sign of a journal; no letters to answer; no bundle of missives saved to be reread. The desk was completely impersonal. Why even have a desk in your room if you were going to ignore it like this? The man must do all his correspondence in his study.

She sighed and got up. Perhaps he’d stuck the paper in one of the drawers of the cabinet in the corner. She looked there and in the pages of some books on a shelf. No scrap of paper. Where in the world had the man hidden it? Could he have just put it in the pocket of his new coat? She’d look in the drawer of his bedside table and then she would have to give up in defeat. Surely Lord Motton was planning to share the drawing with her anyway, wasn’t he? He wouldn’t really cut her out of the hunt.

She didn’t believe that for a moment. If his silly male brain thought keeping her in the dark would protect her, that’s exactly what he would do.

She pulled open the drawer by his bed. It made a scraping sound…

Wait. Had that sound come from the drawer or from…?

She whirled around. Damn! The doorknob on the door to the corridor was turning. In a second someone else would be in the room. She had to hide, but where?

The door was opening. Her time was up. She had only one choice.

She dove under Lord Motton’s bed.

“My lord, you should have come up hours ago.” That was Mr. Eldon’s voice. Jane heard him sniff. “I regret to inform you that you…ahem…stink.”

“I was hoping that might keep you and other people from interrupting me.” Lord Motton’s voice sounded muffled, almost as if he were taking off his shirt.

There was more commotion from the direction of the door. Then a procession of feet passed by her hiding place, stopping on the hearth. A copper slipper tub appeared with a dull thud and then there was the sound of water splashing.

“My lord, it is my duty—my pleasure—to serve you even when you smell like a pig.”

“Oh, surely I’m not
that
ripe, Eldon,” Lord Motton said as the footmen departed and he moved to the chair by the fire. “Though I suppose my feet might be. Help me off with my boots and then you can go to sweeter-smelling climes.”

“Very funny, my lord.” Mr. Eldon’s hands appeared and grasped Lord Motton’s right boot. They yanked it off and moved to the other. A heavy, musty smell wafted Jane’s way. She pinched her nose closed. “Of course I will stay to assist you with your bath.”

Lord Motton’s fingers made short work of his stockings. “You will not. I can bathe myself, you know.”

“I do not know. I’m sure your back was wrenched in the accident.”

“Why the hell do you think that?” Lord Motton stood. He had blunt, strong-looking feet.

“It might have been. You should have come up right away and soaked it. I will have Cook prepare—”

Lord Motton’s breeches dropped to cover his feet. He stepped out of them, and his hand swooped down to scoop them up. It sounded as if he threw them at Mr. Eldon.

“You’ll get your sorry arse out of here, Eldon. I do not want you fussing around me like my old nurse.”

“Now, my lord—”

“Now, Eldon, if you have this sudden desire to put your hands on my naked person, you can just walk out that door and keep going.”

“My lord! Of course, I have no desire…that is not my intent at all…I merely wished to…how can you imagine—”

“Stubble it and just leave me be, all right?”

“Yes, my lord. Of course.” Eldon’s voice had just the perfect mix of subservience and wounded feelings as he gathered Motton’s soiled clothes and shut the door behind him.

Damn. It wasn’t his valet’s fault he was so edgy. Motton stared at the closed corridor door and then glanced at the other—the door connecting his room with Jane’s.

Was Jane already asleep? Should he peek in to see?

Not dressed—Ha! Exactly—as he was or, more to the point, wasn’t.

He stretched. Faugh, he
did
stink.

He padded over to the tub and climbed in. Ah! It felt wonderful. He slouched down, laying his head against the back of the tub, and let the wet heat loosen his muscles. He wasn’t worried that he’d hurt his back this afternoon, but his body did feel tight—and not just due to fighting runaway horses. One particular body part was aching for an entirely different reason.

Jane.

What was he going to do about Jane? Satan obviously had him—and therefore her—in his sights.

Bloody hell, how could he keep her safe? Satan had his eyes and ears everywhere. At a minimum he should forbid her looking for the last piece of Clarence’s puzzle.

He snorted, sending a small ripple spreading out across the tub. He could imagine her reaction. Jane would not care to be told “no.”

He dunked his head and started lathering his hair.

It wasn’t just Satan’s interest he’d brought on her, though; it was society’s as well. She’d managed to spend seven Seasons in London without getting her name on every gossip’s tongue, and now? Their sudden and marked interest in each other had the old gabble-grinders flapping their lips fast enough to generate a small wind storm. The aunts had definitely noticed. They were probably mentally decorating the chapel at his country estate—unless they planned for him to marry in London.

And if society knew exactly what he and Jane had been doing…He must have compromised her several times over.

How
had
he overlooked her all these years? Well, he’d been in no hurry to marry—why would he want to repeat his parents’ disaster?—so he hadn’t been looking, at least not for a wife. And he couldn’t very well look to John and Stephen’s sister for dalliance.

But once this puzzle and the Satan problem were solved…

He dunked his head again to rinse the soap out. He surfaced, wiped the water from his eyes, and—Was that a cough?

He spun around, rapidly checking every corner of the room. Nothing. Was he starting at shadows now?

This was Motton House. He had men guarding all the entrances. It would be hard for anyone to sneak in here…hard, but not impossible.

He held his breath, listening.

Silence.

It must have been his imagination.

He rubbed the soap cake into a lather and scrubbed his arms.

He didn’t usually have an overactive imagination, but he didn’t usually have a female involved in his business. He’d always worked alone. But now…

He blew out a long breath and moved on to rub his feet and legs. It wasn’t just having Jane involved that was putting him on edge; it was being near Jane. It was her scent and her figure; her smile, her eyes, her independent streak, the way she tasted…

Was she interested in him or was she only interested in Clarence’s puzzle? Surely she wouldn’t have let him kiss her—and she wouldn’t have kissed him back—if she didn’t care for him. Or maybe she was just curious…but if that was all it was, she’d best be careful. The aunts could be very determined when they’d got the bit between their teeth. And Jane’s mama seemed inclined to fall in with them. If Jane didn’t keep her wits about her, she was liable to find herself swept up the church aisle—and then into his bed.

His cock poked its head out of the water at that thought. He would definitely like to have Jane hot and naked in his bed. Mmm. He’d been imagining that scene in exquisite detail these last two nights while she’d been sleeping soundly in the viscountess’s room.

He put his head back against the tub and ran his soapy hand down his poor, aching cock. He’d start with her spread out on his sheets, on her back, her small sweet breasts with their delicate nipples crying for his touch, her legs open, her—

His hips bucked up, sending a small wave of water splashing over the sides of the tub. Damn, just one stroke of his hand and the image of Jane had almost caused him to spill his seed.

His cock throbbed, begging for release. If he ever did have Jane in his bed, he would have to go much more slowly. Women needed time, careful tending, whereas men—he, at this particular moment—could—

“A—Achoo.”

Bloody hell. He was out of the tub in one motion, hunched over slightly as his cock struggled to resume more appropriate dimensions. That sneeze had come from under his bed. Who would have thought Satan would have one of his minions hide there? Was he waiting till he slept to slip out and kill him? And then go next door and kill Jane?

Ice filled his veins and the last wisps of lust cleared from his brain like hoarfrost in the sun. The creature under his bed would rue the day he was born.

He swiped his hand over his desk. The sand he’d left there to alert him to an intruder was not merely disturbed, it was gone. Had he a tidy villain? Odd, but he’d seen stranger things. His sword cane was still where he’d propped it, however. He jerked the sword free and directed its point toward the bed. “I know you’re under there. Come out slowly.”

Jane bit her lip. Damn it. If only she’d been able to muffle that sneeze. What was she going to do now? The glance she’d stolen of Edmund told her he was very angry—and very naked.

Watching him bathe had been shocking. And well, yes, she had inched over to the edge of the bed to get a better look. He was so lean, yet had such muscles in his upper arms and chest and such broad shoulders. And how could she have guessed he had a dusting of light brown hair over his chest, down his flat belly to…

She’d seen her brothers naked, of course, but when they’d been children, before they’d had muscles and hair and such an impressive…Mmm.

Edmund quite put Pan to shame.

She’d wanted to touch him. And when he’d had his hand around his shaft, she’d wanted it to be
her
hand.

The place between her legs felt swollen and damp. It ached for something—and she had a very good idea exactly what it ached for.

“Come out now.” Edmund sounded very angry. She should move. He had a sword. He might do something drastic if she didn’t show herself soon, but her nightgown was all tangled up.

“In a moment.” She tugged on her gown.

“Good God!”

She swiveled her head around. His voice sounded very close…

It was. He’d squatted down and was now peering at her. “What are you doing under there, Jane?”

He had his sword on the floor, pointing in her direction. As she watched, something else of his rose to point at her.

Would his penis be hard like Pan’s if she touched it?

She would find out. Edmund would think she was shameless—a complete light skirt—but Lily was right, she wasn’t getting any younger. She did not want to die a virgin.

“I’m hiding.” She’d wager her chances of persuading the man to relieve her of her virginity would increase if she were naked, too, but how could she free herself of her nightgown?

“Who are you hiding from?” His voice was hard, as if he were ready to skewer whoever was to blame. She smiled.

“You. I’m hiding from you.” But she wasn’t going to hide any longer. Oh, no. She was going to show him everything.

Was she being foolish? Perhaps. He might reject her, though she had little fear of that. Men were not too choosy when offered bed sport. Look at John. He went regularly to visit Mrs. Haddon in the village, and she bore a striking resemblance to a goat. An attractive, pleasant goat, but a goat nonetheless.

“Why?” He sounded quite taken aback. “Surely you aren’t afraid of me?”

“No.” She wasn’t. He was much larger than she and much stronger, but she knew he would never hurt her. “I was merely startled. I didn’t want to be found out. I’m not supposed to be in your room.”

She was not worried she’d become enceinte. Women did not conceive every time they shared a bed with a man. It often took months of dedicated effort—and probably took some practice as well. Her womb must need to become accustomed to the procedure before it could produce a child. Edmund’s parents had been the exception.

Her womb—and other nether organs—shivered at the thought and produced more dampness. Her lower body was certainly in favor of seduction.

“That’s true.” His voice sharpened again. “Why are you here?”

And what of her mind—and her heart? Did it matter that she loved Edmund and he only lusted after her?

No.

“Jane, why are you here?”