Sally MacKenzie Bundle (36 page)

Lizzie turned to look at Lady Felicity.

“There have been some very odd rumors circulating through the
ton
recently. Rumors concerning my marriage and my husband’s behavior.”

“Really? How unfortunate.” Felicity smiled slightly. “You should not be surprised. When couples marry so quickly under such…interesting circumstances….” Felicity shrugged. “Well, rumors are rather inevitable, are they not?”

“I don’t think so. In fact I think someone has gone out of her way to spread these tales.” Lizzie leaned close and spoke quietly and distinctly. “As Countess of Westbrooke I would be extremely displeased to think anyone so mean spirited as to try to damage my marriage.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Good. You might share my sentiments with Lord Andrew.”

Felicity’s eyes strayed toward the garden. “Lord Andrew? He’s not even in London.”

“I’m happy to hear that. Now if you’ll excuse me? I believe I’ve spent enough time here—the company is sadly insipid, don’t you agree?” Lizzie smiled in a way she hoped was knowing. She must have succeeded, because Felicity’s gaze sharpened to dagger points.

She stopped by James on her way out.

“I have the headache. I am going home.”

“Good. I don’t want to stay either. I’ll take you to Alvord House.”

“No, James. I’m going
home
—to my husband. You may call in the morning.”

“Lizzie—”

She put her hand on his arm.

“James, you are right. I’m not happy—now. But I will be truly miserable if I walk away from Robbie at this point. I have to try to make my marriage work.”

“That’s Westbrooke’s job.”

“That is both our jobs. I need to talk to Robbie.” She smiled and squeezed his arm. “But thank you for caring so much.”

“I will see you in the morning.”

Lizzie nodded. She stepped away and paused.

“If you are feeling at loose ends…if you would like to bash something…I believe if you hurry, you might find Lord Andrew in Palmerson’s garden.”

James’s face lit up. “Really? Splendid!”

Chapter Twenty-One

“My lady! We did not expect you home so soon.” Mr. Bentley shot a nervous glance over Lizzie’s shoulder.

She smiled. “My brother decided to stay at the soiree and then go on to Alvord House. He won’t be calling here until the morning.”

The butler’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Very good, my lady.”

It was Lizzie’s turn to feel nervous. “Is Lord Westbrooke still in his study?”

“No, I believe he went upstairs above an hour ago.”

“I see. Thank you. Good night, then.”

She climbed the stairs to her room. She had to seduce Robbie tonight. If she didn’t, James would drag her back to Alvord tomorrow and everything would become much more complicated.

It was time for action—daring action.

Betty was tidying her dressing table when she came in. She almost dropped the rouge pot when she saw Lizzie.

“My lady, yer home so early. Are ye all right?”

“I’m fine, Betty. I just…” She looked at the voluminous nightgown Betty had laid out on her bed—the nice, virginal, long sleeved, high-necked nightgown.

Daring, be bold and daring.

“I won’t be needing that tonight.”

“Ye won’t? Ye wear it every night.”

“Not tonight.” She walked resolutely to the wardrobe and pulled out the small bundle. She had not had the courage to open it when it had arrived this afternoon. She had thought she wouldn’t have the courage to open it in front of Betty.

If she were going to wear it for Robbie, she had best get over her shyness.

It was very small and very light. Was there
any
fabric inside? Surely the mantua-maker had not made a mistake and sent her an empty parcel?

She tore away the wrappings. Red silk spilled over her fingers.

Betty lifted it out of her limp grasp and held it up.

“Ooh! I’m guessing his lordship won’t be needing Collins’s services for a long while.”

Robbie sprawled in his big chair by the fire, clad only in his dressing gown. He’d sent Collins away as soon as he could. He wanted to be alone.

No, that was a lie. He wanted to be with Lizzie.

He picked up the blue cordial bottle from the table by his elbow and read the note again:
Take at bedtime.

God, this had better work. If it could animate a man Alton’s age…. Well, perhaps there was hope.

He poured the liquid into a glass. It was amber colored like brandy. He rolled a little around on his tongue. It tasted like brandy, too, though it did have an unusual sweetness to it.

He swallowed and looked at the connecting door. James had come for Lizzie tonight. Bentley had assured him she’d been adamant in refusing to return to Alvord, but James could be damn persuasive. And, really, why would she stay? She was not happy. She was trapped in an empty marriage to a man who could not make her his wife in truth. It was a hellish situation.

But, if she left…. God! He took another swallow of cordial.

If she left, what would he do?

She’d been part of his life forever—the plaguey little sister of his friend, the young girl trying so hard to be brave while her brother was away fighting Napoleon, the beautiful woman who’d graced the
ton
’s ballrooms. She was sweet and bright and funny. How could he live without her?

How could he live with her? They could never go back to the way things had been. There would always be this empty bed between them.

What the bloody hell was he going to do?

Drink Lady Beatrice’s concoction and pray it worked.

He took another sip and closed his eyes, resting his head against the back of his chair. Did he hear a scratching on the connecting door? Ridiculous! He was letting his imagination run away with him.

He should talk to Lizzie. It was the least he could do. Explain that the problem was his. That there was nothing lacking in her.

He slumped lower in his chair, cradling his glass against his chest. She’d been so beautiful, so eager and passionate in her room that first night at Lendal Park. Any man would be lucky to have her. He would be lucky if he
could
have her.

He kept his eyes closed, reveling in his very explicit memories, and took another sip. Mmm. The cordial must be working. His skin—a particular section of his skin—had grown extremely sensitive. He felt the silk of his dressing gown brush against it.

He was also hallucinating. He’d swear his clothing had parted, exposing his shy little organ—which was rapidly becoming not so shy and not so little—to the cool air. And then something warm and soft touched him ever so lightly. Little glancing touches from his root to his tip.

He spread his legs. He was as hard as iron now and very hot. He kept his eyes firmly closed. He did not want to risk dispelling this sensual pleasure. This was better than any of his dreams.

The light dry touches turned into little wet licks. Heat pooled in his groin. He moaned.

“Am I hurting you?”

His eyes flew open. Lizzie knelt on the floor between his legs, her face as red as the fire.

Not a dream or hallucination.

He grew even harder. Amazing. He was suddenly less worried he would wilt than explode.

“No. No, you are not hurting me.”

“The swelling is not a bad thing?”

“Definitely not.”

She wrapped her hand around him. “Does this hurt?”

“No.” He spread his legs farther. To see her delicate fingers around his shaft—his very hard shaft—was a dream come true. Well, only part of his dream. His fickle little organ could still…

He felt it start to shrink and he quickly took another sip of cordial.

He would not worry about the past or the future. He would concentrate on the present moment.

Lizzie kissed the tip of his poor organ and it swelled with delight at the attention.

It was a very lovely, a very splendid moment.

“This is such an odd part of you, you know. When I first touched it, it was small and soft—and now look at it.”

He looked at it. It looked wonderful—long and thick and hard. Eminently capable of accomplishing its marital duty. He tossed off the rest of Lady Bea’s cordial.

“I believe it is time to adjourn to my bed.”

Lizzie stood up.

He dropped his glass on the floor.

“What in God’s name do you have on?” Robbie was staring at her body.

She flushed and crossed her arms over her chest.

No, she was going to be daring tonight. Hiding was not daring.

She forced herself to open her arms and turn in a slow circle. The red silk nightgown fluttered over her skin, caressing, teasing, making her crave a firmer touch. Robbie’s.

“Do you like it?”

“Like it? It is completely, totally scandalous.”

“Oh.” She dropped her arms. Perhaps the nightgown
was
too revealing. Well, there was no perhaps about it. The red bits of fabric were translucent. They accentuated rather than covered her nakedness. She flushed and brought her hands up—

Robbie was out of his chair and pulling them away before she could blink.

“It is shocking and scandalous and enticing and maddening. Just never wear it in another man’s sight.”

“Of course not. I would never…um…”

Robbie was
looking
at her. He had his hands on her shoulders, just as he’d had that first night at Lendal Park, and he was holding her away again, but this time his eyes were not focused on her face. Not at all. They were studying her throat, her breasts, her waist, her…um. Her nipples hardened into tight little pebbles and a certain part of her felt very hot. Damp.

Needy.

“Please, Robbie.”

“Hmm?”

He was studying a particular part of her very intently. She moved to break his concentration.

“What?” He looked slightly dazed.

Daring, she should be daring.

“It is quite all right to touch, you know.”

“Really?” One corner of his mouth tilted up in a smile.

“Yes.” The word was little more than a whisper.

He touched her then, carefully, almost reverently, his eyes watching everything he did. His face was so intent, so…hungry.

His hands slid under the scraps of silk to cradle her breasts. His fingers stroked her, circled around her nipples, rubbed them. She drew in a sharp breath. Her temperature soared; she felt a wash of moisture flood the empty place between her thighs. Her knees threatened to buckle.

He ran his hands down her sides, spanning her waist and going lower. His thumbs skimmed over the thatch of hair there. She flexed her hips, inviting him to explore that part of her anatomy. It was crying for his touch.

Instead, his hands slid back up to her breasts, to her aching nipples. His thumbs flicked over them and heat spiraled low in her stomach.

This was far better than what she had imagined when she’d stood naked before her mirror at Lendal Park. Only one detail needed improvement—a major detail. Robbie had far too much clothing on. She could not see his lovely male organ—it was hiding in the voluminous folds of his dressing gown.

She reached for his belt and tugged.

Ah. She loved his body. She moved closer, and this time he let her. She pushed aside his dressing gown, slid her arms around his waist, buried her face in his chest, and hugged him tightly.

His arms came around her to hug her back.

“I love you, Robbie,” she whispered. “I love you whether you can give me children or not.”

He tilted her face up. The passion in his eyes had dimmed to a dark sadness. She felt the ridge against her belly shrink and soften slightly.

“Lizzie, I love you, too. More than I can say. But I don’t know…”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. She reached up to stroke it.

“Just tell me, Robbie. Please?”

His hold on her loosened. He was withdrawing. No! She would not let him. She tightened her arms.

“Tell me. I love you. Whatever it is, it will not change my love.” Her eyes were wet. She pressed her face into his chest. She felt him lower his head.

“I cannot…. I do not know if I can…”

He shuddered. She stroked his back and waited.

“I have not been able to…be with a woman for years.”

His male organ was no longer pressing against her belly.

“It does not matter, Robbie.”

“It
does
matter.” He pushed her away, turning to face the fire.

She wrapped her arms around him from behind. “It does not matter.”

“It does.” His voice was shaky, as if he might be suppressing tears. “It’s a damnable coil. I’m so sorry you are chained to me.”

“Well, I am not sorry.” She rubbed her cheek on his back. What could she do for him? She hated the sadness in his voice.

Her fingers wandered below his waist and found his poor little organ. It leapt at her touch.

She smiled. She knew what she needed to do. She stroked him and he drew in a sharp breath.

“I did…I have this cordial…” He was panting slightly. “I don’t know if it will work…”

“Then we will just have to try and see, won’t we?”

He took her fingers away from where they’d been playing and turned to face her. “But what if it doesn’t work? You need—”

“Do not tell me what I need. I know what I need—I need you.” She reached for his dressing gown. “I need you naked in bed this instant.”

It was time to be very daring indeed.

“Lizzie—”

“Do not say another word, sir. I have decided that I am going to seduce you. I expect you to be a gentleman and allow me to have my wicked way with you.”

His useless organ began to feel not quite so useless.

“Well, if you put it that way…”

“I do indeed. You do not have to lift a finger.” She looked down and something else lifted slightly. The minx grinned at him. “I am going to take charge of everything.”

It couldn’t hurt to play along.

“Your wish is my command.”

“Excellent.” She tugged his dressing gown off him and dropped it on the floor. Cool air touched his heated skin.

“Now that I have you suitably naked, you need to help me off with this silly nightgown.”