She had let that sprig of the Marquis of Addington’s tree under her skirts. Was that it? Did she still worship rank above all else? Not that Lord Peter had any rank at all. His title was merely courtesy. The man was a commoner. He was the peer, but apparently in Charlotte’s eyes, a mere baron could not compare to the son of a marquis, even a fifth son. His blood was not blue enough to mix with hers.
Well, there were other women at this blasted house party. He would get over his fascination with the cold-blooded bitch.
He glanced down to be certain his clothing was in order before he returned to the house. Something gleamed in the grass. He picked it up. A lady’s brooch, a pretty trinket of diamonds and emeralds in the shape of someone’s initials. EMR. Elizabeth Runyon? He thought her middle name was Marie. What had Lady Elizabeth been doing in this secluded bower in his special garden? And with whom had she been doing it?
Puzzles. He put the brooch in his pocket. Solving puzzles could be quite an enjoyable activity.
“I haven’t heard an engagement announcement, have you?”
“What?” Charlotte hoped Felicity hadn’t noticed her startle. She was never so completely oblivious to her surroundings. Tynweith had definitely upset her, and she did not like the feeling. She had not liked it seven years ago, either.
The man was a menace to her carefully cultivated peace of mind. She usually avoided him. Why had she let herself come to Lendal Park? She was an idiot.
No, not an idiot. Desperate. Time was running out. Hartford was failing. If he died before she was increasing….
She took a deep breath. She needed a glass of brandy.
She had to get pregnant now. Hartford’s current heir, an obnoxious grandnephew, hated her. She didn’t blame him—if she got her wish, she’d keep him from getting the title and all the wealth and land that went with it.
He would certainly not treat her kindly if he became duke.
She should have at least one child by now. She’d been submitting to Hartford’s attentions for three full years. She’d wed only weeks after the Duke of Alvord had married his American, and she was in imminent expectation of delivering her second child.
Taking Lord Peter to bed had to work.
Or was Tynweith correct? Did enjoyment increase one’s chances of success?
Impossible. How could she enjoy such an embarrassing, uncomfortable act? Yet she had felt…odd just now, just as she had all those years ago in Easthaven’s garden. Hot and…unsettled. Wet between her legs, exactly where—
“Charlotte! Where has your mind gone?”
It had happened again. She could not allow herself to let down her guard like this.
“What? I’m sorry—my attention wandered.”
Felicity gave her a pointed look. “I should say so. I asked what you thought about the lack of an announcement.”
“An announcement?” She really needed to be alone in her room with her brandy flask. Charlotte quickened her step through the broad formal garden. “What announcement?”
“Lack of announcement. Lord Westbrooke and Lady Elizabeth’s engagement, of course. I haven’t heard a word, have you?”
“No.”
“Don’t you think that is interesting?”
“No.”
“You don’t? You were the one who said we should expect an announcement this morning, weren’t you? Westbrooke was in Lady Elizabeth’s room last night. Naked.”
“He wasn’t seen. For some reason Tynweith has chosen to stop any rumors.” Charlotte slowed as they approached the house. She’d like to tell Felicity to go away. A halfway perceptive person would discern she wanted to be alone.
Felicity was not perceptive in the slightest.
“I still don’t understand what happened last night.” Felicity frowned. “I was quite taken aback when Westbrooke bolted from his bed. I’ve been told I have a lovely pair of tits. I expected him to stay around long enough to admire the scenery. The way he leapt from the window, you’d have thought all the hounds of hell were after him.”
“Shh!” A footman had seen them and opened the door. Charlotte nodded at him. Felicity stopped and ogled the man. The girl was impossible. Charlotte tugged her toward the stairs.
Felicity laughed. “I never took you for a prude, Charlotte.” She snickered. “Lord Peter did not find you overly prudish, either. At least he told me he had no complaints.”
Charlotte stumbled on the first step.
“Surely Lord Peter did not….” She swallowed. “DoI understand that Lord Peter discussed…”
“You are a prude! I never would have guessed.”
Charlotte noticed the footman was looking in their direction.
“Keep your voice down. I am not a prude. I am merely surprised that a man would discuss his sexual affairs with an unmarried woman to whom he is not related in any way.”
Surprised and ill. How could Lord Peter have told Felicity what had occurred between them? And to say he had no complaints! Of course the idiot had no complaints. He’d gotten what he’d come for—several times, in fact. She was the one who had complaints. The man was as inept as Hartford. At least he was quicker about it. It had taken all of thirty seconds each time. She only hoped it had done the job.
Perhaps she’d been too hasty in turning down Tynweith’s offer.
Felicity shrugged. “We are friends.” She grinned. “Good friends. Very good friends. Actually, I would have said Lord Peter had the best arse in England until I saw Westbrooke’s.”
“You’ve seen Lord Peter’s ar—” The footman was still loitering by the door. “You’ve seen Lord Peter’s armor?”
“What?”
She grabbed Felicity’s arm again and hurried her up the stairs.
“When did you see…no, I don’t want to know.”
“Yes, you do—and it was just last week.”
“You really should not talk of such subjects where you can be overheard.”
“I won’t be overheard. Everyone is getting ready for dinner.”
“The servants aren’t.”
Felicity laughed. “Who cares about servants?”
Charlotte looked away. She had never cared growing up, that was true. But now, after spending three years with Hartford…. The servants were the only people who seemed to have some compassion for her—or was it pity? Whichever, it made little difference. They had some feeling for her, though it had taken her a while to unbend enough to see it.
And the truth was one disgruntled servant could hang all one’s dirty laundry out for society’s inspection. She needed to keep the servants on her side, especially if her plan worked and Lord Peter’s seed took root. She didn’t want whispers flying through the ton prompting speculation as to the baby’s paternity.
She headed down the corridor toward her room. Unfortunately, Felicity kept pace with her.
“We really should be getting ready as well.”
Felicity shrugged. “There’s no rush. We have plenty of time. I wanted to talk to you before we went down, anyway. We had agreed to meet, remember?”
“Yes. I was looking for you in the gardens earlier.”
“In the gardens?” Felicity sniggered. “Tynweith has some interesting gardens, doesn’t he?”
Interesting was one adjective, though not the one Charlotte would have chosen.
“They are rather unusual.” She cleared her throat. Was Felicity impervious to hints? “I find now is not a good time to talk, however.” Now she wanted to shut her door firmly and take a few deep breaths.
“Why?”
Charlotte avoided Felicity’s eyes.
“I’m a little tired. I would like to lie down for a while before dinner.”
“Something happened in the gardens, didn’t it?”
“No, nothing happened.” At least nothing she would ever tell the other girl about. Lord Peter might think his amorous encounters common news, but she did not.
Felicity gave her an arch look. “I saw Tynweith out walking.”
“He was headed toward the gardens. Did he find you?”
“Do you think he was looking for me?”
“He definitely appeared to be looking for someone.”
“Perhaps he was searching for his head gardener.” Charlotte reached her door. “Felicity, this really is not a good time for our chat.”
“Nonsense. It won’t take long. You’ll have plenty of time to nap.” Felicity pushed past her into her room. “You need to help me plan how to capture Westbrooke. I want him securely hooked before this house party ends.”
“Not that it’s any of my business, of course, but won’t Westbrooke be a trifle annoyed on your wedding night when he finds no blood on your sheets?”
“Oh, he’ll find blood.”
“Pig’s blood? Get him drunk and then pour a little where it’s needed?”
“Or a lot.” Felicity laughed. “One of my friends spilled the whole vial. She was terrified her new husband would catch on. Instead he thought he’d injured her. He bought her a new carriage and matched grays in apology. But don’t worry, I’ll have no need to resort to such tricks. I am a virgin—technically.” She grinned. “Surely you know there are many amusing games to play that leave a maidenhead intact.”
Charlotte could not imagine any. Did not want to imagine any. There was nothing faintly amusing about anything connected to the procreative process. Embarrassing, messy, painful, yes. Amusing, no.
Except for those few minutes in the shrubbery with Tynweith…. But that experience had not been amusing, either. She did not care to feel hot and unsettled.
She was right to avoid him. Definitely, she had made the correct decision in denying him her bed. She reached for her brandy, opened the flask, and took a long drink.
“Thirsty?”
Charlotte shrugged and wiped her mouth as delicately as she could with her fingers. She settled on the chaise—it was clear Felicity was not leaving until they had their discussion.
“I don’t know how I can help you.”
“I’m sure two heads are better than one.” Felicity sat down. “What happened to the miniature?”
“I put it away. As you said, I’ve no need to look at myself.”
“Are you certain Tynweith didn’t find you in the gardens?”
“I thought we were talking about Westbrooke.”
“Right.” Felicity gave her a searching look. Charlotte took a sip of brandy and looked calmly back at her. She’d had years of practice hiding her feelings, first with her mother and then with Hartford.
She must remember that. She would not allow Tynweith to upset her. She could not let the untidy emotions he caused affect her behavior.
Felicity shrugged and leaned forward. “Westbrooke was definitely naked in Lady Elizabeth’s room and yet there’s been no betrothal announcement. What can it mean?”
“Perhaps that if you do manage to catch Lord Westbrooke in a compromising position, he will not marry you.”
“Or perhaps it means I will have to catch him in a very compromising position.” Felicity smiled. “That opens some intriguing possibilities.”
“Such as?”
Felicity tapped her chin with her index finger. “It will have to be something very public. I want plenty of witnesses, especially if Westbrooke is not inclined to do the right thing.”
“Yes, you will do better if his honor is compromised as well.” Charlotte looked at the door. Perhaps if she poured the rest of her brandy over Felicity, the girl would leave.
“Exactly. Something shocking, too. Very shocking. A kiss won’t be enough.” Felicity sighed. “I do think if I’d been found in his bed last night, I’d be betrothed this morning. I would not have made Lady Elizabeth’s mistake. I would have been certain everyone saw us together. If only I’d moved a little more quickly. If I’d screamed a second earlier….”
“Timing is everything.” Charlotte looked at her watch. “And it is definitely time for you to leave.”
Thankfully, Felicity rose.
“I can see you are determined to be no help. Well, Lord Andrew arrives tomorrow. He is always full of ideas.”
Charlotte tried not to look too relieved as Felicity closed the door behind her.
Chapter Six
“My lord, it is time to dress for dinner.”
“I know, Collins.”
Robbie stared out at the gardens. How was he going to face Lizzie? God. He still saw her, her smile fading; the light dying out of her eyes; the bewilderment; the pain.
How was he going to face her? What could he say to her? He could not tell her….
Shame pulsed deep in his gut.
He could not tell her his secret. Better she hate him than pity him.
“My lord.”
“Yes, I’m coming.” He swallowed his annoyance. Collins was only doing his job. He had to go down to dinner. He could not hide in his room. Gentlemen could not claim the “headache,” even when one’s head was actually pounding hard enough to split one’s skull.
“You do seem a bit down pin, my lord, if I may say so.”
Robbie grunted. Collins was a master of understatement. He could not remember ever feeling so low. Even after the disaster at the Dancing Piper, he had not felt this heavy, energy-sapping melancholy.
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 durati
on 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.”
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