Sally MacKenzie Bundle

by Sally MacKenzie

  “There is no problem.”

  Lady Beatrice snorted and raised an eyebrow. Lizzie looked down and pleated her skirt.

  “Well, perhaps there is a problem, but we are just wed. We will work it out with time.”

  Lady Beatrice snorted again. Lizzie looked up.

  “It’s not as if Robbie wanted to marry me.”

  “Oh, please! Has he or has he not come to your bed? Given his reaction at dinner, I would say the answer is no.”

  She stared at Lady Bea. Surely Robbie would not want her to reveal such an intimate detail.

  Her silence was answer enough.

  “Just as I thought.”

  “Lady Beatrice, there has hardly been time—”

  “Lizzie, a determined man can get his—” Lady Bea paused and coughed. “Trust me, there has been plenty of time. We need to discover why Lord Westbrooke has not made use of the many hours at his disposal.”

  “Perhaps he doesn’t find me attractive enough for such activities.” There, she had said it. A huge weight lifted off her shoulders. She took a large swallow of brandy and savored the burning warmth.

  “My dear, any female is attractive when a man is thinking with his”—Lady Beatrice coughed again. “Ahem. In any event you are being foolish beyond permission. I was not lying earlier—Westbrooke did amuse the ton with his longing looks. The man definitely finds you attractive. There must be something bothering him. Perhaps Billy can ferret it out.”

  Lizzie’s stomach leapt to her throat, putting her evening’s dinner at dangerous risk of reappearance. “Surely Mr. Alton would not discuss…?”

  “Surely he would—that is his mission tonight.”

  “Oh.” Robbie did not like people prying into his affairs. He would be furious. He would never talk to her now. “He can’t. That is, I do not think that would be wise. Robbie—”

  Lady Beatrice swept away Lizzie’s objections with a wave of her hand. “Fiddle-faddle. We must find out what is troubling the earl for his own good. The future of the Westbrooke title depends on it, does it not?”

  Lizzie flushed. “Well, there is Cousin Theobald.”

  Lady Beatrice made a face. “That creature? Please! Perhaps if we sprinkled snuff…never mind. Theobald is not an option.” She poured them both more brandy. “Don’t you want Westbrooke in your bed?”

  “Uh.” Heat swept through her. She looked at the fire. It had not suddenly blazed hotter. “Yes. That is, I would like to have children.”

  “But you would like to have Westbrooke, too, correct? Naked. Kissing you, touching you, licking—”

  “Yes, yes.” If she heard any more, she’d spontaneously combust. “I’m certain it is terribly shocking, but yes.”

  “Lose that notion immediately, miss. If you care for a man—especially if you’re married to him—nothing you do is too shocking. Well, not in a bad way at least.” She leaned forward and tapped Lizzie on the knee. “I think you need to shock the earl into action, Lizzie.”

  “Really?” Lizzie shook her head, trying to clear the throbbing from her ears. She took another sip of brandy. This was a very unsettling conversation. Still, if Lady Beatrice could show her how to get close to Robbie…well, she would do anything to accomplish that goal.

  “Yes. You have already waited for him to make the first move and he has not done so. You must take matters into your own hands.” Lady Bea grinned. “Literally.”

  “Oh?” Lizzie took another sip of brandy.

  “Yes. You must seduce him.”

  Lizzie choked. The brandy burned her nose.

  “Seduce Robbie?”

  “It should not be difficult.” Lady Beatrice sat back. “I will send word to the mantua-maker first thing in the morning. I told you you should have included that lovely silk nightgown in your trousseau.”

  Lizzie took another gulp of brandy. “The red nightgown?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t wear that. It’s scandalous! I would die of embarrassment.”

  Lady Beatrice leveled a stern gaze at her over her brandy glass. “Would you rather die a virgin?”

  Put that way…

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  If something so simple could solve her problem—well, it was worth a try. “All right. I will wear the red nightgown.”

  “Good. It should be ready by tomorrow night—I will tell Elise to put everything else aside.” Lady Beatrice chuckled. “Not that there is much work to be done on such a slip of cloth.”

  Lizzie would die of embarrassment. She would have to send Betty away. She would never be able to don such a scandalous outfit in her maid’s presence.

  “And then you must go in to Robbie—you cannot wait for him to come to your room.”

  Go uninvited into Robbie’s room? Her stomach shivered.

  “But I think…I believe he doesn’t spend much time there.”

  “He does sleep there though, doesn’t he? Or has he left the house entirely?”

  “No. No, I believe he does still come to, um, bed, just very late at night.”

  Lady Beatrice shrugged. “That’s no matter then. You just climb into his bed and wait.” She grinned. “You will be a splendid surprise for him.”

  “I don’t know….”

  “Courage. You must be determined to get what you want.”

  “Well…”

  “It is best for him, too, remember. He needs an heir.”

  “Yes.”

  They sipped their brandy in silence. A log popped and sizzled in the fire.

  Could she do it? Could she wear that scandalous red gown and climb into Robbie’s bed?

  What was the worst that could happen? Robbie might be vexed, but all he could do was send her back to her own room.

  Lady Beatrice must have read her mind.

  “Lizzie, you must not let Westbrooke send you away. This is your chance. Fight for him.”

  “But how?”

  “Tempt him. Tantalize him.”

  Lizzie swallowed more brandy. “Perhaps I will merely annoy him.”

  “Oh, I sincerely doubt that.” Lady Bea leaned close and dropped her voice. “You will be able to tell how interested he is by the size of his male organ. If he says he wants you to leave, but his pantaloons are bulging, he is lying.”

  Lizzie dropped her jaw. “It’s a good thing if his, ah…if it’s swollen?”

  Lady Beatrice blinked. “You’ve seen a male organ?”

  Lizzie flushed. “At the house party…Robbie…I thought he had bumped himself on the windowsill….”

  “Thank God! I feared the man was impotent, but if his cock can crow….” Lady Beatrice grinned. “This is an excellent sign. You must not be afraid to touch it, my dear, with your fingers or your lips.” She winked. “Or your tongue.”

  “Touch it?” Lizzie frowned. “Are you certain?”

  Lady Beatrice leaned forward and clicked her brandy glass against Lizzie’s. “Lady Westbrooke, I have never been more certain of anything in my life.”

  Robbie took another swallow of port.

  “So, Billy, are you going to marry the old harridan—I mean, Lady Beatrice?”

  Alton frowned at his glass. “No. It is completely impossible. You may be certain I’ve told Lady Beatrice that a thousand times.”

  Robbie slid lower in his chair. “Oh, I don’t know. Don’t see why you can’t tie the knot. It isn’t as if the old girl’s going to affect the succession. Charles has an heir and is working on more—and Lady Bea is well beyond the age of motherhood.” That was an understatement. She was almost beyond the age of grandmotherhood. “People will talk, of course, but then, people have been whispering about the two of you for years.”

  Alton sighed. “I know. I should never have taken this position. I should have left Knightsdale’s service the moment I saw which way the wind blew.”

  “Now, now.” Robbie patted Alton on the back. “No use crying over spilt milk. What’s done is done.
I’m sure you’re a comfort to Lady Bea in her old age.”

  Alton spewed port over the tablecloth.

  “Old age? The woman’s only a few years past sixty.”

  “That’s right.” Why was Alton looking at him as if he were daft? The man must be close to sixty-five himself—had at least one foot in the grave. “I suppose there may be some who think you’d be marrying her for her money, but as you are even older than she…well, it’s not as if she will predecease you. You are a companion for her declining years—I’m certain everyone will think so.”

  Alton appeared to be gasping for breath.

  “I say, you aren’t having an apoplexy or anything are you?”

  Alton covered his eyes with one hand and waved at Robbie with the other.

  “No, no. I just…I merely…poor old Lady Beatrice.” He emitted a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snigger.

  “Are you certain you’re all right?”

  “Yes. I’m fine.” Alton dropped his hand. There was an odd gleam in his eye. “I’m so happy we’re having this talk. Have some more port.”

  “Thank you.”

  Alton filled Robbie’s glass to the brim.

  “You really believe Beatrice won’t suffer if we wed?”

  “Well.” Robbie contemplated his glass. He couldn’t lie. “There will be some doors closed to her, but I doubt she’d wish to attend affairs at those homes anyway. She doesn’t strike me as a woman who is extremely high in the instep.”

  “You’re right there. Old Bea doesn’t have much patience for a good bit of the ton.”

  “Exactly.” Robbie nodded. The port was making him feel very mellow. Expansive.

  “But what of her nephew, the marquis? He certainly can’t like it.”

  “Charles? He’s not one to worry overmuch about a man’s pedigree. Didn’t want to be a peer himself.” Robbie leaned back in his chair and grinned at Alton. “’Course you’ll always be welcome at Westbrooke—you and Bea.”

  “Generous of you.” Alton refilled his glass.

  “Least I can do. Lizzie don’t care.” Robbie sighed and stared at his port. “Lizzie’s a real brick.”

  Alton grunted. “Sounds like a favorite hound.”

  “No. Love her. God, I wish I could…damn.” He cradled a mouthful of port on his tongue while he thought. He swallowed. “Thing is, she deserves better than me.”

  “What? A duke or a marquis?”

  “No. Don’t mean rank. To hell with rank. Who cares about rank? Lizzie don’t. No, it’s…I can’t…” He drained his glass and held it out to Alton. The man generously filled it again.

  “The damnable thing is…well, you must know. You’re old, right?”

  Alton arched an eyebrow.

  “Exactly.” Robbie leaned closer. “Secret, don’t you know? Can’t bear to tell Lizzie. Well, I did tell her I can’t have children, but she doesn’t understand. You would, I’m sure. At your age, you must have the same problem. Not that it matters to you.” Robbie closed his eyes briefly. “But I’m not yet thirty.”

  “And that problem would be…?”

  “Cock won’t fight.”

  “Ah.”

  “It’s limper than a damned stewed carrot.”

  “I see.” Alton cleared his throat. “Always?”

  “Well, no. It’s worse, really. The damn thing gets as hard as an iron poker until it’s time to do the deed. Then it cowers like a frightened maiden.”

  Alton nodded. “And you’ve never…?”

  “Twice. But then…let’s just say I had a bad experience.”

  “Hmm.” Alton stared into his port. The man looked damn inscrutable. “I believe I can help you.”

  “You can?!” Robbie almost knocked over his glass. No, wait. Stupid. How could an elderly man help him? “I don’t mean any insult, but really…I assume it’s been years since you….”

  “Actually, no. It’s been since this morning.”

  Robbie did slosh his port onto the tablecloth then. “What? This morning? As in today? As in twelve hours ago?”

  Alton consulted his timepiece. “Ten hours, actually.” He grinned. “And twelve.”

  “Twice? At your age?”

  Alton shrugged. “Lady Bea is quite inspiring.”

  “Damn.” Robbie drummed his fingers on the table. Twice in two hours—and the man was ancient. And Lady Beatrice was…well, Lady Beatrice. “What’s your secret?”

  Alton looked around and then leaned close. “A potion,” he whispered.

  “A potion?” Robbie whispered back.

  Alton nodded. “A cordial.”

  “Oh.” Robbie drew a circle on the tablecloth with his spilled port. “Do you think…is there any hope…?”

  Alton nodded. “Definitely. I will have Bea make some up for you.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Not tonight, I’m afraid. There are a few ingredients she does not have on hand.”

  Damn. “Then when?”

  Alton smiled. “Tomorrow. I’ll have it sent round as soon as it’s done. And then tomorrow night…” He grinned. “Magic. Trust me. One glass of this cordial and you’ll be a new man. Works every time.”

  “So I’ll be able to…?” Robbie could not believe his nightmare might have an end.

  Alton nodded. “Multiple times—though you do not want to overdo it at first. Spare Lady Westbrooke any discomfort. Virgins, you know.”

  God, if it really worked…It must be magic if it could invigorate a man as old as Alton.

  “You promise?”

  “You have my word.”

  Robbie felt a weight lift off his shoulders.

  “Splendid. Splendid. I cannot wait.”

  “You told him what?” Lady Beatrice bolted upright in bed. Queen Bess hissed and jumped down from her place on Alton’s pillow.

  Alton pulled his shirt over his head. “I told him you would make him a cordial.” He dropped the shirt on the floor and grinned. “Said it worked for me.”

  Lady Beatrice snorted. “You have never had a performance problem.”

  “No, but Westbrooke doesn’t know that.” Alton laughed and shed his breeches. “Young fool thinks anyone over forty must be in his dotage. I’m certain he cannot imagine an ancient specimen such as I having sexual congress at all. He just about fell off his chair when I said I was still capable.”

  “Hmm. More than capable.” Lady Beatrice reached out and stroked the most capable part of his anatomy. “Much more.” She ran her fingers up and down, smiling at his sharp intake of breath. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were a virtuoso.” She replaced her fingers with her tongue. “Mmm.”

  Alton stroked her hair and laughed shakily. “It’s not as if I have any competition. We were children when we began this game.”

  She smiled up at him, tugging on his hips. “I knew what I wanted even then, and I have never been disappointed. If only you would get over your stubbornness and marry me, my life would be complete.”

  “I doubt that.”

  She stopped smiling and straightened, getting up on her knees so she could look him in the eye. “Do not doubt it. It is true. I went off to that stupid house party in the hopes you would miss me.”

  He cupped her cheek. “I did miss you, Bea. Terribly. I miss you every time you leave.” He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “But if you married me, you would not be invited to any more such parties.”

  “Do you think I care?” She pulled back out of his grasp. “I spent most of my time at Tynweith’s pining for you—when I wasn’t dodging Lord Botton, that is.”

  “That poltroon was there?”

  “He was. And I will tell you he is a very difficult man to evade. It is like trying to slip out of an octopus’s grasp. Every time you think you’re free, another tentacle latches on.”

  “Damn. If I had been there, he would not have been so bold.”

  “Exactly.” She stroked his chest. “I need you to protect me, Billy.”

  Alton snorted.
“I doubt that.”

  “I want you to protect me.”

  “Bea—”

  She put her hand over his mouth. “No. Listen. I’m tired of living in sin. I know people will talk, but I’d rather have them whisper we are wed than I am keeping you.”

  Alton grasped her fingers. “They don’t say that!”

  “Clarissa, Lady Dunlee does. Oh, not in my hearing, of course. She’s all false smiles to my face.”

  “I’ll kill the woman.”

  “No. Marry me instead.” She drew little patterns on his chest. “Can’t you understand? I only go about now because of Lizzie and Meg. I’d be happy to be done with it. I have a few friends who will still accept me, and I don’t care for the rest.”

  “Bea, you can’t know that anyone will stand by you. You may think they will—they may even think they will—but when they are faced with the fact of your wedding, when they are asked to greet the butler as your husband—”

  She grabbed his arms and shook him. “I don’t care. Everyone—even my nephew Charles—could turn against me and I still would not care.”

  “Bea—”

  “Billy, I am not a girl any more.” She snorted. “I have not been a girl for ages. I know my own mind. I want you as my husband. Will you marry me?”

  Alton opened his mouth…and then closed it. He smiled slightly. “Perhaps. Once you’ve got Meg settled, then…well, perhaps.”

  Bea whooped and tugged him so he fell down next to her on the bed. “Billy Alton, I’m going to hold you to that.”

  Alton laughed, catching her hands from where they had wandered. “I only said ‘perhaps,’ Bea.”

  She grinned. “That’s the closest you’ve come to ‘yes’ in over forty years, Billy. It’s only a small step from there to the altar.”

  “But—”

  “Shh.” She put her finger on his lips. “I’m tired of arguing. There are many more enjoyable things to do with our tongues.”

  She bent her head and proceeded to demonstrate quite thoroughly.

  Much later Bea sighed and twined her fingers in the hair on Alton’s chest. “That was lovely.”

  He stroked her breast. “Hmm. Especially for an old man.”