Apparently it was. And now she sighed and got that worried frown every time she looked at him.
He batted aside a drooping vine. The fact of the matter was there was no need for him to marry. He didn’t have a title to pass on. The Priory could go to Stephen or Nicholas, if Father didn’t outlive them all. He was very happy with his life. He had his work—his plants and his gardens. He had an accommodating widow in the village—not that he visited her much anymore. Frankly, he’d rather be working in his rose beds than Cat’s bed. The roses were less trouble.
No, a wife would just be an annoyance.
Damn it, was that rustling in the shrubbery? That would make this evening complete—stumbling over some amorous couple in the bushes. He veered away from the suspect vegetation.
The problem was Mother firmly believed marriage was necessary for male contentment. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. God give him patience. Didn’t she ever open her eyes and look around the bloody ballrooms to which she’d been dragging him? She might be happily married, and Father might be content, but most husbands and wives were not.
He had no interest in stepping into parson’s mousetrap. Maybe if Grace had—
No. He would not entertain such a ridiculous notion. He’d decided that years ago. Grace had made her choice, and she was happy. Last he’d heard, she had two children. She’d been in the ballroom just now. He’d seen her laughing up at her husband at the end of the last set.
The noise from the bushes was getting louder. Wonderful. Were the lovers having a spat? That was the last thing he wanted to witness. He would just—
“You bitch!”
Good God, that was Bennington’s voice. The man had the devil’s own temper. Surely he wouldn’t—
“My lord, please.” The girl’s voice held a thread of fear. “You are hurting me.”
He strode forward without another thought.
She must not panic. Bennington was a gentleman.
He looked like a monster. He stared at her through narrowed eyes, nostrils flaring, jaw hardened. His hands gripped her upper arms. She was certain his fingers would leave bruises.
“You bitch!”
“My lord, please.” She moistened her lips. Fear made it hard to get her breath. He was so much stronger than she, and the garden was so dark.
He was a viscount, a peer, a gentleman. He wouldn’t really harm her, would he?
She had never seen a man so angry.
“You are hurting me.”
“Hurting you? Ha! I’ll show you hurting.”
He shook her so her head flopped on her neck like a rag doll’s, then he yanked her bodice down, tearing the fabric. He grabbed her breast and squeezed. The pain was excruciating.
“Bite me, will you? How would you like me to bite your—”
A well-tailored sleeve appeared at his throat.
He made a gagging sound, releasing her to claw at the black silk cutting across his neck.
“You bastard.” Mr. Parker-Roth jerked Lord Bennington back, spun the viscount around, and slammed his fist into the man’s jaw, sending him backward into a holly bush. Meg would have cheered if she hadn’t been trying so hard not to cry. She pulled on her bodice, but the cloth was torn too badly to cover her. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Parker-Roth.” Bennington spat out the name along with some blood as he extracted himself from the prickly vegetation. “What the hell is the matter with you? The lady invited me into the garden.”
“I’m certain she didn’t invite you to maul her.”
“A woman who goes off alone with a man…”
“…is not asking to be raped, Bennington.”
The viscount opened his mouth, then closed it abruptly. His jaw swelled and he had blood on his cravat. “I wasn’t going to…I wouldn’t, of course…I merely lost my temper.” He glanced at Meg. “My humble apologies, Miss Peterson. I will do the proper thing, of course, and speak to your brother-in-law in the morning, then travel down to Kent to see your father.”
“No!” She swallowed and took a deep breath. She would not shout. She spoke slowly and distinctly, “I will not marry you. I would not marry you even if you were the last man in England—no, the last man in all the world.”
“Now, Margaret—”
“You heard Miss Peterson, Bennington. I believe she was quite clear as to her sentiments. Now do the proper thing and take yourself off.”
“But—”
“I will be happy to assist you in finding the back gate—in fact I would be delighted to kick your miserable arse out into the alley.”
“Margaret…Miss Peterson.”
“Please, Lord Bennington, I assure you there is nothing you can say to persuade me to entertain your suit.”
“You are merely overset. I was too impassioned, perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” She pressed her lips together. She would not have a fit of the vapors here in Palmerson’s garden.
He frowned at her, and then sketched a small bow. “Very well, I will leave since you insist.” He turned and paused. “I do apologize most sincerely.”
Meg nodded. He did sound contrite, but she just wanted him gone. She closed her eyes, listening to his steps fade away. She could not bear to look at the man still standing beside her.
Why had Parks been the one to find her in such an embarrassing situation? What must he think of her?
Perhaps he would just go away and let her expire in solitude.
She felt a gentle touch on her cheek.
“Miss Peterson, are you all right?”
She shook her head.
“I’m so sorry you had to endure Bennington’s attentions. You shouldn’t have…. Well, he is not the sort of man you should…. He has a terrible temper.”
That was supremely evident.
“You can’t go back to the ballroom like this. With whom did you come?”
She forced herself to speak. “Lady Beatrice.”
“I shall fetch her. Will you be all right alone?”
“Y-yes.” She bit her lip. She would not cry—well, not until he left.
He made an odd noise, a short exhalation that sounded both annoyed and resigned.
“Oh, for God’s sake, come here.”
His hands touched her shoulders, urging her gently toward him. She resisted for only a heartbeat.
The first sob escaped as her face touched his waistcoat. She felt his arms, warm and secure, come around her, felt his hand lightly touch her hair. A tight knot in her chest loosened.
She sobbed harder.
The girl was Miss Margaret Peterson—Meg, Westbrooke had called her. He’d met her at Tynweith’s house party last spring. He’d liked her. She’d seemed quite levelheaded—very knowledgeable about garden design and plants in general. He’d enjoyed talking to her.
And looking at her.
All right, he had enjoyed looking at her. She was very attractive. Slim, but with generous curves in all the right places. Warm brown eyes with flecks of gold and green. Silky brown hair.
He tangled his fingers in that hair, massaging the back of her head. She felt very nice in his arms. It had been too long since he’d held a woman.
Much too long if he was feeling amorous urges toward a lady who was blubbering all over his cravat. He would pay Cat a visit as soon as he got back to the Priory, right after he checked on that plant shipment.
He patted her shoulder. Her skin was so smooth, soft…
He dropped his hand to the safety of her corseted back.
What had she been thinking, coming out into Palmerson’s dark garden with a man of Bennington’s stamp? Was she no better than she should be? She had been a guest at Tynweith’s scandalous house party.
And had behaved perfectly properly there. She had gone into the garden with him, but always in the daylight and always to discuss a particular planting.
She made a peculiar little sound, a cross between a sniff and a hiccup.
“Are you all right, Miss
Peterson?”
She nodded, keeping her head down.
“Here—take my handkerchief.”
“Thank you.”
She still would not meet his eyes.
“You can’t go back to the ballroom, you know.” There was enough light to see one slender white shoulder was completely exposed, as was the lovely curve of her breast, the darker shadow of a nipple…
He moved his hips back to save her the shock of his sudden attraction.
Damn, he had definitely been too long without a woman.
“I’m sorry to be such a watering pot. I’ve thoroughly soaked your clothing.”
“You had an upsetting experience.” He cleared his throat. “You do know you shouldn’t be alone with a man in the darkened shrubbery, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.” She stepped a little away from him. “None of the others so forgot themselves.”
“Others? There have been others?”
Meg flushed. Parks looked so shocked.
“I’m not a debutante.”
“No, but you are young and unmarried.”
“Not so young. I’m twenty-one.”
Parks lifted an eyebrow. Meg felt a spurt of annoyance. Was the man criticizing her?
“Lady Beatrice has not commented on my behavior.”
He lifted the eyebrow higher. Suddenly she wanted to grab his spectacles and grind them under her heel. She was so tired of people looking at her in just that way.
“Ohh, you are as bad as the rest of the priggish, nasty beasts in that ballroom.”
She spun on her heel, took a step—and caught her foot on a root.
“Aaa!” She was falling face first toward the holly bush Bennington had recently vacated.
Strong hands grabbed her before she collided with the prickly greenery and hauled her up against a rock-hard chest. She shivered. The cool night air raised goose bumps on her arms and…
She looked down. Her breasts had fallen completely out of her dress.
“Ack!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Close your eyes!”
“What?”
Oh, lud, was that the crunch of shoes on gravel? Someone was coming this way! She had to hide.
There was no place to hide. She twisted around and plastered herself up against Parks. Perhaps God would work a miracle and make her invisible.
The Almighty was not interested in assisting her this evening.
“Halooo! Mr. Parker-Roth…is that you? I didn’t know you were in Town.”
“Oooh.” Meg muffled her moan in Parks’s cravat. It couldn’t be…. Please, not Lady Dunlee, London’s biggest gossip!
She felt Parks’s arms tighten around her. His response rumbled under her cheek.
“I’ve recently arrived, Lady Dunlee. Good evening, my lord.”
“Good evening, Parker-Roth. We were just taking a turn in the garden, but, um…” Lord Dunlee cleared his throat. “I, um, believe it’s time we returned to the ballroom.”
“Just a minute.” Lady Dunlee’s voice was sharp. “Who’s that with you in the shrubbery, sir? I can’t see.”
“My dear, I think we interrupt the gentleman.”
Lady Dunlee snorted. “Obviously. The question is, what exactly are we interrupting?”
Meg closed her eyes. She was going to die of embarrassment.
“That’s Miss Peterson, isn’t it? My word, I had no idea you two were quite so…friendly.”
The Naked Gentleman
SALLY MACKENZIE
ZEBRA BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Praise for The Naked Earl
“Naked, noble, and irresistible—who could resist one of Sally MacKenzie’s heroes?”
—Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author
“Providing plenty of heat and hilarity, MacKenzie has great fun shepherding this boisterous party toward its happy ending; readers will be glad they RSVPed.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The latest in MacKenzie’s delectably sensual “Naked” historical Regencies series has plenty of sexy sizzle and charming wit.”
—Booklist
“MacKenzie continues her delightfully humorous, sexy series with a nice and naughty naked hero who matches wits and wiles with an equally irresistible heroine in the author’s typically touching style.”
—Romantic Times
“With a hero and heroine every reader will fall in love with and secondary characters who love to meddle in their lives, you have the recipe for a romance you won’t be able to put down.”
—A Romance Review
“If you’re looking for a fun and sexy romp, sit back and prepare to enjoy yourself.”
—BooksForABuck.com
Praise for The Naked Marquis
“The Naked Marquis is an endearing confection of sweetness and sensuality, the romance equivalent of chocolate cake…every page is an irresistible delight!”
—Lisa Kleypas, New York Times bestselling author
“With a delightfully quirky cast of characters and heated bedroom encounters, MacKenzie’s latest Naked novel delivers a humorous, sprightly romance.”
—Romantic Times
“A pure delight…filled with very loveable characters, and perhaps the sexiest hero I’ve read in a long, long time.”
—Rakehell
“Charming…funny…full of delightful characters…The Naked Marquis merits a place on the keeper shelves of readers of the traditional Regency and the spicier Regency-set historical romances alike.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“A highly enchanting and thoroughly polished novel…you will not want to let the characters out of your sight. Their lives are your life, their discoveries are your discoveries, and their passions become your desires.”
—The Road to Romance
Praise for The Naked Duke
“MacKenzie sets a merry dance in motion in this enjoyable Regency romp.”
—Booklist
“This is a funny, delightful debut by a talented writer who knows how to blend passion, humor and the essence of the Regency period into a satisfying tale.”
—Romantic Times
“A well-written and enjoyable first novel. Ms. MacKenzie has a wonderful voice.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“Debut author Sally MacKenzie has penned a marvelously witty novel…Readers who enjoy a large dose of humor will love The Naked Duke. The characters are charming, and the pace is quick. It is the perfect book for a cozy winter retreat.”
—A Romance Review
“Sally MacKenzie’s first novel, The Naked Duke, runs a range of emotions that will have you laughing out loud and then biting your nails in anticipation…The characters were realistic, the story was fast paced and the love story of an American girl returning to her father’s homeland to find love and happiness is straight out of a fairy tale.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
HIS KISS
Meg contented herself with the fiercest glare she could manage. “At the risk of repeating myself, Mr. Parker-Roth—go away!”
“And at the risk of repeating myself, Miss Peterson, no. I am not leaving you alone in this garden.”
She really, really would like to kick him.
“Sir, you are not my keeper—”
“Bloody hell, woman.” Mr. Parker-Roth transferred his grip to her shoulders. “Someone needs to be your damn keeper and I don’t see a blasted queue forming for that honor.”
“I do not need a kee—mpht.”
The annoying man had covered her mouth with his own.
Also by Sally MacKenzie
THE NAKED EARL
THE NAKED MARQUIS
THE NAKED DUKE
Published by Zebra Books
For Dad; for Ruth; and, as always, for Kevin and the boys.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
&
nbsp; Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
About the Author
Chapter 1
Viscount Bennington was a terrible kisser.
Meg repressed a sigh. What a pity. She had been willing to overlook his receding hairline, large nose, and frequent petulance, but this was too much. How could she wed a man whose lips felt like two fat slugs? They were trailing wetly over her cheek toward her right ear at the moment.
She should strike him from her list of potential suitors.
Still, he did have one of the largest plant collections in England. She would dearly love to have daily access to all that botanical wealth.
The slugs had diverted to her jaw.
How important could kissing be? Only a small portion of one’s married life was devoted to the amatory arts, after all. Chances were Viscount Bennington had a mistress or two. He’d only look to her for an heir. Once that task was accomplished, he would leave her alone.
She could do it. More than one woman had suffered through the activities of the marriage bed by lying still and thinking of England. She’d spend the time mentally cataloguing Bennington’s vast gardens.
His lips wandered to a spot behind her ear. She would need a handkerchief to dry her face when he was finished slobbering over her.
She drew in a deep breath, but stopped when her lungs were only half full.
Sally MacKenzie Bundle Page 31
