Betty and Collins would be merry as grigs if Robbie married Lizzie. Well, he would be, too, but it would never happen. He would never curse Lizzie with a half-man like himself. He sighed. When he had seen her, standing naked in front of her mirror, the candlelight making her skin glow, her hand sliding down her curves to exactly the place he most wanted to be…
He buried his face in the pillow. A mistake. He inhaled her scent and grew even harder.
He stifled a moan.
The door swung open. Light and the babble of voices, some shouting flooded the room. God, only a miracle would keep him from detection.
He prayed for a miracle.
“He’s here, isn’t he? I know he’s here.” Lady Felicity Brookton, clad in a pistachio-colored dressing-gown, pushed Lizzie aside and stepped into her room, holding a candle high. “Where are you hiding him?”
“Um.” Lizzie blinked, staring out her door. Half the house party had assembled in the corridor.
“Someone is knocking at the window.” Lady Caroline, the daughter of the Earl of Dunlee, maneuvered her ample bulk across the room and opened the curtains. “Oh, look! It’s Lord Peter.”
“Let him in.” Lady Felicity peered inside Lizzie’s wardrobe.
“Um.” Lizzie wished she could think. That last glass of ratafia had definitely been ill-advised. Her head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton wool.
She couldn’t let them find Robbie: he didn’t want to be found. She watched Lady Felicity light all the available candles. How was she going to stop them? There were only so many places to look.
Lord Peter, dressed in his shirt sleeves and pantaloons, climbed in the window. “Saw him vault in here.” He chuckled. “Hard to miss his lily-white as—” Lord Peter coughed. “Ankles. His lily-white ankles. Hard to miss them in the dark.”
“So where is he, Lady Elizabeth?” Lady Felicity glared at her.
“Um, he who?”
“Lord Westbrooke, of course. Didn’t he just climb in your window?”
“Uh…” Lizzie’s mind went blank.
“Lady Felicity, surely you cannot be suggesting that Lord Westbrooke would behave in such an inappropriate manner?”
Lizzie turned to see Lady Beatrice, her nominal chaperone for the Season. Thank God! Lady Bea would deal with this mess in short order.
Lady Felicity lifted her chin. “I only know what I saw.”
Lady Bea lifted an eyebrow. “And what exactly did you see, miss?”
“I saw Lord Westbrooke leap naked out the window.”
“I thought you said he came in the window.”
“Not this window.”
“Ah, the window in your room then? Correct me if I am wrong, miss, but any man exiting your window would end as a rather unsightly corpse on the terrace. Or have you changed rooms recently? I thought your bedchamber was just a few doors down the hall from mine on the other side of the corridor.”
Lady Felicity turned red. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words issued forth.
“Let’s look in the bed, Felicity.” Lord Peter left the window and reached for the bed curtains. “I’ll wager Westbrooke is hiding between the sheets.”
“Lord Peter!”
Everyone turned to stare at the petite woman who’d managed to push to the fore of the crowd. The Duchess of Hartford—Lady Charlotte Wickford before her marriage to the elderly duke—was not someone Lizzie would ever have imagined coming to her rescue. Charlotte hated her. Well, she really hated James, but James spent most of his time in Kent these days. Lizzie was a much more convenient target.
“What, your grace?” Lord Peter stood back, gesturing to the bed curtains. “Would you like to do the honors?”
Charlotte stared at him. He flushed and dropped his arm.
“If you won’t do it, I will.” Felicity grabbed a handful of cloth.
“Lady Felicity.” Charlotte’s tone stopped Felicity’s hand before it had moved an inch. “Surely you do not mean to imply that Lady Elizabeth would entertain a man in her bedroom?”
Felicity looked at Lizzie’s small bosom. Lizzie crossed her arms over it.
“Entertain? No, however—”
“However, if Lord Westbrooke should be so bold as to visit Lady Elizabeth in her room at night—if he were found in her bed—I assume he would do the gentlemanly thing and offer for her.” Charlotte shrugged. “Her brother, the duke, would insist, wouldn’t you say?”
Felicity paused, an arrested expression on her face.
“In fact, I imagine if Lord Westbrooke were indeed hiding behind those bed curtains, he’d be wed to Lady Elizabeth before the week was out.” Charlotte smiled. “I’m certain you would want to dance at that wedding, hmm, Lady Felicity?”
Lady Felicity’s hand fell to her side. “Ah, yes. You’re right. Of course. Lord Westbrooke would never invade Lady Elizabeth’s room. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I know what you were thinking. You told me—”
“Lord Peter!”
Lord Peter frowned and turned to Charlotte.
“I believe we intrude on Lady Elizabeth’s privacy.” Charlotte smiled up at him as she ran her fingers over his shirt cuff. “It’s time you went to…bed, don’t you think?”
It was Lord Peter’s turn to have an arrested expression. He stared down at Charlotte for a moment and then grinned.
“I believe you are correct, your grace.”
“Of course I am.” Charlotte glanced at Felicity. “I imagine you dreamt the event, Lady Felicity. Sometimes our dreams are so vivid, they appear real, do they not?”
Felicity tore her eyes off the bed curtains. “Yes. Yes, I’m certain you are right, your grace.” She glanced back at the bed. “Sometimes my dreams do seem real.”
“Exactly.” Charlotte moved toward the door, Lord Peter at her side. “So sorry to disturb you, Lady Elizabeth.” Her eyes drifted to the bed also. “I’m certain you are eager to get back to”—Charlotte smiled slightly—“sleep.” She inclined her head. “You have depths I never suspected.”
Lizzie watched the crowd disperse. Lady Beatrice was the last to leave; she looked at the bed and raised her eyebrows.
“Anything you would like to tell me, Lizzie?”
Lizzie looked at the bed, too. “Um, no.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.” Lizzie nodded. She was definitely certain. She did not want to discuss the evening’s bizarre events with anyone. She was of half a mind that she, too, was the victim of a very vivid dream. “I’m a trifle out of curl. I think I will just go to bed.”
“I see.” Lady Beatrice addressed the bed in a very stern voice. “Well, I am more than certain the duke would eviscerate any man who played fast and loose with his sister’s reputation—or harmed her in any way.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Thank you. Good night.”
Lizzie ushered Lady Bea out the door and closed it firmly behind her. Then she sagged against the solid wooden surface, puffed out her cheeks, and eyed the bed.
Could she have dreamt the entire sequence of events? Was it possible the evening was simply the product of overindulgence?
There was only one way to find out. She pushed away from the door and stepped toward the bed.
About the Author
A native Washingtonian, Sally MacKenzie still lives in suburban Maryland with her transplanted upstate New Yorker husband and four Washingtonian sons. She’s written federal regulations, school newsletters, auction programs, class plays, and swim league guidance, but it wasn’t until her nest started to empty that she tried her hand at romance. Her first novel, The Naked Duke, was released by Kensington Books in February 2005. She can be reached by email at [email protected] or by snail mail at P. O. Box 2453, Kensington, MD 20891. Please visit her home in cyberspace at www.sallymackenzie.net.
Praise for The Naked Gentleman
“Hilarity reigns as a queen of love and laughter crafts another “naked” book designed to keep you smiling. Thi
s delicious romance blends MacKenzie’s hallmark humor with a cast of unforgettable characters.” —Kathe Robin, Romantic Times
“What a great series! Funny, spicy, and romantic.” —Jane Bowers, Romance Reviews Today
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
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
“The Naked Marquis is a delicious indulgence. Treat yourself!” —Once Upon a 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
“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
EVER SO LIGHTLY
He silenced her with his fingertips. Lord Dawson removed his glove; his skin was warm and slightly rough as he stilled her lips and then slowly traced their outline.
What was he doing? Why did her lips feel suddenly swollen? Grace parted them slightly.
His lips touched hers as lightly as his fingers had. The briefest brush and then brush again…
Also by Sally MacKenzie
THE NAKED DUKE
THE NAKED MARQUIS
THE NAKED EARL
THE NAKED GENTLEMAN
“The Naked Laird”
(novella from LORDS OF DESIRE)
Published by Zebra Books
The Naked Baron
SALLY MACKENZIE
ZEBRA BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
This one’s for my agent, Jessica Faust,
and my editor, Hilary Sares
And, as always, for Kevin
contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
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 1
Lady Grace Belmont stepped through the wide double doors into the Duke of Alvord’s ballroom.
Dear God.
She froze on the small landing. Hundreds of candles lit hundreds of faces—and she’d swear every single face was turned toward her. Men in precisely fitted black coats and snowy white cravats raised their quizzing glasses. Brilliantly-gowned women, plumes bobbing, fans shielding their lips, tittered and whispered.
Dear, dear God. She couldn’t escape fast enough—except she couldn’t escape at all. A gaggle of elderly women blocked the stairs.
Blast! Grace swallowed and clenched her hands. She tried to take a deep breath, but the air was too thick with the scent of candle wax, perfume, and infrequently washed bodies. Black dots swam before her eyes. Was she going to swoon? That would be an even more entertaining spectacle for the duke’s guests—the Amazon from Devon, all five feet nine inches and eleven stone of her, collapsing into an ignominious heap—a very large ignominious heap—on the ballroom floor. What a lovely way to begin her first—and last—London Season.
“Isn’t it splendid?”
“What?” Grace looked down at her petite, ethereally beautiful aunt, Lady Oxbury.
“The ballroom, the guests…isn’t it all splendid?” Aunt Kate almost glowed with pleasure. “It reminds me of my own come-out. The room is much the same, but the gentlemen then all wore lace and velvet, of course. They were as colorful as—perhaps more colorful than—the ladies.” She sighed, smiling wistfully. “I was completely enchanted.”
Enchanted? Enchantment was not one of the emotions swirling through Grace’s gut at the moment. Nausea—well, nausea was not precisely an emotion. Terror, mortification, self-consciousness, anger…there was a lively stew brewing inside her, but enchantment was not one of the ingredients—it wasn’t even one of the seasonings.
“You were only seventeen,” Grace said, “and lovely. I am twenty-five and large.”
“Grace!” Aunt Kate frowned at her. “Don’t say that. You are quite regal.”
“Regal.” How Grace detested that word! It was uttered kindly by tiny women like her aunt, women who made her feel like a female Gargantua simply by standing next to her. Unless one were actually of royal lineage, regal was merely a synonym for large.
“Yes, regal. You are very striking. Don’t you see how the gentlemen are admiring you?”
They were certainly admiring one specific part of her. “They are staring, Aunt Kate. That is not the same thing at all.”
“Nonsense. They are all struck by your beauty.” Aunt Kate smiled, but the curve of her lips looked strained. “However, if you keep scowling like that, you will scare them all off.”
One can only hope. “Aunt, can’t you see where all those quizzing glances are directed? Those men aren’t studying my expression; they are examining my bos—”
“Grace!” Her aunt fanned her face and glanced quickly to either side. “Mind what you say. You are not at Standen any longer.”
No, she wasn’t at Standen, was she? And she had only herself to blame. If she’d kept her tongue between her teeth when her aunt had arrived and proposed this hare-brained trip, she’d be home now, curled up with a good book in the drawing room, pretending to listen to Papa discourse on crop rotation and drainage issues.
The thought didn’t give her the feeling of contentment she expected.
She suppressed a sigh. Of course it didn’t. Life at Standen had been comfortable while Papa had mostly ignored her. Now, however…for the last year he’d become obsessed with the need to marry her off.
The elderly ladies had managed to navigate the first step. Now they were struggling with the second. Was it going to take them all evening to reach the floor?
Grace swallowed her annoyance. If only she’d done the same at Standen, but how could she have kept her temper in check when Papa had gone on and on about what a laughingstock she’d be if she appeared at the Season’s events? She couldn’t. So she’d let her temper slip its rein, and it had bolted, taking her good sense with it.
She blew out a short, impatient breath, causing the tendrils that had worked themselves free of her coiffure to float briefly in front of her eyes, and glanced back down at her aunt.
Aunt Kate looked as if she would like to wrap her elegant fingers around her neck in exasperation.
“You are in a pucker over nothing, Grace. Didn’t you notice in the receiving line that Miss Hamilton was almost as tall as you? And I’m sure there are other ladies present as”—Aunt Kate blushed and coughed slightly—“well endowed.” She patted Grace’s arm. “Your fat
her is an idiot. There will be plenty of gentlemen eager to pay you court.”
That was highly unlikely, but there was no need to argue the point. “You know I’m not here to find a husband, Aunt Kate. Papa has already arranged everything with Mr. Parker-Roth. I just came to attend a few parties and see the London sights.” And enjoy my last gasp of freedom before I give my life over to John.
“But do you truly want to marry this neighbor, Grace?”
“Er…” She didn’t, but she was resigned to her fate. She couldn’t live at Standen forever—and marrying for love was a fairy tale reserved to Minerva Press novels. “I’m content with Papa’s choice. After all, didn’t he choose Oxbury for you? And you had over twenty years of marital harmony.”
Aunt Kate’s face suddenly assumed the oddest expression, almost as if she’d taken a bite of stewed eels and couldn’t decide whether to swallow or spit it out.
“Ah…er…yes.” Aunt Kate cleared her throat. “But I do think you might wish—you really might wish—to look around, Grace. Mr. Parker-Roth may be a pearl beyond price, but how will you know unless you see what else is available? I, at least, had a brief Season.”
“Well…”
“You can’t go home like a beaten dog with your tail between your legs and give your father the pleasure of saying he told you so.”
“True.” This was her only chance to see London. She should enjoy the experience. She would think of the male population as simply another sight to see, like London Bridge or Westminster Abbey. “I suppose there would be no harm in looking.”
Sally MacKenzie Bundle Page 91
