Sally MacKenzie Bundle

by Sally MacKenzie

  Hmm. Thinking of estrangement, had Lord Dawson met with Lady Wordham yet? She hoped so. It was wrong to maintain such enmity for so many years. Perhaps the sin had been great, but it had happened over thirty years ago. And Lady Wordham was old and frail—she didn’t have many more years left to her. It was time to find a way to forgive.

  It was time for Papa to forgive, too.

  Mr. Wilton and Hermes came back into view, moving at a brisker pace. She grinned. Perhaps the man was not that intrepid.

  She should go downstairs. She would, in just a minute.

  Could Papa forgive the Wiltons? He was not the forgiving sort, but maybe he could find enough charity to accept Aunt Kate marrying Mr. Wilton. If Mr. Wilton would bring Aunt Kate pleasure in her declining years, surely Papa would not begrudge her that comfort? He knew the Weasel would not take good care of her.

  And if Papa would not object to Aunt Kate marrying a Wilton, how would he feel about…

  No. She would not consider it. Her situation was nothing like Aunt Kate’s. Aunt Kate was Papa’s widowed sister; she was Papa’s only child. It had been just the two of them for so long—as long as she could remember. Much as he might bluster, much as he might drive her to distraction—to anger, even—she loved him. She could not marry his enemy. She could not leave him all alone.

  John Parker-Roth would make a fine husband. She liked him well enough. He was intelligent, even interesting if one were interested in plants. His family was very congenial, though his mother’s paintings were a bit…It wasn’t as though Mrs. Parker-Roth hung her artwork throughout the house. As long as Grace avoided her studio, she could avoid embarrassment.

  And once they were married…

  Perhaps John was merely reticent. Once they were married, surely he would…After all, he was a man. He had a mistress. He must know how marital relations were conducted. Surely he would be able to perform adequately. Perhaps he was even more skilled than David in the amorous arts.

  She closed her eyes and rested her head against the window glass.

  No. It had been one thing to consider marriage dispassionately when she had never experienced passion, but now…

  Last night on the terrace had been wonderful—the solid strength of David’s arms surrounding her, the hard security of his chest, the touch of his lips, the sweep of his tongue. He’d made her feel sensations she’d never felt before—and not just physical sensations.

  Men might find women interchangeable, but she was not a man. And David had not made her feel interchangeable. He’d made her feel loved—not just wanted, not just lusted after, but loved. She’d never felt so cared for, so valued, so cherished before.

  Tears leaked out and ran down her cheeks as the rain ran down the window glass.

  Dear God, what was she going to do?

  Chapter 16

  Kate looked out her bedroom window and saw Alex and Hermes walking across the lawn—Alex so tall and straight, his long legs eating up the ground, Hermes scurrying to keep up.

  She leaned forward. She loved watching Alex. As silly as it was to say it, her heart leapt whenever she saw him. She felt a thrill, a surge of pleasure and happiness…until she thought about what she had to tell him.

  She closed her eyes briefly. How was she going to tell him?

  She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window. She saw a squirrel run past Hermes; the demented dog took off after it, barking wildly. The squirrel scampered up a tree trunk and high into the branches, yet Hermes still barked at it. She smiled slightly. What went through that little canine head?

  Her eyes traveled back to Alex where he stood watching Hermes. He had such broad shoulders and such small, tight a—

  She pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks. Where had that thought come from?

  Still, it was true—Alex might be forty-five, but he carried himself with the vigor of a man half his age.

  He did other things with youthful vigor as well—

  Her cheeks were burning again. She turned away from the window.

  It was kind of Alex to take Hermes out. She had been indisposed again or she would have braved the wet to go with him.

  Perhaps.

  If she’d gone with him, she should have felt compelled to tell him…

  She pressed her hand to her lips. The thought made her stomach twist.

  When would this nausea end? Surely she would not be condemned to spend nine months worshiping at the basin every morning. Didn’t most women feel better once the first few weeks were past?

  She stood sideways in front of the looking glass once again, spreading her hands over her stomach. Was there a slight bulge there?

  No, it was her imagination. Her stomach was just as flat as always…for now. But eventually…perhaps soon…

  She had to tell Alex. This wasn’t a secret she could keep for long.

  She went back to the window. Alex and Hermes were out of sight.

  Would Alex get angry when she told him? Standen certainly would, and she would have to tell him, too. She didn’t relish listening to him bellow at her, but the thought didn’t twist her heart the way the thought of Alex’s anger did.

  She sat down heavily on the window seat. Alex had good reason to be angry. She had tricked him, though not intentionally. But he already doubted her veracity. More than doubted—he was certain she was a liar. He’d spent all these years thinking she’d been engaged to Oxbury when she’d gone with him into Alvord’s garden. She hadn’t been, of course. Standen had made that deal behind her back. She hadn’t even seen the announcement in The Morning Post—her brother had bundled her into the carriage for home long before the paper came out. She didn’t discover she was engaged until Reverend Posten read the banns at church the next Sunday. She’d almost fallen out of her pew.

  But Alex thought she had tricked him—and now she had to tell him she had tricked him again—that he was going to be a father when she’d promised him she was barren.

  She smoothed her skirt over her lap. What would he do when she told him? Would he wash his hands of her—or would he ask her to marry him?

  He might propose. He was honorable, chivalrous. He’d mentioned marriage that night at Oxbury House.

  So what would she answer if he did ask?

  She didn’t know. She’d imagined the scene too many times to count since she’d realized she was increasing. Sometimes she was brave and told him no. He should not be penalized for her mistake. But other times she was a coward and said yes. The thought of being pregnant and unwed was terrifying. She would be cut by society, and her child would be a bastard, always living on the fringes of the polite world.

  Her palms were clammy; her breath came in short gasps—

  She must not panic. She forced herself to inhale and exhale slowly. She would talk to Alex. Soon. She could not put it off much longer.

  She would need somewhere private. Once she finally mustered her courage, she would not wish to be interrupted. An isolated spot somewhere on Lord Motton’s estate might serve, but she would have to first persuade Alex to go with her. And she would have to wait for a sunny day; today was far too damp…

  She was procrastinating again. It might well rain all week and then where would she be? Heading back to London without having discussed the issue with Alex at all.

  Surely there was some place in this very large house where she and Alex could be assured uninterrupted privacy.

  Her eyes went directly to the door by her bureau. It connected her room with Alex’s. She’d assumed it was locked. Was it?

  Alex was still out with Hermes. This would be the perfect time to find out.

  She put her hand on the knob, turned, and pushed carefully. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges. Holding her breath, she peered inside.

  “Aunt Kate—”

  “Eek!” Kate banged her head against the doorjamb.

  “Oh, dear. Are you all right?” Grace hurried toward her from the hall while Kate slammed the connecting door closed
and stepped away from it. She did not want Grace speculating about that other room—or, more precisely, the room’s occupant.

  “I’m fine. You just startled me.” Kate steadied her voice. “Did you want something?”

  Grace frowned at the door, a puzzled expression in her eyes, but then shrugged and turned to Kate. “I came to see if you wished to go downstairs.” She smiled slightly. “I found I was getting tired of my own company.”

  Kate forced herself to smile as well. “How fortunate, because I, too, am tired of my own company. Shall we go downstairs and see what mischief Miss Smyth’s monkey has got into?”

  Grace laughed. “Or what outrageous things her parrot has said?”

  “Yes.” Kate took Grace’s arm. “Miss Smyth’s pets do enliven the party, don’t they?”

  She would go downstairs now, but tonight…Tonight she was going to open that connecting door.

  “So what do you think I should do, Hermes?”

  Hermes tilted his head as if giving the question careful thought and then barked enthusiastically.

  Alex nodded. “Yes, I think I agree. I must take the issue up with Kate as soon as possible. Today. Tonight at the latest.”

  Hermes wagged his tail and then took off after a squirrel.

  If only his life were so simple. Well, he didn’t really wish to be a dog—at least not a silly little lapdog like Hermes—but he did wish things were less complicated.

  He should not have accepted Kate’s invitation to come to her bed. He’d known it was wrong at the time. He should have stayed home with David, had a glass of brandy in the study, and gone up to bed early. His own bed.

  But, damn, it had been good. So good. Even now, standing in the damp, in the middle of Motton’s lawn, he could get lost in the memory.

  He closed his eyes and saw her again—as he’d seen her every single night since he’d scrambled out that damn window at Oxbury House. It was a wonder he ever got any sleep; he’d been reduced to relieving his…tension the way he’d done it as a boy, with his hand. It was that or lie stiff, hard, and sleepless all night.

  He felt himself growing hard now. How could he not? She’d been so beautiful—hair tumbling over her bare shoulders, her lovely small breasts almost glowing in the candlelight, their sweet nipples taunting him. And her graceful waist, her flat belly with its delicate navel, the sweet nest of curls between her lovely, white thighs…

  And the feel of her…her hair, like silk; her skin, like rose petals. Her breasts fit the palms of his hands perfectly, her nipples pebbling so sweetly when his fingers…and then his lips…brushed them.

  She’d grown hot and damp at his touch. Her scent had surrounded him. Her mouth had tasted like heaven, and when he’d come inside her…

  He’d dreamed of her, of being with her—in her—for twenty-three years. Even when he’d tried not to, when he’d told himself she was married to Oxbury, she would never be his, still his dreams took him to her bed.

  How could he regret finally being there in truth?

  And damn, if anyone walked by now, they could not fail to notice his breeches were bulging in a very obvious fashion. Thank God Hermes was his only companion.

  Did the dog actually think that squirrel cared he was at the foot of the tree, barking—if you could call the little sound he made barking? Hermes certainly didn’t look very intimidating—the squirrel was almost as big as he was.

  Hermes gave one more bark and then trotted back to him. Alex turned up his collar against the damp and resumed their walk.

  In a few months’ time, would Kate’s belly still be smooth and flat or would it be rounded by his babe?

  He should feel a stab of panic at the thought, but all he felt was lust and pride and something else, something gentle and warm. Something he couldn’t remember feeling before.

  He wanted to protect Kate from the gossips, to keep her safe…and in his bed.

  He had to talk to her today, but where? He couldn’t very well take her for a tramp across Motton’s estate, not in her condition…that is, if she was in a condition. And anyway, it was too damp. It was actually raining now.

  “Come on, Hermes. Time to go in.”

  He turned and headed back the way he’d come. Hermes must have had enough of the weather as well, because he didn’t protest.

  Could he find a quiet corner in the house where he and Kate could have a private conversation? This was not a chat he’d care to have interrupted—or overheard, even by the servants. If the word got passed around that Kate was increasing…

  No, there was only one place for a discussion of such a sensitive nature. The place where the…problem had started—Kate’s bedroom.

  He would use that connecting door tonight, and if by some chance the conversation moved to her bed…well, he wouldn’t complain at all.

  David looked warily around the blue drawing room. Was this a safe place to read? The library had too many shadows and not enough escape routes.

  He could go hide in his bedroom.

  No, he wouldn’t put it past the Addison twins to corner him even there.

  He chose a chair that faced the door so no one—no young lady, no husband-hunting Addison—could creep up on him unawares. At the first sight of a feminine slipper, at the first sound of a female voice, he would bolt. He could dash out through the other door to the hall or head for the terrace via the French windows.

  He was in a particularly precarious position at the moment. Motton’s butler had informed him most of the men had gone out riding. He would have gone as well if he hadn’t been talking to Lady Wordham. To his grandmother.

  He smiled. He owed Lady Grace a large debt of gratitude. She’d been completely correct. There was no point in carrying a grudge—and now that he’d given it up, he realized what a heavy burden it had been. His whole life had been shadowed by a vague feeling of anger and abandonment, an ever-present niggling sense of unease. Half of his heritage had been obscured by a dark cloud.

  Now, thanks to Grace, a fresh wind had dissipated the gloom. He’d learned about his mother’s family—and he had a grandmother again. Lady Wordham would never replace Grandmamma, of course. Grandmamma had raised him, she and Grandda, and he had loved her as a mother. He would always miss her.

  But Lady Wordham was tied to him by blood as well, and it felt good to know about that side of his family. He had an uncle, two aunts, and various cousins whom he’d never met. He’d always known of them, of course—his uncle was now the marquis; he couldn’t live in England and be completely unaware of the man—but that was different. He just might see about paying a visit or two when he returned to Town.

  But first he had to be certain he left the house party a free man—or, better, a man betrothed to Lady Grace, not a devious Addison twin.

  He opened his book, but kept an eye on the door. He must remain alert. He was alone and unprotected. His grandmother had gone upstairs to lie down, and Grace was not in evidence. Where could she be? Didn’t she understand that her absence put him at grave risk?

  If she were here…Ah, he’d happily be found in a compromising position with Lady Grace. He would dearly love to initiate a compromising position. A very compromising position. A nakedly—

  “Lord Dawson!”

  He shot to his feet. Damn! One of the Addison girls had appeared in the doorway. Had she taken her shoes off and arrived on tiptoe so as to make no sound?

  He should not have allowed himself to become distracted by thoughts of Grace.

  “Ah…Miss…ah…Addison.” Which of the bloody little ferrets was she—Abigail or Amanda?

  “What a pleasant surprise, finding you here. I thought you’d be out riding with the other men.” Good God, was the woman actually batting her eyelashes? “Did you stay here hoping to encounter me?”

  “No!”

  Perhaps he had been a little too forceful in his reply. Miss Whichever Addison blinked, but rallied quickly.

  “Oh, Lord Dawson, you are so droll!”

 
; He was going to be so absent the moment she took one step closer. It might be hard to explain such a precipitous exit, but he didn’t care. He’d plead a sudden, urgent need to visit the privy, if he had to.

  Hell, she’d probably follow him into the damn jakes. The girl knew no shame. He cleared his throat.

  “Sorry to have to leave you so quickly, Miss, um, Addison, but I’m afraid I must go—”

  “No, you don’t, you cheeky little devil.”

  He blinked. Surely Miss One-or-the-Other Addison hadn’t said that? There was shameless and then there was…He couldn’t think of an adjective extreme enough to convey his sentiments.

  “Stop, thief!”

  No, now that his brain wasn’t completely frozen by panic, it was obvious who the speaker was—Miss Smyth’s parrot.

  “Eek!” Miss Addison-in-the-Room screeched and grabbed at her skirts, revealing a significant quantity of ankle had there been anyone in the room who cared to see. Miss Smyth’s monkey darted across the floor by her feet.

  “Edmund, you bad creature, come here!” Miss Smyth followed, her parrot on her shoulder.

  “Bad creature! Stop, thief!”

  “Oh, hush, Theo, do.” Miss Smyth smiled at David, then turned to Miss Still-Screeching Addison. “Please, Miss—which one are you?”

  “Abigail.”

  “The older one?”

  “By five minutes.”

  “Well, good for you—you elbowed your sister out of the way from the very beginning, didn’t you?”

  “Ye—no.” Miss Abigail Addison frowned. David swallowed a laugh. He could come to like Miss Smyth very well.

  Miss Amanda Addison put in her appearance then, pointing a finger accusingly at Miss Smyth’s monkey. “That creature stole my plume!”

  The monkey, attired today in a bright red coat and matching hat, was indeed clutching a pink plume. It screeched at Miss Amanda, scrambled up the curtains, and swung onto the mantel. A porcelain shepherdess, accompanied by two sheep, toppled to the hearth, shattering into hundreds of pieces.

  “Oh, dear,” Miss Smyth said, “I hope Edmund wasn’t especially fond of that knickknack.”