The Naked Gentleman

by Sally MacKenzie

  “Lord Motton…” Lady Knightsdale nodded. “Yes, I do remember the scan—I mean, story.”

  Mrs. Parker-Roth took the marchioness’s arm and started toward the door. “Oh, it was indeed a scandal, and at first my husband and I—and John, too—were very angry. But once we saw how happy Jane was, well, we couldn’t stay angry.” She laughed and shook her head. “Even at the time I suspected Jane was an active participant in her seduction—she is not a namby-pamby sort of girl, you know—so I couldn’t think too harshly of Edmund. And now we like him very well, especially as Jane is expecting our first grandchild.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. So, I’d say everything turned out well for my daughter, and I believe everything will turn out well for your sister.”

  Lady Knightsdale paused in the doorway to glare back at Parks. “I hope so.”

  The marquis was the last one to leave the room. “Ten minutes, Parker-Roth,” he said as he pulled the door closed.

  Meg exploded the moment they heard the latch click.

  “Can you believe Emma? She’s always tried to run my life, but since she married, she’s become unbearable. I thought once Charlie was born—and then Henry—she’d be too busy to concern herself with my affairs any longer, but I was wrong.”

  “She loves you.” As Mother loves me.

  He could certainly sympathize with Miss Peterson on the subject of interfering family members.

  What did Mother think of this evening’s drama? She’d dragged him to Town to find him a leg-shackle—was she pleased with Miss Peterson?

  Was he?

  It made no difference. He had compromised the girl past redemption. Lady Dunlee had seen to that—and after the rather heated…exchange they’d had in this room, he couldn’t even consider himself an innocent victim. What the hell had come over him?

  The long and short of it was he had no choice. The Marquis of Knightsdale was not letting him out of this room an unengaged man—he just needed to convince Miss Peterson of that fact.

  She sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers twitched to touch the silky length again.

  He clasped his hands behind his back.

  “I know Emma loves me. I know she only wants the best for me, which makes me feel even worse, but I can’t let her dictate my decisions.”

  “No, of course not. I’m sure she doesn’t wish to.”

  “Ha! You have no idea. She thinks I must be married to be happy. She’s been torturing me about it for the last three years. You should have seen the men she was throwing at my head. It was enough to drive me to Town for the Season.”

  “Surely they couldn’t have been that objectionable.”

  “They were ancient. Well into their dotage.”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help it, her expression was so horrified.

  “I find it hard to believe your sister would think an old man a suitable match for you.” Especially if the rumors about the marchioness’s marriage were true. More than one wag had said the marquis and his wife didn’t need a fire in the bedroom grate—they produced enough heat on their own. After seeing them together, he believed it.

  “Well, the younger men were equally revolting. Cabbage heads, all of them—and that’s insulting the cabbage.”

  “Miss Peterson—”

  Meg waved her arm—and caught the shawl before it slipped far enough to reveal anything interesting.

  “I don’t live at Knightsdale—I live at the vicarage with my father and his wife, Harriet—so I’m not even underfoot. Well, not under Emma’s feet at any rate. There is no need for her to worry about my future.”

  “Still, it is perfectly natural that she’d want to see you well settled. Surely your father has made a push in that direction as well?”

  Meg shook her head. “No. He hasn’t said a word about my marrying.”

  “So he’s happy to have you spend your life with him?”

  “Yes. No. Oh, botheration.” She frowned at a garish red vase on the mantle. “Truth be told, I’m certain he and Harriet would enjoy the privacy my absence would give them.” She sighed. “And I would like a home of my own. It’s not marriage I object to, it’s Emma’s meddling.” She turned and met his eyes. “If you must know, I came to London this Season with the express goal of finding a husband.”

  “Then you should be happy to have achieved your purpose so quickly.” He could not keep an edge from his voice. Why did he feel this spurt of annoyance? She had been honest. And it was far from surprising. Lady Palmerson’s ballroom was filled with young ladies intent on exactly the same objective.

  “Well, I…” She flushed. “I had thought to, um, spend more time looking.”

  So she was not happy with him as her bridegroom? He gripped his hands tightly together. What was it about him that failed to impress the ladies of the ton? Hell, Grace had been so unimpressed she’d left him standing at the altar.

  It wasn’t a mystery. He had no title. A mere mister could not hope to compete with a lord.

  He should have left her to Viscount Bennington.

  Parks was scowling. Of course he was. He obviously did not want to marry her. His tone of voice made that abundantly clear. Mauling her, though, that was another matter. Men must all be alike. They were happy to—oh.

  She suddenly remembered exactly what she and Parks had been doing when Parks’s mother had entered the room.

  Dear God.

  She covered her face and moaned.

  “What must your mother think of me? We were…I was…I looked like a…well, I won’t say what I looked like. It is too shocking. And Emma and I were squabbling like children.” Had Emma actually shouted at Mrs. Parker-Roth? “My sister could hardly have been more insulting. I’m certain your mother must want nothing to do with me or my family.”

  “And I’m certain Mother understood completely. As she said, Jane got herself into a similar predicament last year. Mother was as upset then as your sister was just now.”

  “Still, she cannot want you to marry me.”

  “Miss Peterson, I hope you will not take it poorly, but some days I think my mother would be delighted if I wed the lowest scullery maid just as long as I wed someone. You say your sister thinks you must be married to be happy? Well, my mother has the same notion. She firmly believes that a man cannot find contentment without a wife at his side, guiding him in the right direction.”

  Parks sounded extremely bitter.

  “And you do not agree?”

  “I do not!” He frowned, running his hand through his hair. “I do not wish to marry. Ever. My mother has been dragging me to Town for years, nagging me on the subject without mercy. Since I turned thirty, she has become relentless—and Westbrooke’s marriage has only made matters worse. I don’t doubt she is in ecstasy now that I’ve finally been tricked into parson’s mousetrap.”

  “I did not trick you.” Meg felt another spurt of anger. Yes, the situation was monstrously unfortunate; yes, Parks had not chosen his fate; yes, in some regards his predicament was her fault. But she had not planned for things to happen as they had. She was almost as much a victim as he.

  Well, perhaps not. Some people would doubtless have said she’d gotten her just desserts if she’d been forced to marry Lord Bennington.

  Apparently one of those people was Mr. Parker-Roth.

  “No, you did not trick me. However, if you had not been so bold as to disregard society’s rules—if you had not gone out into the garden with Bennington—” He tugged on his waistcoat and pressed his lips together. “Well, the least said about that, the better, I suppose.”

  She did not care for his tone of voice at all.

  “You do not have to marry me, sir.”

  He looked exactly as if he’d eaten a lemon.

  “Come, Miss Peterson, be sensible. You know as well as I do that we have to marry. Your reputation can only be mended by wedding vows.”

  “No.” She wanted to hit something—like Mr. Parker-Roth. She
hated being forced to act because of someone else’s rules. “There must be another way to solve this problem.”

  “There is not.”

  Yes, she would definitely like to hit the man. Perhaps a well placed punch in the chest would wipe that supercilious expression from his face.

  “There are always alternatives.”

  “Not this time. Not this problem. Your sister—your brother-in-law, the marquis—will not allow me to leave this room without offering for you.”

  “Then offer. I just will not accept.”

  “Miss Peterson, you—”

  “Just ask me, sir.”

  Parks clenched his teeth so hard his jaw flexed. He glared at her. She glared back.

  “Oh, very well. Miss Peterson, will you do me the honor—the very great honor—of giving me your hand in marriage?”

  Sarcasm did not become him. It was very easy to reply.

  “No.”

  “You can’t say no.”

  “I just have. Is your hearing defective? Do I need to repeat myself? No. There. It is not a difficult word to understand.”

  “Miss Peterson—”

  The door swung open.

  “So,” Emma said, “when is the wedding?”

  Chapter 4

  “I cannot believe you refused Mr. Parker-Roth, Meg.” Emma started in the moment the carriage door shut behind them. “Have you lost your mind? Do you want to put paid to any hopes of marrying?”

  Meg arranged her skirts on the carriage seat. She definitely did not want to be here. If she could have accompanied Lady Beatrice, she would have, but Emma had latched onto her arm and virtually dragged her to the Knightsdale carriage.

  “Mr. Parker-Roth was not to blame for the scene in the garden, Emma. He should not have to pay with his freedom for being a Good Samaritan.”

  “Bah! The garden has nothing to do with it. If what Mrs. Parker-Roth and Lady Beatrice hinted at is even close to the truth, it was not charity the man was practicing in Lady Palmerson’s parlor. Lud, my own eyes told me that. You were sitting on his lap, Meg, in a state of undress.”

  Meg’s cheeks felt as red as the fabric on that hideous chair where she and Parks had—

  No, she could not think on it.

  She looked out the window.

  “I have to agree with your sister, Meg.” Charles’s voice was calm at least. “And I believe Parker-Roth does, too. He seemed perfectly willing to wed you, even without my insistence.”

  Meg shrugged. “Willing, perhaps, but not happy.”

  “Meg, for heaven’s sake!” Emma was almost shouting. “The man hardly knows you. Of course he’s not happy. No one—especially no man—likes to have his hand forced, even when it’s his own actions doing the forcing. He’ll get over it.” She shrugged. “He’ll have to.”

  Wonderful. What an exciting wedded life to look forward to—a husband who barely tolerated her. Not that such a marriage would be unusual, of course. Most males of the ton sought out their wives only to attend to the chore of producing an heir—and Parks didn’t even have that compulsion. Perhaps they would live together like brother and sister.

  She swallowed a sob.

  “Did you say something, Meg?”

  “No.”

  And, yes, she realized she’d been considering just such a marriage ever since she’d made marriage her goal. Certainly when she’d considered Bennington as a husband. But that was different.

  She refused to consider exactly why it was different.

  She rested her head against the window and watched a man stroll down the sidewalk. He was moving faster than their coach. If only she could get out and stretch her legs…if only she could get away from this conversation.

  There was no escaping Emma until they reached Knightsdale House—if she could escape her then. She sighed. Emma would probably follow her to her room to continue her harangue.

  Why was she going to Charles’s townhouse anyway?

  “All my things are at Lady Beatrice’s, Emma. I do think it would be best if I returned there.”

  “No. Definitely not. And your belongings are no longer at Lady Beatrice’s. I had Charles send a footman round to fetch them as soon as I arrived. Now that I am here, I will take over all chaperone duties.”

  Why had Emma come to Town? Her sister hated London, preferring to stay home in Kent even when Charles came up to attend the House of Lords.

  “Why are you here, Emma? I thought you considered the country air much better for the boys.”

  “It is, but I couldn’t very well sit home when I kept hearing such shocking reports of your behavior.” Emma paused, obviously struggling with her temper. “I should have come up with you at the beginning of the Season and not delegated the job to Lady Beatrice. It was obviously asking too much of her.”

  Meg felt as if she’d swallowed a rock. “What do you mean? Has someone been spreading tales?”

  “More than one someone, miss. I’ve gotten coy letters from Lady Oldston and an alarmed missive from Lady Farley who, by the by, did not think you were at all the thing for her son. I take it you’ve made something of a habit of disappearing into the shrubbery with men. How many gentlemen have you entertained in the bushes, Meg?”

  “Um.” Put that way, it did sound somewhat sordid. “It wasn’t exactly…I mean—”

  “I thought you liked Parker-Roth,” Charles said. “Didn’t we hear some mention of the man last year?”

  “What?”

  “Parker-Roth. Wasn’t he at Tynweith’s house party? I’m certain either you or Aunt Bea mentioned him favorably in one of your letters.”

  “I’m sure it was not I who wrote about him.” She was confident she’d been careful not to allude to Parks. Yes, she’d been taken with him, fool that she was. Well, it was not so odd. It wasn’t every day she found a man who could discuss Repton’s Fragments on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening intelligently—or at all.

  Stupidly she had hoped he’d show an interest in her when they’d returned to London. He hadn’t. She pressed her lips together. He had definitely not shown any interest in her. He’d attended Robbie’s and Lizzie’s wedding and then vanished. She’d looked for him at every soiree, every ball, every Venetian breakfast. Finally after weeks of discreetly searching, she’d asked Robbie where he was. He’d told her Parks had gone back to his estate in Devon.

  Clearly he had not been as impressed with her as she had with him.

  “You’re right, Charles. I do think Lady Beatrice mentioned Mr. Parker-Roth. I think she even said you favored him, Meg.”

  “Ack. Um. I mean, well—”

  “After I got over the shock—and you do have to admit the scene in Lady Palmerson’s parlor was shocking”—Emma eyed the shawl still wrapped around Meg’s ruined gown—“I began to see the advantages of this match.”

  “Advantages?”

  “Yes. You’ll be married. Mr. Parker-Roth is relatively young—just a little over thirty, I believe—and can give you plenty of children. He has a number of brothers and sisters, you know.”

  “Oh?” Meg swallowed. Children? With Parks? The notion made her feel very…odd.

  “Yes, indeed. And he likes plants. His mother says he has quite a few of them around the estate.”

  “Oh.”

  “I think he is perfect for you.” Emma leaned back against the squabs. “His mother and I had a comfortable coze while we waited in the corridor. She’s a lovely woman. You can be sure I apologized profusely for my rude behavior. She could not have been nicer—said she understood completely. I will quite like being connected to her.”

  “Emma, you are not going to be connected to Mrs. Parker-Roth. I am not going to marry her son. How many times must I say it?”

  “As many times as you like—it makes no difference. You must marry the man or be ruined.”

  “I do not.”

  “Meg—”

  “Ladies,” Charles said, “it is time to call a halt to this battle. Neither of you is l
istening to the other.”

  “What do you mean, Charles? Of course I’m listening to Meg. She just is not being reasonable.”

  Charles draped his arm around Emma’s shoulders and pulled her tight against his side. “I think you would both benefit from a good night’s sleep. Sometimes problems look different in the morning.”

  “I don’t know what’s going to be different.”

  “Emma…”

  “Oh, very well.” Emma sat stiffly for a moment and then relaxed against Charles.

  “That’s better,” he said. “Now tell me about Isabelle and Claire and the boys. What new tricks is Henry up to?”

  Meg turned to look out the window again. Emma’s voice droned on in the background, talking about nine-month old Henry and Charlie, who was almost three, and Isabelle and Claire, Charles’s orphaned nieces; telling Charles all the boring, everyday details of their lives that he missed when he was away in London.

  Meg pressed her forehead against the glass, but that didn’t cure the sudden ache in her heart.

  Would she ever have anyone with whom to share such mundane stories?

  “This is splendid news, Pinky. I wish your father were with us. He’ll be so pleased when we tell him.”

  “Mother, you promised not to use that ridiculous nickname any more.” Parks opened the door to their rooms in the Pulteney Hotel. “And I cannot imagine Father would notice if I were married or not. Which I won’t be. Married, that is. Didn’t you hear Miss Peterson? She refused my offer.”

  Mother brushed by him. “Oh, pish! That is merely a temporary setback. You know as well as I do the girl has no choice. She must wed you.”

  “Who must wed whom?” Miss Agatha Witherspoon, Mother’s friend and sometime companion, looked up as they entered the parlor. She put aside the tome she was reading, dropped her slippered feet from a low table, and sat up. “Never say Pinky’s been getting under some chit’s skirts?”

  “Of course not. Well, not exactly.” Mother sat next to Agatha on the settee.

  Parks counted to ten. Twice. It did not help.

  “Will you please not use that infernal nickname!”

  “Pinky!”

  He glared at his mother.