“What do you say, Miss Peterson? Will you join us? It is time for you to seek some adventure in your life.”
“Yes, yes, you’re right. I just don’t…it is all rather sudden. I will have to think about it.”
“Well, don’t think too long. Opportunity knocks but once and all that. You need to be ready to open the door.”
“Um.” The door that immediately sprung to mind was the door to Mr. Parker-Roth’s bedchamber.
She was in a sorry state indeed when “adventure” made her think more of bodies than botany. “I will definitely give it serious consideration.”
“Felicity, this is not the appropriate place for such activities. Someone might come upon us at any moment.”
“Bennie, you worry too much. Concentrate on the matter at hand.” Felicity stroked the matter in her hand and the viscount drew in a sharp breath.
“Felicity!” His voice was an urgent whisper; his head turned right and left; his eyes scanned the area; but his…well, he did not step back out of reach. “We are in plain sight.”
“Only to someone coming from the house. Anyone approaching from the bowling green or the river needs to walk around this splendid hedge before he or she catches sight of us.” She unbuttoned the fall on his pantaloons. “There are very few people at the house.”
He grabbed her wrist. “There are some people at the house.”
She laughed and employed her other hand. It was such fun teasing him. She had never flirted with anyone so staid.
She had never flirted in quite this way. She had teased before and tempted, but not…played this way. She had never focused much on the person attached to the organ. She had thought one male interchangeable with any other. She grinned at Lord Bennington.
She had been mistaken. Bennie was quite unique.
“I will keep a sharp look-out.” She ran her fingers up his growing length. He was a splendidly robust man. She could hardly wait to enjoy his full…attention.
She frowned. Frankly, she could not wait at all. Father’s financial situation was worsening rapidly. It was possible Bennington would jilt her if he learned the full extent of the earl’s liabilities before parson’s mousetrap snapped shut. It would be a scandal, but most of society would forgive him easily. She was only evil Lord Needham’s daughter, after all.
A silly pain settled around the area of her heart. Would Bennie jilt her if he knew she was on the verge of poverty? Probably. She had no indication that more than lust was involved, at least on his part. But then men were so often driven by lust.
No, she definitely needed a wedding ring on her finger before word of her father’s pecuniary disaster flooded the ton. The problem was Lord Bennington wanted a large wedding to suit his sense of importance, which was very large indeed.
She hoped lust would persuade consequence that a special license and a hurried exchange of vows was the best plan.
She moved her fingers and felt him leap in her hand. He was breathing quite heavily and had shifted his grip to her shoulders. Should she employ her mouth as well?
No. She heard the crunch of shoes on loose stone. Their little interlude was over for now. She patted him as she withdrew her hand. She smiled at his low growl.
“My lord, we have company.”
It took a moment for rationality to return to his eyes. He muttered a curse and jumped back.
Perhaps she wouldn’t have much longer to wait for that wedding ring.
Damn. Parks stopped on the stone walk. For an instant he thought about ducking down a side path, but it was too late. She’d seen him. It would look exceedingly odd now if he changed directions.
“Miss Peterson. Are you enjoying the day?”
She didn’t look as if she were enjoying anything. She looked…well, it was a little difficult to describe how she looked. There had been a flash of what could have been pleasure—he thought her eyes had brightened and her lips turned up—but the expression had vanished so quickly, he wouldn’t swear he’d seen it at all. Now her face was bright red and she was frowning at him.
Knightsdale had said she was mad for him. The marquis was the one who was mad. Miss Peterson looked simply angry.
“What are you doing here?”
He felt his eyebrows shoot up. So angry she’d forgotten her manners or even her wit. She must have realized her tone was less than polite because she looked away, crossing her arms under her breasts.
Her very nice breasts. He remembered in exquisite detail how they felt and tasted.
Could he seduce her?
No, of course not. What was the matter with him? She was a gently bred young lady—who apparently hated him. The sister-in-law of a marquis—a marquis who had tacitly invited him to have his wicked way with her. Were hatred and love so different? Where there was one passion, couldn’t the other follow?
Damn and blast. He was losing his mind. He did not want to marry anyone, let alone Miss Peterson. He wanted to get the bloody hell out of London and back to the Priory where he could think clearly. He’d go to the Horticultural Society meeting this week and then he would drag his mother home. His plants had been without him too long as it was.
“I am aimlessly ambling around this bloody blasted estate until I can persuade my mother and Miss Witherspoon to depart. What are you doing?”
“The same.” She smiled slightly when she said it. “Well, the aimlessly ambling part. I have nothing to say about your mother’s and Miss Witherspoon’s departure.”
It was better for his peace of mind when she was scowling.
“Shall we amble aimlessly together?” He offered her his arm. She smiled again—almost shyly—and took it.
Damn it all to hell. He should not be feeling a thrill at the touch of Miss Peterson’s gloved fingers on his arm. It was Knightsdale’s fault for putting thoughts of seduction in his head. He was only male, after all—and the most male part of him was exceedingly thrilled at Miss Peterson’s proximity.
Vegetation. He would study the vegetation. Concentrate on botany, not biology. Flower beds not…
The ambient vegetation was damn dull.
They strolled in silence down the walkway. The top of Miss Peterson’s head came just to his chin. Was she still smiling? Her bonnet hid her expression completely.
What if he stopped and kissed her? Would she slap him soundly?
One would hope. Perhaps some sense could then find its way through the lust-filled fog of his brain.
“Oh!” Miss Peterson stopped abruptly.
What could be—oh, indeed. Lord Bennington and Lady Felicity stood not twenty yards ahead of them. Even at this distance he could see the man’s fall was unbuttoned, for God’s sake. Was it too much to hope that Miss Peterson hadn’t noticed? They would nod politely and he would steer her to safety.
“Miss Peterson, how lovely to see you.” Lady Felicity smiled and stepped forward, fortunately blocking their view of Lord Bennington. The man took the opportunity to put his person to rights.
But why had Lady Felicity stopped them? Surely it would have better suited her purposes to have them pass by? If he were any judge, Lord Bennington would have been very much happier. The man looked pained. Hell, given his obvious state of…enthusiasm…when they’d come upon him, the viscount was pained. He did not like Bennington at all, but any man had to feel some sympathy for the fellow’s predicament.
Miss Peterson had removed her hand from his arm as if burned. “Lady Felicity.” She cleared her throat. “Lord Bennington.”
Bennington cleared his own throat and nodded at them. “Miss Peterson. Parker-Roth.” He did not meet their eyes.
Lady Felicity laughed. “We’ve been enjoying ourselves, haven’t we, Bennie?”
Bennie’s eyes bulged. At least those were the only organs bulging at the moment. What was Felicity about? It was one thing to make conversation; quite another to recount her detour down the primrose path.
“Isn’t it delightful to stroll in the gardens? To admire the way…things
…grow? How a sensitive plant can swell to quite a stalk—”
“Speaking of bio-botany—” If Bennington wasn’t going to stop Felicity—and since the man was staring slack-jawed at her, odds were good he wasn’t—Parks would. “Are you going to the Horticultural Society meeting this week, Bennington?”
For once Bennington looked delighted to have him speak. “Yes. Rathbone is discussing the expedition to the Amazon, isn’t he?”
“Yes, I—”
“The Amazon?” Miss Peterson put her hand back on his arm. “You will be discussing the Amazon?”
“At the Horticultural Society meeting this week, yes.” Why was Miss Peterson so excited?
“I must go.”
It was his turn to stare slack-jawed.
“Miss Peterson, please.” Bennington chuckled. “That’s rich. You at the Horticultural Society meeting.”
She snatched her hand back to put it on her hip. “What is so amusing about my wishing to attend this meeting?”
“Miss Peterson, surely you know the Society is only open to men?” Parks frowned. This was Miss Peterson’s second Season. She must know everything there was to know about the Horticultural Society, given her enthusiasm for all things botanical.
“Of course I know that, but this is different. I have a very special interest in the Amazon.”
“I imagine Parks or I can lend you a book, if you like, Miss Peterson.” Bennington had recovered his habitual tone of condescension. “I know I have some basic texts that should suit your understanding.”
Evidently the slack-jawed phenomenon was contagious. Miss Peterson now gaped at Lord Bennington. But only for a moment. Her jaw snapped shut and her eyes narrowed.
“I don’t believe Miss Peterson cares for your offer, Bennie,” Lady Felicity said.
An understatement. Parks could almost hear Meg’s teeth grind. Surely the woman wouldn’t physically attack the viscount? He should deflect her attention.
“Why are you so interested in the Amazon, Miss Peterson?”
“Because I may be accompanying Miss Witherspoon on an expedition to that location.”
The slack-jawed phenomenon was definitely contagious. “You’re joking.”
She turned her glare from Bennington to him. “I am not.”
“But that’s”—he saw her gaze sharpen, but the words were out before he could stop them—“ridiculous.”
If looks could kill, he’d be dead already.
Chapter 15
Lend her a book would they? Meg glared at the innocent novels that adorned the shelves. A basic text that would suit her understanding? She bared her teeth at The Mysteries of Udolpho. It was a very good thing the beef-witted coxcombs weren’t present or she’d be sorely tempted to improve their understanding by walloping them in the brain box. There were plenty of suitable weapons at hand. Miss Austen’s Sense and Sensibility might do. Or Pride and Prejudice. Actually, the heavier the tome, the more efficacious its application.
“I agree The Castle of Otranto is not great literature, Miss Peterson, but it hardly merits such displeasure.”
“What?” Meg turned. Miss Witherspoon stood next to her. She was wearing a conventional dress today, a garish combination of pea green and puce. She and Lady Beatrice must patronize the same dressmaker.
Miss Witherspoon raised her lorgnette and surveyed the selection of reading material. “You were growling.”
Growling? It made her sound like a dog. “I was not.”
“Indeed you were.” Miss Witherspoon transferred her attention briefly to Meg. “I heard you. Fortunately, it was a low growl, so I believe you did not attract any attention.”
Meg glanced around. A man sat by the fireplace, reading a newspaper. Two young women walked past, whispering and giggling. No one was staring at her. She turned back to Miss Witherspoon.
“I was not growling at a book.”
Miss Witherspoon gave her an intense look. “So you do not deny that you were growling?”
“Botheration! I wasn’t—”
“Shh.” The woman put a gloved finger to her lips. “Not so loud.”
Meg glanced around again. Still no one appeared to take special note of her.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Peterson, you seem a trifle testy.”
Meg sighed. Why deny it? “All right, I am a little on edge.”
Miss Witherspoon made a tsking sound and touched her lightly on her arm. “I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with Pinky—or, I should say, Mr. Parker-Roth?”
“Of course not.” Meg turned back to examine the literary offerings again. They might as well have been written in Russian. She could not focus on the titles.
“Well, that’s good at least. No point in letting a man cut up your peace.”
No, no point at all. Perhaps if she repeated that twenty times a day, she would believe it.
Miss Witherspoon dropped her lorgnette so it bounced against her ample bosom. “So, have you considered further about the Amazon expedition? I don’t mean to press you, but time is running short.”
Amazon. That was the seed of her discontent.
“Miss Witherspoon, did you know a Mr. Rathbone is addressing the Horticultural Society meeting this week?”
“Sir Rathbone. No, I didn’t know.”
“He’s speaking about his trip to the Amazon.” Why wasn’t the woman more excited? “I thought it would be very educational. I had hoped to attend.”
Miss Witherspoon snorted. “You can hope to attend as much as Rathbone can hope to get the money to sail across the ocean.”
“You mean he hasn’t already gone to South America?”
“Rathbone? No. He hasn’t a feather to fly with. Still looking for someone to sport the ready cash so he can outfit an expedition, I imagine.”
“Oh.” Now that she thought about it, Bennington hadn’t said the Amazon expedition was completed. “Why can’t he join your group?”
“Too stubborn. Needs to be in charge—which he wouldn’t be if he joined us. Diego, our leader, knows better than to let Rathbone hold the reins. Still, the man is very knowledgeable. It would be worth hearing him speak, if you could bear all his prattle and self-aggrandizement.”
“So you recommend I attend?”
Miss Witherspoon employed her lorgnette again. “You do know that women are not permitted at Horticultural Society meetings, do you not, Miss Peterson?”
Meg shrugged impatiently. “Surely they would make an exception in this case.”
Miss Witherspoon snorted again. “Gravity is more likely to make an exception should you trip leaving this building. No, Miss Peterson, trust me. The Horticultural Society will not make any exceptions.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“As are many activities involving large groups of men, but there you are. I’m afraid there is nothing to be done about it.”
Meg frowned. She wanted to hear Rathbone speak and perhaps ask a question or two. Books were all well and good, but sometimes there was no substitute for actually speaking with a knowledgeable human being. And if a certain cabbage-headed nodcock happened to hear her and realize she was not an uninformed ninnyhammer, so much the better.
“You are certain not one woman has ever attended a Horticultural Society meeting?”
“Well…” A corner of Miss Witherspoon’s mouth tilted up and she leaned closer. “Perhaps one.”
So there was hope. “Who was it?”
“My friend, Prudence Doddington-Prinz.” Miss Witherspoon glanced around and then lowered her voice to a whisper. “It was just after Wedgwood formed the Society—around 1804, if I remember correctly. Prudence was as determined as you to go—she is an avid botanist and gardener—so she hounded Wedgwood and some of the other men every chance she got, but they remained adamant. No women.” Miss Witherspoon smiled. “Finally, Prudence took matters into her own hands. She went—dressed as a man.”
“She did?” Meg felt a frisson of shock. “And no one suspected?”
“No one. In fact, Prudence attended the meetings all that year. She only stopped, she said, because she got tired of hearing all those puffed up cocks crowing and strutting about.”
“I still cannot imagine how a woman could pass herself off as a man.”
Miss Witherspoon shrugged. “I am sure I could not do so. I am too short and too, well, generously endowed. But Prudence is more like you—thin and boyish. Without many curves. I imagine it wasn’t too difficult for her.”
Meg straightened. Mr. Parker-Roth had appeared to enjoy her meager curves in Lady Palmerson’s parlor. And the other men she’d lured into the bushes…
She couldn’t be certain what the other men thought. Except for Lord Bennington, they’d all been quite willing to leave the shrubbery when she’d suggested they return to whatever social event was in progress. Bennington had clearly been more attracted by her connections than her charms. But Mr. Parker-Roth—
Mr. Parker-Roth had been completely immune to her charms from the moment they’d met at Lord Tynweith’s house party until he’d been forced to play knight-errant and rescue her from the viscount. She should face facts. His actions in Lady Palmerson’s parlor had been nothing more than an attempt to make the best of a bad bargain. And the interlude in Easthaven’s garden? The same. He must know Emma and Charles—even his own mother—thought they should wed. He certainly didn’t act as if he enjoyed his encounters with her.
“Miss Witherspoon, I have decided. I will definitely be accompanying you to the Amazon.”
“Are ye sure this won’t get me in trouble, miss?”
“Don’t worry, Annie. No one will know you helped me.”
Meg stared at the clothes laid out on her bed while Annie, one of the younger chambermaids, fidgeted by the door. It was just luck she’d overheard the girl talking about her brother who was a footman in Lord Frampton’s London house. It had taken a little persuasion, but now she had a complete outfit of male attire. She hoped it fit. If it didn’t, she was out of luck. The Horticultural Society meeting was tonight.
The Naked Gentleman Page 20
