“Lizzie!” Robbie leapt back as if scalded.
“Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She glanced down and smiled in relief. “No, see—you’re better. The stiffness and swelling are almost gone. You should be able to tuck your…um, well, you should be able to tuckit into your pantaloons now.”
“God,Lizzie.”
Lizzie frowned, looking up. Robbie’s mouth was so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek. His eyes looked…haunted.
“Robbie, I—”
She jumped. Someone was banging on her door—and someone else was banging on her window.
“What…?”
“Your company has arrived.” Robbie grabbed her shoulders, turned her, and pushed her toward the bed. “Get your nightgown on.”
Bloody hell. Lizzie was not moving quickly enough. And she was clearly half-seas-over. Did she grasp the seriousness of the situation? No. She was sitting on her bed, staring at him. Staring at a particular part of him.
At least she had stopped grabbing him.
More banging. Whoever was hitting the window might manage to break it if Lizzie didn’t get her nightgown on soon.
He snuffed out the candle, leaving the room lit only by the banked fire in the hearth. Perhaps darkness would help her concentrate on the matter at hand.
“Put on your nightgown.”
“Hmm?”
“Lizzie, you need to put on your nightgownnow. You have to answer the door.” He reached to help her—and encountered a soft breast.
“Mmm.”
Good God, the girl was purring. If only…No, he wouldn’t think of it. It was impossible. Completely im—
“Lizzie!” He tried to keep his voice down, though with all the door and window pounding, he could have shouted and not been heard over the din. “Lizzie—yikes!”
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her fingers away from where they had wandered.
“Did I hurt you? You’re swollen again.”
“Lizzie, just put your nightgown on and get the door. Please?”
She huffed and the small puff of air tickled over his stomach.
“All right. Will you touch me again after they are all gone? It felt so good.”
Damn. He balled his hands into fists. He really would like to hit something. He tried to keep his voice calm.
“We’ll see. Now be a good girl and put on your nightgown.” Louder banging on the door and some muffled shouts. At least James wasn’t here. He was at Alvord, awaiting the birth of his second child. “Hurry. The door first. Try to look as if you’ve just woken up. And remember, I’m not here.”
“Not here. Right.”
He watched her take her first steps toward the door, then he jumped onto the bed, pulling the curtains closed.
Betty, Lizzie’s maid, must sleep like the dead, he thought. Hell, she mustbe dead if this racket hadn’t woken her. Of course, that was assuming she was in her bed at all. More likely she was with his valet somewhere. It was no secret those two would like to make a match of it. Collins had certainly hinted about it enough. Robbie was beginning to fear for his life when the man shaved him each morning.
Betty and Collins would be merry as grigs if he wed Lizzie. Well, he would be, too, but it would never happen. 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 had swung open. Light and the babble of voices flooded the room. 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 the 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 shirtsleeves and pantaloons, climbed in the window. “Saw him vault in here.” He chuckled. “Hard to miss his lily-white as—” He 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 camein the window.”
“Not this window.”
“Ah, the window in your room then? Correct me if I am wrong, 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 breasts. Lizzie crossed her arms over them.
“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. “Uh. 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 inany 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.
Couldshe 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.
Chapter Two
“Whatwere you thinking?” Charlotte drew Felicity into her room. Sometimes she wanted to shake the girl. If she were serious about catching Lord Westbrooke, she’d have to start using her head for something other than keeping her ears apart. Men were supposed to think with their nether regions, not women.
Felicity stopped just inside the door. “Aren’t you expecting company?”
“Yes, thanks to you.” Charlotte took a deep breath, repressing her annoyance. Perhaps it was just as well. She needed to get Lord Peter into her bed. The evening’s drama had served to force her over her initial reluctance. She glanced at her watch.
“He’ll be here soon.” And gone soon, too, she hoped. “I told him I had to speak to you first.” And she wanted to fortify her nerves with a sip or two of brandy.
“Peter’s not a patient man.”
Charlotte shrugged. “He’s not a bright man, either. If I hadn’t distracted him and reined you in as well, Westbrooke would be engaged now—and you would not be the woman sporting his betrothal ring. Have you never learned discretion?” She headed for her bureau. Why had she agreed to help Felicity trap Westbrooke?
The answer was simple. Trapping the earl for Felicity meant the Duke of Alvord’s sister could not wed the man. Taking Westbrooke off the marriage mart might even send Lady Elizabeth into a permanent decline—andthat would hurt Alvord.
Three years ago when Alvord had chosen an American interloper as his duchess, Charlotte had been livid. She’d been determined to marry a duke, and the only marriageable one available after Alvord wed had been Hartford—eighty-year-old Hartford. As she was walking up the aisle at St. George’s to meet her decrepit bridegroom, she’d sworn to make Alvord pay. Now, perhaps, he would.
She waited for the thrill she always experienced at the thought of finally getting her revenge. It didn’t come.
She felt nothing.
She jerked on the bureau drawer, pulling it open more forcefully than she’d intended. She caught it before it came out entirely and dumped her belongings onto the floor.
What was the matter with her? She took out her small silver flask and closed the drawer carefully. It was the house party. That was it. She’d been feeling on edge ever since she’d arrived. She should have known being around Tynweith would do this to her.
She uncorked her flask and breathed in the pungent scent of brandy.
No, the truth was, she had more pressing concerns on her mind than revenge.
Hartford was failing. He needed an heir. Time was running out.
An all-too-familiar knot formed in her stomach.
“Discretion wasn’t part of the plan.” Felicity flung herself into a chair by the fire. “I wassupposed to be discovered in bed with Westbrooke. Who knew he’d take to the window?”
“You might have guessed. He’s made an art of avoiding parson’s mousetrap. He’s made an art of avoidingyou. ” Charlotte raised her flask to her lips, then paused. “Care for brandy?”
“No.”
“Suit yourself.” She took a long drink. The liquid was comforting, as always. She closed her eyes, savoring the warmth that spread through her chest.
If she didn’t need Lord Peter’s services so badly, she would have stayed in London.
“You’d better go easy on the drink. You’ll be passed out before your paramour arrives.”
“I’ll be fine.” She wished she could pass out, but Lord Peter would probably prefer a sentient partner. Not that her alertness would make any difference, if her experience with Hartford was a guide.
She sat on the chaise across from Felicity. “I wonder what Lady Elizabeth thought when Westbrooke appeared naked in her room.”
Felicity snorted. “I’m surprised Miss Prunes and Prisms didn’t scream loud enough to wake deaf old Mr. Maxwell in London. She is such a prude.”
“I thought she was, too, but now I’m not so certain. She was as cool as ice when everyone was crowded round her, your hand on the bed curtains ready to open them wide. She never flinched. I would not have guessed there was a naked man in her bed.” Charlotte took another sip of brandy. “Are you sure Westbrooke was there?”
“Yes, I’m sure. There was nowhere else he could be. Lord Peter followed him. He saw him go in that window.”
“Hmm.” Charlotte shook her head. “I just can’t picture Lady Elizabeth greeting a naked Lord Westbrooke. Of course, her brother always acted very proper, and you know what everyone said about him.”
“That he was a regular satyr.” Felicity’s mouth slid into a sly smile. “He seems content enough now to stay home with his wife.”
“She’s breeding again, you know.” The anxious knot twisted in Charlotte’s stomach again. She took a deep breath.
Lord Peter would solve her problem.
“I’d heard. That’s why Lady Beatrice is acting as Lady Elizabeth’s chaperone this Season—that and the fact Knightsdale’s sister-in-law has finally been dragged to Town.” Felicity picked up a miniature from an end table and studied it. “This looks like you.”
Damn. She should have put that picture in a drawer.
“It is me.”
“Do you make a habit of taking your picture with you? I would have thought your glass would suffice.”
“It’s not mine.”
She watched Felicity’s eyes widen, then quickly narrow. Charlotte bit her tongue. She should have lied.
“What do you mean, it’s not yours? How did it get here?”
She shrugged. “Our host has an odd sense of humor.”
Felicity’s nose twitched like a hound scenting a fox. “But why does he have a miniature of you?”
> “I have no idea. Perhaps you should ask him.”
“Hmm.” Felicity put the picture back on the table and picked up the porcelain shepherdess standing next to it. “Perhaps you should have chosen him to come to your bed.”
“Oh, no. Lord Peter suits my purposes far better.” Lord Peter was more than a decade younger than Tynweith, and more importantly, his family was known to produce males. He should give her a son. A daughter would not do.
“Are you going to tell him what your purposes are?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Charlotte could not imagine that conversation. “Probably not. There is no need for him to know.”
“You’re going to make him think you lust after his body when all you want is his seed?”
“I don’t mean to make him think anything. Thinking is not required for the procedure.”
Felicity laughed. “No, I suppose not.”
“I am offering him some free sport—why should he complain?”
“True. And Hartford? Will you tell him?”
“Definitely not.”
“Won’t he be suspicious?”
“I don’t see why. Most babes look the same—and I can’t imagine he’ll survive the child’s infancy.” God, she hoped he didn’t. She hadn’t thought he’d live this long. “If he does, Lord Peter’s coloring is much like mine. He’ll just think his little sprig resembles mama.”
“Well, yes, but if a man doesn’t plow the field, he can’t plant a seed, can he?”
“That is not a problem.”
“You mean he still…?” Felicity’s eyes widened and her mouth twisted up in a look of disgust.
“Yes, he still does.” Every Thursday evening—except the last two Thursdays. He’d tried, but he had not been able to rise to the occasion.
Her stomach clenched. She sipped some more brandy.
If she were able to get with child during this house party, Hartford should not suspect a thing. Hehad been able to accomplish the deed three Thursdays ago. Her courses were not terribly regular. She could be increasing now for all she knew.
The Naked Earl Page 2
