The Naked Earl

by Sally MacKenzie

  God, is that what the bastard had done? The room held some nasty instruments of torture. Even if Andrew used only the switch…. No, he couldn’t bear to think of Lizzie’s soft white skin marred by a lash. He started for the dungeon. He stopped with his foot on the top step.

  All was quiet now. Could he have imagined the sound?

  If he’d actually heard Lizzie, shouldn’t he have heard Andrew’s voice, too?

  It made no sense. He listened. Nothing.

  His nerveswere stretched tight. Perhaps the noise had been a product of his worry—or perhaps Andrew had muffled Lizzie’s mouth. Bloody hell.

  It would take only a moment to run down to the dungeon. But if Lizzie were on the battlements, that was a moment too long.

  He did not have the luxury of indecision.

  “Stop! That hurts.” Lizzie pushed against Lord Andrew’s shoulders. She screamed, but the sound was whipped away by the wind. Andrew laughed.

  “God, I’d hoped I could get you to do that.” He squeezed her breasts hard and laughed again. “I doubt anyone can hear you, but please, scream all you want. I find the sound invigorating.” He grabbed her bottom and pulled her tight against him. “See? I am bursting with vigor. Can you feel it?”

  She felt too much. Only her thin shift protected her from his touch. She felt the rough ridge of his pantaloons against her belly; the heat of his palms, of each of his fingers on her bottom. She pushed against his shoulders again. He pulled her tighter still, trapping her hands between them. He whispered in her ear.

  “Do you know what will happen, Lady Elizabeth, when I unbutton my pantaloons and lift the hem of your shift?”

  He paused. Did he really expect an answer? She shook her head. She was afraid she did know. She remembered Meg’s talk of breaching and blood. She remembered Robbie naked in her room. He had been large, but she had not felt threatened. Now she did.

  “I will ram my cock up inside you, my dear, and in doing so I will answer one of the burning questions of this house party—were you really alone in your bed when Felicity came looking for Westbrooke, or were you entertaining a very naked earl?” He bit her earlobe. He was holding her so tightly she did not have room to flinch. “Is the prim and proper sister of the Duke of Alvord still a virgin or is she merely mutton dressed as lamb? I can hardly wait to find out.”

  He covered her mouth with his. She kept her teeth clenched—until he twisted her nipple. She gasped with the pain, and his tongue plunged in to gag her.

  She fought to control her panic. She needed to keep her wits about her. Surely Lord Andrew must loosen his grip at some point in this process. When he went to open his breeches or pull up her shift, then perhaps she would have a chance to escape.

  Perhaps not. She felt his hand creeping up her leg, taking her shift with it. He moved his hips back only enough to get the thin cloth up to her waist, keeping her trapped with his chest. She felt the cold, rough stone of the parapet against her bottom.

  “The amusing thing is I can never really know youare a virgin, can I? Only that youwere a virgin. Because in making the discovery, I disprove the statement.” He grinned. “No matter. I assure you, whatever your state at this moment, you will most definitely not be a virgin shortly.”

  She felt him fumble with his buttons.

  She screamed again.

  Robbie took the worn steps two at a time.

  What if he’d guessed wrong? What if Lizziewas in the dungeon? He should have gone there first. He was wasting precious seconds coming up here.

  But Meg had said Lizzie wanted to see the battlements. There was no reason for her to go down to the dungeon. She and Meg had seen that room yesterday—and there was no pleasant view there.

  No, Lizzie would definitely have chosen the battlements.

  If she’d had the choice. If Andrew had wanted her in the dungeon, her wishes would have been irrelevant. She’d be no match for a man’s strength.

  Robbie took a deep breath. He was letting his imagination run amok. Lord Andrew might not be his choice of escort for Lizzie—hell, the blackguard wasn’t his choice to be within sixty kilometers of Lizzie—but the man had never been accused of hurting a lady. Lizzie was safe. He hoped.

  Who had made that moaning sound in the dungeon?

  Perhaps it was just the wind—or perhaps he’d imagined it. He would not have thought that possible before this damn house party, but now he was not so certain.

  He’d not been sleeping well. This morning it had felt as if he’d not slept at all, but he had. He’d dreamt of Lizzie.

  She’d been naked. He’d seen her reflection just as he had that first night. He’d watched her hands move slowly down her curves—over her sweet breasts, narrow waist, flat belly—to the dark blond triangle at the juncture of her thighs. In his dream, he hadn’t held her away when she’d come to him. He’d pulled her tight against his body, felt her breasts flatten against his chest, her belly cradle his heat. In his dream, he took her to bed and slid his length into her wet, warm depths.

  He had woken hard as a rock.

  He wouldn’t think about it. Thinking only brought him misery, and in any event, he had finally reached the top of the stairs.

  He took a deep breath. He was a gentleman. He must not rush madly out onto the battlements as if he thought Andrew were raping Lizzie. How absurd. He was just there to lend Lizzie support if she wished it, and to be sure Andrew’s behavior did not cross the line. If Lizzie were actually here, of course, and not down in the dungeon. It was quite possible he would find no one on the other side of this door.

  He pushed. The door stuck a moment, held back perhaps by the wind whistling on the other side. He pushed harder and it swung open.

  Lizzie’s panicked scream lanced his ears.

  Shock held him frozen for a second. Lord Andrew had Lizzie trapped against the parapet. He had one hand on her naked waist, the other on his buttons.

  Red, elemental anger unlike anything Robbie had felt before rushed through him.

  He was going to kill the bastard.

  “Is it time, Nell? Can we go back now? I swear if I hear Lady Dunlee say one more word about Hartford and Charlotte I will strangle the woman.”

  Nell smiled and patted Tynweith’s arm. “You have been very patient. Yes, I think we can go, Edward. You told everyone thirty minutes. It must be close to that now. And the storm is almost upon us.”

  “Splendid.” Tynweith looked up at the sky. It did look as if the heavens would open at any second. He stopped a passing footman. “William, please tell the coachmen to get the carriages ready to depart.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  William hurried to the gatehouse where the coachmen were treating their thirst with a few pints of ale. Tynweith strode over to his guests.

  “As you can see, the weather is threatening. I’ve called for the coaches. If we are fortunate, we’ll arrive at Lendal Park before the first raindrops fall.”

  “Good. I’d hate to have this bonnet ruined.” Lady Dunlee smiled. “And I do want to see how Hartford is getting on.” She covered her mouth and tittered as if she were a young girl. “That is, if he has finished with his other, um, pursuits.”

  Tynweith gritted his teeth. Why didn’t Dunlee rein in his wife? He glanced at the man. He was studying the clouds.

  “Yes, well, the carriages should be ready in just a moment. If you would all proceed to the gatehouse?” Tynweith turned to lead the way.

  “Lord Tynweith!” Lady Beatrice’s voice was sharp.

  “Yes?” He paused and looked back. What was the woman’s problem? He wanted to leave now.

  “Lady Elizabeth is missing. We cannot leave her here.”

  Tynweith wanted to shout at the woman to keep track of her charges. Instead he smiled.

  “No, indeed. Do you know where she is?”

  Lady Beatrice frowned. “I am not certain. Meg, do you know where Lizzie went?”

  “I believe she’s on the battlements.”

 
“That’s right.” Nell nodded. “We were going up together and then I got distracted by other concerns. I believe Lord Andrew may be there as well.”

  “And Lord Westbrooke,” Miss Peterson said. “He went up in search of Lizzie a few minutes ago.”

  “And they have not yet returned?” Lady Dunlee shook her head. “Whatever can they be doing up there? I’m not certain it’s quite proper for Lady Elizabeth to be alone with two gentlemen.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Clarissa,” Lady Beatrice said, “I’m sure she’s just looking at the view.”

  “Oh? And which view would that be?”

  “The view of the countryside, of course.” Lady Beatrice appeared to bite her tongue hard. Tynweith suspected she would like to describe in detail her feelings concerning Lady Dunlee. “Lizzieis in her fourth Season. She’s not some bird-witted debutante. She can take care of herself.”

  “If you say so.” Lady Dunlee smirked. “Shall we go see?”

  “Please, lead the way.”

  “Ladies, I’ll just send a footman. There’s no need for you both to climb the stairs.” Tynweith did not want to wait for the women to haul their substantial selves up all the steps to the battlements. He wanted to leave the blasted ruins as soon as possible. He wanted to leave now.

  “No, thank you, Lord Tynweith.” Lady Dunlee kept walking. “If anything of an unfortunate nature has occurred, Lady Elizabeth will want the support of another woman.”

  Lady Beatrice just rolled her eyes and kept pace.

  “Perhaps I should go along as well,” Nell said.

  “But no one else, mind,” Tynweith muttered. “There’s not room on those stairs for a parade.”

  “Of course.”

  “And hurry them along, will you?”

  Nell just smiled and left. Tynweith consulted his watch and the sky. He sighed. It looked very much as if he were going to get wet. Perhaps the rain would cool his temper.

  “Scream all you like, sweetings,” Lord Andrew whispered in Lizzie’s ear. He squeezed her breast again. “No one can hear you. In fact—urgh.”

  Lord Andrew’s cravat suddenly tightened like a noose. His eyes widened, and his hands flew up to grab the cloth as his body jerked back.

  “Robbie!”

  Robbie didn’t acknowledge her—she wondered if he’d heard her. His face had lost all trace of good humor. His eyes, his mouth, were chiseled stone. He looked murderous. He twisted his left hand tighter and Andrew’s face turned purple, eyes bulging. His hands fluttered over his cravat, plucking ineffectually at the cloth. He looked as if he would pass out at any moment.

  Robbie decided to help him. He cocked back his right fist and slammed it into Andrew’s face. There was a very unpleasant crunching sound and a lot of blood.

  “Bastard.” Robbie hit him once more, catching him under the chin, knocking his lower jaw into his upper, snapping his head back. He let his limp body fall to the floor and turned to her.

  His eyes still held murder.

  “Robbie, I…”

  “Why the hell did you come up here with that, that…” Robbie’s jaw clenched. “Why did you come up here withhim? Don’t you haveany sense?”

  There was too much residual anger in his voice. She did not think he would hurt her, but she was still a little afraid of him. She was not tempted to brangle with him now.

  “I’m sorry. I…”

  “Sorry?Sorry? He was going to rape you, Lizzie.”

  A sob caught in her throat. “I know.”

  “Bloody hell.” His hands were on her then, but not roughly. They skimmed over her bare shoulders, her bruised breasts, her sore and bleeding nipple.

  “He bit you.”

  She nodded. She couldn’t speak. Her throat was clogged with tears.

  “Damn bastard.” Robbie’s voice was harsh, but his touch was gentle. He gathered her up, cradled her securely against his chest. She shuddered and rested her cheek on his waistcoat. She breathed in his scent. Her heart slowed.

  She felt safe, sheltered by Robbie’s hard body and strong arms.

  “Robbie.” She lifted her head to look at him—and caught movement from the corner of her eye. Andrew.

  “Robbie!”

  “What?”

  “Behind you.”

  He turned. Andrew had staggered to his feet and was leaning against the parapet about ten feet away. Blood streamed from his nose and his eyes had swollen to slits, but he had his knife out and pointed at them. His battered lips twisted.

  “Move away from Lady Elizabeth, Westbrooke.”

  Robbie shifted so Lizzie was behind him. “Why should I do that?”

  “Because I am very skilled at knife throwing. I can put this blade in your chest with my eyes closed.”

  “Handy. Your eyesare almost closed, aren’t they?”

  “Robbie.” Lizzie touched his back. Her heart was pounding again. Andrew would do as he said, she had no doubt on that score. “Robbie, move. I can’t bear to have you hurt.”

  Andrew’s voice sharpened. “Listen to Lady Elizabeth, Westbrooke. Move now if you want to continue living.”

  Robbie shrugged. “If you put it that way, I guess I have no choice.”

  Robbie stepped to the right. Lizzie straightened. Her heart was in her throat. She willed herself to breathe slowly. She might be half naked, but she was not going to cower in front of Lord Andrew. She met his gaze as calmly as she could.

  He laughed. “So brave. You deserve better than Westbrooke. Didn’t you know he was a milksop, Lady Elizabeth? He’s as henhearted as—”

  The rest of the sentence was lost in an agonized scream. Another knife had appeared, this one protruding from Andrew’s right arm. Andrew’s weapon clattered to the ground.

  “Did I neglect to mention that I, too, am somewhat skilled with a blade?” Robbie asked.

  Andrew snarled and grabbed at his arm.

  “Get his knife, Robbie.”

  “My pleasure.” Robbie picked up the weapon. “I’ll take this back, too, if you don’t mind,” he said as he pulled his own knife out of Andrew’s arm. Blood soaked the man’s shirtsleeve.

  Lizzie’s knees started shaking. She leaned against the parapet. Her head throbbed. She couldn’t see….

  “Lizzie, are you all right?”

  She gulped air. Robbie’s arms came around her.

  “I was just light-headed for a moment. I’m all right now.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Yes, I’m…”

  A feminine scream erupted from the doorway. Lady Dunlee stood there, flanked by Lady Beatrice and Mrs. Larson. She raised her lorgnette.

  “Taking in the view, Beatrice?” she said. “I don’t believe it was just the view Lady Elizabeth was taking in.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Exactly what are you implying, Clarissa?”

  Lady Dunlee waved her lorgnette at Lizzie. “Let us just say, Beatrice, that one of these gentlemen must marry Lady Elizabeth immediately.”

  Robbie put his coat over Lizzie’s shoulders. He hoped Lady Bea would deny Lady Dunlee’s assertion, but he was not surprised when he saw her nod in agreement. Appearing in one’s shift—and not even all of one’s shift—in the company of two men was not a misstep easily remedied.

  “That’s ridiculous!” Lizzie’s voice wavered slightly. “Nothing happened.”

  Lady Dunlee put her lorgnette back to her eyes. Even he stared. Lizzie flushed and pulled Robbie’s coat closer around her.

  “Nothingpermanent happened.”

  “On the contrary, miss, something permanentdid happen. If—” Lady Beatrice looked at Lady Dunlee. Lady Dunlee examined the lace on her sleeve. “Whenword of this gets out, your reputation will be as shredded as your clothing.”

  “No. Why should word get out?” Lizzie sounded desperate. “Mrs. Larson, you won’t say a thing, will you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “And Lady Dunlee, surely you can refrain from spreading the story?”

/>   Robbie turned his snort into a cough. Lady Dunlee was smiling slightly and examining her lace again. He would bet she could no more keep this tale under her bonnet than she could stop breathing.

  “Ladies, perhaps we should continue this discussion in the carriages.” Mrs. Larson smiled and gestured toward the door. “I’m certain Lady Elizabeth would appreciate leaving this location, and I do believe the storm will be upon us at any moment.”

  Lady Beatrice and Lady Dunlee ignored her.

  “I am afraid you are correct, Clarissa,” Lady Bea said. “Lady Elizabeth must be betrothed now and married as soon as may be.” She crossed her arms under her sizable breasts. It was clear no one was leaving until the matter was resolved to her satisfaction. “Gentlemen?”

  Robbie heard Lizzie draw in a sharp breath that ended on a sob.

  He couldn’t look at her. His stomach clenched in a tight, hard knot, and familiar hot shame pooled in his gut.

  How could he marry Lizzie? How could he condemn her to a life without children, without passion?

  How could he tell her…Panic seized his chest. He struggled to breathe.

  He couldn’t tell her.

  “I will be happy to offer for Lady Elizabeth,” Lord Andrew said. The words came out slightly mumbled—the man’s lips were swollen and he was missing at least two teeth. “After all, it is my fault she finds herself in this state. I let my animal instincts get the better of me.”

  He grimaced in a way that was perhaps intended as a smile.

  “I have no excuse except that I have worshiped Lady Elizabeth for years—I was crushed when she turned down my earlier offer.”

  Robbie waited for Lady Beatrice to put the bastard in his place. Instead she nodded.

  Good God. She couldn’t mean to…She wouldn’t let Lizzie wed….

  “No.” Lizzie almost shouted the words. “I will not marry Lord Andrew.”

  “Lizzie, you don’t have a choice—”

  “I do have a choice, Lady Beatrice. James would never force me to wed that snake.”

  “Perhaps not, but even the duke cannot repair the damage you’ve done to your reputation today. If you don’t wed, you’ll be condemning yourself to live in the country, at Alvord, a spinster for the rest of your life.”