Sally MacKenzie Bundle (13 page)

Fled, more like.
“Yes, Lady Dunlee. I did spend the last few weeks in Scotland. But I’m back now and intend to stay in England at least until the end of the Season.”
Keeping an eye on Lizzie.
Damn. Lizzie was still flirting with Tynweith. The Duchess of Hartford, on Tynweith’s other side, was looking extremely displeased. Her head was tilted politely toward Lord Dunlee, her neighbor on her right, but her eyes were fixed on Tynweith and Lizzie.

At the moment, Robbie was in complete charity with the duchess.

“…and my dear daughter Caroline is also an extremely accomplished singer. I’m certain you must have heard her perform.”

Only when I haven’t had adequate warning.
“Yes, Lady Dunlee. I believe I have had that, um, pleasure. Ulp.”

Lady Dunlee’s eyes widened. “Excuse me? What did you say, Lord Westbrooke?”

“Help.” Robbie smiled at the woman while he grabbed Lady Felicity’s hand under the table and removed it from his pantaloons. “Lady Caroline’s talents always help the evening’s entertainments.”

Lady Dunlee nodded. “Indeed.” She nodded down the table to where Tynweith’s cousin, their hostess, sat. “You might mention to Mrs. Larson that you would enjoy some music.”

“A splendid idea. I just might do that.”
When hell freezes over.

He turned back to Lady Felicity.

“Could you please keep your hands to yourself?” He kept his voice low, but tried to put enough emphasis into his whisper to convey his annoyance.

She pouted at him. “I thought you’d enjoy a distraction. Lady Dunlee does drone on so about her fat daughter.”

He couldn’t deny the truth of that statement.

“I have not given you permission to touch my person. It is shockingly improper.” He must sound like some ancient chaperone, but really, what did a man say to a woman who had accosted him under the dinner table?

“Most men don’t complain.”

“How many men have you treated in such a manner?”

She shrugged. “I don’t keep a tally. It helps pass a boring meal, don’t you agree?”

“No, I do not.” Anger made his voice rise above a whisper. “I prefer to eat my meal in peace without having to worry someone’s fingers are feeling my—”

Thankfully, he noticed the silence before he completed his sentence. He coughed.

“That is
singers.
I mean to say, someone’s
singers
are feeling my lack of attention. I wouldn’t want any of our talented ladies to think their musical abilities are not properly displayed and appreciated.” He smiled at Lady Dunlee. She nodded carefully back at him. He sighed.

Hell had frozen solid.

“Mrs. Larson, Lady Dunlee tells me her charming daughter has a lovely voice.”

Chapter Seven

Charlotte looked down at the food on her plate. The thought of putting even the smallest morsel in her mouth made her stomach rebel. She pushed the items around with her fork while she pretended to listen to Lord Dunlee.

“And then I told Lord Huffington…”

She tilted her head in his direction and smiled. Thankfully, the man was content to continue his monologue with only the slightest encouragement from her. He was probably delighted to hear his own voice for a change. Lady Dunlee did not impress Charlotte as a woman who listened to anyone but herself.

Tynweith was still staring down Lady Elizabeth’s dress. Who would have guessed the girl was such a lightskirt? Perhaps now that her aunt had retired as her chaperone, her true character was coming out. Lady Beatrice was obviously not inclined to rein her in. The woman was too busy guzzling Tynweith’s brandy.

The baron was showing
his
true character as well. Thank God she had refused his oh-so-generous offer to come to her bed. She speared a bite of venison and moved it to the middle of her potatoes
à la Hollandaise
. He had been so persuasive in the garden, acting as if he actually cared for
her
. She snorted. He didn’t. He merely wanted a willing female. Anything in skirts would do. He was no different from any other man.

“Excuse me, your grace,” Lord Dunlee said. “Did you say something?”

“Oh, no, my lord. A crumb tried to go down the wrong way. It’s nothing. Please continue.”

The man flushed. “You are certain I’m not boring you? Lady Dunlee does tell me I drone on at times.”

Charlotte had a hard time believing that. She glanced at the woman who now had captured Lord Westbrooke’s ear. No one could squeeze more than a word or two into any conversation with Lady Dunlee.

“No, really. Do continue.”

She looked at Tynweith while Lord Dunlee’s words flowed over her again. The baron had finally raised his eyes from Lady Elizabeth’s breasts. He was now studying her lips.

He was welcome to her. Really, it was only courteous. If the girl was making the rounds of the house party, the host should have his turn.

She impaled the next bit of venison with such force her fork scraped against her plate. She took a deep breath and put her utensil down.

“Don’t care for your food, Duchess?”

“It is fine, Lord Dunlee. I’m just not feeling quite the thing. A little tired, I believe. I think I’ll retire to my room after dinner.”

“A good plan, especially if Lady Dunlee foists my daughter on the company. She’s a good girl, but she can’t sing worth a farthing. I plan to sneak out to blow a cloud.”

Lord Westbrooke’s voice rose then. He was glaring at Felicity. “I prefer to eat my meal in peace without having to worry someone’s fingers are feeling my—” He coughed.

Lord Dunlee made an odd noise, as if he were swallowing a laugh. Charlotte swallowed a sigh. Had Lord Westbrooke never been seated next to Felicity at table before? She watched as the earl tried to extricate himself from his faux pas, cavalierly sacrificing all their ears for his cause.

“I do advise escape,” Lord Dunlee whispered as they rose to adjourn to the music room.

“Thank you. I
am
tired.” She happened to look down the table and catch Lord Peter’s eye. He raised his brows and grinned.

Oh, God. Unless she missed her guess, this musical interlude meant Lord Peter would be visiting her sooner than she had expected. Well, perhaps then he would leave sooner, too.

She allowed Lord Dunlee to escort her to the stairs.

“Sleep well, Duchess.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

She so wished she were going up only to sleep. Unfortunately, she had unpleasant business to conduct before she could rest.

The thought of Lord Peter sharing her bed was extremely depressing. Last night she’d not looked forward to his arrival, but at least she hadn’t dreaded it. To be truthful, she had wondered if the intimate exercises might be more pleasant with a younger man. And Felicity had raved about Lord Peter’s bedroom skills. She smiled slightly. She knew enough not to trust Felicity’s words completely, but she had hoped there was some truth to them.

There was not. The procreative process was uncomfortable and unpleasant no matter whom one invited into one’s bed. While Lord Peter had been quicker than Hartford, he had also insisted on multiple encounters. The time wasted was probably the same.

She entered her room and headed immediately for the drawer with her brandy flask. She took a long swallow. The warmth of the liquid spread throughout her, steadying her nerves.

She hoped the time with Lord Peter had not been wasted. She prayed his seed would take root. It had to. Time was not something she had a lot of. Hartford’s skin had definitely had a gray pallor when she’d left him in London.

She took another drink. And then there was Tynweith. His words from the garden had been whispering in the back of her mind all evening. Was he correct? Did dampness and heat and need increase one’s chances of conception? Did those things really prepare the field for a successful plowing?

Ridiculous. The tumultuous feelings she had experienced in the garden could not help. If anything, they must hurt. A quiet, stoic manner was best. It only made sense. Just as a seed planted on a still, calm day had a much better chance of growing than one tossed into a raging storm.

She took one last swallow of brandy as she heard a tap at the door. Lord Peter had arrived. She closed her flask and prepared herself to be stoic.

Tynweith cringed as Lady Caroline reached for a high note. It eluded her grasp for the fourth time.

They’d been doomed the moment Westbrooke had suggested singing. Lady Dunlee’s calculating little eyes had lit up and she’d latched on to the earl’s arm with an unbreakable grip. She was not to be denied. They must adjourn forthwith to the music room. There was no time for the gentlemen to enjoy their port. A musical feast awaited them.

Now Westbrooke had a prime seat, right in front of the performer and next to her proud mother. Served him right for inflicting this punishment on them all, but why Lady Dunlee thought the earl would be tempted to offer for her daughter after listening to this screeching was beyond Tynweith’s comprehension. Any man wishing to preserve his hearing would flee at the first opportunity.

Tynweith grinned. Westbrooke certainly looked anxious to flee. He had consulted his watch several times already. He’d tried to be surreptitious about it, but he’d failed miserably. Lady Dunlee was glaring at him again. Perhaps she would decide he wasn’t worthy of her talented child.

Perhaps that was Westbrooke’s goal.

To add to his torture, Lady Felicity, who’d rushed to sit on his other side, had started whispering in his ear. The man was having a miserable time.

He was not the only one. Lady Caroline hit another wrong note, and Tynweith’s hands twitched. He wanted so badly to cover his ears, but that would not be the mark of a gracious host. Mousy Miss Hyde, Nell’s companion, was trying valiantly to accompany the girl on the pianoforte, but was not having much success. She cringed every time Lady Caroline made a mistake—which resulted in her hitting the wrong keys, adding to the cacophony.

Perhaps if he focused on something else, he would not notice the pain. He surveyed the rest of the music room. Most of his guests appeared to be more successful than he at ignoring the caterwauling. Lady Beatrice was talking to Flint, probably trying to persuade the butler to bring her more brandy. The woman must have a hollow leg—she could out drink most men of his acquaintance. Viscount Botton, an aging Lothario at least an inch shorter and easily half Lady Beatrice’s weight, flitted around her like the annoying gnat he was. Tynweith frowned. It had really been too bad of him to invite Botton. He knew Lady Beatrice could not abide the man—few people could—but as Nell had said, he had to even out the numbers and Botton was at hand.

Nell sat with Sir George Gaston. It had been understood when she’d agreed to act as his hostess that the baronet would be invited. Larson had had the good sense to die and leave Nell a widow; Gaston was still waiting for his wife to be as accommodating. Lady Gaston was a shrew, prone to a variety of maladies that Gaston’s presence exacerbated. She must be happy he frequented Nell’s bed instead of hers.

Miss Peterson was in close conversation with Mr. Parker-Roth by the windows. Interesting. He didn’t know Miss Peterson well since she was new to London, but Parks hadn’t shown any interest in a female since Lady Grace Dawson had jilted him a few years ago.

Mr. Dodsworth was watching Miss Hyde. Poor woman. Perhaps it was a blessing she’d been coerced to play for Lady Caroline—it freed her from Dodsworth’s grip. It did look as though she were the man’s newest victim. Dodsworth had latched onto her before dinner, taking her aside to show her the wall of horse paintings Tynweith’s father had commissioned George Stubbs to produce. Miss Hyde had followed him meekly—she couldn’t say boo to a goose—and had stood next to him, her head moving in nervous little bobs, obviously agreeing with everything he said, until Flint had announced dinner.

His other guests, with the exception of Lady Elizabeth who sat at his side, had vanished. Lady Caroline’s proud papa, Lord Dunlee, obviously knew his daughter’s musical limitations too well. He’d gone out onto the terrace to enjoy a cigar.

Tynweith leaned back in his chair. If he were a good host, he would find a tactful way to bring this musical torture to an end.

He was not a good host. He was far too lazy. He contemplated following Lord Dunlee’s example and vanishing. If he couldn’t join him for a smoke, he could retreat to his study. He had some paperwork that needed doing.

Right. As if he could concentrate on paperwork.

Charlotte and Lord Peter were missing, too. Charlotte had pleaded fatigue after dinner and retired to her room. Lord Peter had disappeared as soon as Lady Caroline opened her mouth to begin her auditory onslaught.

Were they in bed together already?

God! Lady Caroline screeched again. He glanced to his right. Lady Elizabeth looked almost as pained as he felt.

He’d expected her to sit next to Westbrooke, but no, she hadn’t contested Felicity for that choice location. She had chosen to sit by him. He smiled at her. She smiled back with a funny little expression he presumed she thought looked coy.

Something unusual had definitely occurred between her and the earl. At every other gathering of the
ton
, Lady Elizabeth acted as if Westbrooke were the only male in attendance. Tonight, however, she’d had words with him in the drawing room. Then she’d come looking for Tynweith to take her in to dinner—and she’d flirted with him from soup to sweets.

It should have been a balm for his wounded pride, but he knew it was an act. She’d kept looking at Westbrooke when the man was looking at Lady Felicity. She had not been happy to see Felicity’s head so close to the earl’s. Tynweith chuckled. She would have been even less happy had she known where Felicity’s hands were. Tynweith had had the dubious pleasure of sitting next to the girl at other dinner parties. He knew exactly where her fingers liked to roam.

“What is so humorous, Lord Tynweith?”

“Nothing appropriate for your ears, Lady Elizabeth.” He leered at her. “Pardon me for entertaining such…private thoughts in your presence.” He dropped his voice lower. “Though your presence, of course, provokes all manner of private thoughts.”