Sally MacKenzie Bundle (200 page)

“Ah, yes. Indeed.” He’d love to see her hair spread over his pillow—

“Look, there’s another Pan.” She pointed to the corner over Beelzebub’s left shoulder.

Motton wrenched his mind from lascivious images of Jane and beds. “I see it.” He took out his magnifying glass and held it over the area. This Pan was just as excited as the others—if anything, his phallus looked even more impressive. The statue appeared to be in a room with a black-and-white tile floor. Behind it were several framed pictures. Had Clarence drawn a copy of this sketch? He moved the magnifying glass to get a better view.

No. Only one drawing was clearly rendered and that was of a half-eaten apple and two lopsided pears.

“That’s one of Cleopatra’s paintings,” Jane said. She grabbed the glass and pushed him aside. Her breast pressed up against his arm. She smelled of lemon—sweet, but tart. “That tile looks familiar.” She shifted so her bottom pushed up against his hip. Was she trying to drive him mad with lust? No, she seemed oblivious to her effect on him.

“Oh?” He tried to focus through the fog of lust clouding his brain. “Can you tell where it’s hung?” If Clarence kept to pattern, that would tell them the next Pan’s location. “It’s not one of the rooms in Widmore House, is it?”

Jane shook her head and a few errant wisps of hair floated briefly across his face. The lemon scent intensified.

Focus, Motton. You are not going to write a treatise on Miss Parker-Roth’s hair.

“No, I don’t think so. See, he’s drawn all these other paintings as if they were in a gallery.”

“Hmm. So could it be the Royal Academy? Is it Somerset House?”

“No, I’m almost certain Cleopatra never exhibited there. It’s a bit of a sore point with her. In fact, she was complaining about the academy the last time we saw her, just before she went off on her honeymoon.”

“All right, so if it’s not the Royal Academy, where is it?”

Jane straightened and looked at him. “It must be the private gallery Mama and a few of her friends set up on Harley Street. She dragged me there once. I think at least one of the rooms has a black-and-white tile floor.”

“Splendid.” Motton folded up the sketch pieces. “Give me the street number and I shall go there tomorrow.”

She was frowning again. “I will not. If you go, you will go with me.”

Why did she have to be so pigheaded? “Miss Parker-Roth, we discussed this. With Satan quite possibly involved, it is far too dangerous for you to participate in the search any longer.”

She stuck her damn little nose in the air. “I’m not aware that we discussed anything, Lord Motton; you merely blustered about like a misguided male protecting a weak little female.”

He wanted to shake her. “And what is wrong with protecting females? You are most definitely weaker than I am.” And if Miss Parker-Roth didn’t start acting sensibly, he would be delighted to give her a demonstration of his strength. He could easily immobilize her and have his wicked way with her if he wanted to. Which he didn’t, of course. Well, not without her enthusiastic cooperation.

“Nothing, exactly. It’s the condescending, patronizing, superior attitude that goes with it. The feeling that because you are physically bigger and stronger than I am, you are also more intelligent.” She snorted. “More intelligent? Ha. Why deal with roundaboutation? Men far too often treat me as if I had feathers for brains.”

He smiled in spite of his annoyance. “Surely your brothers never made that mistake?”

She grinned at him. “Not more than once. I was not shy about correcting them, even if it required a good wallop with a hard object.”

He would like to have seen Jane trying to educate John and Stephen—and the younger brother as well. “I understand that, Jane, but
you
must understand this situation is completely different.” Maybe if he tried again, the message would get through her hard head. “I cannot stress enough how dangerous Satan is.”

“Oh, you’ve frightened me quite well, my lord, but that won’t deter me. And it will cause less comment if I appear at an art gallery than if you do. My mother
is
an artist.”

“And you always accompany her to the galleries, correct?”

“Er, well, perhaps not.” Damn, he had a point.

“How many times have you taken in our artists’ offerings, Miss Parker-Roth?”

“This Season?” The man was going to make her grovel, wasn’t he?

“Yes.”

“Ah, well, this Season has barely begun. I still have plenty of time to view a gallery or two.” Perhaps she could still wriggle out of this bind she’d got herself into.

“All Seasons, then. How many times since your come-out have you attended any sort of art display with your mother?”

Blast, he had her. “I can’t recall.”

He raised his eyebrows. “The truth, Jane.”

“Oh, very well. I went with her once to the Royal Academy and once to the Harley Street gallery. I have enough of paintings and pictures at the Priory. I don’t need to stare at more art in London.”

The damn man smirked and crossed his arms. “So your attending the gallery will be as odd—odder, actually—than my doing so. I am quite the connoisseur, I’ll have you know.”

He was quite the unconscionable prig. If there were a Pan handy, she’d bash him over the head with it. “I am not going to let you go alone. You know you need my help; you are just too stubborn to admit it.”

“I do
not
need your help.” He was gritting his teeth again.

“You do, and if you don’t take me with you, I will go on my own.”

The thought of Jane looking for the sketch by herself turned his blood to ice. She had no experience with villains; she couldn’t even begin to understand the precautions she should take. And if it truly were Satan he was dealing with, he couldn’t afford to split up his men, having some guard Jane and others watch his back. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You may rage at me all you like, but unless you intend to lock me in a dungeon or tie me to my bed, I am going.”

Tie her to her bed…

Focus.

He scowled at her. She scowled back and raised her chin. She clearly did not intend to let herself be persuaded—or bullied.

He knew when to throw in the towel. “Very well, you win.” She tried to repress her grin of triumph, the minx, but she wasn’t quite successful. Well, he was going to demand some concessions in return. If she insisted on being involved in this, he would insist on keeping a very, very close eye on her. “But to keep you safe, I need to stay by your side—so I shall pretend to be courting you.”

“What?”
Jane lifted her hand to her chin to ascertain her mouth wasn’t hanging open. Courting her? What did he mean by that? Yes, they’d just engaged in some rather heated exchanges, but that wasn’t courting, that was Lord Motton taking what she had shamelessly offered him. He was a man. He wasn’t going to turn down such opportunities. Even her brother John had a mistress.

Not that Lord Motton would ever cross the final line with her—of course not. But, well, men were just very different from women.

And she must not forget he’d managed to ignore her for more than seven years. She might have been longing for him, but he had definitely not been doing the same for her.

“It’s not so shocking,” he was saying. “I think the
ton
will believe it. As you point out, I spent a good bit of time with you tonight. People may already be speculating about my intentions. The aunts certainly are.” He grimaced. “They have made it their mission to see me wed.”

“Ah.” Now she understood. “So this playacting is for your benefit as well.”

“Partly, I suppose. But it is mostly for your safety.” His expression was serious. “Even though you scoff, Jane, you do need protecting. You’ve never dealt with a black-hearted bastard like Satan. You can’t handle him.”

She tilted her chin. Lord Motton was back to frightening her—and he was doing an excellent job—but she refused to be frightened. “And you can?”

His face went from serious to chilling. “I can.”

“Ah.” Her heart was suddenly pounding in her throat. Perhaps she would be a little frightened…

The doorknob rattled.

“Eep!” She slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her squeak. Was that Mama? Lord Motton might find himself more than pretending to courtship; he might find himself forced up the church aisle.

“Try not to look quite so guilty,” Lord Motton murmured as he walked past her to open the door.

Not look guilty? Ha! She
was
guilty. She was alone with a man in a locked room, which was bad enough, but when one considered what she’d been doing with that man—

Oh, dear God. She looked down to be certain her dress was where it belonged.

“Aunt Winifred and Theo. What a…surprise,” Lord Motton said. He stepped aside so his aunt and her pet could enter.

At least it wasn’t Mama—though perhaps this was worse.

“Awk!” Theo turned his head to examine Jane and then flapped his wings, sending strands of Miss Smyth’s hair flying around her face. “Something’s rotten in Denmark.”

“Theo, please!” Miss Smyth’s eyes met Jane’s and then dropped to consider Jane’s bodice. Jane clutched her skirts to keep from shielding her breasts from the woman’s scrutiny. Surely Miss Smyth didn’t look disappointed that Jane’s clothing was not in total disarray? “I’m certain there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation why Edmund had his study door locked, Theo.” Miss Smyth smiled at her nephew. “Edmund?”

“Yes, Aunt?”

“Would you care to elucidate?”

“No.”

Dear God, why wasn’t Lord Motton concocting a plausible explanation? Did he
want
his aunt to think the worst? “Ah, you see, Lord Motton and I…”

Lord Motton raised an eyebrow. Damn. Jane tried again. “Lord Motton and I were merely…we were just…we had some business of a private nature…”

Lord Motton turned back to consider his aunt. “You are the one who escorted Miss Parker-Roth to my study, Aunt Winifred, and then left her unattended. I find it hard to fathom why you seem so concerned with the proprieties now.”

“You had asked to speak to her, if you will remember. I got the impression you had a matter of some import to discuss. And I didn’t think poor Jane was up to spending time in a roomful of aunts.” Miss Smyth raised her eyebrows. “But I did not lock the door.”

“I did need to speak to Miss Parker-Roth, and I didn’t wish to be interrupted.”

Miss Smyth snorted. “I would imagine not.”

Lord Motton merely stared at his aunt. Jane stared at the floor.

Miss Smyth waved her hand. “Oh, I suppose it doesn’t matter. I’m certainly not going to spread any tittle-tattle.”

“Tittle-tattle.” Theo examined Jane. “Tiny titties. Bitty bubbies.”

Jane felt herself flush. She knew she didn’t have an especially impressive bosom, but she certainly didn’t need a rude parrot bringing her deficiencies to Ed—to everyone’s attention.

“Theo!” Miss Smyth glared at her parrot.

“Aunt”—Lord Motton almost spat the word—“control your pet or I’ll be using his feathers to stuff pillows.”

“Pillows!” Theo reared back. “Shiver me timbers! Ye won’t be makin’ a pillow out o’ me.”

“I will if you don’t mend your manners, you obnoxious bird.”

“Edmund, it’s beneath your dignity to argue with a parrot.”

“Right. I won’t argue.” He looked Theo up and down; Theo sidled closer to Miss Smyth’s head. “Perhaps I’ll make him into a feather duster instead of a pillow.”

“Jiminy!”

Miss Smyth shooed her pet away from her hair. “Theo, much as it pains me to say so, you have indeed merited some punishment, but Edmund would never really pluck you.”

Lord Motton leaned toward Theo and bared his teeth. “Don’t bet on it.”

“Lord a mercy, save me, save me!” Theo flapped his wings so vigorously he knocked some of Miss Smyth’s pins askew, causing her coiffure to list drunkenly.

“Edmund, you are not helping matters.” She tapped Theo on the beak. “Now apologize to Miss Parker-Roth, sir. Your behavior has been beyond boorish. I am very sorry to say I am ashamed of you.”

Theo ducked his head. “Aw, Theo’s sorry. Theo’s sorry.”

Miss Smyth looked at Jane again. “Please forgive Theo, Miss Parker-Roth. He
is
a bit of a birdbrain on occasion.”

“Er, yes, of course. Do not give it another thought.” It was past time to change the subject, but Jane couldn’t think of a new topic to save her soul.

“And, in any event, Theo is wrong. You have a very nice bosom”—Miss Smyth smiled—“as I’m sure Edmund has been telling you.”

“Ah.” She was going to spontaneously combust from embarrassment. There was no question of it. She closed her eyes and felt the heat sweep through her. She must be red as a beet.

“Aunt!”

“Well, you wouldn’t want Miss Parker-Roth to get the wrong impression, Edmund. Young women can be very sensitive about such matters.”

Poor Jane looked miserable, and any further conversation with Aunt Winifred and Theo would just add to her misery. “I believe it’s time for Miss Parker-Roth to retire. You can see she’s fagged to death.”

Aunt Winifred clicked her tongue. “Edmund, you are as bad as Theo. Wasn’t I clear? A gentleman should never make disparaging comments about a lady’s appearance.”

He took a deep breath—he would not shout. “I’m not making disparaging comments; I’m stating the obvious.”

“Obvious. Ob—”

He glared at the parrot. “Don’t push your luck.”

Theo snapped his beak shut and hid his head under one of his wings.

“Miss Parker-Roth has had an exhausting day,” Edmund said.

“Indeed.” Aunt Winifred nodded. “That’s why I came to see why you were keeping her from her bed.”

Had Winifred stressed that last word? He would ignore it. “Miss Parker-Roth, are you tired?”

Jane sighed and nodded. “I’m afraid I am rather.”

“Then I shall escort you to your room. Where have you put her, Aunt Winifred?”

“In the blue bedroom.”

“Ah. The blue bedroom.” He was going to strangle his aunt.

“Yes. I thought that would make her feel more secure. I told her if she felt alarmed during the night, she need only call out and you would come and assist her—didn’t I, Miss Parker-Roth?”