Sally MacKenzie Bundle (202 page)

She rolled her eyes. “You know your aunts are here to find you a wife, and given your father’s and grandfathers’ failure to produce a suitable quantity of male offspring, they are concerned about the succession. They think you should start work on filling your nursery immediately. Singling me out for this excursion gets their hopes up.”

“So they want me to start work on my nursery
immediately
?”

Jane flushed. Edmund could look quite lecherous when he’d a mind to. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He sent her a sidelong glance. “I don’t know. I don’t want the aunties in a pother. Perhaps I should get right to business.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Behave yourself, my lord. We are in an open carriage with your tiger behind.”

Lord Motton glanced back. “Close your eyes, Jem.”

“My lord!” Jane refused to look at Jem. He was a wiry young man about her brother Nicholas’s age, at a guess. He could probably imagine Edmund’s intentions far better—and in much more detail—than she could. Blast. He was probably wondering why she hadn’t soundly slapped his lascivious employer’s face. At a minimum she should have had an attack of the vapors.

She raised her chin and tried to sound as prim and spinsterish as possible. “I must ask you to conduct yourself with more decorum, Lord Motton.”

“Now that sounds deadly dull. What if—”

“Milord!”

Lord Motton’s expression changed instantly from teasing to alert. “Yes, Jem?”

“We’re being followed. I recognize one of the men from the break-in last night.”

“You do?” Jane started to turn to get a look at this villain, but Edmund’s hand shot out to stop her.

“No, Jane. We don’t want them to realize we’re aware of them. I don’t believe we’re in any danger at the moment”—he smiled at her—“but when we reach the academy, stay close to me, just in case.” The smile slid back into a leer. “Very close.”

Her heart was pounding in her throat, and this man was making salacious suggestions. “How can you take this so lightly?” She wanted to turn around and look, but she forced herself to face forward.

Edmund’s expression turned serious. “I’m not, Jane. I’d never take lightly anything regarding Satan. I’ve sent men ahead to our destination, and I’ve stationed one or two along our route as well. We’ll know if we’re in any danger well before anything happens, so we can avoid trouble—and if we can’t avoid it, we’ll have friends nearby to help.”

“Aye, milord,” Jem said. “I jist saw Thomas take off runnin’. He must have recognized the man, too. He’ll let Ben and the rest know.”

“Excellent.” Lord Motton encouraged his horses to pick up their pace.

Jane watched his hands on the reins. He was so confident. He could step off the cliffs of Dover with her, assuring her they’d land safely, and she’d believe him. She was clearly an idiot.

“I could try to lose them,” he was saying, “but I think it’s best if they believe we’ve no notion they’re there. Why should we be the least bit suspicious? We are merely on a pleasant outing to view some paintings and perhaps enjoy a little flirtation.”

Jem almost successfully muffled his guffaw, but it was a near thing. His ears must smart from holding in the noise.

Jane sniffed. “I do not flirt, my lord, in case it has escaped your notice.”

“You don’t?” Edmund raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you should try it.” He pulled back on the reins. “Here we are. Jem, go to their heads, if you will.”

The viscount swung down from the carriage and came around to help her alight. He murmured in her ear as her feet touched the walk. “I don’t flirt much myself, you know.”

Jane snorted. “Liar. You flirt constantly. You’re flirting now.”

He was smiling, but his eyes were serious. “When have you seen me flirting in society’s ballrooms?”

“I haven’t seen you in many ballrooms.” She stepped past him. “I assume you do your flirting in other, less public locations.”

He laughed. “Oh,
that’s
not called flirting.”

“Lord Motton!”

He put her hand on his arm and smiled down at her. “We will practice our flirting skills together.”

Damn it, her stomach was fluttering again. “Flirting with me will stir up the gossips, you know.”

“I hope it does. I want to throw Satan and his hounds off our scent, so they think we are together simply to enjoy each other’s company.”

Jane clutched Lord Motton’s sleeve. “Do you see the man who was following us? Is he still there?” She started to turn her head to look, but he stopped her.

“Tsk, Miss Parker-Roth, please remember—you’re supposed to have eyes only for me.” He lifted her hand and kissed it, effectively sending all thoughts out of her head. “Don’t worry. I have my people on the watch for trouble.”

“I’d feel more confident if I knew whom I needed to avoid. I—”

Edmund brushed a strand of hair off her face. “You’d probably stare at the fellow so intently even a blind man would know it. I think it safer if Satan thinks our association is purely romantic—which he will not do if you go searching behind every painting and potted plant for a villain.”

She took a deep breath. “All right, you may have a point.”

“Of course I have a point.” He started walking toward the entrance. “One reason I wanted to attend this exhibition was to have society—and Satan—see us together. The sooner the
ton
take note of my courtship, the better.”

“Ah.” Courtship. Blast it, now her heart was behaving erratically as well. This was all playacting—she must remember that.

“And the added advantage of this particular excursion is it starts people thinking we are interested in art, so they won’t remark on it when we visit the Harley Street gallery. I spoke to your mother this morning and learned it is only open on Thursdays.”

“I see.” Did Mama think Lord Motton was courting her daughter? Oh, dear. That could be very awkward. “Did Mama find your question, er, odd?”

He shrugged. “Not that I could discern. She’s an artist. I assume she thinks everyone should want to tour any available gallery.”

“But…she didn’t find it remarkable that you would be interested in escorting me?”

“Hmm. You know, I’m not sure I mentioned you.”

Of course he hadn’t. He was a man. Men, in her experience, didn’t mention lots of interesting details, and the details they did mention often weren’t interesting at all. It wasn’t as if he needed Mama’s permission to escort her. She was twenty-four—not a young debutante. “Where was my mother this morning, by the by? She certainly wasn’t in the breakfast room helping me stave off your aunts!”

He laughed. “She’s wilier than you—or perhaps just more experienced with my aunts. She had chocolate in her bedchamber. I caught her in the corridor shortly before we left—perhaps when you were fetching your bonnet.”

Just as Jane had suspected. “That is what I am going to do tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure that would be wise. If you do, I’ll wager Aunt Winifred will remark on your absence and point out your room is right next to mine—”

“She wouldn’t!”

“She would. And she’d go further to remind all the aunts that the key to the connecting door has been lost for years.”

“It has?” Damn, she knew she was blushing. She cleared her throat. “So the door is locked?”

Edmund’s lips slid into a slow smile. “Oh, no. It’s unlocked. Permanently.”

“Ah.” So the viscount could come into her room—and she into his—at any time and no one would know. She shivered.

How was she ever going to get any sleep?

“Cold?”

“Oh, no. I’m fine.” She hoped she wasn’t blushing again.

He smiled, but thankfully didn’t comment. They’d reached the entrance, and Motton handed the old man at the door their admission fees.

“Thank ye, milord.” The man grinned, revealing a large gap where a few of his teeth were missing. “Iffin I may say so, yer lordship, yer lady’s portrait could be ’ung ’ere, she’s that lovely.”

He slipped the fellow an extra coin for the compliment. “I couldn’t agree more.”

They strolled into the big room. The light streaming in from the high windows cast a halo around Jane’s figure and burnished her rich brown hair, making the red in it gleam. The man at the door had been right—Jane was beautiful. Someone should paint her portrait and hang it on the walls here.

Though perhaps not here. Here the walls were infernally cluttered, as usual. Paintings were hung from rafters to floor with no space between them to slip a shilling edgewise.

“You know that man just wanted the vail, don’t you?” Jane asked.

“Hmm?” Her eyes were the same shade as her hair. How had he not noticed that before?

“I’m sure he must say that to any male he thinks he can gull, even those escorting the veriest crone.” She snorted. “Actually, now I see he spoke the complete truth. Look at the woman in that portrait. She must be eighty if she’s a day—and she couldn’t have been attractive in her youth.”

He took Jane by the elbow and turned her to face him. “I will not have you denigrating yourself. The man was completely correct. You
are
lovely.”

Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened—and then she blushed and laughed. “You’re blind, my lord.”

He shook her arm slightly. “No,
you’re
blind, Jane.”

She shook her head and looked away. “You’re the only one ever to say I’m at all out of the ordinary.”

“Am I, Jane, or am I the only one to insist you hear me? Has no man told you how beautiful you are?”

She snorted. “My brothers surely never have.”

“Of course they haven’t—they’re your brothers. But you’ve survived all those Seasons—you can’t persuade me not a single man has complimented you.”

“Well…perhaps, but it was idle flattery. I am quite aware I am not a diamond of the first water, my lord.”

“You are not in the common way, that’s true, but you
are
lovely.” For some reason it was important to him she believe his words. “I would not say so if I didn’t think it. I do not deal in Spanish coin.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks were very red. Good. “Well, er, thank you then.” She was obviously uncomfortable accepting the compliment, but at least she did so, albeit grudgingly. “Now come look at this painting with such a very amusing cat.”

He followed her from painting to painting, commenting on any that caught her attention, but giving them hardly more than a cursory look. He was far more interested in Jane, in her changing expressions, the range of emotion in her voice, the play of light over her hair.

He forced himself to pay some attention to their surroundings. He couldn’t rule out the possibility that one of the other gallery visitors was a threat. Thankfully, the room wasn’t crowded. A scattering of people sat on benches to study the paintings hung near the floor or to rest their sore feet; two men in a corner passionately debated the brush technique in a portrait of an old woman; another fellow trained his quizzing glass on a landscape featuring a shepherd, a sheep, and a mostly naked nymph. Motton’s men, stationed around the room, tried to blend in and look more interested in the paintings than the people.

A woman came in with two small children, a girl of about seven and a boy who could not be much older than five. It was immediately apparent to everyone present that she’d made an extreme error in judgment in selecting the exhibition as a suitable outing for her charges.

“I wanna go to the park.” The boy did not bother to lower his voice.

“Yes, dear, but we went to the park yesterday.”

“I wanna go to the park!” The volume increased. The boy crossed his arms and stuck out his lower lip.

“But I’ve already paid our admission, dear. Now come look at this darling kitty.”

The boy planted his feet solidly in place. Nothing and no one was going to move him. “I hate kitties. I wanna go to the
park.
”

At this point the young girl joined the fray to ill effect. “You are such a baby, Oliver.”

“Oh, dear,” Jane murmured. “I’d offer to help, but…”

“Indeed.” Motton eyed young Master Oliver. The lad’s face was rapidly assuming the hue of a ripe apple. “Nothing is going to help this situation except departure—either theirs or ours.”

“I am
not
a baby!” Oliver had an excellent set of lungs.

“You are!” The girl put her hands on her hips and chanted, “Baby Oliver, Baby Oliver.”

Oliver yelled and lunged, grabbing a fistful of the girl’s hair; she shrieked and burst into tears; their mother, if that was who the older female was, merely wrung her hands and tried to make soothing noises.

“Now, Oliver, dear, do stop that. We’ll go to the park next. Juliet, sweetheart, you know ladies don’t scream…”

“I am going to scream if we don’t go now,” Motton muttered. Jane gurgled as if she was repressing a laugh while he directed her toward the exit. Most of the other visitors had the same idea.

“That poor woman was overwhelmed,” Jane said as they stepped back into the sunshine. “But I suspect she has spoiled those children terribly.”

“Or perhaps they are just evil little beggars.” Where was his carriage? He consulted his watch. They’d stayed a far shorter time than he’d planned. Jem should be back with the coach in five or ten minutes; in the meantime it was a beautiful day for a short stroll. He put his watch back and started down the walkway with Jane on his arm.

She tilted her face up to catch the sun. “Oh, no, I don’t believe they are evil.”

“You don’t?” He considered her. “You’re a disciple of Monsieur Rousseau and John Dryden then?” He snorted. “Noble savages. I’ll grant you those children were savages, but I have serious doubts about the noble part.”

Jane shrugged. “All children have their disagreeable moments.”

“Ah, but do they ever have any agreeable ones?”

“Of course.”

They walked along in silence. Motton contemplated the notion of children. He had to have at least one—an heir—but, frankly, children made him nervous. He had no experience with them.

He watched an elderly woman cross the street.

Children had made his mother nervous, too. No, not children—him. An active young boy was far too upsetting to her delicate constitution. And his father? His father had felt his job was done once Motton had successfully taken his first breath.