Sally MacKenzie Bundle (207 page)

Chapter 12

“It was probably a rat.” That was Bollingbrook’s voice. Motton kept one ear cocked as he explored Jane’s mouth. Kissing appeared to be the most efficient way to keep her quiet—as long as she didn’t start moaning. He must guard against that. He truly would prefer Mrs. Parker-Roth not find them in this particular position.

“A rat! You have rats here?”

“This is London, Cecilia. Of course we have rats.”

There was a scraping noise and some cursing. “Damn ladder.”

“Well, you’ve something in the way.” It sounded as if Jane’s mother bent over. “What in the world is this?”

“Looks like a mammoth prick, don’t it?” Mr. Bollingbrook sniggered. “I know you’ve seen one before—that’s why you’re here, ain’t it? To cover up John’s—”

“Yes, yes, but one doesn’t usually have a disembodied penis rolling around the closet floor.”

“It probably fell off Pan—maybe that was the noise we heard.”

“Pan?”

“One of Clarence’s randy gods. You remember when he made all those statues?”

“Of course. Cleopatra was sure he’d run mad.”

“He stuck me with one—and I stuck it in this closet the moment the front door hit his arse. Here, give me that.”

Bollingbrook must have flung the penis to the back of the closet; something hit Motton on the shoulder. He flinched. The damn thing was hard; he’d have quite a bruise. Thank God it hadn’t hit him in the head.

There was more scraping and grunting.

“Do you want me to help you with that, Albert?”

“I can manage the blasted ladder. You have the sheet?”

“Yes, of course. And some wire. It will be a simple matter to hook the wire over the frame and cover the painting. I do it all the time at home.”

“I’ll bet you do.”

More scraping and cursing. Motton broke the kiss. There was now enough light to see Jane’s face clearly. “Shh,” he breathed. “They’ve left the door open.”

Jane nodded, and he turned slightly so he could look over his shoulder. Good. They were completely hidden.

“I tried to get here as quickly as I could once I discovered Jane was coming,” Mrs. Parker-Roth was saying, “but I had the devil of a time getting a hackney. I was hoping I’d run into them in one of the other rooms. You’re sure Jane and Lord Motton have not seen the painting already?”

“I have no bloody idea. I didn’t follow them around like some damn stray dog. Here, steady the ladder, will you?”

“But where are they?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they’ve already come and gone.” Bollingbrook’s voice sounded like it was coming from higher up; he must have climbed the ladder.

“I made a point of instructing Jane to tell you to close this room.”

“Well, she didn’t tell me. Here, hand me the sheet.” Motton heard the swish of cloth and a little fumbling sound. “All right. Now I have to move the ladder. I’m not going to risk breaking my head. Why the bloody hell did you have to make the painting life-sized?”

Mrs. Parker-Roth let that comment pass. “I
do
hope Jane didn’t stray in here.”

Bollingbrook grunted. “How long do you expect me to leave this drape up?”

“It would be safest if it stayed in place until we return to the Priory.”

“You want me to cover a painting for the rest of the Season? Why even bother to leave the bloody thing hanging? Art was meant to be seen, Cecilia.”

“Yes, but—”

“I know—I’ll use it to raise money. Charge people a penny a peek, shall I? John would find that highly amusing.”

“Oh, I know the situation is absurd, but how was I to guess Jane would suddenly take an interest in art?”

Bollingbrook chuckled. “More likely she’s taken an interest in that buck who came here with her. She was gazing up at him like he was a bloody god.”

Jane moaned; Motton pressed her face gently against his chest, muffling the sound. Had Jane really looked at him that way?

“It would be an excellent match,” Mrs. Parker-Roth said. “I was beginning to lose hope Jane would find a suitable man. She can be rather critical, you know.”

“Well, the specter of spinsterhood causes many a maiden to lower her sights.”

“Lord Motton is a viscount, Albert. There’s no lowering involved.”

Bollingbrook snorted. “It wasn’t the man’s title your girl was making eyes at, Cecilia. The fellow has an excellent set of shoulders and no need for false calves.” He chuckled. “No, I suspect she’s as lusty a lass as you are.”

“Albert! You have no way of knowing if I’m lusty or not.”

“Heh. I’ve seen John’s expression in this painting, haven’t I?”

“Oh!”

Jane moaned again. Motton rubbed her back, but truthfully he was having a hard time not laughing. “If you ever get lonely when you’re in London, Cecilia, you may call on me.”

“Albert Bollingbrook, you know I am completely faithful to John!”

“Yes, I know, more’s the pity. He’s a lucky man. Now, can I put this bloody ladder away and get back to my own painting?”

The voices came closer. Motton ducked in case they looked in his and Jane’s direction.

“Yes, of course, Albert. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. Thank you very much for your help. You’re sure you haven’t seen Jane and Lord Motton in this part of the gallery?”

There was a scraping sound again as Bollingbrook put the ladder back. “I told you—I let them in and then I went back to work. I imagine they wandered through and went off to their next destination.”

The door closed, cutting off further eavesdropping and plunging them back into darkness.

“We’d better wait here for a while until your mother has departed,” Lord Motton murmured.

“Oh, yes.” That would be truly horrid—to escape detection only to stroll out of hiding straight into her mother’s arms. She closed her eyes—not that she could see anything with them open—and rested her head against Lord Motton’s convenient chest. “Thank God they finally shut the door. When I heard Mama’s voice, I thought I would die. My heart literally stood still.”

She felt a chuckle rumble under her cheek. “That
was
a bit of a surprise.”

“A surprise? It was more than a surprise—it was…it was…” She couldn’t think of a word strong enough to convey what a complete and utter disaster it would have been—would be—to have Mama discover her hiding in a closet with Lord Motton. “How did you remain so calm?”

She felt him shrug. “What good would panicking have done?” He chuckled again. “Cursing or crying or bounding about in this enclosed space would have led to our certain discovery—besides not being very manly.”

She chuckled, too. “True, but you seemed completely unconcerned.”

“Oh, I wasn’t that. Before I knew it was your mother, I was very concerned indeed.”

“Why
before
you knew it was Mama? I would have thought Mama was the last person you’d want discovering us.” Jane opened her eyes, lifting her head to look at him. Damn. She still couldn’t see a thing. He was just a disembodied voice.

Well, obviously not disembodied. She rested her head back on his chest. But it was disconcerting not to be able to see his face—his eyes and his mouth.

Mmm, his mouth. Would he kiss her again? Could she encourage him to do so without being completely brazen?

She shifted slightly. Perhaps she shouldn’t try to engage him in any more amorous activities. Her hip was starting to ache from lying on the hard floor, and she was getting a cramp in her neck. She shivered. It was cold, too.

“I was more concerned we’d be trapped here by Satan or one of his minions. Compared to that, your mother is not a threat at all.” He rubbed the back of her neck right where the cramp was and pulled her closer. Mmm. He was so large and warm. “I might fear your father a bit, though. I don’t suppose he’d care to find me with my arms around you.”

Perhaps she could bear this position a little longer. His fingers felt so good—firm, but not too firm. “I can’t imagine Da leaving the Priory for London.”

“Surely he would if he thought some blackguard had injured his daughter?” Lord Motton sounded rather stern and disapproving. “He loves you, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, yes.” She had no doubt about Mama’s or Da’s love. Their attention, yes—she often doubted she had their attention—but their love? Never.

“Then I’m certain he’d ride ventre à terre to bring me to justice. He’d probably beat me to within an inch of my life before forcing me up the church aisle into parson’s mousetrap.”

Lord Motton sounded amused rather than appalled by that scenario.

“Er, perhaps.” Da would be more likely to write a scathing sonnet, but perhaps she was wrong. Lord Motton
was
male; he should be more intimately familiar with the male mind.

“I think we’ve probably waited long enough,” he said. “I’ll wager your mother is gone and Bollingbrook is deep in the arms of his muse. Unless you think your mama might linger to look for you?”

“No, I imagine she’s left.”

“Then let’s go. Jem should be back with the curricle.” Lord Motton stood and helped her up. She clutched his hand.

“I can’t see anything, it’s so dark.”

“Hold on to me. I won’t let you stumble.” He started to walk away, but she pulled him back.

“I mean I can’t see
anything.
It’s like I’m blind.” She heard the panic in her voice and tried for a lighter tone. “I don’t want to slip on Pan’s—er.”

“Don’t worry. Bollingbrook flung that to the back of the closet.”

“How do you know?”

“It hit me.”

“Oh. Well, I still might trip on something else. There’s a lot of…rummage in here.”

“There is, isn’t there? Here, give me your other hand.” He took it and wrapped them both around his waist. “Just hold tight and follow me—step where I step. I won’t let you fall.”

“All right.” She clutched him, his belly hard and flat under her fingers. She rested her cheek against his back as he picked their way safely to the door.

“Wait,” he whispered, loosening her hold. He stepped out of the closet, partially closing the door.

She had to bite her cheeks to keep from panicking. At least he hadn’t closed the door entirely. There was some light in the little room. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

In a moment, he opened the door wide. “Come on out. There’s no one here.”

“Thank God.” She scooted out of the closet. “I must look like I’ve been dragged backward through a bramble bush.”

Edmund grinned at her. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that; however, you do look as though you’ve been cleaning out a very dusty cupboard.”

“Oh, dear.” She put her hand to her hair; it felt as if half her pins had come out. “I must be a complete mess.”

“You could never be a mess, complete or otherwise.” The right corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile, and his eyes had an odd, smoky look. “But you
are
a bit dusty.”

“I’m certain I am.” Her skirts were covered with lint and cobwebs. She brushed off everything she could reach. “Can you see to my back, my lord?”

“My pleasure.” He ran his hands over her shoulders, waist, and skirts, tracing her outline—especially her derrière—rather more closely than necessary.

“Ah, thank you.”

“I’m not certain I got everything.” He grinned wolfishly down at her.

“I’m sure it will do.” She looked at him repressively. He was still grinning.

“Very well.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we depart, or did you wish to examine more of the paintings?”

“No, thank you. I have seen more than enough.”

“You don’t wish to peek under that drape?” Mrs. Parker-Roth and Bollingbrook had done an excellent job of covering up Jane’s naked father.

She glared at him. “
No.
Thank you.” She strode out of the blue room without benefit of his guidance.

He caught up to her. “Your mother is to be commended for her dedication to your father.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Not every woman would decline Bollingbrook’s offer.”

Jane stopped and wrinkled her nose.
“Bollingbrook?”

“Ah, so you think your mother’s answer might have been different if a different gentleman had been asking?” The thought disappointed him, though why it should was a mystery. Mrs. Parker-Roth was beyond the age where she could present her husband with a cuckoo. If she wished to amuse herself when she was away from home, that was her business. She came to London every year for the Season while her husband stayed home. They probably had an arrangement. At least they spent the rest of the year together, which was more than his parents had done.

“No, of course not. Mama would never—” Jane twisted up her face as if she’d bit into a lemon. “She’d never do that with anyone but Da. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“There’s nothing ridiculous about it. You’ve been in Town long enough to know such things are quite common.”

“Not with Mama. Not with Da.” She frowned at him. “Er, I don’t mean to pry, but…well, your aunts said something, but I didn’t completely understand…ah, that is, I take it your parents did not have a happy marriage?”

He snorted. Not have a happy marriage? Hell, they hadn’t really had a marriage at all. “My father had a string of London mistresses. My mother stayed in the country and spent her days in bed, but with medicines, not men.”

“Is that why you don’t have any brothers or sisters? Because your mother was ill?” Jane touched his arm gently, her eyes full of compassion.

Blast it! How stupid could she be? He shook off her hand and turned to stare at a pack of hounds tearing a fox to pieces. The painting suited his sudden mood perfectly.

“My mother’s ills were all in her mind, Miss Parker-Roth. I don’t have any siblings because my parents detested each other.”

“No. They must have been in love in the beginning. Why else would they have married?”

He snorted again. She really was naïve. “They married because my mother’s father found my mother naked in my father’s bed at a house party.”

“Oh.” Jane flushed. “Then they were in lust.”

“No, they were not. My mother wished to be a viscountess, and my grandfather wanted to get rid of the last of his six daughters. I’m sure he was delighted to trap a viscount, but I suspect he would have taken a chimney sweep.”