Sally MacKenzie Bundle (35 page)

She grabbed his arms and shook him. “I don’t care. Everyone—even my nephew Charles—could turn against me and I still would not care.”

“Bea—”

“Billy, I am not a girl any more.” She snorted. “I have not been a girl for ages. I know my own mind. I want you as my husband. Will you marry me?”

Alton opened his mouth…and then closed it. He smiled slightly. “Perhaps. Once you’ve got Meg settled, then…well, perhaps.”

Bea whooped and tugged him so he fell down next to her on the bed. “Billy Alton, I’m going to hold you to that.”

Alton laughed, catching her hands from where they had wandered. “I only said ‘perhaps,’ Bea.”

She grinned. “That’s the closest you’ve come to ‘yes’ in over forty years, Billy. It’s only a small step from there to the altar.”

“But—”

“Shh.” She put her finger on his lips. “I’m tired of arguing. There are many more enjoyable things to do with our tongues.”

She bent her head and proceeded to demonstrate quite thoroughly.

Much later Bea sighed and twined her fingers in the hair on Alton’s chest. “That was lovely.”

He stroked her breast. “Hmm. Especially for an old man.”

“
I
don’t think you’re old.”

“I don’t feel old when I’m with you.” He kissed her leisurely. Her hand moved down his stomach. He caught her fingers before they got into too much trouble and put them back on his chest.

“Bea, about Westbrooke.”

“Hmm?”

“I think—stop that.” He tugged her fingers back again. “Love, I do need
some
time to recover, you know.”

Bea sighed. “All right. So what about Westbrooke?”

“I think my idea about the potion might just work. I believe his problem is in his head, not his….” He coughed.

“But a cordial? I’m not a charlatan…. or a witch.”

“Of course not—you are merely a very wise woman.”

“I am that.” Bea smiled. “Perhaps I can come up with something.” She let her fingers drift down Alton’s body again. “I just need a little inspiration.”

Chapter Twenty

Robbie stared up at his bed canopy. His head felt as if a cavalcade were pounding through it—and his mouth tasted as foul as the pavement left behind the horses. He’d had far too much port last night.

He closed his eyes, but that just made the riders pick up their pace.

Why
had he agreed to go with Lizzie to Lady Beatrice’s? He should have suspected a trap. He’d felt the woman’s lorgnette surveying him at every
ton
gathering since his wedding.

He should have turned tail the moment he’d stepped over her threshold and seen there were no other guests.

A memory tried to push into his awareness but he suppressed it.

What had the women talked about after they’d left the table? Lady Bea had given him an exceedingly odd look when he and Lizzie had taken their leave. It had been very pointed—he’d been too drunk to notice anything more subtle than a sledgehammer.

The niggling memory tried to surface again. He ignored it.

And Lizzie’d kept darting glances at him in the carriage all the way home. Drunken glances. She’d had too much to drink as well. Poor thing. She was probably feeling worse than he now. Hopefully she was not casting up her accounts in her room.

What
had
she and Lady Beatrice discussed?

He smiled. Alton had said—

The memory he’d been assiduously ignoring roared into his consciousness. Surely he hadn’t…?

He turned over and buried his face in his pillow.

He had.

He’d told Alton his secret.

He’d been drunk as an Emperor and he’d chattered like a bloody magpie.

What the hell was he going to do now?

“My lord?”

“Go away, Collins.”

“But—”

“Collins, if you wish to remain in my employ, you will depart now.”

“But—”

“Now.”

“Very well.” Collins sniffed. “I have a bottle here for you. It was just delivered from Lady Beatrice. Where should I put it?”

“On the bureau.”

Robbie smiled grimly into his pillow when he heard the door close. Thank God. He could not bear Collins’s eyes on him.

He could not bear anyone’s gaze.

Would Alton keep his confidence? The man must know how unpleasant the
ton
could be. And really, telling Robbie’s tale would hurt Lizzie as well. Lady Bea would not like that.

Surely the man would not breathe a word of his mortifying secret.

Except to Lady Beatrice. Damn. But Alton had said she could help.

It would be worth even extreme mortification if he could be cured of his affliction.

Was this the cordial? He’d best get up and see.

A small, unremarkable bottle sat on his bureau. He picked it up. Heavy, dark blue glass. He worked loose the stopper and sniffed. Brandy and something else. He put it to his lips.

No. He replaced the cork as he looked at the door to Lizzie’s room.

Tonight. He would hide in his study now, gathering his courage.

He hoped to God Lady Bea
was
a witch.

Lizzie glanced at her wardrobe. The package had arrived that afternoon. She hadn’t opened it, but she knew what it was. The scandalous nightgown.

“Collins says his lordship has been hiding in his study all day.” Betty put the finishing touches on Lizzie’s hair. “Hugging a brandy bottle, I don’t doubt.”

Lizzie bit her lip. What if Robbie didn’t come up to his room this evening? What if he stayed in his study all night, too drunk to move?

What if she put on that scandalous nightgown and waited in his bed only to be discovered by Collins?

Her stomach twisted into a tight knot.

Courage. She must be daring. She had to fight for what she wanted—and she wanted Robbie.

She would go to this dreadful soiree at Lord Palmerson’s and smile while the
ton
tittered about her absent husband. Then she would come home and seduce that husband any way she could.

“There ye go, my lady. All ready. Too bad his idiot lordship won’t go with ye.”

“I’m sure Lord Westbrooke has other concerns.”

Betty snorted. “Don’t know what they could be. Nodcock’s got a beautiful wife waiting for him. He—”

“Betty.” Lizzie gave her maid a quelling glance. “Thank you. I will not be late.”

“No need to hurry back, more’s the pity,” Betty muttered as Lizzie closed the door.

She ignored Betty’s words. If her plans were successful tonight, she would not have to go out alone again. She would not have to sleep alone again.

She
had
to be successful.

She started down the stairs. There was a commotion in the entry hall. She heard Mr. Bentley’s voice and then a loud, angry reply. James? She picked up her skirts and ran the rest of the way. Her brother stood just inside the door glaring at the butler.

“James!” What was he doing here? Surely nothing had happened to Sarah? “What is it?”

“Lizzie.”

He smiled and opened his arms. She threw her own arms around his waist and hugged him hard. Then she pulled back and studied his face.

“How is Sarah? You have only good news, I hope?”

His smile widened to a self-satisfied grin.

“Sarah is fine. She sent me to bring word she’s safely delivered another son.”

“That’s wonderful! I can hardly wait to see him.”

James frowned. “You won’t have to wait. I’m taking you back with me after I beat my former friend senseless. Where is your worthless husband?”

“James, you are scandalizing Robbie’s butler.”

James glared at Mr. Bentley. “And why should I care?”

Lizzie grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the front door. “Come with me to the Palmerson soiree. We can talk in the carriage.”

James dug in his heels. “We have no need to talk. You will pack your things and come home with me now.”

“Back to Alvord? You are leaving tonight?”

“Not tonight. First thing in the morning.”

She smiled at Mr. Bentley who was trying very hard to look impassive. “Tell Lord Westbrooke I’ve gone out with the duke, will you? I shall not be terribly late.”

“You shall not be late at all—you will not be back.” James scowled at her. “Go pack your things.”

“We will discuss this in the carriage.”

“Fine.” James nodded. “My coach is just outside.”

“Oh, no, your grace. I am not taking the chance you will kidnap me. We are taking the Westbrooke equipage.”

“Lizzie—”

She pushed James out the door.

“James, you can just get it through your thick skull that I am not deserting Robbie.”

“Not deserting Robbie? If even half the rumors I’ve heard are true, that cur does not deserve your loyalty.”

“Of course the rumors aren’t true.” She took Thomas’s hand to climb into the Westbrooke carriage. “I’m certain Lord Andrew and Lady Felicity are behind all the tittle-tattle.”

“Ah, Lord Andrew.” James’s tone grew even colder. “I would like to get my hands on that blackguard.”

James’s eyes were as cold as his voice. Lord Andrew had best hope he did not encounter the Duke of Alvord.

“Tell me about Sarah and the baby. What did you name him?”

“David Randolph. He’s a lusty little fellow. He—” James stopped. “Oh, no. You are not going to divert me. You will tell me everything that occurred at that blasted house party.”

“No, I won’t.”

James glared at her. “Yes, you will. I should never have let you go to London with Lady Beatrice as your chaperone—”

“Stop. Everything is fine.”

“Everything is
not
fine. I can tell you are not happy. I saw it in your eyes when you came down the stairs.”

A lump blocked her throat. She swallowed. “We can talk about that later.”

“Lizzie—”

“Later, James. Now tell me how Will likes his new brother.”

James’s lips formed a tight line. She didn’t think he would answer, but finally he sighed.

“Very well. We will not discuss the house party—now. But I intend to have the complete story from you later.”

Lizzie chose not to bait the bear and remind him she was a married woman. She smiled sweetly.

“So, about Will—and Sarah and young David Randolph…? Was it an easy labor this time?”

“I suppose so, but I do wish babies could enter the world in a less nerve-racking way.”

It did not take James long to warm to his subject. He happily discussed his family for the remainder of the ride to Palmerson House.

“Lady Beatrice, my brother has just arrived.”

“Good evening, your grace.” Lady Beatrice smiled at James—and then grinned at Lizzie in a most unusual way.

“Good evening, Lady Beatrice.” James’s tone was frosty, but at least he didn’t give the woman the cut direct. He turned to greet Meg.

“Do you have good news, your grace?” Meg asked. “The duchess is well?”

James finally smiled. “Very well. She is delivered of a second son.”

“Congratulations!” Lady Beatrice lifted a glass of champagne from a passing footman and handed it to James. “This calls for a toast.”

Meg leaned over and whispered in Lizzie’s ear. “I don’t suppose your brother came to Town merely to give you the good news?”

“Of course not. He’s heard the stupid rumors—and he wants to discuss Tynweith’s house party.”

Meg inclined her head toward some potted palms. “Felicity is busy spreading more tales.”

“I see.” Lizzie narrowed her eyes. She had had enough—more than enough. “If you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course. Would you care for my assistance?”

“No. I can handle this myself.”

She made her way across the room, pausing on the other side of the foliage. Felicity and Lady Rosalyn Mannerly had their heads close together.

“I go into the country for a few weeks,” Lady Rosalyn said, “and I miss all the juicy tidbits. Hartford cocked up his toes at Tynweith’s house party?”

“Yes, but that wasn’t the most interesting occurrence.”

Lady Rosalyn laughed. “No indeed. The story that he got his notice to quit while astride the duchess is quite amusing. And equally titillating is the new rumor that Tynweith is haunting Hartford House. Betting has him offering for the duchess as soon as she is out of mourning.”

“I’m sure he will.” Felicity’s voice had an edge to it. “And you’ve heard about the new Lady Westbrooke?”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Rosalyn said. “Lady Elizabeth, that pattern card of respectability, was naked with not one but two men. Too delicious.”

The women sniggered.

Felicity dropped her voice lower. “Westbrooke is not happy with his fate.”

“No?”

“Not at all. Haven’t you noticed? They are rarely together and when they are—well, let’s just say the earl does not look enchanted with his bride.”

Lady Rosalyn’s shocked whisper carried clearly to Lizzie’s ears. “I hear she has not unbent enough to open her legs for him.”

Lizzie closed her eyes in mortification.

“I don’t doubt plenty of other women have been willing to console him,” Felicity said.

“So he’s been climbing into other beds?”

“That is what I’ve heard.” Felicity giggled. “Many, many beds.”

This had gone far enough. Lizzie stepped around the palm fronds.

“Good evening, Lady Felicity.”

“Ack!”

“And Lady Rosalyn—how…interesting to see you.”

“Lady Westbrooke.” Lady Rosalyn smirked. “How do you find married life?”

“Wonderful.” Lizzie summoned her memory of Robbie naked in her room at Lendal Park. That should give her the proper glow.

“Is Lord Westbrooke here tonight?” Lady Felicity threw a significant glance at Lady Rosalyn.

“No. He’s at home.” Lizzie lowered her lashes slowly. “Waiting.”

“I see.” Lady Rosalyn’s eyes darted to Lady Felicity. “So…rumors of Westbrooke’s dissatisfaction with his marriage are greatly exaggerated?”

Lizzie forced herself to laugh. “Oh my, yes. Not that I should speak of such things, of course—especially with unmarried spinst—I mean, ladies.”

Both the women glared at her.

Lady Rosalyn forced a thin smile. “If you’ll excuse me? I promised Lord Framley I’d have a word with him.” She nodded and left so quickly the palm fronds bobbed and swayed.