Sally MacKenzie Bundle (57 page)

“Of course.”

“The girl deserves whatever she gets,” Bennington muttered as they descended. “She is definitely no better regarded than she should be.”

“Hmm.” Felicity stroked Bennington’s forearm. This mix of excitement and…affection was quite overwhelming. “She should be better—much better.”

“What?” He looked at her hand on his arm, then up to her face. The poor man was so puzzled. She could hardly wait to enlighten him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean”—they passed beyond the reach of the ballroom light into deep shadows—“that I would be very much worth the trouble if you were to come with me into the bushes.” She trailed her fingers up his arm to his biceps.

He sucked in his breath as she let her other hand graze the front of his pantaloons. “Someone will see us.”

“I don’t think so.” She knew Easthaven’s garden intimately—she had been intimate with enough men in it. For the first time that thought was distasteful. Well, if she were successful with her plan, she would no longer be entertaining anyone but Bennington. She smiled.

She’d been steering the viscount toward her favorite spot from the moment they’d left the stairs. It wasn’t far. “I think we can find a nice dark location where we can have a moment of privacy—several moments. As many moments as we need.”

Here it was. Thankfully Miss Peterson had not found it before them. She stepped through a break in some dense bushes into a small clearing around a sturdy tree. The bushes served as an admirable screen and the tree—well, occasionally one needed the support its trunk provided.

“Shouldn’t we be looking for Miss Peterson? We told Frampton we’d come to her aid.”

Felicity smiled and reached for the fall of his pantaloons. “I think Miss Peterson can fend for herself. Didn’t you say she deserves whatever she gets?” She grinned. “I suspect she wants to get Mr. Parker-Roth. Just as I want to get you.”

“Uh, but—ack!”

Mmm. The man was already large.

“Shh, Lord Bennington.” She opened a button. “Sound travels at night, you know.”

“Uh.” He was panting. He lowered his voice as she lowered his fall. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“I thought that was obvious. I’m making myself well worth your trouble.” She smiled. “I find myself unable to resist you.”

Oddly, it was true.

“Me?” Bennington almost squeaked. It was clear no one had seduced him before. The warmth in her chest grew. She was quite hot, really.

Bennington was flushed as well. “I, ah, oh.”

He fell free in her hand. She’d never handled an organ so impressive. She cradled it in her fingers, and felt it grow more impressive still. She eagerly looked forward to a closer inspection, but first…

She ran her tongue over her lips. “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Please.”

The man didn’t need a second invitation. His lovely, thick, wet lips covered hers and his tongue plunged between her teeth.

Mmm. Delicious.

“Are you bored, Lord Bennington?”

“God, no. Never.” He explored her ear with his tongue. “Call me Bennie, sweetings. Bennington is so formal.”

She shivered. “Mmm, Bennie, that feels
so
good.” When would he attend to her breasts? She arched a bit to encourage him.

He was most perceptive. His hands slid down and lifted her free of her corset. He bent his head and sucked.

Ah. She was hot and getting hotter. It was a very good thing the tree trunk was handy. She let go of him and leaned back against it. Her knees were threatening to give out.

She closed her eyes to better concentrate. It had been so long, she’d forgotten how good a man’s touch felt. She’d forgotten how the place between her legs throbbed. She was so swollen, so achy, so wet. She needed—desperately needed—Bennington to attend to a very specific part of her anatomy. Immediately. Sooner than immediately, if possible.

Bennie knew. Thank God he wasn’t a dolt. She felt him lift her skirts, felt his warm breath on her thighs. She arched toward him. His tongue. She needed his tongue. Please, God, just the slightest flick of his tongue. Just the tip, right
there
.

She was going to scream.

Lud! Bennie had a lovely, lovely mouth. And a
very
skilled tongue. He was taking her to release so quickly. She was almost there. She—

She had the oddest feeling she was being watched.

She opened her eyes—and looked directly into Lady Dunlee’s disapproving face.

Chapter 11

She was letting her emotions run away with her. She should stop and confront Mr. Parker-Roth. Hadn’t she decided just this evening to take charge of her life?

Her feet kept flying over the grass.

She would take charge tomorrow, in a more public location, far, far away from the man currently pursuing her.

She dodged around a shadowy shrub.

Why
was
he pursuing her? Couldn’t he take the hint that she did not want his company?

A vine grabbed at her hair. She ducked and tripped over a root, almost falling full length into an ungainly rhododendron. Her skirts tangled around her legs and something hard poked into the sole of her foot. Her silly little dancing slippers had not been designed for any activity more strenuous than a lively reel. They had certainly not been meant to be taken on a mad dash through the shrubbery.

She panted, heart pounding, and pushed her hair out of her face. How close was he? Was it possible he wasn’t following her at all? Perhaps he’d realized the impropriety of haring off after her into the bushes. After all, the man did not seem overly fond of scandal. Perhaps—surely—he’d reconsidered.

“Miss Peterson?”

“Ulp—” She pressed her lips tightly together, but it was too late. The sound had already escaped. Damn. She couldn’t see him yet, but he wasn’t far away. Her name hadn’t been much more than a whisper, yet she had heard it clearly.

She had to hide. Where? The infernal garden was not half so dark as it had seemed from the terrace. She needed someplace darker, someplace sheltered. Some snug little hidey hole where, with a bit of luck, she could secrete herself and watch Mr. Parker-Roth walk right past. Then she’d be able to return to the ballroom by herself.

A stray beam of moonlight illuminated a streak of mud on her dress.

It would take more than luck for her to reenter Lady Easthaven’s ballroom. It would take a miracle. How could she get Emma’s attention to let her know she wished to return home? Would she be required to lurk in the bushes until her sister noticed her absence and sent out a search party?

She repressed a groan. She couldn’t worry about that now—she had more pressing concerns. She heard the scrape of a pebble. Definitely more pressing.

She raised her skirts higher and ran. Another branch pulled at her hair, sending it tumbling over her shoulders. She would not be surprised if she were adorned with more than one stray leaf. She rounded a substantial yew—and knew hope.

Easthaven must have decided to experiment with the picturesque style of garden design, because the vegetation here was extremely wild. She had never been especially enamored of overgrown plantings, but if the excessive leafage screened her from Parks tonight, she might become a devotee.

She spotted a small forest of pine trees clustered together to shield the garden from the back alley. Perfect! She’d squeeze her way past the feathery branches to the stone wall. No one would find her there. She could watch Parks go by and then—

“Eek!”

A large, bare, male hand closed around her upper arm.

“Going somewhere, Miss Peterson?” Mr. Parker-Roth’s voice held a distinct edge—and blast it all, the man wasn’t even breathing hard.

“Uh…”
She
certainly was breathless. She swallowed, staring at his large male fingers. They were so dark against her pale skin. He had spent too many hours working in the sun among his plants.

He pulled, turning her. She took a sustaining breath. God willing, she’d manage more than a squeak when she spoke. She forced her lips into a smile.

“Mr. Parker-Roth. Fancy meeting you here.”

Heavens, did he growl? His face was expressionless, but a muscle jumped in his cheek. His eyes narrowed slightly.

She wanted to look away. Instead she raised her chin and stared back.

A peculiar heat coiled deep in her middle. Odd. The evening had turned unseasonably warm. She needed a fan—not that she could use it with his hand holding her hostage.

“A man might wonder, Miss Peterson, what you are looking for in this darkened garden.”

“Really? I thought that would be obvious. Solitude, Mr. Parker-Roth. I am seeking solitude.”

His fingers tightened and she drew in a sharp breath.

“You are hurting me, sir.”

“My apologies.” He loosened his hold. “I find your answer somewhat disingenuous, Miss Peterson. You left the ballroom in Lord Frampton’s company. Rather odd behavior, wouldn’t you say, for someone wishing to be alone?”

Exceedingly odd behavior, but she certainly was not going to admit that. “The man is not with me now, is he?”

“Only because he refused your invitation to scandal.” Parks took a deep breath as if he were struggling to control his temper.

“Balderdash. He merely did not care to take a turn in the garden.” She forced her smile wider. “And my desire for solitude struck me rather suddenly. It came on when I saw you approaching in the ballroom and intensified when you stepped onto the terrace.”

Did she actually hear his teeth grind? Impossible! Still, his nostrils flared and his jaw looked as if it had been carved from marble. His eyes narrowed to slits.

This might be the first time she’d encountered someone literally speechless with anger.

Perhaps she
had
pushed him more than was wise. She wet her lips. Yes, circumspection might have been the better course, but he wouldn’t harm her, would he?

If he decided to turn nasty, there was little she could do. She certainly couldn’t free herself from his grasp—he was much too strong. And she was too far from the ballroom to call for help. She—

No. She was letting her imagination run wild now. Mr. Parker-Roth was a gentleman. Of course he would not harm her.

Just as Lord Bennington was a gentleman…

But Lord Bennington had been amorous. Mr. Parker-Roth was merely murderous.

“Miss Peterson—”

“Mr. Parker-Roth, do not say another word. Please. Just return to the ballroom. I shall be fine by myself.”

His grip tightened again, but he relaxed his fingers the moment she inhaled.

Why should he be agitated at all? It was not as if she had accepted his offer of marriage. What she did or didn’t do was no concern of his. He was being completely unreasonable.

Unfortunately her heart was being unreasonable as well. It was pounding so hard, she had trouble breathing. She felt slightly ill. Her stomach was…shivering and her cheeks were hot. She was fevered, that was it. Hot and…throbbing. Damp in the most embarrassing place…

“I will not leave you alone. It is not proper.”

He was glaring at her.

Damn it, why was he reprimanding her? He was behaving like a colossal prig. Apparently, he had never committed the slightest transgression. He must be unbearable to live with.

“Unhand me, sir, and I will do you the favor of leaving
you
alone.”

“I would like nothing better, but I am a gentleman. I cannot leave a lady—a woman—alone in the dark.”

What did he mean by calling her a woman in that tone of voice? “You are insulting, sirrah!”

“You are incorrigible, madam.”

“I am not! How can you say so?”

“How can I not say so? Have you not made a habit of frequenting the darker corners of the
ton’
s vegetation with a variety of men? One would think, if you were an intelligent woman, you would have learned your lesson after your encounter with Bennington.”

She had a sudden desire to see the red prints of her fingers on his face. Unfortunately, his reflexes were excellent. He grabbed her hand before she’d fully raised it.

She pulled back, but his hold was like iron. She could kick him in the shins, but her foot throbbed even as she thought of it. Her dancing slippers had already proven how flimsy they were—she’d only bruise her toes further.

She contented herself with the fiercest glare she could manage. “At the risk of repeating myself, Mr. Parker-Roth—
go away
!”

“And at the risk of repeating myself, Miss Peterson, no. I am not leaving you alone in this garden.”

She really, really would like to kick him.

“Sir, you are not my keeper—”

“Bloody hell, woman.” Mr. Parker-Roth transferred his grip to her shoulders—he looked as though he would have preferred to put his hands around her neck. “Someone needs to be your damn keeper and I don’t see a blasted queue forming for that honor.”

“I do not need a kee—mphft.”

The annoying man had covered her mouth with his own.

The woman was driving him mad—stark, raving mad. Did she think she could hide from him in the vegetation? She was beyond bird-witted if that were the case. Her light blue gown and pale skin—an inordinate amount of pale skin—were laughably easy to see in the dark.

Best let her get farther into Easthaven’s plantings. He had a few choice words to say to her that could best be communicated without an audience. He did not care to entertain any idiot of the
ton
who happened to stroll onto Easthaven’s terrace.

He stepped from the grass to the garden path. Even if he were blind, he’d be able to follow Miss Peterson. She was crashing through the shrubbery like a frightened deer. What did she think he would do to her?

Some entrancing possibilities popped into his head.

Damn! Heat flooded his face and, um, another part of his anatomy.

Bloody hell! He was not some unlicked cub, at the mercy of his urges. He was a mature—an
experienced
—man. He had a mistress, for God’s sake. Such salacious thoughts had no business intruding on his consideration of Miss Peterson—and they certainly had no business affecting him in such a…prominent way. The girl was a well-bred, well-connected virgin.