Sally MacKenzie Bundle (7 page)

Her arms were now wrapped tightly around his waist, and—God!—her fingers were tracing the curve of his buttocks. Then they slid up under his coat.

He was panting.

“Lizzie.” He put his mouth close to her ear—he couldn’t risk Felicity hearing him, could he? He brushed his face against her hair, sweet and silky. It would be a sin not to taste her throat, he was so close.

She tasted of sun and salt. Soft and feminine.

Lord, did she purr? She tilted her head, giving him room to kiss the spot behind her ear.

Was she panting also?

“Lizzie…”

“Mmm?”

Christ, her lips…they grazed his chin, his cheek, and then her mouth found his.

He was going to die. His head, his heart, his groin were going to explode.

Her lips were so soft. They welcomed him, promising heaven—and he was a dying man, desperate for salvation. He ran his tongue along their seam. She whimpered, opening for him.

He had known Lizzie forever. He had loved her as long. But he had lusted for her only since her come out and never quite like this. This was a mistake, a terrible mistake. He was starting something he could never finish; promising things he could not give.

It made no difference. He could no more stop his plunge into her warm, wet mouth than he could stop breathing.

Actually, he could stop breathing.

But he could not stop kissing Lizzie. Felicity could have marched into this private bower with Lady Beatrice and all the
ton
—even James, Lizzie’s brother—and he would not have, could not have stopped. She tasted of life, of hope, of all that he wanted and could not have.

His lips left hers and moved down her throat. He loosened the neck of her gown.

“When,” she breathed as he ran his tongue into the crease between her breasts.

“When will…ohh.” She made a breathy little noise as his fingers skimmed over her skin and dipped down to free her breast from her corset.

“When will we…”

His mouth found her nipple. She shuddered.

“Oh, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He grunted. He was incapable of any more coherent response. He flicked her nipple with his tongue, and then had to cover her mouth with his when she squeaked.

God, this
was
heaven—or as close to heaven as he could ever hope to get. He wanted her naked. He wanted his hands, his mouth, on her from her throat to her ankles. He wanted to see her, to taste every inch of her.

His mouth found the pulse at the base of her throat.

“R-Robbie.”

She was moaning. Good. Could he make her squeak again? He touched her nipple and heard her breath catch.

He could.

“R-Robbie…when…Oh. Oh, do that again.”

She pressed closer. Her belly cradled his hardness. She rubbed against him. Heaven. If only…no, he wouldn’t spoil things by pining for what couldn’t be. He would enjoy the present moment.

It was a very good, a splendid moment.

“Do what again, love? This perhaps?” He cradled her breast with his hand and kissed its nipple.

“Oh, yess…” She put her hands on his hips and pulled him closer still. “When…ohh…when…will…we…”

“Hmm?” He moved to lave the other nipple. She arched back, giving him more room to explore, pressing her hips even tighter against his.

“Don’t…stop.” Her hands pressed into his buttocks. She twisted against him. Could he bring her to satisfaction just by fondling her breasts? It was a challenge he was happy to undertake.

“Robbie…what are you
doing?
”

The last word came out in a squeal.

“Shh.” He had never felt so powerful, so alive. “Not so loud. We don’t want to attract attention.” Thankfully, Felicity must have moved on. If she heard them, found them…well, if he wasn’t more careful, Lizzie was going to find herself chained to him for life.

“I don’t mind.”

“Hmm? What don’t you mind?”

“I don’t mind if we attract attention.”

“Lizzie, sweetheart…the scandal.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes glowing. “There won’t be a scandal, Robbie.”

“There won’t?” She must be more drunk with lust than she’d been with ratafia the night before. Her face was flushed, her hair was coming out of its pins, and her breasts…her breasts were completely, beautifully exposed. He traced a circle around one nipple and watched it pucker in response. “You look rather scandalous to me.”

She rubbed against him. “I feel very scandalous.” She ran her hands up his waistcoat. He watched her pink tongue moisten her lips and bent to capture that tongue again.

She giggled and pulled back before his mouth touched hers. “There won’t be any scandal because we’re betrothed.”

He felt the blood drain from his face. He felt limp—everywhere. He couldn’t wed Lizzie. She was passionate. She would want children. She would not want a useless excuse for a man.

Despair, all too familiar, choked him.

“Aren’t we betrothed?”

He hated seeing that lost look in her eyes, but he would hate more the disgust and pity he would see on their wedding night when he had to admit he was incapable of consummating their union.

He tried to smile, tried to sound blasé.

“I’m sorry—did I propose?”

The sting of her hand hitting his cheek actually felt good.

Chapter Four

She hated him.

Lizzie strode up the path to the house. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She was afraid she would do both if anyone spoke to her.

“You don’t look happy.”

It was Meg.

“I’m not.”

“What happened?”

Lizzie shrugged and kept moving. It was quite impossible to get any words past the huge lump in her throat.

Meg fell into step beside her. “Did you see Robbie?”

Lizzie nodded.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. She most definitely did
not
want to talk about it. She lengthened her stride.

Unfortunately, Meg lengthened hers as well.

“Surely he proposed?”

“Gaa.”

“He didn’t? How could he not have?”

Excellent question. How could he not have? He should never have taken such liberties with her person if he were not going to offer for her immediately. Ha! Immediately? He should have offered for and
married
her before he touched her in such a way. He had had his hands on…Her breasts throbbed in memory. Her breasts and…She flushed and bit her lip. She would not think about the other part of her that throbbed.

And it was not just his hands! His mouth. His tongue.

She swallowed a moan. Oh, lud—she would go mad. She was so angry. That was it. Anger was making her stomach feel so peculiar. Achy. Shivery.

She was so angry she was panting.

She had to get to her room.

“Are you all right, Lizzie?”

“I…I really need…to be alone, Meg.”

“Oh, Lizzie.”

The sympathy in Meg’s voice stabbed through her.

She would not cry. Not now. Felicity, Charlotte—anyone could see her. She would not give them the satisfaction of witnessing her distress.

She walked even faster.

Meg must have decided she needed solitude, because by the time she reached her room, she was alone. She shuddered with relief as she shut her door—and then she shuddered into tears.

What had happened in the shrubbery?

She ran her hands up over her stomach to her breasts. She wanted to strip off her clothes and touch her own skin. Something was definitely wrong with her. It was not only anger that pulsed deep inside her. It was something else, something dark and bewildering.

What had Robbie done to her? His kisses had caused this problem. Each touch of his lips, of his hands, had wound something inside her tighter and tighter like a spring, until…until what? She didn’t know.

She really did feel like screaming.

If she had only waited, if she had kept her tongue between her teeth—she shivered—between
his
teeth—she felt certain he would have done something, taken her to some point of release, and she wouldn’t feel so…upset.

She went to the window and leaned her forehead against the glass. She looked out over Lord Tynweith’s estate, but she saw only the shaded bower.

Why hadn’t he offered for her? Certainly Lady Bea had expected him to do so. What would the older woman say when Lizzie had to tell her she was not betrothed?

Dear God, she had thrown herself at the man, literally. Well, technically she’d tripped, but that made no difference. A proper lady would have pushed herself away the moment her person encountered a hard, muscled male form.

Very hard. Very muscled. Very male.

He had felt so good. And when he’d wrapped his arms around her, she had felt as if she had come home.

She drew in a deep, shuddery breath.

For years she had wanted Robbie to hold her. She had dreamt of it. Prayed for it. And then, when it had actually happened…dear heaven! She had attacked him like an animal.

Could she have behaved more inappropriately? She’d clung to him, let her hands wander all over him. She pressed her head harder against the glass. She had actually touched his…pantaloons. Felt the curves, the muscles, of his…

She flung away from the window and threw herself onto her bed.

He had been there just hours before.

She muffled her mouth with her pillow.

He must be thoroughly disgusted with her. That’s why he hadn’t offered for her. She was worse than Lady Felicity. Lud! She had paraded herself—her naked self—in front of him with no shame last night. And then today…Could she have begged more desperately for any of the shocking things he had done?

He would never offer for her.

She turned over, staring up at the bed canopy.

Would he really never offer for her?

Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes and ran down the sides of her face. She turned over again, wiping them on the counterpane.

What was she to do? She loved Robbie. She had not lied last night. She
had
loved him forever. He was nine years older than she. When she was very young, he had seemed tall and gangly and godlike. James’s other friends had ignored her, but not Robbie. He’d smiled at her and teased her. And then, when she was twelve and James went away to fight Napoleon, Robbie had come regularly to check on her and Aunt Gladys. Her father certainly could not be bothered to come down from London to see how they went on. But Robbie came.

By the time she was fourteen and James returned, she was irredeemably in love.

She was
supposed
to marry him. He was her brother’s closest friend—well, his closest unmarried friend. She had turned down countless proposals these last three years because she knew she was supposed to wed him. She would live at Westbrooke and her children would play with their cousins at Alvord, with little Will and the new baby that was due soon. It would be perfect.

Why
had he suddenly looked at her that way in the garden—with his London society face? And spoken to her in his society voice—that all-knowing drawl? She had felt like a worm.

Lud, and then she had slapped him! She had left the red mark of her fingers on his cheek.

She buried her head under the pillow.

Someone knocked on her door.

“Go away.”

“No.”

It was Meg again. Lizzie did not want to see anyone, even Meg.

“Go away.”

“No.” The doorknob rattled. “Lizzie, listen. I saw Lady Bea. I have to talk to you. Let me in before someone notices me standing out here muttering.”

Lizzie glared at the door. “No. I want to be alone.”

“No, you don’t.” Meg poked her head into the room. Lizzie sat up and threw her pillow at her.

“Hey! Is this appropriate behavior for the Duke of Alvord’s sister?” Meg closed the door and scooped up the pillow from its landing place near the foot of the bed. She flung it back and grinned. “You used to be better at throwing.”

“I used to be a lot of things.”

Meg’s smile dropped into a frown. “Lizzie…”

Lizzie could not bear the pity in Meg’s eyes. She turned over on her stomach.

The mattress tilted as Meg sat down. Lizzie shrugged away her hand.

“Go
away.”

“But I have good news. Lady Bea says the story of Lord Westbrooke’s nocturnal visit has died. No one is talking about it—not the duchess, not Lady Felicity, not even that fat sow, Lady Caroline. Apparently Lord Tynweith took it into his head to scotch the rumor. Lady Bea actually saw him examine Lady Dunlee through his quizzing glass as if she were a particularly noxious species of insect when she had the temerity to mention it to him.”

Lizzie grunted. Meg’s cheerfulness was salt in her wounds.

“What is the matter, Lizzie? You should be happy. Aren’t you relieved there will be no gossip about last night’s events?”

“No. I don’t care. My life is ruined.”

“Lizzie! It can’t be that bad.”

“Yes it can.”

“Well, I don’t see how, unless…”

Silence. Meg wasn’t supposed to be silent. She was supposed to say something to make things better. Lizzie shifted onto her side and glanced up. Meg had a very peculiar expression. Lizzie leaned up on one elbow.

“Why are you looking at me that way?”

“I just can’t…” Meg turned bright red. “So, you mean…But you told Lady Bea….” Her hands fluttered at Lizzie’s middle. “So, last night, in your room…Robbie did…” She clasped her hands together finally. “You know.”

“I don’t know. I have no idea what you are getting at.” Lizzie dropped back down and covered her face again. “And anyway, last night was nothing compared to this afternoon.”

“This afternoon!” Meg grabbed Lizzie’s hands and pulled them away from her face. “You mean he actually…In the daylight? Out of doors?!”

“Yes.” Lizzie flushed and turned away. Meg didn’t have to look so very shocked.

“And he didn’t offer for you? After doing…that?”

“No, he didn’t.” The words came out as a wail.

Meg patted her on the shoulder, but she was clearly distracted. “I just can’t believe Robbie would be so heartless.”