19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
About the Author
Chapter 1
Viscount Bennington was a terrible kisser.
Meg repressed a sigh. What a pity. She had been willing to overlook his receding hairline, large nose, and frequent petulance, but this was too much. How could she wed a man whose lips felt like two fat slugs? They were trailing wetly over her cheek toward her right ear at the moment.
She should strike him from her list of potential suitors.
Still, he did have one of the largest plant collections in England. She would dearly love to have daily access to all that botanical wealth.
The slugs had diverted to her jaw.
How important could kissing be? Only a small portion of one’s married life was devoted to the amatory arts, after all. Chances were Viscount Bennington had a mistress or two. He’d only look to her for an heir. Once that task was accomplished, he would leave her alone.
She could do it. More than one woman had suffered through the activities of the marriage bed by lying still and thinking of England. She’d spend the time mentally cataloguing Bennington’s vast gardens.
His lips wandered to a spot behind her ear. She would need a handkerchief to dry her face when he was finished slobbering over her.
She drew in a deep breath, but stopped when her lungs were only half full.
He smelled. The odor was quite pronounced at these close quarters. Thankfully he was only a few inches taller than she, so she did not have her nose squashed against his waistcoat.
And he should have a word with his valet about the state of his linen. There was a thin line of dirt on his collar and cravat.
Eww! He’d stuck his tongue in her ear.
That did it. He could own the Garden of Eden and she would still have to eliminate him from her list of possible husbands.
“My lord!” She shoved against his thin chest.
“Hmm?” His mouth moved down to the base of her neck and fastened there, just like a leech.
“Lord Bennington, please.” She shoved again. None of the other men she’d taken into the shrubbery had been this bold. “You must stop…eep!”
His hands had slid down to her hips. He pulled her tight against him. She felt an ominous bulge in his pantaloons.
She shoved harder. She might as well be pushing against a stone wall. Who would have guessed such a short, scraggy man would be so immoveable?
“My lord, you are making me uncomfortable.”
He pressed his bulge more tightly against her. “And you are making me uncomfortable, sweetings.” His voice was oddly thick. His mouth returned to her skin. He nipped her shoulder.
“Ouch! Stop that.”
The man was a viscount. A gentleman. Surely he would not do anything untoward in Lord Palmerson’s garden, just yards away from a crowded ballroom?
He was not stopping. Now he was licking the place he had bitten. Disgusting.
“My lord, return me to Lady Beatrice this instant!”
He grunted and returned his mouth to her throat.
Should she scream? Would anyone hear her over the music? If she waited for the quiet between sets…Perhaps another couple had chosen to stroll in the cool night air and would come to her assistance.
Lord Bennington nuzzled her ear. “Don’t be alarmed, Miss Peterson. My intentions are completely honorable.”
“Honorable? I—” Meg paused. “Honorable as in marriage honorable?”
“Of course. What did you think?”
What did she think? Yes, he was somewhat revolting, but should a little dirt and slobber really eliminate him from matrimonial consideration? This was her goal, to be wed or engaged before the Season ended. The Season was barely a month under way and here she was already on the verge of a respectable—no, a brilliant—offer. A vicar’s daughter nabbing a viscount? The society gossips would have their tongues working overtime to spread the news.
He did have all those lovely plants. A greenhouse and garden in London and acres of vegetation in Devon.
Really, how many times would she have to put up with his attentions if she married him? Papa and Harriet were extremely attached to each other, and her sister and her friend Lizzie spent a great deal of time with their husbands, but most married couples of the ton barely saw each other. If she were lucky, she would conceive quickly, maybe even on her wedding night. Then she and Bennington could go their separate ways.
She could endure a few moments of inconvenience to get the key to his greenhouse, couldn’t she? There was no one else who had such a wealth of plants. Well, no one but Parks—Mr. Parker-Roth—and he clearly wasn’t interested in marrying her.
She moistened her lips. Could she say yes? It was past time she wed. She wanted a home of her own. A garden. Children.
Children with Lord Bennington’s overwhelming nose?
“My lord, I don’t…”
“Come, Miss Peterson. You won’t get another offer. Surely you know that.”
“Lord Bennington!” He might be a viscount, but that did not give him license to be insulting.
“The other men haven’t mentioned marriage, have they?”
“The other men?” Had he noticed her excursions into the shrubbery? Surely not. She’d been very discreet. “I’m not certain what you mean. I thought since we share an interest in horticulture, touring Lord Palmerson’s garden with you would be stimulating.”
He chuckled and flexed his hips. His annoying bulge dug into her. “Very stimulating.”
Something was definitely stimulated. Who would have thought such a short man would have such a large, um…
“My lord…”
“At this rate, you are more apt to lose your reputation than win a husband, Miss Peterson. Men talk, you know.”
It was a very good thing the garden was dark. Meg felt her cheeks burning. Surely he didn’t think…?
“Lord Bennington, I assure you—”
“Oh, I know you haven’t done anything but exchange a few kisses. Lord Farley said you were quite untutored. Thought he might have been your first. Was he?”
“Lord Bennington! Please. I would like to return to the ballroom now.”
“I
