arse out into the alley.”
“Margaret…Miss Peterson.”
“Please, Lord Bennington, I assure you there is nothing you can say to persuade me to entertain your suit.”
“You are merely overset. I was too impassioned, perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” She pressed her lips together. She would not have a fit of the vapors here in Lord Palmerson’s garden.
He frowned at her, and then sketched a small bow. “Very well, I will leave since you insist.” He turned, then paused. “I do apologize most sincerely.”
Meg nodded. He did sound contrite, but she just wanted him gone. She closed her eyes, listening to his steps fade away. She could not bear to look at the man still standing beside her.
Why had Parks been the one to find her in such an embarrassing situation? What must he think of her?
Perhaps he would just go away and let her expire in solitude.
She felt a gentle touch on her cheek.
“Miss Peterson, are you all right?”
She shook her head.
“I’m so sorry you had to endure Bennington’s attentions. You shouldn’t have…Well, he is not the sort of man you should…He has a terrible temper.”
That was supremely evident.
“You can’t go back to the ballroom like this. Who is your chaperone?”
She forced herself to speak. “Lady Beatrice.”
“I shall fetch her. Will you be all right alone?”
“Y-yes.” She bit her lip. She would not cry—well, not until he left.
He made an odd noise, a short exhalation that sounded both annoyed and resigned.
“Oh, for God’s sake, come here.”
His hands touched her shoulders, urging her gently toward him. She resisted for only a heartbeat.
The first sob escaped as her face touched his waistcoat. She felt his arms, warm and secure, come around her, felt his hand lightly touch her hair. A tight knot in her chest loosened.
She sobbed harder.
Parks repressed a sigh. The girl was Miss Margaret Peterson—Meg, Westbrooke had called her. He’d met her at Tynweith’s house party last spring. He’d liked her. She’d seemed quite levelheaded—very knowledgeable about garden design and plants in general. He’d enjoyed talking to her.
And looking at her.
All right, he had enjoyed looking at her. She was very attractive. Slim, but with generous curves in all the right places. Warm brown eyes with flecks of gold and green. Silky brown hair.
He tangled his fingers in that hair, massaging the back of her head. She felt very nice in his arms. It had been too long since he’d held a woman.
Much too long, if he was feeling amorous urges toward a lady who was blubbering all over his cravat. He would pay Cat a visit as soon as he got back to the Priory, right after he checked on that plant shipment.
He patted her shoulder. Her skin was so smooth, soft…
He dropped his hand to the safety of her corseted back.
What had she been thinking, coming out into Palmerson’s dark garden with a man of Bennington’s stamp? Was she no better regarded than she should be? She had been a guest at Tynweith’s scandalous house party.
And had behaved perfectly properly there. She had gone into the garden with him, but always in the daylight and always to discuss a particular planting.
She made a peculiar little sound, a cross between a sniff and a hiccup.
“Are you all right, Miss Peterson?”
She nodded, keeping her head down.
“Here—take my handkerchief.”
“Thank you.”
She still would not meet his eyes.
He studied her. There was enough light to see one slender white shoulder was completely exposed, as was the lovely curve of her breast…
He moved his hips back to save her the shock of his sudden attraction.
Damn, he had definitely been too long without a woman.
“I’m sorry to be such a watering pot. I’ve thoroughly soaked your clothing.”
“You’ve had an upsetting experience.” He cleared his throat. “You do know you shouldn’t be alone with a man in the darkened shrubbery, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.” She stepped a little away from him. “None of the others so forgot themselves.”
“Others? There have been others?”
Meg flushed. Parks looked so shocked.
“I’m not a debutante.”
“No, but you are young and unmarried.”
“Not so young. I’m twenty-one.”
Parks lifted an eyebrow. Meg felt a spurt of annoyance. Was the man criticizing her?
“Lady Beatrice has not commented on my behavior.”
He lifted the eyebrow higher. Suddenly she wanted to grab his spectacles and grind them under her slipper. She was so tired of people looking at her in just that way.
“Ohh, you are as bad as the rest of the priggish, nasty beasts in that ballroom.”
She spun on her heel, took a step—and caught her foot on a root.
“Aaa!” She was falling face first toward the holly bush Bennington had recently vacated.
Strong hands grabbed her and hauled her up against a rock hard chest. She shivered. The cool night air raised goose bumps on her arms and…
She looked down. Her breasts had fallen completely out of her dress.
“Ack!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Close your eyes!”
“What?”
Oh, lud, was that the crunch of shoes on gravel? Someone was coming this way! She had to hide.
There was no place to hide. She twisted around and plastered herself up against Parks. Perhaps God would work a miracle and make her invisible.
The Almighty was not interested in assisting
