well, I believe I had one glass of ratafia too many.”
“Hmph.”
Lady Beatrice stared at her, most directly at her stomach. Lizzie placed her hands over that area and tried to breathe slowly.
“You are positive your current indisposition has nothing to do with a certain lord?”
“Yes!” Lizzie took another deep breath and struggled to recover her composure. “Yes, indeed. Most assuredly. Lord Westbrooke’s presence—”
Meg made a very unusual noise, something between a squeak and a whoop. Lizzie and Lady Bea both turned to stare at her. Meg grinned back at them.
“So Robbie was actually in your room last night, Lizzie? I had heard the rumors, but I hadn’t believed them. How splendid! Not that I’m really surprised, though I would have thought he’d have chosen a more conventional setting for his proposal. When is the wedding?”
“Uh.”
“Yes, miss, when is the wedding?” Lady Bea frowned so that her brows met over her nose. “While it is fortunate that Lord Westbrooke apparently restrained his animal urges, the fact remains that he was here in your bedchamber.”
Lizzie studied her fingernails. “Robbie did not propose.”
“What?” Meg’s voice squeaked with indignation. “What do you mean, he didn’t propose? He must have proposed! You’ve loved him forever. And he loves you. How could he not have asked you to be his countess? Why else would he have sought you out in your room?”
Lizzie blinked at Meg. Robbie loved her? Where had Meg gotten that notion? Lizzie had hoped—prayed—for years that he did—that he would—but when she was being completely honest with herself, she had to admit he didn’t treat her much differently than her brother did. Meg must be confusing that brotherly sentiment with the kind of love Lizzie wanted—romantic love. Kisses-and-wedding love.
“He didn’t seek me out, exactly. His being here was more of an accident.”
“An accident? How could Robbie have come to your room by accident?” Meg scowled. “Surely he wasn’t looking for some other lady’s room?”
Lady Bea snorted. “Fleeing more like—and from his own room. It is too bad Lord Needham won’t rein in his daughter, but then that would require him to drag himself out of his brothels and gambling dens, wouldn’t it? Lady Felicity is far from the dirtiest dish in the Brookton cupboard.”
Lizzie nodded. She reminded herself of that fact whenever she wanted to strangle the other girl. The Earl of Needham was a large pill for any prospective suitor to swallow. True, the earl’s vast wealth had to make marriage to his daughter more palatable, but the embarrassment of having a father-in-law in trade—and such a trade—had made many a man choke on his proposal. It didn’t help that Felicity refused to consider any matrimonial applicants below her father’s rank.
“Be that as it may, miss, you cannot entertain naked men in your room and not promptly attire your finger with an engagement ring.”
Meg squeaked again. She was becoming a regular mouse.
“Robbie was naked?”
“Well…yes.” Lizzie feared she would spontaneously combust from mortification. “In a manner of speaking, that is.”
“Hmm.” Lady Bea’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “And how can a gentleman be naked in a manner of speaking?”
Lizzie would not meet the older woman’s eyes. “It was dark.” After Robbie snuffed the candles. “I really didn’t see….” Enough.
Lady Bea narrowed her eyes. “Immaterial. He was naked and in your room. He has to wed you. I am astounded that he did not propose the moment the door closed behind me. If word of this gets out—”
“Word won’t get out.”
“Word always gets out. Granted, only Lord Peter saw Westbrooke enter your window, and I suppose it could be argued he was mistaken since no one actually witnessed the earl with you, but still, as they say, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
Meg nodded. “And Felicity will stoke the flames.”
“No, I don’t believe she will in this case.” Lady Bea arranged her ample form in the upholstered chair by the fireplace. “She clearly wants Westbrooke for herself—just as he clearly does not want her. I expect he will offer for you this morning, Lizzie, so you must get dressed and go out. One would hope that he would address me first, as I am your chaperone, but given the fact that he has known you since infancy and is one of your brother’s closest friends, I doubt he will stand on ceremony.”
Lizzie rubbed her suddenly wet palms on her nightgown.
“Do you really think he will offer for me?”
“How can he not? He has compromised you quite spectacularly. Of course he will offer. He is probably searching the estate for you now.”
The thought of Robbie looking for her made her feel amazingly better.
Damn.
Robbie dodged behind a topiary bear. He’d taken a brisk walk around Lendal Park, searching for his equilibrium. He still had a number of days to live through this blasted house party. He couldn’t be trying to strangle Tynweith’s guests every time they mentioned Lizzie’s name—though Lord Peter had done far more than that. He forced his fists to relax. Every time he thought of the scene in the breakfast parlor, he wanted to hit something, preferably Lord Peter’s face. He would love to reorder his features. He would be doing the women of the world a favor, making Lord Peter’s countenance reflect the ugliness of his character.
He’d hoped to make it back to the house without encountering anyone wishing to discuss last night’s unusual activities, and here was Lizzie, not twenty feet away, examining an oddly shaped bush. Sunlight filtered through her thin muslin gown, outlining her long legs. God. He rubbed suddenly damp palms on his breeches. Muslin should be outlawed or at least restricted to darkened areas, free of revealing sunbeams.
He had not slept well. He’d been haunted by dreams of Lizzie’s white skin, her lovely small breasts and delicate pink nipples, her golden hair—all of it, curling over her shoulders, around her breasts, sweeping the curve of her lower back…and the separate patch nestling between her thighs.
He was going to spill his seed in Tynweith’s blasted garden if he didn’t think of something else immediately.
Escape. That was it. He needed to get back to his room undetected. He’d chosen this route because it went through one of the less popular gardens—Tynweith had actually discouraged the ladies from exploring it, telling them it was not suitable for their finer sensibilities. Why hadn’t Lizzie taken the hint and avoided the place?
He would just have to choose a circuitous route to his room. He peered around the other side of the bear.
Double damn. Lady Felicity, hands on hips, scanned the hedges. Her nostrils flared.
God, was she a hound that she could sniff him out?
What was so bloody attractive about the
