snuffed out the candle, leaving the room lit only by the banked fire in the hearth. Perhaps darkness would help her concentrate on the matter at hand.
“Put on your nightgown.”
“Hmm?”
“Lizzie, you need to put on your nightgown now. You have to answer the door.” He reached to help her—and encountered a soft breast.
“Mmm.”
Good God, the girl was purring. If only…No, he wouldn’t think of it. It was impossible. Completely im—
“Lizzie!” He tried to keep his voice down, though with all the door and window pounding, he could have shouted and not been heard over the din. “Lizzie—yikes!”
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her fingers away from where they had wandered.
“Did I hurt you? You’re swollen again.”
“Lizzie, just put your nightgown on and get the door. Please?”
She huffed and the small puff of air tickled over his stomach.
“All right. Will you touch me again after they are all gone? It felt so good.”
Damn. He balled his hands into fists. He really would like to hit something. He tried to keep his voice calm.
“We’ll see. Now be a good girl and put on your nightgown.” Louder banging on the door and some muffled shouts. At least James wasn’t here. He was at Alvord, awaiting the birth of his second child. “Hurry. The door first. Try to look as if you’ve just woken up. And remember, I’m not here.”
“Not here. Right.”
He watched her take her first steps toward the door, then he jumped onto the bed, pulling the curtains closed.
Betty, Lizzie’s maid, must sleep like the dead, he thought. Hell, she must be dead if this racket hadn’t woken her. Of course, that was assuming she was in her bed at all. More likely she was with his valet somewhere. It was no secret those two would like to make a match of it. Collins had certainly hinted about it enough. Robbie was beginning to fear for his life when the man shaved him each morning.
Betty and Collins would be merry as grigs if he wed Lizzie. Well, he would be, too, but it would never happen. He sighed. When he had seen her, standing naked in front of her mirror, the candlelight making her skin glow, her hand sliding down her curves to exactly the place he most wanted to be…
He buried his face in the pillow. A mistake. He inhaled her scent and grew even harder.
He stifled a moan.
The door had swung open. Light and the babble of voices flooded the room. Only a miracle would keep him from detection.
He prayed for a miracle.
“He’s here, isn’t he? I know he’s here.” Lady Felicity Brookton, clad in a pistachio-colored dressing gown, pushed Lizzie aside and stepped into the room, holding a candle high. “Where are you hiding him?”
“Um.” Lizzie blinked, staring out her door. Half the house party had assembled in the corridor.
“Someone is knocking at the window.” Lady Caroline, the daughter of the Earl of Dunlee, maneuvered her ample bulk across the room and opened the curtains. “Oh, look! It’s Lord Peter.”
“Let him in.” Lady Felicity peered inside Lizzie’s wardrobe.
“Um.” Lizzie wished she could think. That last glass of ratafia had definitely been ill-advised. Her head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton wool.
She couldn’t let them find Robbie. He didn’t want to be found. She watched Lady Felicity light all the available candles. How was she going to stop them? There were only so many places to look.
Lord Peter, dressed in his shirtsleeves and pantaloons, climbed in the window. “Saw him vault in here.” He chuckled. “Hard to miss his lily-white as—” He coughed. “Ankles. His lily-white ankles. Hard to miss them in the dark.”
“So where is he, Lady Elizabeth?” Lady Felicity glared at her.
“Um, he who?”
“Lord Westbrooke, of course. Didn’t he just climb in your window?”
“Uh…” Lizzie’s mind went blank.
“Lady Felicity, surely you cannot be suggesting that Lord Westbrooke would behave in such an inappropriate manner?”
Lizzie turned to see Lady Beatrice, her nominal chaperone for the Season. Thank God! Lady Bea would deal with this mess in short order.
Lady Felicity lifted her chin. “I only know what I saw.”
Lady Bea lifted an eyebrow. “And what exactly did you see, miss?”
“I saw Lord Westbrooke leap naked out the window.”
“I thought you said he came in the window.”
“Not this window.”
“Ah, the window in your room then? Correct me if I am wrong, but any man exiting your window would end as a rather unsightly corpse on the terrace. Or have you changed rooms recently? I thought your bedchamber was just a few doors down the hall from mine on the other side of the corridor.”
Lady Felicity turned red. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words issued forth.
“Let’s look in the bed, Felicity.” Lord Peter left the window and reached for the bed curtains. “I’ll wager Westbrooke is hiding between the sheets.”
“Lord Peter!”
Everyone turned to stare at the petite woman who’d managed to push to the fore of the crowd. The Duchess of Hartford—Lady Charlotte Wickford before her marriage to the elderly duke—was not someone Lizzie would ever have imagined coming to her rescue. Charlotte hated her. Well, she really hated James, but James spent most of his time in Kent these days. Lizzie was a much more convenient target.
“What, your grace?” Lord Peter stood back, gesturing to the bed curtains. “Would you like to do the honors?”
Charlotte stared at him. He flushed and dropped his arm.
“If you won’t do it, I will.” Felicity grabbed a handful of cloth.
“Lady Felicity.” Charlotte’s tone stopped Felicity’s hand before it had moved an inch. “Surely you do not mean to imply that Lady Elizabeth would entertain a man in her bedroom?”
Felicity looked at Lizzie’s small breasts. Lizzie crossed her arms over them.
“Entertain? No. However—”
“However, if Lord Westbrooke should be so bold as to visit Lady Elizabeth in her room at night—if he were found in her bed—I assume he would do the gentlemanly thing and offer for her.” Charlotte shrugged. “Her brother, the duke, would insist,
