her. He could have, once everyone had left.
She stretched out on her side and hugged her pillow to her chest. Perhaps he intended to offer tomorrow. Perhaps he simply felt a marriage proposal should be presented in more formal attire—or at least some attire. She rubbed her cheek on the pillow. She would have been glad to hear his offer naked. Very glad.
If he were going to offer. She shifted to her back again. Perhaps he had no intention of doing so. He had seen her, all of her. Clearly, he had not been impressed. He must prefer more buxom women—though he most definitely did not prefer Felicity.
Her head hurt. There was nothing she could do tonight. Perhaps everything would make more sense in the morning.
She certainly hoped so.
Robbie sighed with relief as soon as his feet touched the floor of his room. He shuffled over to check his door. It had a lock, but the key was missing.
“Collins!” No answer. His valet was not on the cot set up in his dressing room. Envy twisted his gut. As he’d suspected, the man was probably in a snug corner of Tynweith’s estate cavorting with Betty, Lizzie’s maid. Just as he’d like to be cavorting with Lizzie.
He pushed a sturdy chest in front of the door. That should do the trick until the key was located. Then he unwrapped Lizzie’s sheet from around his waist and stuffed it in the bottom of his wardrobe. Collins could give it back to Betty tomorrow and then all would be well.
He hoped. What a nightmare. His heart had stopped when he’d seen the bed curtains bunch in Felicity’s hand. If Charlotte hadn’t stopped her….
Bloody hell, if Felicity had opened those curtains, half the ton would have been treated to the sight of the Earl of Westbrooke naked in the Duke of Alvord’s sister’s sheets. The story would have spread like the Great Fire of London, and the scandal…? God! The scandal would have been enormous. Bloody enormous. The ton would have buzzed with it for the entire Season. Next Season, too. And Lizzie’s reputation…well, Lizzie would not have a reputation, unless….
No, he would not think about that.
He inspected his bed for stray maidens, snuffed the candles, and climbed in. He’d been sleeping soundly before he’d had to flee over the rooftop. He’d been in the middle of a pleasant dream. He closed his eyes.
Damn.
He jerked them open and stared up at the bed canopy.
He could see Lizzie’s naked body as clearly as if she were standing before him—the graceful line of her back, the generous curve of her buttocks, her long legs, her sweet breasts, her milky skin glowing in the firelight.
The blasted fickle part of him was hard as rock…now. It made a splendid tent in his blankets. But put a female between his sheets and the damn thing turned limp as stewed cabbage.
His shy little organ would not perform in the presence of company.
Once upon a time he’d been able to…well, twice. It was the third time that had created the problem.
He’d gone with some fellows to the Dancing Piper. He’d been hardly seventeen—it had been his first visit to a brothel. His other two forays into Venus’s delights had been with Nan, a cheerful, uncomplicated country girl.
MacDuff had introduced him to Fleur. She’d had coal-black hair, startling blue eyes, and a lush figure. She’d been alluring, seductive, mysterious—everything Nan was not. He’d been flattered when she’d agreed to go upstairs with him.
He flung his arm over his eyes.
What an idiot he’d been, but then he’d not been thinking with his head.
She’d moaned and writhed more than Nan ever had. He’d felt extremely cocky in every way. When he’d climbed between her thighs, he’d thought himself the greatest bloody lover in England.
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He couldn’t rub away the memory. It was as clear as if it had happened yesterday.
She’d yelled, apparently overcome with need.
“Gawd, give it to me now!”
He’d hesitated. He was not so far gone in lust that he’d lost his mind completely. Something seemed off.
Something was off.
The door flung open, and MacDuff and the other boys rushed in laughing. Fleur laughed, too, letting her legs flop, holding her sides. It had been a grand joke.
He had not seen the humor. He’d leapt off the bed, got tangled in the sheets, and fallen at MacDuff’s feet.
“Fleur, lass,” MacDuff had said, “looks like we saved you from a wee little man.”
“Aye. Thankee kindly, my lord. From the size of him, ye’d think he’d carry a great sword, but ye’ll see now he carries only a little dirk.”
He’d been on his back, the sheets tangled around his feet, his tiny “dirk” exposed for the amusement of the assembled multitude. Covering it with his hands had only added to the merriment.
He clenched his jaw. The damn thing had happened more than a decade ago and still it haunted him. He’d not been able to mount a woman successfully since.
He turned over on his side and pounded his innocent pillow.
He was an intelligent man. He should be able to put the stupid incident in the past where it belonged.
A specific part of him refused to listen to reason.
Bloody useless appendage. It was a damn agent of torture, that was all. It had forced him to worship at Onan’s altar too many times to count.
He snorted. If he’d been discovered in Lizzie’s bed, Lady Beatrice would have cured him of his problem. She would have castrated him on the spot with the handle of her lorgnette.
He flopped onto his back and stared up at the bed canopy again. What was Lizzie thinking now? Surely she must have expected an offer.
At least the commotion in her room appeared to have cleared her head. She’d shown more restraint after everyone had left. Thank God! What would he have done if she’d touched him?
He knew what he’d like to have done. Taken her straight back to bed.
His ridiculous appendage leapt at the thought. He scowled down at the author of his misery. The miscreant had no shame. No one looking at him now would think he could not perform his bedroom duties.
He was going to have to take himself in hand, literally, if he hoped to get any sleep tonight.
Still, he would never have guessed Lizzie was so passionate. She had been so sweetly wanton. God, how he wished he were a normal man….
The truth was, he would disappoint her if he came to her bed. He couldn’t give her passion. He couldn’t give her children.
She would want both—must want both. She needed a man—a husband—who would take care of her in bed and out.
He
