The Naked Viscount (11 page)

His face went from serious to chilling. “I can.”

“Ah.” Her heart was suddenly pounding in her throat. Perhaps she would be a little frightened…

The doorknob rattled.

“Eep!” She slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her squeak. Was that Mama? Lord Motton might find himself more than pretending to courtship; he might find himself forced up the church aisle.

“Try not to look quite so guilty,” Lord Motton murmured as he walked past her to open the door.

Not look guilty? Ha! She
was
guilty. She was alone with a man in a locked room, which was bad enough, but when one considered what she'd been doing with that man—

Oh, dear God. She looked down to be certain her dress was where it belonged.

“Aunt Winifred and Theo. What a…surprise,” Lord Motton said. He stepped aside so his aunt and her pet could enter.

At least it wasn't Mama—though perhaps this was worse.

“Awk!” Theo turned his head to examine Jane and then flapped his wings, sending strands of Miss Smyth's hair flying around her face. “Something's rotten in Denmark.”

“Theo, please!” Miss Smyth's eyes met Jane's and then dropped to consider Jane's bodice. Jane clutched her skirts to keep from shielding her breasts from the woman's scrutiny. Surely Miss Smyth didn't look disappointed that Jane's clothing was not in total disarray? “I'm certain there's a perfectly reasonable explanation why Edmund had his study door locked, Theo.” Miss Smyth smiled at her nephew. “Edmund?”

“Yes, Aunt?”

“Would you care to elucidate?”

“No.”

Dear God, why wasn't Lord Motton concocting a plausible explanation? Did he
want
his aunt to think the worst? “Ah, you see, Lord Motton and I…”

Lord Motton raised an eyebrow. Damn. Jane tried again. “Lord Motton and I were merely…we were just…we had some business of a private nature…”

Lord Motton turned back to consider his aunt. “You are the one who escorted Miss Parker-Roth to my study, Aunt Winifred, and then left her unattended. I find it hard to fathom why you seem so concerned with the proprieties now.”

“You had asked to speak to her, if you will remember. I got the impression you had a matter of some import to discuss. And I didn't think poor Jane was up to spending time in a roomful of aunts.” Miss Smyth raised her eyebrows. “But I did not lock the door.”

“I did need to speak to Miss Parker-Roth, and I didn't wish to be interrupted.”

Miss Smyth snorted. “I would imagine not.”

Lord Motton merely stared at his aunt. Jane stared at the floor.

Miss Smyth waved her hand. “Oh, I suppose it doesn't matter. I'm certainly not going to spread any tittle-tattle.”

“Tittle-tattle.” Theo examined Jane. “Tiny titties. Bitty bubbies.”

Jane felt herself flush. She knew she didn't have an especially impressive bosom, but she certainly didn't need a rude parrot bringing her deficiencies to Ed—to everyone's attention.

“Theo!” Miss Smyth glared at her parrot.

“Aunt”—Lord Motton almost spat the word—“control your pet or I'll be using his feathers to stuff pillows.”

“Pillows!” Theo reared back. “Shiver me timbers! Ye won't be makin' a pillow out o' me.”

“I will if you don't mend your manners, you obnoxious bird.”

“Edmund, it's beneath your dignity to argue with a parrot.”

“Right. I won't argue.” He looked Theo up and down; Theo sidled closer to Miss Smyth's head. “Perhaps I'll make him into a feather duster instead of a pillow.”

“Jiminy!”

Miss Smyth shooed her pet away from her hair. “Theo, much as it pains me to say so, you have indeed merited some punishment, but Edmund would never really pluck you.”

Lord Motton leaned toward Theo and bared his teeth. “Don't bet on it.”

“Lord a mercy, save me, save me!” Theo flapped his wings so vigorously he knocked some of Miss Smyth's pins askew, causing her coiffure to list drunkenly.

“Edmund, you are not helping matters.” She tapped Theo on the beak. “Now apologize to Miss Parker-Roth, sir. Your behavior has been beyond boorish. I am very sorry to say I am ashamed of you.”

Theo ducked his head. “Aw, Theo's sorry. Theo's sorry.”

Miss Smyth looked at Jane again. “Please forgive Theo, Miss Parker-Roth. He
is
a bit of a birdbrain on occasion.”

“Er, yes, of course. Do not give it another thought.” It was past time to change the subject, but Jane couldn't think of a new topic to save her soul.

“And, in any event, Theo is wrong. You have a very nice bosom”—Miss Smyth smiled—“as I'm sure Edmund has been telling you.”

“Ah.” She was going to spontaneously combust from embarrassment. There was no question of it. She closed her eyes and felt the heat sweep through her. She must be red as a beet.

“Aunt!”

“Well, you wouldn't want Miss Parker-Roth to get the wrong impression, Edmund. Young women can be very sensitive about such matters.”

Poor Jane looked miserable, and any further conversation with Aunt Winifred and Theo would just add to her misery. “I believe it's time for Miss Parker-Roth to retire. You can see she's fagged to death.”

Aunt Winifred clicked her tongue. “Edmund, you are as bad as Theo. Wasn't I clear? A gentleman should never make disparaging comments about a lady's appearance.”

He took a deep breath—he would not shout. “I'm not making disparaging comments; I'm stating the obvious.”

“Obvious. Ob—”

He glared at the parrot. “Don't push your luck.”

Theo snapped his beak shut and hid his head under one of his wings.

“Miss Parker-Roth has had an exhausting day,” Edmund said.

“Indeed.” Aunt Winifred nodded. “That's why I came to see why you were keeping her from her bed.”

Had Winifred stressed that last word? He would ignore it. “Miss Parker-Roth, are you tired?”

Jane sighed and nodded. “I'm afraid I am rather.”

“Then I shall escort you to your room. Where have you put her, Aunt Winifred?”

“In the blue bedroom.”

“Ah. The blue bedroom.” He was going to strangle his aunt.

“Yes. I thought that would make her feel more secure. I told her if she felt alarmed during the night, she need only call out and you would come and assist her—didn't I, Miss Parker-Roth?”

“Y—yes.” Jane sent him an uncertain glance.

He would like to reassure her, but he was too angry. The thought of sleeping next door to Jane, knowing she was in the viscountess's room, connected to his by a door whose key had been lost years ago…well, sleeping would very likely not be something he would do much of.

“You
will
assist her if she is disturbed in the night, won't you, Edmund?”

Strangling was too kind an end for Aunt Winifred. He forced his clenched teeth apart. “Of course.”

“I really—there's no need—I'm perfectly fine,” Jane said. “And if my current bedchamber is inconvenient, I'm sure I can share my mother's room.”

“No, no, your bedchamber is fine.” Aunt Winifred patted Jane's hand. “You've suffered quite a shock to your nerves, dear. You must allow Edmund to ease your…distress.” She grinned and waggled her eyebrows. “Men have to be useful for something, don't you think?”

And what the hell did his elderly, virginal—Good God, surely Winifred was virginal?—aunt mean by that comment?

He didn't want to know.

“Shall we go, Miss Parker-Roth? Aunt?”

“Oh, you two run along. I believe I'll have a word with Gertrude before I find my bed.”

“Very well. Good night, then.” Motton nodded and then guided Jane out of the study.

“Your aunt must be completely scandalized,” Jane said. Thank heavens Miss Smyth hadn't arrived earlier when her dress had been down around her waist.

Lord Motton looked down at her, one eyebrow raised. “Did she appear scandalized?”

“N—no. Not exactly.”

“Not at all. Apparently Aunt Winifred has decided you will make an excellent viscountess.”

“What?”
Jane's stomach clenched. Lord Motton must be revolted by the situation. “You're joking, aren't you?”

“She's put you in the viscountess's room.”

“Oh.” Her stomach lurched and then clenched tighter. “But there's nothing to that. She told me the house was very crowded with all your aunts here.”

He snorted. “There are plenty of bedrooms. No, Aunt Winifred is a master tactician. She used the same ploy a few years ago at one of my house parties, putting Alex Wilton and the former Lady Oxbury in adjoining rooms.” He laughed. “Worse, she forced Lord Kilgorn to share a very small bedchamber with his estranged wife.”

“Oh? Well, her ploys succeeded. Both those couples have growing families and are rumored to be very unfashionably in love.” And would Miss Smyth's efforts be as successful in this instance? Jane wondered.

Heavens! Where had that thought come from? How absurd.

“Perhaps I should apologize for Aunt Winifred's actions at that gathering,” Edmund said as they started up the stairs. “I think your brother John suffered as a result.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“It was right after that party that Lady Dawson—then Lady Grace Belmont—jilted John at the altar.”

Jane sighed as they reached the top of the stairs. “It was quite horrible, being in the church that morning and waiting and waiting for Grace to appear, but I've always believed it was for the best. I never thought John and Grace well matched. The betrothal was all Grace's father Lord Standen's doing. John went along because he wanted a patch of Standen's land for his roses—not the best reason to enter a marriage.”

“Hmm. John is a bit of a madman when it comes to plants.”

“A bit?” Jane laughed. “I'd say so.” They stopped in front of her door. “I think Grace's defiance in that instance was what finally persuaded Lord Standen to ask Miss O'Neill to marry him—something he'd have done long ago if he weren't such a stubborn, prideful man. The idiot just couldn't stomach the thought of a poor Irish cottager becoming the Countess of Standen.”

“And now she's given him his heir.”

Jane laughed. “And perhaps a spare. Had you heard she's said to be in the family way again?”

Edmund gave her a very intent look and she felt herself flush again. Damn her tongue—how could she have spoken so boldly?

She put her hand on the door—the door that opened to a room that was connected to Edmund's…

“My lord, I am sure you mistake your aunt's intentions. Miss Smyth barely knows me.”

He snorted. “Miss Parker-Roth, my aunt would have been a great asset in the war against Napoleon. She is far better at gleaning intelligence than any mere spy. I am quite certain she knows everything about you—maybe even things you don't know yourself.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.” He reached past her to open her door. “Sleep well.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She stepped over her threshold. “Pleasant dreams.”

As she was closing the door, she could swear she heard him mutter as he continued down the corridor,
“Not bloody likely.”

Jane stopped on the breakfast room's threshold. Damn. All Edmund's aunts except Winifred were seated at the table, consuming toast and tea—and kippers and kidneys, judging from some plates. Whatever happened to having a cup of chocolate in bed?

No one had yet seen her. She'd just back out quietly—

A black-and-white cloud erupted from underneath the table, resolving itself into two energetic poodles that flew over to yap and jump around her skirts. So much for exiting quietly.

An angular aunt, her gray hair pulled back into a tight bun, peered over her glasses at her. “Don't linger in the doorway like that, Miss Parker-Roth. Come in, come in.” She turned to frown at a plump woman whose hair was as wildly curly as the dogs'. “Dorothea, will you get control of your animals? What must Miss Parker-Roth think?”

Miss Parker-Roth thought she'd much rather deal with the dogs than the aunts. She bent to pet the black poodle, and the white one butted in for some attention, too.

“Helter, Skelter, come to mommy!”

The dogs glanced at Dorothea and then started licking Jane's hands.

“The poor woman can't enter the room without tripping over your dogs, Dorothea.” This aunt had sharp features and tight braids. “You don't see Diana behaving in such a hurly-burly fashion, do you?” A brown-and-white greyhound lay on the floor by the woman's chair. It looked briefly at Jane, yawned, and dropped its head back onto its front legs.

“At least my dogs are full of frolic, Louisa.” Dorothea sniffed. “Diana has about as much fun in her as those dusty, dry books you're always reading.”

Louisa sniffed back. “Diana is to your plebian animals as my Latin texts are to your novels.”

The last woman at the table laughed. “I'm sure Miss Parker-Roth is very tempted to skip her breakfast now that she's been treated to all this squabbling.” She gestured with a ring-bedecked hand. “Do come in and join our festive gathering, my dear.”

Helter and Skelter had finally had their fill of her and had gone back under the table—well away from the superior Diana—so Jane could finally approach the buffet. She chose an egg and some toast. She suspected she'd need some sustenance to get through the next few minutes.

“Here, come sit next to me, Miss Parker-Roth,” the woman with the rings said. “I don't have any pets with me—my cat is still upstairs, the lazy thing—nor do I have
A List.
” She looked significantly at the angular woman.

“Ah.” Jane glanced at the woman, too. She did, indeed, have a long, numbered list, written in what looked to be a very neat hand, and she was tapping a pencil against the table as if she was anxious to begin crossing things off. She frowned at Jane over her glasses. Jane sat.

Where the hell was her mother? Hiding in her room, most likely. She must have known there'd be an aunt inquisition. And where was Winifred?

It was more than a little disconcerting to realize she actually wished for Winifred Smyth's company.

“Finally.” The angular woman looked past Jane to the door. “You're late—and thank God you left the pets upstairs.”

Winifred had arrived. The poodles shot back out from under the table to greet her. Dorothea leaned over to confide, “I was going to call my dogs Salt and Pepper because of their colors, of course, but dear Edmund thought Helter and Skelter were more appropriate names.”

Louisa snorted. “Those weren't the first names he suggested, if you'll remember. He—”

“Louisa!” The angular woman glared over her glasses. “We do not need to air all our dirty linen, I believe.”

Louisa shrugged. “I suppose you're right, Gertrude.”

“Of course I'm right.” Gertrude looked back at Winifred, who was now heaping her plate with toast and ham and kippers and kidneys. Obviously a convocation of her sisters didn't diminish her appetite. “Will you hurry up, Winifred? We need to get started.”

Winifred looked over her shoulder, a slice of tongue dangling from her fork. “Why don't you introduce everyone, Gertrude? I bet you haven't done that yet. Poor Jane probably hasn't a clue who's here.” She chuckled. “Except Edmund's many aunts.”

Gertrude flushed slightly and adjusted her glasses. “Very well. A good suggestion.” She looked at Jane. “My apologies, Miss Parker-Roth. I am Gertrude Smyth, the eldest of Lord Motton's paternal aunts. He has aunts on his mother's side, of course, but we don't need to consider them.”

“Except in regard to their number,” Louisa said. “He has five aunts on that side, too, so a total of ten aunts—and no uncles.”

“Indeed.” Gertrude nodded. “There is a shocking dearth of males on both sides of the family, which is of great concern to—”

“Finish the introductions, Gertrude.” Winifred winked at Jane as she sat down next to her and then tucked into her breakfast.

Gertrude sighed. “My apologies again. Cordelia”—she indicated the woman with the rings and the absent cat, on Jane's other side—“is the second oldest. Winifred, whom you've already met, is the middle aunt. Dorothea is next and Louisa is the youngest.”

“Except for George,” Louisa said. “George, Edmund's papa, was the youngest.”

“Exactly.” Gertrude pointed her pencil at Jane. “And that's the problem in a nutshell.”

Jane swallowed her mouthful of toast. “Excuse me? I don't quite—”

Winifred speared a bite of tongue. “The point is, Jane, it took my father six attempts—well, probably significantly more than six attempts, of course. I do believe he was in Mother's bed—”

“Winifred!” Gertrude almost shouted.

“Oh, Gertrude, you're such a dry old stick.”

“Proprieties, Winifred, proprieties.” Louisa came to Gertrude's defense.

Cordelia laughed. “Whatever Papa did or didn't do, Mother conceived five times before they managed to do it right and get an heir.”

“So you see there is no time to lose,” Gertrude said. “The odds are not in Edmund's favor.”

“The odds? What odds?” Jane asked. Were these women completely mad? “What are you talking about?”

“Babies, Jane. Boy babies.” Winifred shrugged. “Heirs.”

Gertrude leaned toward Jane. “Edmund is getting old.”

“Old?” Cordelia laughed.

Gertrude waved her hand in Cordelia's general direction. “Well, not
old.
Not decrepit, of course. A normal man would still have plenty of time, but given Edmund's pedigree…there's no time to waste.”

“He needs an heir,” Louisa said, “and, if history repeats itself, he'll need to work hard to get one.”

Winifred spat her tea back into her cup. “Oh, my, yes. He'll need to work
hard,
poor thing.”

She looked at Cordelia and the two of them went off into gales of laughter.

“Will you stop that?” Gertrude glared at them. “This is no laughing matter. You told me last night, Winifred, that Miss Parker-Roth here might be our best bet, but she is not so young herself.” She turned her attention to Jane. “How old are you?”

Jane felt her jaw drop. How rude! She knew she wasn't a debutante, but she found she didn't care to be lumped in with the octogenarians. “Twenty-four. And what do you mean, best—”

“Tsk.” Gertrude shook her head. “
That
old?”

“Gertrude!”

“Winifred, you know age is something we must consider.”

“Yes, it is something we must consider,” Winifred said. “But you don't have to be so Friday-faced about it. Dorcas”—she glanced at Jane—“that was Edmund's mother, was twenty-six when she had Edmund, two years older than Jane here.”

“But…” Jane tried to get a word in, but no one was paying any attention.

“And Edmund was her first and only child.” Gertrude tapped her pencil again.

“That doesn't signify,” Winifred said. “You know George only gave it a go once. You knew Dorcas.”

“Why he ever married her…” Dorothea shook her head. “She was a wet rag if ever there was one. A deuced hypochondriac.”

“You know why he married her,” Louisa said. “She was increasing.”

“Excuse me,” Jane said firmly, “but I don't understand why you are having this discussion with me present. I am not a member of your family.”

“Yet.” Winifred smiled. “There was last night in Edmund's study.”

“
Nothing
happened in the study.” Jane felt herself flush. “Nothing m—much.”

All the aunts stared at her, various degrees of speculation in their expressions.

Oh, damn. Where the
hell
was Mama?

“Good morning, ladies.” Lord Motton appeared at the breakfast room door. “Am I interrupting?”

“No!” Jane said.

“Yes!” the aunts said.

Helter and Skelter shot out from under the table.

“Gentlemen!” Lord Motton spoke firmly. “Sit.”

The dogs sat, tails beating a tattoo on the floor, tongues hanging from their mouths, looks of doggy ecstasy on their faces.

“Well done.” He bent to scratch their ears, and then looked up at the ladies. His eyes stopped at Jane; he smiled slowly.

Damn, anyone might think he was in love with her, he'd managed to adopt such a besotted expression. Jane glanced around. The aunts looked at Lord Motton and then at her.

“Miss Parker-Roth,” Lord Motton said, “would you care to take in the exhibition at the Royal Academy?”

All the aunts grinned at once.

 

“Well, that was setting the cat amongst the pigeons.” Jane looked over at Lord Motton as he gave his horses their office to start.

He grinned at her. “Why do you say that?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know your aunts are here to find you a wife, and given your father's and grandfathers' failure to produce a suitable quantity of male offspring, they are concerned about the succession. They think you should start work on filling your nursery immediately. Singling me out for this excursion gets their hopes up.”

“So they want me to start work on my nursery
immediately
?”

Jane flushed. Edmund could look quite lecherous when he'd a mind to. “Don't be ridiculous.”

He sent her a sidelong glance. “I don't know. I don't want the aunties in a pother. Perhaps I should get right to business.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Behave yourself, my lord. We are in an open carriage with your tiger behind.”

Lord Motton glanced back. “Close your eyes, Jem.”

“My lord!” Jane refused to look at Jem. He was a wiry young man about her brother Nicholas's age, at a guess. He could probably imagine Edmund's intentions far better—and in much more detail—than she could. Blast. He was probably wondering why she hadn't soundly slapped his lascivious employer's face. At a minimum she should have had an attack of the vapors.

She raised her chin and tried to sound as prim and spinsterish as possible. “I must ask you to conduct yourself with more decorum, Lord Motton.”

“Now that sounds deadly dull. What if—”

“Milord!”

Lord Motton's expression changed instantly from teasing to alert. “Yes, Jem?”

“We're being followed. I recognize one of the men from the break-in last night.”

“You do?” Jane started to turn to get a look at this villain, but Edmund's hand shot out to stop her.

“No, Jane. We don't want them to realize we're aware of them. I don't believe we're in any danger at the moment”—he smiled at her—“but when we reach the academy, stay close to me, just in case.” The smile slid back into a leer. “Very close.”

Her heart was pounding in her throat, and this man was making salacious suggestions. “How can you take this so lightly?” She wanted to turn around and look, but she forced herself to face forward.

Edmund's expression turned serious. “I'm not, Jane. I'd never take lightly anything regarding Satan. I've sent men ahead to our destination, and I've stationed one or two along our route as well. We'll know if we're in any danger well before anything happens, so we can avoid trouble—and if we can't avoid it, we'll have friends nearby to help.”

“Aye, milord,” Jem said. “I jist saw Thomas take off runnin'. He must have recognized the man, too. He'll let Ben and the rest know.”

“Excellent.” Lord Motton encouraged his horses to pick up their pace.

Jane watched his hands on the reins. He was so confident. He could step off the cliffs of Dover with her, assuring her they'd land safely, and she'd believe him. She was clearly an idiot.

“I could try to lose them,” he was saying, “but I think it's best if they believe we've no notion they're there. Why should we be the least bit suspicious? We are merely on a pleasant outing to view some paintings and perhaps enjoy a little flirtation.”

Jem almost successfully muffled his guffaw, but it was a near thing. His ears must smart from holding in the noise.

Jane sniffed. “I do not flirt, my lord, in case it has escaped your notice.”

“You don't?” Edmund raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you should try it.” He pulled back on the reins. “Here we are. Jem, go to their heads, if you will.”

The viscount swung down from the carriage and came around to help her alight. He murmured in her ear as her feet touched the walk. “I don't flirt much myself, you know.”

Jane snorted. “Liar. You flirt constantly. You're flirting now.”

He was smiling, but his eyes were serious. “When have you seen me flirting in society's ballrooms?”

“I haven't seen you in many ballrooms.” She stepped past him. “I assume you do your flirting in other, less public locations.”

He laughed. “Oh,
that's
not called flirting.”

“Lord Motton!”

He put her hand on his arm and smiled down at her. “We will practice our flirting skills together.”