The Naked Viscount (13 page)

“Jane!”

She had never been so happy to see her brother. “You know my brother Stephen, don't you, Lord Wolfson?”

“Of course.” He inclined his head. He looked like a completely normal, if unattractive, elderly peer. There was nothing lascivious or unsettling about him at all. Stephen would think she'd lost her mind if she told him she'd been concerned.

“Wolfson.” Stephen nodded back and turned to Jane. “Dance with me, will you?”

“Of course.” Stephen didn't usually seek her out—she
was
only his sister—so he must have a reason. And she was delighted to be free of Lord Wolfson. The man bowed and moved off.

“Not showing a lot of taste there, Jane,” Stephen said.

She made a face at him. “Women don't have the freedom men have, you know. I can't very well go ask a gentleman to stand up with me.”

“Yes, but you can decline, can't you? Have a torn flounce or some such thing?”

The music started—another waltz. Good. They would be able to converse without interruption.

“I can't suddenly develop problems with my attire every time Lord Wolfson approaches—that would cause comment.” She frowned, the niggling doubt resurfacing. Stephen knew almost everything about the
ton
. Did he know something particular about the baron? “Is there a reason I should avoid the man?”

“Good taste isn't enough?”

“If good taste were the determining factor, I wouldn't be dancing with you.”

“Now, Janey, half—or more—of the women of London would sell their—er, that is, they'd be delighted to dance with me.”

Unfortunately, Stephen was probably correct. He was revoltingly popular with the ladies. “If they only knew you as well as I do.”

He laughed. “You need to stop holding all my youthful follies against me.” He grinned. “Though, given the chance, I'd still put a toad in your sewing kit. You screamed so loudly and just about jumped out of your skin. I still laugh when I think about that.”

“At least Mama made you clean up all the spilled threads and needles after you'd captured the poor animal—and I was happy enough not to have to work on my sampler that day.”

“See, I did you a favor then.”

“Perhaps, though I could have happily strangled you for the fright.” She frowned at him. “Not that I was afraid of the old toad, of course. It was the surprise that got my heart to pounding.”

“That's what you say. I'm not so sure.” He grinned. “I should have brought a toad with me tonight and tested your theory.” He chuckled. “Though I suppose you were just dancing with a toad, weren't you?”

She decided not to dignify that observation with an answer. “So why did you want to talk to me? I do assume you weren't dying to dance with your sister.”

“Well, of course not. Gad, what do you take me for? Another Byron?” Stephen swung her through a turn. Even though he was her brother, she'd admit he was an excellent dancer. “No, the reason why I sought you out was merely to tell you good-bye. My departure has been moved up. I'm leaving on the first tide in the morning.”

“Ah.” Jane swallowed her disappointment. She was used to Stephen going off to foreign lands, but she still hated to see him leave. He was experienced and planned carefully, but no amount of planning could guard against storms or other natural disasters. And now, with the odd events at Widmore House…well, she felt a bit abandoned. “Be careful.”

He grinned, cocky as usual. “Of course—I always am.” He frowned. “And you be careful, too. I would rather not leave right now, but it can't be helped—and John will be in Town as soon as the house party he's attending ends.” Stephen laughed. “Can you imagine staid old stick-in-the-mud John at one of Lord Tynweith's gatherings? Mama thinks he's more interested in a female than the foliage for once. Amazing.”

“I hope he is interested in some lady. He needs to get over Lady Grace's jilting.”

“True. What's it been? Three years? Surely by now he sees what a mistake that marriage would have been.”

“One would hope so, but John can be so stubborn.”

Stephen snorted. “That's a bit of an understatement. When John makes up his mind, it almost takes a royal edict to get him to change it.” He looked a little annoyed. He and John had probably had more than one disagreement even as adults, as they worked together in a fashion—Stephen gathered plant specimens for John. “But I didn't ask you to dance to discuss our pigheaded brother—I wanted to tell you you can rely on Motton completely while I'm gone.”

“Ah.” Just the mention of the man's name made her heart beat faster.

“I'd feel a lot more concerned—hell, I'd strongly urge you and Mama to return to the Priory—if Motton wasn't in London to take charge of you. I do trust him to be able to keep you both safe. He's capable of handling anything that might come up. He's a good man—a regular brick.”

“Oh?” Her damn heart was still thumping so she could barely speak. If Stephen had any idea how much she was enamored of Lord Motton, he'd laugh so hard he'd fall on the floor here in Lord Easthaven's ballroom.

“Yes. He's responsible, levelheaded, intelligent.” He gave her an odd, speculative look. “Are you going to marry him?”

“What?”
She stumbled, and Stephen had to haul her up to keep her from falling on Lord Easthaven's ballroom floor. Apparently Stephen didn't find the notion of some connection between her and Lord Motton so laughable. But to assume she'd be considering marrying the man…where had he gotten that idea?

“Getting a little clumsy in your old age, Janey?”

She glared at him. She was too angry to speak.

Stephen grinned. “So,
are
you going to wed Motton?”

Of course she wasn't going to marry the viscount. For one thing, he hadn't asked.

“That's the gossip, you know.” Stephen's eyes followed a young woman in a scanty bodice and then came back to her. “And it would be a good decision. I mean, you aren't getting any younger. Twenty-four is a bit long in the tooth. Don't know what else you could be waiting for.”

She hadn't thought she could get any angrier, but she'd been mistaken. She really, really wanted to kick Stephen in the shins—or higher.

He laughed. “Good thing I mentioned this while we were dancing, eh? You look ready to darken my daylights.”

“How perceptive you are—about some things.”

“Right.” The music faded, and they slowed to a stop. “And don't think I didn't perceive how you looked at Motton when he came upon you at Palmerson's ball.”

“Ah.” How she'd looked at Lord Motton? Damn. She hadn't really been that obvious, had she? “I don't know what you mean.”

He smirked at her. “Don't try to cozen me into thinking you don't have feelings for the man, Janey. That horse won't run.”

She gritted her teeth and tried to smile in case anyone was observing them. “You are a cabbageheaded, cork-brained, coxcomb, Stephen.”

He waggled his damn eyebrows. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

Jane could only manage a strangled sort of growl in response.

“Throat dry, sister dearest?” He put her hand on his arm and ignored her glare. “I know all that capering around makes me thirsty. Let's repair to the refreshment room and see if Easthaven has anything worth the effort of lifting a glass for.” He winked. “And maybe we'll even stumble upon the viscount there.”

She was definitely going to kick him.

She should be happy. Lord Motton's plan was to convince the
ton
he was courting her—apparently he'd been extremely successful already. She just hadn't realized how much his sham courtship would bother her, especially as he'd managed to fool her own brother.

She would not consider that Stephen was talking about
her
sentiments, not Lord Motton's.

As usual, once they reached the refreshment room, all the women present—and a few who had trailed after them from the ballroom—converged on Stephen. In short order Jane found herself pushed to the fringes of a crowd.

It was no more than what she'd expected. She'd had seven full Seasons to observe how silly the London women could be around her brother. The men of London must celebrate every time Stephen left on one of his expeditions.

She went over to procure a cup of punch and examine Lord Easthaven's culinary offerings. Thankfully, Lord Wolfson wasn't haunting the refreshment table, though the thin, annoying Mr. Spindel was. He peered at her over his spectacles.

“Have you sampled the lobster patties, Miss Parker-Roth?”

“No, Mr. Spindel, I haven't.”

“Then I must warn you before you do—they look appealing, but at Lord Easthaven's last event I discovered they can have unpleasant effects on one's digestion.”

“Oh?” She did
not
want to talk about Mr. Spindel's digestion.

Mr. Spindel nodded very seriously. “Yes, indeed. I confess, though I know it is a touch indelicate”—he dropped his voice—“they gave me wind. It was most uncomfortable until I managed to—”

Could she manage to tip the punch bowl over and stop Spindel's discussion of his digestive disturbances? No, it looked to be too large and heavy. Perhaps she should just grab the ladle and whack him over the head with it? Again, no. She might be able to make the toppling of the punch bowl look like an accident, but wielding a ladle as a weapon, satisfying as that would be, could only be construed as intentional—and might even be alarming enough to distract the ladies clustered around Stephen from their adoration.

“Yes, well, that is indeed most unfortunate. My sympathies.”

“Thank you. I just thought I should warn you in case you were contemplating having any. They may not offend your system, but you never know. I've found it pays to be cautious.”

“Yes. Of course. I'll keep that in mind.”

“Now, I
can
recommend—oh, hallo, Motton.”

Jane spun around and almost collided with the viscount.

“Good evening, Spindel.” Lord Motton put a steadying hand on the small of her back. She felt his touch as if it burned through her dress, branding her. Her stomach shivered. It was a very good thing she'd not sampled the lobster patties.

“I hope you don't mind, Spindel”—Edmund's tone sounded like he didn't care whether Mr. Spindel minded or not—“but I've come to ask Miss Parker-Roth to dance.” His voice was so much deeper than Mr. Spindel's thin whine.

“No, no, of course, my lord. You go right ahead. We were just discussing digestive issues, weren't we, ma'am?”

“Digestive issues?” Lord Motton raised an eyebrow.

“Mr. Spindel was cautioning me about Lord Easthaven's lobster patties.”

“Indeed I was.” Mr. Spindel's Adam's apple bobbed earnestly. “And I'll caution you, too, my lord. Ingest them incautiously and you might well find yourself breaking wind at the most inopportune moment.”

Jane swallowed a giggle. Was there an opportune moment for such an activity?

“Ah, yes. Thank you for the warning.” Lord Motton's tone was as dry as the Sahara. “Now, if you'll excuse us?”

“Yes, yes, go along. Enjoy the music. Can't say I see the point in prancing around the room myself, but there you have it.” Mr. Spindel smiled briefly and then turned back to continue his surveillance of the refreshment table.

“Why the hell—your pardon—why in the world did that buffleheaded lobcock come to a
ball
if he doesn't dance?” Lord Motton guided her out of the refreshment room.

“He's hungry, I suppose.” Jane laughed. “At least, unlike Mr. Mousingly, he's only interested in the food.”

Lord Motton frowned down at her. “We can't assume that.”

“Oh, come, my lord, can you imagine Mr. Spindel involved in anything but eating? Haunting the refreshments is all he does at any event he attends. It's a wonder the man is so thin. He must be host to a tapeworm.” She noticed they were skirting the dancers. “Where are we going?”

“To the terrace. I need a private word with you.”

“Oh?” He was far too high-handed; he was almost dragging her to his destination. People were looking at them and whispering. She should protest, but she was much too delighted at the prospect of a few minutes alone with the viscount.

What did it matter if people talked? According to Stephen, they were talking already. She must have set every tongue to wagging with her disappearance into Lord Palmerson's shrubbery with Lord Motton. The added detail that she was now staying under the viscount's roof, even with the chaperonage of her mother and his five aunts, was merely extra spice to the chatter broth. Well, she was twenty-four—far from a debutante. Let the gabble-grinders talk.

However, they should probably slow their progress somewhat. Lord Motton's single-minded speed was not only causing eyebrows to rise, it was making them vanish into hairlines. She pulled back, and he reduced his pace from a quick stride to a brisk walk.

“Come on. I don't want to be overheard,” he muttered, as they stepped outside. He led her to the terrace's farthest, darkest corner and turned her so her back was to the balustrade. He used his body to shield hers from any curious passersby and put his hands on her shoulders. He stared down into her eyes.

“Jane, Thomas found the yellow dandy-horse that almost ran us down. It had been tossed in a rubbish heap just blocks from the academy.”

He felt her try to shrug; his hands held her shoulders down. “Perhaps it was damaged and the owner threw it away in a fit of pique,” she said.

He wanted to shake her—she was taking this all too casually. Clearly she did not believe she was in any danger. “No, dandy-horses are too precious. No one would just throw one away, unless that person had stolen it to use once—to run us down.”