The Naked Viscount (8 page)

Beautiful. Entrancing. Attracted to him.

And not available for dalliance. He could only have her if he married her—and he was not prepared to make that decision here in Palmerson's garden. Especially as he had Clarence's sketch, something far more important—or at least more pressing—to consider.

The girl was staring at him as though he were speaking Hindi. “Miss Parker-Roth, Lady Lenden and Lady Tarkington have returned to the ballroom. They are no longer looking for us.”

“Oh.” She still appeared to be seriously bemused. He felt an odd mix of annoyance and pride. They did not have all night to search for Clarence's statue. Anyone might come along and interrupt them—and with so many people interested in the sketch, he could not rule out the possibility that someone else might find the next piece of this puzzle before they did. There was no time to waste. They had the advantage—at least, he thought they had the advantage—but nothing was certain. They needed all the pieces to fully understand what they were dealing with. He needed Miss Parker-Roth to focus on the problem immediately.

Still, it was more than a little flattering to think he'd caused the prickly woman to be so distracted, and by doing something as simple as attending to her small scratch.

Of course, he'd been rather distracted by his actions as well. She had such perfect skin, such lovely breas—

Focus.
“This would be a perfect time to locate that tree, Miss Parker-Roth. Do you have any idea where it is?”

The woman looked at him as if he were a complete cod's-head and then laughed. “It's a good thing you aren't trying to do this by yourself, my lord.”

He frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you obviously don't know a magnolia from a mulberry. We walked right past it when we left the path.”

“What?” He looked back through the bushes at the tree Jane indicated. There was nothing especially remarkable about it—and there was certainly no obscene artwork lurking under its foliage. “Where's Pan?”

“Not there. I can't think Lord Palmerson would put that god in such a public location, can you? Imagine how the debutantes and their chaperones would react. There's not enough hartshorn in England to revive the swooning masses.”

Blast it all, she had a point. “But I could have sworn…I mean, the sketch was very clear…” Damn. He'd been so certain Clarence had drawn the flower as a clue. What the hell was he going to do now?

Miss Parker-Roth extended her hand. “Let me see it. Perhaps I'll notice something you missed.”

“I can't let you see Clarence's sketch.”

She scowled at him. “Why not? You need help, don't you?”

“No.”

Miss Parker-Roth snorted.

He couldn't argue with her. Of course he needed help—just not hers. “I can't show you Clarence's drawing.”

“Why not? I may not be an expert in botany, but I'm obviously more versed in the subject than you are.”

“It's not botany, but biology that's the issue.”

“Biology? What do you mean?”

Surely she knew the answer to that question? She had gotten a glimpse of the paper in Clarence's study. “Miss Parker-Roth, the sketch is extremely pornographic. It is not fit to be seen by a young, unmarried woman such as yourself.”

The woman actually rolled her eyes. “My lord, I appreciate your chivalry, but if you believe the drawing can tell us where the next statue may be, I think we need to sacrifice my tender sensibilities. I assure you I'll be able to withstand the shock. My mother is an artist, after all.”

“And I assure you your mother does not draw pictures like these.”

“Perhaps not, but they
are
only pictures. It is hard to imagine how they could do me any permanent harm.”

“No?” The word was sharp in the quiet garden. Light glanced off Lord Motton's tightly clenched jaw. “Not all harm is physical.”

“I know that.” Did the man think she was a child? Anyone—especially anyone who'd survived seven London Seasons—knew gossip and innuendo could fell a person as surely as a bullet.

“Innocence is precious,” Lord Motton said. “Once lost, it cannot be recovered.”

The man
did
think she was a child! How patronizing. She should—

She bit her lip hard and listened to the words again as they echoed through her memory. He hadn't said them easily. He hadn't sounded condescending; he'd sounded pained, as if he spoke from bitter experience.

What innocence had he lost, and when?

“I understand that, too, my lord.” She spoke more gently than she would have. “But that doesn't change the fact that you need my help. Finding the next statue is important, isn't it? We can't just give up.”

Lord Motton's lips tightened further into a hard, thin line, turned down sharply at the ends. He clearly wanted to argue with her, but just as clearly realized he had no reasonable argument—and no alternative. Finally he emitted a short, resigned sigh.

“Very well. Please do try not to look at the rest of the sketch.” He pulled the scrap of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her, pointing to one corner. “There's the flower. If you look closely behind it, you'll see the statue.”

“Yes.” The light was very dim. She moved closer to one of the lanterns Lord Palmerson had hung throughout the garden for his guests. There was Lord Ardley and Lady Farthingale. What were they—oh, my! She was…he was…

Was that possible?

Jane felt her face burn so, she feared it was brighter than the lanterns. At least Lord Ardley and Lady Farthingale appeared very jolly about whatever they were doing.

Lord Motton had thrust his hands in his pockets. He looked very gloomy. “The drawing must be of some other garden.” He shook his head. “When Stephen said Palmerson had one of these trees, I thought—But it would be too dam—demmed easy if the statue were here, of course. Do you know any other gardens I might search?”

“You are not searching gardens by yourself; I thought we had already established that.” She turned from the graphic biology to examine the botany more closely. There was nothing to indicate Clarence was trying to illustrate an actual view from one of Lord Palmerson's windows, so the placement of objects to one another was probably irrelevant. Still, if the statue was here, it would make sense it was near the magnolia.

“We should go back to the ballroom. Your mother will notice your absence.”

She put her hand on Lord Motton's arm to stop him. “No, not yet.” The statue would have to be hidden from the path; if it wasn't, the gabble-grinders—and thus all the
ton
—would know about it.

Where could one hide an obscene statue? The
Magnolia grandiflora
must be a hint.

He plucked the sketch out of her fingers. “Miss Parker-Roth, it's time—”

This spot, behind this line of evergreen bushes, would be adequate, but the lantern's presence indicated it was not remote enough. Where were the bushes even bushier, the foliage denser, the—“There!”

“What?” What the hell was the woman up to? She ignored his proffered arm, gathered her skirts, and strode through the darkened greenery toward an unsightly mass of dense vegetation. Blast it! If she wasn't careful, she'd end up tripping over some damn root and sprawling face-first in the dirt.

He took off after her—and had to grab a low-hanging branch to save himself from measuring his length in a patch of Palmerson's weeds.

“Bloody hell—” He untangled some ivy from around his ankles. He wasn't much interested in greenery, but if
his
head gardener ever let any of his plantings run wild like this, the man would be explaining himself or finding a new position.

He straightened and looked back at the path. With all the noise he was making, it was a wonder the entire ballroom wasn't lined up watching him, but no, he was still alone. Very alone. Where had Miss Parker-Roth got to? Ah! He saw the corner of her dress just before it was swallowed up by the shrubs.

He hurried after her, minding his feet this time, and shoved his way through the bushes into a very small clearing by the back garden wall. The moonlight illuminated Miss Parker-Roth, both hands on Pan's prodigious penis. She glanced over her shoulder and grinned.

“Look—it twists off.” She gave the penis another couple turns, and the plaster organ came off in her hands. She reached into the open end, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and held it up. “Aha!”

“Splendid. Now give it to me.” He reached for the paper, but Jane snatched it behind her back.

“I found it. I—”

“My lord?”

Jane's heart stopped. Her eyes flew to the spot where Lord Motton had pushed through the bushes. There was no discernible gap, no sign of anyone, but she could hear someone clearly. The man could not be very far from their hiding place.

Edmund leaned close and whispered by her ear. “Quiet. With luck he only saw me. I'll get rid of him.”

She nodded to show she understood. Then he moved, sliding out of the clearing much more quietly than he'd entered and from a different section of the shrubbery.

“My lord?” The whisper came again, a little closer now. Jane looked around. There was no place to hide. She jammed the paper down her bodice, sliding it all the way under her breasts, and grasped the penis securely in case she had need of a weapon.

“Lord Motton?” Dear God, the man must be just on the other side of the bushes.

“Yes?” That was Edmund's voice. He sounded farther from the clearing than the whisperer. How had he managed that? “Thomas, is that you? What is it? What are you doing here? I thought you were watching Widmore's house.”

Watching Widmore's house? Edmund had set his servants to spying on Clarence's house? On her and her mother? Oh! She felt a jolt at the betrayal and then a wave of anger.

She'd just tell him exactly what she thought of
that
effrontery.

She took a step and paused. Wait. There was no need to advertise her presence in the greenery. Lord Motton's servant might be trustworthy—or he might not. Why risk adding grist to the gossip mill? She would just—

“I was, my lord. Me and Jem saw two men slip in the back, from the terrace.”

“You didn't try to stop them, did you?”

Not try to stop them? Lord Motton had told his servants not to stop housebreakers?

“No, my lord, we did jist as ye said. We watched and waited. Jem followed them when they left and I came fer ye.”

“Good work. Now go back and watch until I get there.”

Jane took a sustaining breath and tried to hold on to her temper. John could be very high-handed on occasion, but at least he was her brother. He might—
might
—be forgiven for thinking he had some right to dictate to her; though, as she had pointed out too many times to count, their parents were still very much alive. If her own father didn't object to her behavior—even though Da was admittedly lost in the intricacies of his newest sonnet most of the time—or her mother (who also tended to get a bit lost in her creative endeavors), it was most certainly not a brother's business to insert his nose into her affairs. But Lord Motton! He was merely a neighbor—no, he was a housebreaker himself! On what grounds did he think to govern her actions, to spy on her
and
Mama and allow riffraff to invade Clarence's house? It was the outside of enough.

Finally the servant left, and Lord Motton stepped back into the clearing. He opened his mouth to speak, but she was not about to let him order her around. She poked him with Pan's penis. He was lucky she didn't smash it over his head.

“What the
hell
is going on, my lord?”

Lord Motton glared at the penis and then glared at her. “Will you put that damn thing away?”

She flourished Pan's member like a sword. “I will when you tell me what is going on.”

“If I knew that, we likely wouldn't be standing here in the greenery with
that
.” He seemed especially affronted by poor Pan's disembodied phallus. “You'd best put it back on the statue.”

“Why? I didn't replace the…er…I didn't do that with the Pan in Clarence's study.”

He gave her a look that clearly indicated he considered her intelligence on par with a grasshopper's. “That Pan was shattered. I imagine you threw all the pieces out.”

“Oh. Well, yes.”

“This Pan, however…” He gestured at the statue. It did look suspiciously incomplete. “I think—I hope—we're the only ones who know where Clarence hid the sketch pieces. That gives us a huge advantage. But if any of the people who've shown an interest in the drawing were to stumble upon this statue…Well, even a complete bird-wit might be able to figure out where the papers might be found. And the other searchers, if they are indeed part of whatever group Clarence was illustrating, might have a much better idea where to find the other statues.”

“I see your point.” Jane felt about as bright as a drunken grasshopper as she surveyed the gaping hole in Pan's privates. Why hadn't such an obvious problem occurred to her? Probably because she hadn't the experience listening and lurking that Lord Motton had.

She sighed and stooped to screw Pan's penis back into place. “Mama thought Clarence had made many of these Pans, so there could be a number of decoys scattered around Town.”

“Ah.”

The viscount sounded very odd. She glanced up as she finished turning Pan's phallus. He was staring at her hands, a strained look about his eyes. She actually saw him swallow. She'd swear his color was heightened as well, though it was admittedly hard to tell in the dim light of the clearing.

She wiggled the penis and tugged on it. It appeared to be securely fastened. She gave it a final pat and straightened. Lord Motton was actually running his finger around his neck, as if his collar and cravat were too tight.

“Are you feeling quite the thing, my lord?” Perhaps his high-handedness was all due to being in queer stirrups. “You look overheated.”

“Er.” He cleared his throat. “I'm, ah, fine, but we should definitely return to the ballroom. The gossips will be starting to talk.”

“Lady Lenden and Lady Tarkington certainly will.” Jane had never been a topic for the gabble-grinders before; she found she did not care for the prospect, especially when the speculation would include Viscount Motton.

“No, I don't think the ladies will be quick to bruit this about. They will not want to direct any attention to their activities, even in this tangential fashion. Whatever we are dealing with has been carefully hidden from the
ton
for some time.”

“Right.” Jane allowed Lord Motton to hold back the bushes so she could leave Pan's clearing without adorning herself with more leaves and twigs. She took his arm when he offered it. Her anger had dissipated.

“Getting back to Thomas's report,” he said as they started strolling back to the main path.

Perhaps her anger hadn't dissipated. “Yes, let's get back to that. Why did you set your servants to spy on us?”

He frowned down at her. “They weren't spying; they were protecting you.”

She glared back at him. “Oh, really? Then why did they allow thieves to enter Clarence's house?”

“Because they knew you were here with me. I assure you, if you'd been home they would have alerted me and half a dozen of my footmen.”

“Hmph. That still doesn't make me feel very secure.” She stopped to untangle her foot from a vine. How would she ever be able to sleep in her bed at Widmore House again? To think she'd been bored and wanting an adventure! Adventures were quite overrated.

And why hadn't she felt this disquiet after Lord Motton had appeared in Clarence's study uninvited? Perhaps she'd best not consider that question too closely. “Who broke into the house?”

“I don't know yet. I'm hoping Jem can discover the answer.”

“What about the servants? Was anyone hurt?”

“No. The intruders kept to the study; the servants were all in their quarters, since you and your mother were out.”

“Ah, well, that's good, then.” Things could have been worse. But still, strangers had been in the house…Her stomach twisted. “I think…I mean, I'm not certain…I doubt I can bear to stay…”

“You won't be staying in Widmore House another night.”

“Oh.” She felt a tremendous wave of relief. She didn't have to worry about the intruders returning. She'd be safe. She'd be…where? There were no suitable houses standing vacant. The Season had begun; everything was full. She and Mama would be lucky to find rooms in even a second-rate hotel.

They reached the main path and turned back toward the terrace. She looked up at Lord Motton.

“But where will we stay? Do you think we should return to the country?” Oddly, that thought wasn't appealing.

His expression brightened, but then he frowned and shook his head. “No. Normally I would suggest that, but until we know what's afoot…” He blew out a long breath. “I think it best you stay here where I can keep an eye on you.”

She did not care to be viewed as a chore or an assignment. “You must know my father does not keep a house in Town. In past Seasons we've taken rooms at the Pulteney Hotel, but I'm sure that isn't possible now. We might be able to move in with one of Mama's artist friends—”

“You'll move in with me.”

“What?”
She stopped dead in the center of the path.

“Good God, woman, will you keep your voice down? We don't want the entire ballroom rushing out to see if you're being murdered.”

Jane knew her mouth was agape, but there was no helping it. She was too busy trying to grasp Lord Motton's meaning to bother with something as minor as a dropped jaw.

He wanted her to move into his house. Eat at his table. Sleep in his bed—

Heat flooded her, provoking enough awareness to prompt her to finally close her mouth. Not his personal bed, of course—not the bed he was currently occupying. Simply one of the beds he owned.

She was having some difficulty breathing. Her stomach was somersaulting in a truly scandalous fashion. Ha! Her most scandalous reaction was happening a bit lower than her stomach.

To be in bed with Edmund…naked…

“You needn't look so shocked.” He was scowling at her. “My aunts are all in residence. And your mother will be there as well, of course. We will be more than adequately chaperoned. The society cats will have nothing to sharpen their claws on.”

“Yes. Of course.” But once the aunts and Mama were asleep…She opened her fan and waved it in front of her face. It was exceedingly warm this evening.

She should not be considering sleeping chaperones and nocturnal assignations. Lord Motton saw her as an annoying responsibility, that was all. He was not interested in reenacting any of the activities they'd—
she'd
—enjoyed in Clarence's study. No. Of course not. She was being absurd.

Lord Motton offered her his arm again and she laid her hand on it. They resumed their progress to the terrace as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred—as if she weren't suddenly burning with lust for the man.

As if she didn't have part of a pornographic sketch stuffed in her bodice.

She'd forgotten about that in the heat of her anger…and other emotions. She glanced down. Nothing showed. Nothing should show—she'd shoved the paper in as far as she could. She felt it pushing up against the underside of her right breast.

“I'll speak with Stephen,” Lord Motton was saying. “He'll agree with my plan.”

“Oh?” Her stomach sank a few inches. He sounded so matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing the storage of a valuable necklace or painting. And if Stephen agreed with him…Stephen might be the King of Hearts—he might be exceedingly nimble at getting in and out of ladies' beds—but when it came to her, he was very much the protective, straitlaced older brother. He would never countenance anything that would expose her to unwanted—or wanted—attentions of a lascivious nature.

“Yes. It's unfortunate he's leaving the country so soon, but he knows I am perfectly capable of safeguarding you.”

“Ah.” Was he going to lock her away in the attic then?

“I can't post an adequate guard on two houses, so moving you and your mother into my home is by far the best course of action. My men know how to protect Motton House, and should anyone manage to slip by them, I will be there to deal with the problem. You will be perfectly safe.”

She did not want to be locked away. “But you'll need my help.”

He frowned down at her. “Your help?”

“Yes.” Why was he looking at her as if she'd just escaped from Bedlam? “You would never have found either part of Clarence's sketch without me.”

He grunted. “The first incident was an accident.”

“An accident that wouldn't have happened if I hadn't entered Clarence's study.”

“Perhaps.”

“Assuredly. Come, Lord Motton, be truthful. You would not have smashed the statuary if I hadn't surprised you.”

“
I
didn't smash the statuary.”

“My point exactly.” The minx grinned up at him.

He laughed reluctantly. “All right, I admit you had a hand in discovering the first part of the sketch, but I'm sure I would have found the second if I'd spent more time studying the drawing.”

She raised her eyebrows. “So you say. I disagree, but we'll never know for certain, will we?”

“No, but—” Wait a minute. They
had
found the second part of the sketch. Where was it? He'd seen Jane pull it out of Pan's penis, but he hadn't seen where she'd put it. Thomas had arrived just then, and he'd been distracted by that and then by his concern for Jane's safety—and her mother's as well, of course. How could he have so completely forgotten about the drawing? Damn. Was he losing his touch? He'd never been so careless before. “What did you do with the paper? Is it in your reticule?”

They'd almost reached the terrace, so there was enough light to confirm that Jane blushed. “No,” she said. “It's not in my reticule.”

“Then where is it?” Why was she embarrassed? And, more to the point, where had she hidden the sketch if not in her reticule? Good God! A terrible thought punched him in the gut. If he'd been distracted by Thomas's arrival, perhaps she had, too. He stopped her, but had enough self-control to keep himself from grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. “You didn't lose it, did you?”

She scowled at him. “Of course I didn't lose it. Do you think I'm a complete widgeon?”

Frankly, he didn't know what to think, but he had a well-enough developed sense of self-preservation not to say so. She looked as if she was capable of slapping him soundly, and while he could defend himself easily, he didn't care to entertain the
ton
with the spectacle of Viscount Motton grappling with Miss Parker-Roth.

Grappling in private, however…

Where the hell had that thought come from? “Of course I don't think you a widgeon. Just give me the paper. I'll put it in my pocket.”

She turned even redder, if that was possible. “I can't give it to you.”

“Why the blood—why not?” Good God, if she had lost the paper, they'd never discover whatever Clarence's secret was. It must be important, since half the
ton
were apparently quite anxious to discover it as well.

Damn. If Stephen was correct and the secret had some connection to a hellfire club…Ardley, the Mouse, and the ladies were not real threats, but there must be other people involved who could be very dangerous indeed, especially if they became frustrated or desperate. It was not inconceivable that Satan himself had a role. “Are you completely certain you haven't lost it?”

“I haven't lost it.” It sounded as though Miss Parker-Roth was speaking through clenched teeth. Well, he felt very much like clenching his teeth—or gnashing them—too.

“So where is it?” He managed to speak slowly and not raise his voice…very much.

“In a safe place.” She wouldn't meet his eyes. That must be a bad sign.

“What safe place?” All right, now he
was
yelling. He took a breath and tried for control. “If it's not in your reticule, where can it be?”

She mumbled something.

“Miss Parker-Roth—” Damn. He
had
to lower his voice. He just hoped he hadn't attracted the attention of anyone on the terrace. “Miss Parker-Roth, you are not making any sense. We have spent all our time in the garden. Where is this safe place?” Another thought intruded. “Good God, you didn't stick it back in Pan's—that is, you did get it out of the statue, didn't you?” The girl couldn't be so harebrained she'd left the sketch behind, could she?

John and Stephen were bright—rather more than bright—but he didn't know their sister. Mrs. Parker-Roth had an admittedly odd reputation—perhaps lunacy ran through the distaff branch of the family.

She was glaring at him now. “If you must know,” she hissed, “it's in my bodice.”

“What?” He couldn't help himself—his gaze dropped to her dress. Well, not her dress precisely. To her…he bit his lip.

She had such lovely small breasts. He remembered with a jolt of painful clarity how they had felt through her nightgown in Clarence's study. He'd love to touch them now without any distracting cloth in the way; he'd love to lift them out of her dress and run his fingers over her smooth, silky skin—