Читать книгу The Naked Gentleman - Sally MacKenzie - Страница 11

“I cannot believe you refused Mr. Parker-Roth, Meg.” Emma started in the moment the carriage door shut behind them. “Have you lost your mind? Do you want to put paid to any hopes of marrying?”

Meg arranged her skirts on the carriage seat. She definitely did not want to be here. If she could have accompanied Lady Beatrice, she would have, but Emma had latched onto her arm and virtually dragged her to the Knightsdale carriage.

“Mr. Parker-Roth was not to blame for the scene in the garden, Emma. He should not have to pay with his freedom for being a Good Samaritan.”

“Bah! The garden has nothing to do with it. If what Mrs. Parker-Roth and Lady Beatrice hinted at is even close to the truth, it was not charity the man was practicing in Lady Palmerson’s parlor. Lud, my own eyes told me that. You were sitting on his lap, Meg, in a state of undress.”

Meg’s cheeks felt as red as the fabric on that hideous chair where she and Parks had—

No, she could not think on it.

She looked out the window.

“I have to agree with your sister, Meg.” Charles’s voice was calm at least. “And I believe Parker-Roth does, too. He seemed perfectly willing to wed you, even without my insistence.”

Meg shrugged. “Willing, perhaps, but not happy.”

“Meg, for heaven’s sake!” Emma was almost shouting. “The man hardly knows you. Of course he’s not happy. No one—especially no man—likes to have his hand forced, even when it’s his own actions doing the forcing. He’ll get over it.” She shrugged. “He’ll have to.”

Wonderful. What an exciting wedded life to look forward to—a husband who barely tolerated her. Not that such a marriage would be unusual, of course. Most males of the ton sought out their wives only to attend to the chore of producing an heir—and Parks didn’t even have that compulsion. Perhaps they would live together like brother and sister.

She swallowed a sob.

“Did you say something, Meg?”

“No.”

And, yes, she realized she’d been considering just such a marriage ever since she’d made marriage her goal. Certainly when she’d considered Bennington as a husband. But that was different.

She refused to consider exactly why it was different.

She rested her head against the window and watched a man stroll down the sidewalk. He was moving faster than their coach. If only she could get out and stretch her legs…if only she could get away from this conversation.

There was no escaping Emma until they reached Knightsdale House—if she could escape her then. She sighed. Emma would probably follow her to her room to continue her harangue.

Why was she going to Charles’s townhouse anyway?

“All my things are at Lady Beatrice’s, Emma. I do think it would be best if I returned there.”

“No. Definitely not. And your belongings are no longer at Lady Beatrice’s. I had Charles send a footman round to fetch them as soon as I arrived. Now that I am here, I will take over all chaperone duties.”

Why had Emma come to Town? Her sister hated London, preferring to stay home in Kent even when Charles came up to attend the House of Lords.

“Why are you here, Emma? I thought you considered the country air much better for the boys.”

“It is, but I couldn’t very well sit home when I kept hearing such shocking reports of your behavior.” Emma paused, obviously struggling with her temper. “I should have come up with you at the beginning of the Season and not delegated the job to Lady Beatrice. It was obviously asking too much of her.”

Meg felt as if she’d swallowed a rock. “What do you mean? Has someone been spreading tales?”

“More than one someone, miss. I’ve gotten coy letters from Lady Oldston and an alarmed missive from Lady Farley who, by the by, did not think you were at all the thing for her son. I take it you’ve made something of a habit of disappearing into the shrubbery with men. How many gentlemen have you entertained in the bushes, Meg?”

“Um.” Put that way, it did sound somewhat sordid. “It wasn’t exactly…I mean—”

“I thought you liked Parker-Roth,” Charles said. “Didn’t we hear some mention of the man last year?”

“What?”

“Parker-Roth. Wasn’t he at Tynweith’s house party? I’m certain either you or Aunt Bea mentioned him favorably in one of your letters.”

“I’m sure it was not I who wrote about him.” She was confident she’d been careful not to allude to Parks. Yes, she’d been taken with him, fool that she was. Well, it was not so odd. It wasn’t every day she found a man who could discuss Repton’s Fragments on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening intelligently—or at all.

Stupidly she had hoped he’d show an interest in her when they’d returned to London. He hadn’t. She pressed her lips together. He had definitely not shown any interest in her. He’d attended Robbie’s and Lizzie’s wedding and then vanished. She’d looked for him at every soiree, every ball, every Venetian breakfast. Finally after weeks of discreetly searching, she’d asked Robbie where he was. He’d told her Parks had gone back to his estate in Devon.

Clearly he had not been as impressed with her as she had with him.

“You’re right, Charles. I do think Lady Beatrice mentioned Mr. Parker-Roth. I think she even said you favored him, Meg.”

“Ack. Um. I mean, well—”

“After I got over the shock—and you do have to admit the scene in Lady Palmerson’s parlor was shocking”—Emma eyed the shawl still wrapped around Meg’s ruined gown—“I began to see the advantages of this match.”

“Advantages?”

“Yes. You’ll be married. Mr. Parker-Roth is relatively young—just a little over thirty, I believe—and can give you plenty of children. He has a number of brothers and sisters, you know.”

“Oh?” Meg swallowed. Children? With Parks? The notion made her feel very…odd.

“Yes, indeed. And he likes plants. His mother says he has quite a few of them around the estate.”

“Oh.”

“I think he is perfect for you.” Emma leaned back against the squabs. “His mother and I had a comfortable coze while we waited in the corridor. She’s a lovely woman. You can be sure I apologized profusely for my rude behavior. She could not have been nicer—said she understood completely. I will quite like being connected to her.”

“Emma, you are not going to be connected to Mrs. Parker-Roth. I am not going to marry her son. How many times must I say it?”

“As many times as you like—it makes no difference. You must marry the man or be ruined.”

“I do not.”

“Meg—”

“Ladies,” Charles said, “it is time to call a halt to this battle. Neither of you is listening to the other.”

“What do you mean, Charles? Of course I’m listening to Meg. She just is not being reasonable.”

Charles draped his arm around Emma’s shoulders and pulled her tight against his side. “I think you would both benefit from a good night’s sleep. Sometimes problems look different in the morning.”

“I don’t know what’s going to be different.”

“Emma…”

“Oh, very well.” Emma sat stiffly for a moment and then relaxed against Charles.

“That’s better,” he said. “Now tell me about Isabelle and Claire and the boys. What new tricks is Henry up to?”

Meg turned to look out the window again. Emma’s voice droned on in the background, talking about nine-month old Henry and Charlie, who was almost three, and Isabelle and Claire, Charles’s orphaned nieces; telling Charles all the boring, everyday details of their lives that he missed when he was away in London.

Meg pressed her forehead against the glass, but that didn’t cure the sudden ache in her heart.

Would she ever have anyone with whom to share such mundane stories?

“This is splendid news, Pinky. I wish your father were with us. He’ll be so pleased when we tell him.”

“Mother, you promised not to use that ridiculous nickname any more.” Parks opened the door to their rooms in the Pulteney Hotel. “And I cannot imagine Father would notice if I were married or not. Which I won’t be. Married, that is. Didn’t you hear Miss Peterson? She refused my offer.”

Mother brushed by him. “Oh, pish! That is merely a temporary setback. You know as well as I do the girl has no choice. She must wed you.”

“Who must wed whom?” Miss Agatha Witherspoon, Mother’s friend and sometime companion, looked up as they entered the parlor. She put aside the tome she was reading, dropped her slippered feet from a low table, and sat up. “Never say Pinky’s been getting under some chit’s skirts?”

“Of course not. Well, not exactly.” Mother sat next to Agatha on the settee.

Parks counted to ten. Twice. It did not help.

“Will you please not use that infernal nickname!”

“Pinky!”

He glared at his mother.

“Oh, very well—Johnny. But you must learn to keep your temper under control. It is most inappropriate to raise your voice.”

Agatha was grinning like a bedlamite. “So, the dry old stick actually has some sap running through his veins?”

“Agatha, please. You are embarrassing Pinky.”

“Mother!”

“I mean Johnny. And he is not old—he’s just past thirty.”

“Humph. He acts like he’s as old as Methuselah.” Agatha snorted. “Older. If Methuselah was like those other Old Testament fellows, he knew his way around a bed better than Pinky here.”

“Now, Agatha, Pinky”—Mother looked at him—“um, Johnny has a nice widow in the village—”

“Mother!”

“Really, Pin-Johnny, what did I say about raising your voice?”

He was going to strangle her. He was going to strangle his mother and her elderly friend.

“I believe I could use some brandy,” he said instead.

“Splendid. You may pour me a glass as well. Agatha, would you care for some brandy?”

“Certainly. Now tell me all, Cecilia. What has Pinky been up to?”

“John!” Parks said. “Or Parks. Or Mr. Parker-Roth. Not Pinky. Do you understand, Miss Witherspoon?”

Agatha shrugged. “Oh, very well, but I will tell you you have no sense of humor, sir. It is a distinct fault in your character.”

He handed Agatha her brandy without spilling it down the front of the ridiculous red and gold men’s banyan she was wearing, though he was sorely tempted to. “Thank you. I will certainly make note of your observation.”

She rolled her eyes. “I do feel for the poor girl you’ve compromised, but perhaps she’s as dour as you are.”

He contented himself with baring his teeth in a formation that might pass for a smile and taking a seat in the chair farthest from the ladies.

“What are you doing awake anyway, Agatha?” Mother asked. “I thought you were too tired to come out tonight. I expected to find you sound asleep.”

Agatha took a healthy swallow of her brandy. “You know I only came up to Town with you to visit Ackermann’s and the Royal Academy and perhaps go to the theater, Cecilia. I want no part of all the social torture. Can you see me standing in some stupid ballroom? I’d die of boredom listening to all those fat-pated frumps prose on and on about the other society nodcocks.” She looked at Parks. “Though tonight might have proved an exception. Tell me, who’s the young lady Pinky—I mean, John—has lured into misbehavior?”

“I did not lure the young lady into misbehavior.”

“No? Why am I not surprised? So what did happen? Some argument over the flora turn ugly?”

“Stop, Agatha. You are as bad as Pin-Johnny. No, I believe the young lady did the luring—and it was not Johnny she lured, but Vis—some other man.”

Thank God Mother had chosen discretion at the last moment. Agatha was obviously not one of society’s gossips, but she also did not watch her tongue. She would think nothing of linking Miss Peterson’s name with Bennington’s. She probably would delight in it—she knew how much Bennington hated her.

“So why is John the one stuck making the offer?”

“He was the one caught in the, um, act.”

“Mother, there was no ‘act’!”

“Perhaps not that Lady Dunlee saw; however…” Mother raised a damn expressive eyebrow.

Agatha grunted. “Sounds like the chit’s no better than she should be. Perhaps a little money judiciously applied will solve the problem. Who did you say she was, Cecilia?”

“I didn’t, but it’s no secret. Lady Dunlee was spreading the tale through the ballroom as quickly as her lips would move. It’s Miss Margaret Peterson—and no, money is not the answer. The girl is good ton. Her sister is the Marchioness of Knightsdale.”

“Knightsdale?” Agatha sat up a little straighter. “That’s the Draysmith family. Lady Bea is a friend of mine.”

“She was there. I believe she was acting as Miss Peterson’s chaperone.”

Agatha sprayed brandy over her banyan. “Lady Bea, a chaperone? That’s rich. What cod’s-head thought Bea would make a good duenna? She was never one to be overly concerned with propriety. Isn’t Alton still her butler?”

“Yes, well, I don’t believe anyone thought Lady Beatrice was ideal for the position, but necessity dictated the arrangement.” Mother took a sip of brandy. “Lady Knightsdale intends to take charge now—though that’s a bit like closing the barn door after the horse has bolted.”

“Mother, no horse bolted. Nothing happened.”

“Nothing?”

Damn it. Mother had only to raise her eyebrow just so and he felt like he was ten years old again and had just tracked mud over the entry hall. Not that Mother minded the mud so much, but it always sent Mrs. Charing, their old housekeeper, into a frenzy, and Mother did not like that at all.

“I’m going to bed.”

“Very well, Johnny. Sleep well. We can discuss this further in the morning.”

There was nothing to discuss, but he wasn’t about to get into an argument, especially with Agatha Witherspoon sitting there, itching to join in the fray.

He couldn’t force Miss Peterson to the altar. If she remained adamant, there was nothing he could do but go home to the Priory and get on with his life.

He was surprised the thought didn’t give him more pleasure.

His valet was sitting by the fire, reading, when he came into the bedroom.

“You should have joined Agatha, Mac.”

“Sure, and when did ye get the daft notion I’m an idiot, man?” The large Scotsman grinned. “Nor do I think the lady would be verra pleased to share a candle with me.”

“Probably not. What’s that you’re reading?”

Mac’s grin widened. He held up the pamphlet.

Parks squinted to read the cover. “A Complete Guide to the Cyprians of Covent Garden Including Prices Charged, Places of Business, and Special Amatory Skills. Good God. ‘Special Amatory Skills’? What does that mean?”

“Do ye really want to know?”

“No!” The gleam in Mac’s eyes warned him that he definitely did not want to hear any more.

“Yer sure? Ye don’t want to hear about Red-haired Peg—it’s not the hair on her head’s that’s red, by the by—who can, with her mouth—”

“Stop! I do not want to hear another word, I assure you. You have said too much already.”

“And then there’s Buxom Bess who has the largest—”

“Mac! Please. I have had a hellish evening. I do not need you adding to my headache.”

“Ack, ye’ve got the headache again, do ye? I’ll just be brewing ye some of my special tea, shall I?”

“No.” He just wanted to get into bed, pull up the covers, and pretend the evening had never happened. That he’d wake in the morning a free man again.

But he was a free man. Miss Peterson had rejected his offer.

Why didn’t he feel free?

“Just help me out of this blasted coat will you?”

“Yer sure ye wouldn’t like to take a stroll over to Covent Garden and see if we can find one of these lassies?”

“Good God, no! What we’d find would be a case of the pox.”

“I don’t know, Johnny. The man who wrote this guide seems verra enthusiastic—of course, he did include an advertisement for Dr. Ballow’s Special Pills, so I don’t know if we can trust his recommendations completely. Still, it’s not every day we get up to Town, ye know. Need to see the sights, as it were.” Mac got him out of his coat and went to hang it up.

“Believe me, I don’t want to see any more sights. I’d leave for the Priory tomorrow if I could.”

Mac’s voice was muffled by the wardrobe. “Ye aren’t usually quite so anxious to go home, Johnny. What happened?”

“I may have gotten myself a wife.”

“What?” Mac spun around and banged his head on the wardrobe door. “Bloody hell, now I’ve got a headache to match yers.”

“Where’s Miss Peterson, Bea?” Alton, Lady Beatrice’s butler, glanced out into the night. “Surely you didn’t misplace her?”

Lady Bea sighed and stepped past him into the entrance hall. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly? What do you mean?”

She handed him her cloak. “Let’s go upstairs, Billy, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

He took her arm as they walked up to their bedroom.

“Lord, it’s good to be home.” Bea collapsed onto the sofa. “I don’t know how many more of these social gatherings I can take.”

“That bad?” Alton poured them both a glass of brandy.

“Yes.” She patted the seat beside her. “Come give me a hug.”

Alton handed her the brandy and settled down next to her. She rested her head on his shoulder.

“Mrrow!” Queen Bess, Bea’s large orange cat, leapt up and draped herself over Alton’s pantaloons.

Bea laughed. “Did you miss me, Bess?”

“Her highness always misses you, Bea.”

“That’s what you say, but I know better. Bess is completely content to have you for company. See whose lap she prefers?”

“She’s spent more time with me recently.” He dug his fingers into the thick fur behind Bess’s ears. Her highness closed her eyes and purred.

“That’s because I’ve had to waste hours trotting from ballroom to drawing room.” Bea rolled her eyes. “Have I told you how idiotic the ton is?”

“I believe you may have made that observation once or twice before.”

“Become a dead bore on the subject, have I?”

Alton kissed the top of her head. “Bea, you could never be boring.”

Bea snorted. “You must be the only one to think so.”

Alton eyed her current colorful attire, but wisely held his tongue.

Bea stroked Queen Bess’s ears. “Well, the good news is, I believe I’ve lost my chaperone duties.”

“Hmm.” Alton left Bess to Bea’s ministrations and stroked one of Bea’s curls instead. “You do seem to have lost your charge. Have the society tabbies torn Miss Peterson into little pieces and scattered the bits over the ballroom floor?”

Bea laughed. “No, not quite, though she did manage to create a splendid scandal this evening. Mmm. Keep doing that.”

“This?” Alton massaged the back of her neck. “Or this?” He leaned over and kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear.

Bess meowed and moved to Bea’s lap.

“Both.” Bea tilted her head to give him more room to roam. He did so for an enjoyable few minutes. When he reached her lips, he kissed her and sat back.

“So, where is Miss Peterson?”

Bea sighed. “Emma took her to Knightsdale House.”

“Ah, yes. A footman did come round earlier for her things. But I thought the marchioness was in Kent.”

“She was until she heard the rumors about Meg and her propensity to disappear into the shrubbery.”

Alton nodded. “I knew Miss Peterson’s actions would come to no good.”

Bea sat up and glared at him. “Are you saying you told me so, Mr. Alton?”

He pulled her back down to him. “Of course I am. I’m a boring old man, remember? Anticipating disaster is one of the requirements of my position.”

Bea chuckled. “True.”

“So Emma was angry?”

“Very. It didn’t help that she arrived just in time to hear Lady Dunlee telling everyone she’d seen Meg half naked with a man in the bushes.”

“Hmm. I thought the girl was a bit more discreet than that.”

“She is—or has been. It was one reason I allowed the behavior to continue. She is twenty-one, after all. It’s expected she would be a little curious, much as Emma would like to deny it.” Bea grinned. “Meg hasn’t had the benefit of associating with an especially knowledgeable footman, you know.”

“Now, Bea, you know you were the one who seduced me. I was a naïve young man when you lured me into your father’s attic.”

“You were, weren’t you? Not that I knew any more than you did—I just knew what I wanted.” She kissed his cheek. “I’d say we’ve done quite well together.”

Alton grunted.

Bess meowed.

“Shh, your highness.” Bess bumped her head against Bea’s hand. “Yes, yes. I’ll scratch your ears, Bessie.”

“So who was the man Miss Peterson was entertaining in the vegetation?”

Bea’s hand paused—and Queen Bess complained. Bea resumed her stroking.

“Bennington.”

“Bennington?”

“Yes. I don’t know what Meg was thinking. The man is about as exciting—and as attractive—as leftover mutton.”

“He does have an extensive plant collection, however.”

“Plants!”

“Mrrow!” Queen Bess protested Bea’s strident reaction.

“Shh, Bessie.” Bea ran her hand from her highness’s ears to her tail and sighed. “I think you are right, Billy. That must have been what attracted Meg.” She frowned, her hand moving methodically over Bess’s back. “Well, you can be sure if I’d seen her duck out with him, I’d have been after her in a trice.”

“Of course. So she’s engaged to the viscount?”

“Oh, no, thank God. Parker-Roth stumbled upon them. Dispatched Bennington before Lady Dunlee came on the scene. Unfortunately for him, the woman assumed he’d been the man rearranging Meg’s clothing and shared her observations with half the ton.”

“So Mr. Parker-Roth is angry that he needs pay for a good deed with his freedom?” Alton asked. “That’s understandable. The man was innocent of any wrongdoing after all.”

Bea snorted. Bess hissed, jumped down from Bea’s lap, and retreated to a nearby chair.

“He may have been innocent in the garden. He was somewhat less than innocent in Lady Palmerson’s parlor. Much less than innocent.”

“Really? So he’s not adverse to wedding Meg?” Alton began pulling the pins from Bea’s hair.

“Oh, he’s adverse all right. You know how men hate to be forced into anything.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Bea rolled her eyes and started untying his cravat. “And idiot Meg has declined his offer. She can also be extremely obstinate.” She pulled his cravat free of his neck and dropped it on the floor. “I would love to see how this battle is waged—but not enough to stay in London.”

Alton’s hands froze. “You’re planning to leave Town?”

“As soon as I can.”

He sat back. “I will miss you.” His face was as impassive as only an excellent butler can manage. “Where do you go?”

“To the Continent with you, you lobcock. We are finally getting married.”

“Married?” Alton frowned. “Bea—”

“Shh.” She put her finger on his lips. “I don’t want to hear all your arguments. You’ve repeated them for years and I am still not impressed. You promised to wed me once Meg was settled. She is as near to settled as can be now. I’m no longer needed here—in fact, I’ve been relieved of my duties. I am, after all these years, free to follow my heart and I intend to do so.”

“I still don’t think—”

“Don’t think. I am going to marry you, Mr. William Alton, so just get that through your thick skull.”

“But—”

Bea covered his mouth with her own, ending one discussion, but beginning a much more interesting exchange.

“Charles, I’m worried about Meg.”

“I know you are, sweetheart. I’ve been watching you pace the bedroom for the last five minutes.”

Emma stopped by the fire and gazed into the flames. “What could have gotten into her? I never thought she’d do something so hare-brained as go off into the shrubbery with a man. She’s not a debutante. She’s twenty-one. This is her second Season. You’d think she’d have more sense.”

Charles grunted.

Emma scowled at the hearth. “I should have come to Town earlier. I know I should have. I thought about it when I received Lady Oldston’s letter, but Henry was getting a tooth, and you know how fussy he is when he’s teething. He won’t go to Nanny at all. I must have been up two straight nights with him.”

Charles grunted again.

“To be truthful, I assumed Lady Oldston was just being a jealous old cat. But then I got the note from Lady Farley.” She turned toward Charles. “Can you believe Lady Farley said Meg was no better than she should be? I was so furious, I wanted to come to Town just to wrap my hands around her scrawny, wrinkled neck.” She blew out a short breath. “And then Sarah wrote. I knew I—”

Emma really looked at Charles. He was sitting in bed, propped up against the headboard, covers down to his waist. The candlelight flickered over a vast expanse of skin—strong neck, broad shoulders, muscled arms and chest, the light brown curls sprinkled down to his…

“Are you naked?”

He grinned and peered under the bedclothes. “It appears I am. Would you care to see for yourself?”

Suddenly, she would—very much. It had been almost two months since she’d felt his weight. Her body ached for him.

She took a deep breath. “You are trying to distract me.”

“No, I am trying to seduce you—to lure you into my bed so I can kiss every inch of your body and bury myself in your heat.”

She grabbed the back of a handy chair. Her knees threatened to give out.

She tried to concentrate on something other than her sensitive breasts and the throbbing between her legs.

“Why didn’t you write me about Meg, Charles? If Sarah noticed, you must have—or at least, Sarah must have told James and he must have mentioned it to you.”

“Well, he didn’t.” Charles shrugged. Emma watched his muscles shift.

Meg. Think about Meg.

“How could James not have said anything? How could you not have seen what was going on?”

“Because, Emma, I’ve not made a habit of going to balls and other social events. I don’t want to hear the silly chatter that goes on there, and I certainly don’t need to see the latest crop of young girls.”

She straightened. “I should hope not.” She did not like to think of Charles looking at other women—or of other women looking at Charles.

He smiled briefly. “I go to the House of Lords, to White’s, to meetings with likeminded men. I come home and read—and miss you and the boys and Isabelle and Claire.”

“Oh.”

“And, as you say, Meg is not a debutante. She survived last Season with Aunt Bea. I didn’t think there was cause for concern.”

Emma sighed. “Neither did I, but obviously I was mistaken. What am I going to do?”

“Come to bed. You’ve fed Henry?”

“Yes. He should make it through the night now.” She smiled. “He’s a greedy little devil.”

“Just like his father. I have missed you dreadfully, you know.”

“As I’ve missed you.”

She came over and climbed into bed. Charles stretched out his arm, and she laid her head on his shoulder, putting her hand on his chest. He held her close.

He was so big and solid. She got used to sleeping alone when he was in London, but she much preferred having his comforting body next to hers. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling his scent, soaking up his warmth and strength.

She wanted this for her sister—this connectedness. This love. Would Meg find it with Mr. Parker-Roth?

How could she? Scandal was not a very good matchmaker.

Charles started stroking her hip, reminding her of all the other reasons she missed him.

“I should have come to Town when I first received Lady Olston’s letter.” She ran her fingers through the short, springy hair on his chest. “I should have been Meg’s chaperone instead of Lady Beatrice.”

Charles shifted to lean up on one elbow. He started unbuttoning her nightgown. “Emma, you had the children to care for. You know they are happier in the country.”

“Hmm.” His fingers felt so good brushing against her skin. She knew his mouth would feel even better. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the children would do fine in London, and then we wouldn’t be away from you so much.”

He grinned down at her. “Well, I’d certainly like to have you here.”

And she would like to be here, if she could spend all her time in bed with him. She ran her hands over his shoulders and chest. She felt his erection heavy against her leg, and her body came to life. Heat and dampness blossomed between her thighs. She remembered so clearly it was almost painful just what he felt like sliding deep inside her.

Need and a sharp emptiness expanded in her womb.

He kissed her eyelids. “But London is not a good place to raise children. It is much too dirty and noisy. And if you were going to all the society events with Meg, you’d be exhausted all the time.”

“Yes, but—oh.” Charles’s hands were on her breasts now. She wanted his tongue and lips there.

“Meg is not a silly, young girl, Emma. She is twenty-one, in her second Season, independent, and strong willed. She is more than capable of making her own decisions.”

“You don’t understand—”

Charles put his finger on her lips.

“I do understand that you feel the need to take responsibility for too many people. Let Meg live her own life. You have Charlie and Henry and Isabelle and Claire and me to take care of. Isn’t that enough?”

“Yes, but—”

“Part of loving is letting go, sweetheart. It’s time to let Meg go. From what Robbie tells me, Parks is a good man. She could have done much worse. Would have done much worse if Bennington had been found with her.”

Charles sounded so reasonable. “Perhaps you are right.”

“Of course I am right. I’m always right.”

She pushed on his chest. “No, you’re not.”

He covered her hand with his and grinned down at her. “No? Well, I think I’m right in saying it’s time to stop talking about Meg.”

“Well…” She sucked in her breath as his hand skimmed over her breasts again.

“And I am also right in my opinion that this nightgown is very much in the way. I want to have your beautiful body naked under mine.”

He started to pull her nightgown up. She lifted her hips to assist him, and then sat up to yank the gown over her head. She sent it sailing off into the shadows.

“On that point at least, Lord Knightsdale, I will not argue.”