The Naked Viscount Read online

  “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.”

  Chapter 9

  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, b
ut 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.”

  Damn it, her stomach was fluttering again. “Flirting with me will stir up the gossips, you know.”

  “I hope it does. I want to throw Satan and his hounds off our scent, so they think we are together simply to enjoy each other’s company.”

  Jane clutched Lord Motton’s sleeve. “Do you see the man who was following us? Is he still there?” She started to turn her head to look, but he stopped her.

  “Tsk, Miss Parker-Roth, please remember—you’re supp
osed to have eyes only for me.” He lifted her hand and kissed it, effectively sending all thoughts out of her head. “Don’t worry. I have my people on the watch for trouble.”

  “I’d feel more confident if I knew whom I needed to avoid. I—”

  Edmund brushed a strand of hair off her face. “You’d probably stare at the fellow so intently even a blind man would know it. I think it safer if Satan thinks our association is purely romantic—which he will not do if you go searching behind every painting and potted plant for a villain.”

  She took a deep breath. “All right, you may have a point.”

  “Of course I have a point.” He started walking toward the entrance. “One reason I wanted to attend this exhibition was to have society—and Satan—see us together. The sooner the ton take note of my courtship, the better.”

  “Ah.” Courtship. Blast it, now her heart was behaving erratically as well. This was all playacting—she must remember that.

  “And the added advantage of this particular excursion is it starts people thinking we are interested in art, so they won’t remark on it when we visit the Harley Street gallery. I spoke to your mother this morning and learned it is only open on Thursdays.”

  “I see.” Did Mama think Lord Motton was courting her daughter? Oh, dear. That could be very awkward. “Did Mama find your question, er, odd?”

  He shrugged. “Not that I could discern. She’s an artist. I assume she thinks everyone should want to tour any available gallery.”

  “But…she didn’t find it remarkable that you would be interested in escorting me?”

  “Hmm. You know, I’m not sure I mentioned you.”

  Of course he hadn’t. He was a man. Men, in her experience, didn’t mention lots of interesting details, and the details they did mention often weren’t interesting at all. It wasn’t as if he needed Mama’s permission to escort her. She was twenty-four—not a young debutante. “Where was my mother this morning, by the by? She certainly wasn’t in the breakfast room helping me stave off your aunts!”

  He laughed. “She’s wilier than you—or perhaps just more experienced with my aunts. She had chocolate in her bedchamber. I caught her in the corridor shortly before we left—perhaps when you were fetching your bonnet.”