Sally MacKenzie Bundle Page 6

  She went to the window and leaned her forehead against the glass. She looked out over Lord Tynweith’s estate, but she saw only the shaded bower.

  Why hadn’t he offered for her? Certainly Lady Bea had expected him to do so. What would the older woman say when Lizzie had to tell her she was not betrothed?

  Dear God, she had thrown herself at the man, literally. Well, technically she’d tripped, but that made no difference. A proper lady would have pushed herself away the moment her person encountered a hard, muscled male form.

  Very hard. Very muscled. Very male.

  He had felt so good. And when he’d wrapped his arms around her, she had felt as if she had come home.

  She drew in a deep, shuddery breath.

  For years she had wanted Robbie to hold her. She had dreamt of it. Prayed for it. And then, when it had actually happened…dear heaven! She had attacked him like an animal.

  Could she have behaved more inappropriately? She’d clung to him, let her hands wander all over him. She pressed her head harder against the glass. She had actually touched his…pantaloons. Felt the curves, the muscles, of his…

  She flung away from the window and threw herself onto her bed.

  He had been there just hours before.

  She muffled her mouth with her pillow.

  He must be thoroughly disgusted with her. That’s why he hadn’t offered for her. She was worse than Lady Felicity. Lud! She had paraded herself—her naked self—in front of him with no shame last night. And then today…Could she have begged more desperately for any of the shocking things he had done?

  He would never offer for her.

  She turned over, staring up at the bed canopy.

  Would he really never offer for her?

  Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes and ran down the sides of her face. She turned over again, wiping them on the counterpane.

  What was she to do? She loved Robbie. She had not lied last night. She had loved him forever. He was nine years older than she. When she was very young, he had seemed tall and gangly and godlike. James’s other friends had ignored her, but not Robbie. He’d smiled at her and teased her. And then, when she was twelve and James went away to fight Napoleon, Robbie had come regularly to check on her and Aunt Gladys. Her father certainly could not be bothered to come down from London to see how they went on. But Robbie came.

  By the time she was fourteen and James returned, she was irredeemably in love.

  She was supposed to marry him. He was her brother’s closest friend—well, his closest unmarried friend. She had turned down countless proposals these last three years because she knew she was supposed to wed him. She would live at Westbrooke and her children would play with their cousins at Alvord, with little Will and the new baby that was due soon. It would be perfect.

  Why had he suddenly looked at her that way in the garden—with his London society face? And spoken to her in his society voice—that all-knowing drawl? She had felt like a worm.

  Lud, and then she had slapped him! She had left the red mark of her fingers on his cheek.

  She buried her head under the pillow.

  Someone knocked on her door.

  “Go away.”

  “No.”

  It was Meg again. Lizzie did not want to see anyone, even Meg.

  “Go away.”

  “No.” The doorknob rattled. “Lizzie, listen. I saw Lady Bea. I have to talk to you. Let me in before someone notices me standing out here muttering.”

  Lizzie glared at the door. “No. I want to be alone.”

  “No, you don’t.” Meg poked her head into the room. Lizzie sat up and threw her pillow at her.

  “Hey! Is this appropriate behavior for the Duke of Alvord’s sister?” Meg closed the door and scooped up the pillow from its landing place near the foot of the bed. She flung it back and grinned. “You used to be better at throwing.”

  “I used to be a lot of things.”

  Meg’s smile dropped into a frown. “Lizzie…”

  Lizzie could not bear the pity in Meg’s eyes. She turned over on her stomach.

  The mattress tilted as Meg sat down. Lizzie shrugged away her hand.

  “Go away.”

  “But I have good news. Lady Bea says the story of Lord Westbrooke’s nocturnal visit has died. No one is talking about it—not the duchess, not Lady Felicity, not even that fat sow, Lady Caroline. Apparently Lord Tynweith took it into his head to scotch the rumor. Lady Bea actually saw him examine Lady Dunlee through his quizzing glass as if she were a particularly noxious species of insect when she had the temerity to mention it to him.”

  Lizzie grunted. Meg’s cheerfulness was salt in her wounds.

  “What is the matter, Lizzie? You should be happy. Aren’t you relieved there will be no gossip about last night’s events?”

  “No. I don’t care. My life is ruined.”

  “Lizzie! It can’t be that bad.”

  “Yes it can.”

  “Well, I don’t see how, unless…”

  Silence. Meg wasn’t supposed to be silent. She was supposed to say something to make things better. Lizzie shifted onto her side and glanced up. Meg had a very peculiar expression. Lizzie leaned up on one elbow.

  “Why are you looking at me that way?”

  “I just can’t…” Meg turned bright red. “So, you mean…But you told Lady Bea….” Her hands fluttered at Lizzie’s middle. “So, last night, in your room…Robbie did…” She clasped her hands together finally. “You know.”

  “I don’t know. I have no idea what you are getting at.” Lizzie dropped back down and covered her face again. “And anyway, last night was nothing compared to this afternoon.”

  “This afternoon!” Meg grabbed Lizzie’s hands and pulled them away from her face. “You mean he actually…In the daylight? Out of doors?!”

  “Yes.” Lizzie flushed and turned away. Meg didn’t have to look so very shocked.

  “And he didn’t offer for you? After doing…that?”

  “No, he didn’t.” The words came out as a wail.

  Meg patted her on the shoulder, but she was clearly distracted. “I just can’t believe Robbie would be so heartless.”

  “Well, believe it.” Lizzie shrugged off Meg’s ineffectual hand and sat up. Robbie should definitely not have done what he did, but he wasn’t the sole participant in the activity. She could have stopped him. Should have stopped him.

  She should have had a colossal fit of the vapors.

  No, no matter how much she would like to think of Robbie as a beast, she just couldn’t do it. She sighed. “I’m certain it was mostly my fault.”

  “Ridiculous! He is much more experienced than you. He knew what he was doing. I just can’t believe he would do it without offering for you.”

  “Neither can I.” Lizzie was wailing again. She covered her mouth with her hands and flopped back on the bed. “I was so sure…. I would never have done…would never have let him….” She shuddered. “I thought he meant marriage.”

  “Of course you did. Anyone would. I still can’t believe….” Meg shrugged. “How could you have guessed Robbie had this side to his personality?”

  No, how could she have guessed? Robbie had never given a sign of it before, and she had spent many hours in his company. The most he had ever done was kiss the air above her hand. He had never even kissed her cheek, let alone her lips.

  Well, if she were completely truthful, she had been the one to introduce that activity, though she had had no idea of where it would lead.

  Perhaps that was it. Perhaps men did turn into beasts when given suitable provocation.

  She closed her eyes. She had not been behaving like a lady. What lady ran her hands over a man’s pantaloons, especially while they were still on the man’s body?

  Perhaps Robbie had felt he was only being courteous to an elderly spinster.

  Her breasts throbbed as she remembered his mouth on her nipples.

  He didn’t have to be that courteous
.

  “Don’t worry, Lizzie. We’ll tell Lady Bea. She’ll tell your brother and he will insist Robbie marry you.”

  “No, I don’t want Robbie that way. I don’t want to be married to a man who doesn’t want me.”

  “I thought the problem was that he did want you.” Meg patted her shoulder again. “Chances are it was just the thought of marriage that frightened him for a moment. Many men have an irrational fear of matrimony, but once the knot is tied they settle down quite nicely. A bit like a horse being broken to bridle.”

  Meg’s words did not lighten the leaden feeling in Lizzie’s stomach—if anything, they added a stone or two.

  “I really don’t think—”

  “No, don’t think. The deed is done. You have no choice—nor does Robbie. I’m sure he’ll realize that—most likely he has already realized it. If he hasn’t, your brother will help him see the situation quite clearly.”

  “Perhaps.” Lizzie stared up at the bed canopy. She did not relish having a bridegroom who needed a pistol at his back to pronounce his vows.

  Meg shifted on the bed. “There is one thing….”

  “Yes?”

  Meg shifted again. Lizzie was beginning to get seasick from the mattress rocking. She sat up. Meg was staring down at her hands, her face distinctly red.

  “What is it, Meg?”

  Meg addressed her hands. “I know I shouldn’t ask you, especially now, but I’ve been wondering ever since I overheard two of the maids at Knightsdale. I thought about asking Emma, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do so.”

  Lizzie waited. Meg pleated her skirt.

  “Yes?” Lizzie could not imagine a subject Meg was too hesitant to ask her sister. Really, she could not imagine a subject Meg was hesitant to ask anyone. Meg was not shy. “What did you want to ask me?”

  Meg turned even redder.

  “Does it hurt?”

  Lizzie frowned. She must have missed some part of this conversation.

  “Does what hurt?”

  “It.” Meg stopped torturing her skirt and looked directly at Lizzie. There was annoyance as well as embarrassment in her eyes. “I do not understand why women keep unmarried ladies in ignorance of such things. You would think they would want to be certain we understood the procedure. I’m certain men know all the details as soon as they are out of short-coats.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What Robbie did to you in the garden. Did it hurt?”

  It was Lizzie’s turn to blush. “No.” The activity had certainly evoked many sensations, but pain was not one of them. “No, of course it didn’t hurt.”

  Meg nodded. “I didn’t think it could, else why would so many women consent to participate in the deed? Well, I suppose they want children—”

  “Children!” Surely what she had done with Robbie in the garden did not lead directly to children, did it?

  “Yes, children.” Meg frowned at her as though she were an idiot. “And I assume since it didn’t hurt, there was no blood?”

  “Blood! Why would there be blood?”

  “Because he breached your maidenhead, of course.”

  “What?” Lizzie did not like the sound of “breaching.” It brought to mind James’s stories of storming fortresses on the Peninsula.

  “So Sarah hasn’t told you anything either?”

  “Of course not. Those discussions are reserved for the night before one’s wedding.” Lizzie shifted position. “What, um…” She cleared her throat. “What does a man use to do this breaching, do you know?”

  Meg’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t you? You were the one with Robbie in the shrubbery.”

  “There was no breaching going on in the shrubbery.” Unless a tongue counted? But surely there was nothing constituting a maidenhead in one’s mouth.

  “What was going on in the shrubbery?”

  “Just tell me what a man uses to do this breaching.”

  “His male organ.”

  “His male organ? What exactly do you mean?”

  “Well, I’ve never seen one in the flesh, of course, but I’ve seen plenty of naked statues.”

  “Well, yes, so have I.”

  Meg nodded. “The male organ is that little dangly bit in the front. I know it looks very odd, but I don’t suppose all those artists would have made it up, do you? Especially since they were all men. They must know what they’ve got in their breeches.”

  “Oh.” Lizzie remembered quite clearly Robbie’s naked physique. She swallowed a large lump in her throat. There was nothing little or dangly about Robbie’s bit. “And the maidenhead?”

  “It protects your womb, of course.”

  “Of course.” Lizzie pressed her knees together. “And so you think the dangly bit somehow gets, um, into that area?”

  “Yes. Haven’t you noticed the animals around Alvord?”

  “No. Definitely not.” Lizzie was certain watching such behavior was extremely inappropriate. Meg had spent too much time in the fields, looking at plants and, apparently, other things. “There was no such activity going on between me and Lord Westbrooke in the shrubbery.”

  “So what was going on?”

  Lizzie gestured vaguely with her hand. “A bit of kissing. A little cuddling. Absolutely no breaching whatsoever.”

  “Oh.” Meg blinked at her, and then grinned. “Well, if no breaching occurred, your life is not ruined. You’ve been somewhat indiscreet, yes, and if word of your activities gets out, you’ll certainly be compromised, but since Robbie is the only witness to your indiscretion, you should have no worries.”

  “No worries?” Lizzie contemplated smothering Meg with her pillow. “How can you say that? I’ve loved Robbie forever.”

  “Well, yes, I understand that. And I really did think he loved you, but if he won’t offer for you—you are sure about that?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I’m not completely beetle-headed.” No, not completely beetle-headed, just beetle-headed enough to have spent the last six years or more in love with a man who didn’t care the snap of his fingers for her. Beetle-headed enough to turn down marriage offers from a duke, two marquises, and an assortment of earls, viscounts, and other men because she was certain Robbie would ask for her hand eventually.

  She could not fool herself any longer. If Robbie’d had any intention of wedding her, he would have spoken today in the shrubbery. He would not have looked horrified and then hid behind his society manners.

  She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes closed. She would not cry.

  “Well, if you are quite certain,” Meg said, “I suppose there is little to be done about it. Unless you want James to force Robbie to wed you? He could, you know.”

  “No!” Lizzie leapt off the bed and wrapped her arms around her waist. “No, I do not want James to compel Robbie. That would be horrible.”

  “I agree. A reluctant bridegroom would not be pleasant.” Meg pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen over her eyes. “You could try to make him jealous, of course. Sometimes men don’t realize they are interested in a woman until they think they can’t have her.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Meg shrugged. “I observe more than plants. And unlike you, I have not had my attention focused solely on one gentleman.”

  “I have not been focusing solely on Robbie.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Does Emma know you’ve been studying biology as well as botany in the neighboring fields?”

  Meg grinned. “Just the biology of lower animals, Lizzie. I have not come upon any examples of human biology.”

  “I should hope not.”

  “But I have observed human social behavior in detail, especially since Emma married and decided finding me a husband was one of her goals in life.” Meg wrinkled her nose. “I have been to more dinners and dances in the last three years than I can count. The prospect of another minuet with old Mr. Ruttles was enough to get me to come with you to London.”

  “Mr. R
uttles is showing interest in you? Surely not! The man must be seventy.”

  “Seventy-four last November,” Meg said. “And you’ll be happy to know that his gout is much improved.”

  “I will?”

  “Indeed. I actually have quite the stable of admirers. Besides Mr. Ruttles, there is Mr. Gordley, Mr. Farrell, and Mr. Nunn.”

  “Meg! That’s terrible. Not a one of them is under sixty. Why didn’t you come to London before?”

  “Because Emma hadn’t gotten so persistent before. And when Charlie was born, she got distracted for a while. But now that she’s increasing again, she is even more determined to see me happily settled with my own children.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “No, it’s maddening.”

  Lizzie grinned. “All right, it’s maddening. You will just have to find yourself a husband this Season.” She sat back down next to Meg. “Now about making Robbie jealous…I’m not certain I want a man who is only interested in me because he thinks someone else wants me.”

  “No, no—you’re missing the point. Yes, there are men like that, and if Robbie turns out to be one of them, you will have to discard him. In this case, our goal is merely to wake him up. Make him realize what he really wants.”

  “Wake him up?”

  “Yes. From what I have observed, men are very simple creatures. They may be able to fight battles and build canals, but when it comes to emotions, they are hopelessly inept. They go along merrily eating and sleeping and fornicating until something—or someone—interrupts them.”

  Lizzie did not care for the thought of Robbie happily fornicating. And shouldn’t the events of last night and this afternoon have served to wake him to his love for her, if he harbored any love at all? Still, she did not want to give up her dream of marrying him until she had exhausted every possibility.

  For the first time since she’d left Robbie in the garden, she felt some hope.

  “All right, though I have to say, Meg, that after our interlude in the shrubbery, I would have thought Robbie would be as awake as he could be.”

  “You have a point.” Meg clasped her knees, pursed her lips, and rocked back on the bed. “But you have not yet introduced the threat of losing you. In fact, if you don’t mind my saying so, it sounds as if you’ve been very, um, accessible.”