“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,