The question hit him in the gut. Surely she knew whom she’d been kissing? And rather more than kissing, actually.
He found he didn’t at all care for the notion that he was just an anonymous male. “Motton.”
She shook her head. “I know that. I want to know your name.”
Ah, his Christian name. No one called him by that except the aunts. It felt rather…intimate to share it with her. “Edmund.”
“Edmund.”
She murmured it as if she were exploring how it felt on her tongue. Damn! He could not think of Jane—of Miss Parker-Roth—and tongues. Her tongue had been so sweet, so shy. He would dearly love to feel it on—
Think with your brain, Motton! He firmly detached the woman and stepped back out of her reach. “Miss Parker-Roth, it cannot have escaped your attention that we are in a dark room without a chaperone and you are in your nightclothes.”
She grinned, the minx! “Yes, I know.”
“I shudder to think what society would say were it to learn of this…” What? Scandal? Disaster? Monumental lapse in judgment? All of the above? “This situation.”
And why wasn’t Miss Parker-Roth having the vapors? Surely a gently bred miss should be in hysterics at the treatment she had just received. Not that she’d been struggling. Oh, no. She’d been a very active, a very willing participant.
She dimpled up at him. She did have a most attractive smile. “Oh, don’t go all poker-faced.”
It wasn’t his face that was pokerish. If he didn’t start thinking about something besides Ja—Miss Parker-Roth’s—tongue and soft bottom and lovely breasts, he was not going to be able to light a candle and reveal his very impolite proportions.
Blast! His proportions just got even more shocking. Miss Parker-Roth had moved so her back was to the hearth. There was sufficient illumination from the fire’s embers to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of her waist and legs and—
He turned away to step closer to the open window. It was suddenly infernally hot in the damn study.
“Society won’t say anything because no one will find out,” she was saying. “As you point out, there are no witnesses, and I’m not going to go blabbing about…” She paused, and he glanced back at her. He’d wager if there were enough light, he’d see her face had turned bright red. His eyes dropped. There was definitely enough light to see…
“I’m not going to blab about…about what we were doing,” she said. “Are you?”
“No, of course not.” He had to stop staring at her br—chest. He jerked his attention back to her face. “I am not a complete idiot.”
“Well, then, there you are.” Jane frowned. She was suddenly feeling very out of sorts. Here she’d just had the most wonderful experience of her life with the man she’d dreamed of for years, and the fellow acted as if he could hardly bear to look at her. He’d turned as prim and proper as…as her stiff-rumped brother John.
John, thankfully, was not in London with them this Season. He’d gone off to Baron Tynweith’s estate. Odd, since the baron’s parties were often disreputable, but John had said something about topiary when he’d left the Priory. Plants were John’s passion—unlike Stephen, his only passion.
What was Lord Motton’s passion?
Mmm. She’d like to taste a little more of his passion. Her dreams had not come close to the reality of it. Unfortunately, the man did not look at all willing to repeat his thrilling performance.
And now that she looked at him—really looked at him—she saw he was dressed most peculiarly. Every article of clothing he wore was black—black shirt, black cravat, black breeches, black stockings—and he had dispensed with a coat and waistcoat. Well, she’d vaguely noted those omissions when she’d been plastered up against him.
It was almost as if he wished to blend into the shadows. Why? More to the point, why was he here at all and how had he gotten in? Mr. Hunt, the butler, was at Mrs. Brindle’s party.
He kept looking down at her chest. Had she spilled chocolate there, too, when she’d had her accident with her wrapper this morning? She looked down.
Oh.
She darted behind one of the wing chairs. Thank God its back was high and she was not terribly tall. Damnation, if Lord Motton was truly a gentleman, he’d offer her his coat…he didn’t have a coat…oh, bother.
He bowed briefly and cleared his throat. “Ahem, well, I must be going. Do pardon my intrusion. And, of course, my apologies for the…” He waved his hand vaguely. “For my behavior.” He looked ready to go out the window.
Well, that answered the question of how he’d gotten in, but he certainly wasn’t leaving before she got some answers.
She leapt back out from behind the chair and grabbed his arm. “Wait! You must tell me why you’re here.”
He frowned at her. “Miss Parker-Roth, please control yourself.”
He sounded far too much like John. She considered uttering one of the very improper words she’d learned from Stephen, but she restrained herself. “I’ll make you tell me.”
He snorted, shook off her grasp, and turned. She latched onto the back of his shirt.
“Will you stop—”
“I have two older brothers, a younger brother, and two younger sisters. I know all about blackmail and coercion.”
He didn’t even bother to reply; he just pulled her hand off his shirt and kept going. She hurried after him, out through the French window onto the terrace.
“I’ll tell your aunts what happened here tonight.”
That got him to pause. “You wouldn’t. You’d ruin yourself.”
“Not if I tell your aunt Winifred—she’s not such a high stickler. I saw her arrive today with Theo and Edmund. Oh!” Jane covered her mouth with her hand, but her snicker still escaped. “She named the monkey after you, didn’t she?”
Lord Motton sighed. Surely Miss Parker-Roth would not be so bold as to tell Winifred about this evening? If she did…well, Aunt Winifred was awake on every suit. She would immediately see a golden opportunity to push him into parson’s mousetrap. And she would be right—he would be bound to marry Miss Parker-Roth if word of this encounter ever did get out. He couldn’t be alone with a young, unmarried woman in her nightdress without offering for her. And they hadn’t just been standing around discussing the weather.
He waited for anger to surge through him. He’d spent years avoiding marriage traps…but, to be fair, Miss Parker-Roth hadn’t set out to trap him. He’d brought this on himself, not that he’d foreseen the risk when he’d agreed to search Widmore’s study.
And kissing her had been extremely pleasant.
He didn’t feel angry, he felt…he didn’t know how he felt. Miss Parker-Roth was uncommonly attractive in that virginal nightdress with her hair in a long braid down her back. He’d like to spread her hair out over her shoulders and run his hands through it. It was a warm brown with hints of red.
Why had he never noticed her before? She must have been at all those dreadful society events over the years.
The answer was simple. He’d not been in the market for a wife, and John and Stephen’s sister was not a suitable candidate for dalliance.
“I’m waiting, Lord Motton.”
And she was getting chilly. He could see her nipples peaking against her nightgown.
He’d like to make them harden for him…
“Come inside and I’ll tell you as much as I know, which