The Naked Gentleman. Sally MacKenzieЧитать онлайн книгу.
husband at the end of the last set.
The noise from the bushes was getting louder. Wonderful. Were the lovers having a spat? That was the last thing he wanted to witness. He would just—
“You bitch!”
Good God, that was Bennington’s voice. The man had the devil’s own temper. Surely he wouldn’t—
“My lord, please.” The girl’s voice held a thread of fear. “You are hurting me.”
He strode forward without another thought.
She must not panic. Bennington was a gentleman.
He looked like a monster. He stared at her through narrowed eyes, nostrils flaring, jaw hardened. His hands gripped her upper arms. She was certain his fingers would leave bruises.
“You bitch!”
“My lord, please.” She moistened her lips. Fear made it hard to get her breath. He was so much stronger than she, and the garden was so dark.
He was a viscount, a peer, a gentleman. He wouldn’t really harm her, would he?
She had never seen a man so angry.
“You are hurting me.”
“Hurting you? Ha! I’ll show you hurting.”
He shook her so her head flopped on her neck like a rag doll’s, then he yanked her bodice down, tearing the fabric. He grabbed her breast and squeezed. The pain was excruciating.
“Bite me, will you? How would you like me to bite your—”
A well-tailored forearm appeared at his throat.
He made a gagging sound, releasing her to claw at the black silk sleeve cutting across his neck.
“You bastard.” Mr. Parker-Roth jerked Lord Bennington back, spun the viscount around, and slammed his fist into the man’s jaw, sending him backward into a holly bush. Meg would have cheered if she hadn’t been trying so hard not to cry. She pulled up her bodice and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Parker-Roth.” Bennington spat out the name along with some blood as he extracted himself from the prickly vegetation. “What the hell is the matter with you? The lady invited me into the garden.”
“I’m certain she didn’t invite you to maul her.”
“A woman who goes off alone with a man…”
“…is not asking to be raped, Bennington.”
The viscount opened his mouth, then closed it abruptly. His jaw was beginning to swell and he had blood on his cravat. “I wasn’t going to…I wouldn’t, of course…I merely lost my temper.” He glanced at Meg. “My humble apologies, Miss Peterson. I will do the proper thing, of course, and speak to your brother-in-law in the morning, then travel down to Kent to see your father.”
“No!” She swallowed and took a deep breath. She spoke slowly and distinctly, “I will not marry you. I would not marry you even if you were the last man in England—no, the last man in all the world.”
“Now, Margaret—”
“You heard Miss Peterson, Bennington. I believe she was quite clear as to her sentiments. Now do the proper thing and take yourself off.”
“But—”
“I will be happy to assist you in finding the back gate—in fact I would be delighted to kick your miserable arse out into the alley.”
“Margaret…Miss Peterson.”
“Please, Lord Bennington, I assure you there is nothing you can say to persuade me to entertain your suit.”
“You are merely overset. I was too impassioned, perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” She pressed her lips together. She would not have a fit of the vapors here in Lord Palmerson’s garden.
He frowned at her, and then sketched a small bow. “Very well, I will leave since you insist.” He turned, then paused. “I do apologize most sincerely.”
Meg nodded. He did sound contrite, but she just wanted him gone. She closed her eyes, listening to his steps fade away. She could not bear to look at the man still standing beside her.
Why had Parks been the one to find her in such an embarrassing situation? What must he think of her?
Perhaps he would just go away and let her expire in solitude.
She felt a gentle touch on her cheek.
“Miss Peterson, are you all right?”
She shook her head.
“I’m so sorry you had to endure Bennington’s attentions. You shouldn’t have…Well, he is not the sort of man you should…He has a terrible temper.”
That was supremely evident.
“You can’t go back to the ballroom like this. Who is your chaperone?”
She forced herself to speak. “Lady Beatrice.”
“I shall fetch her. Will you be all right alone?”
“Y-yes.” She bit her lip. She would not cry—well, not until he left.
He made an odd noise, a short exhalation that sounded both annoyed and resigned.
“Oh, for God’s sake, come here.”
His hands touched her shoulders, urging her gently toward him. She resisted for only a heartbeat.
The first sob escaped as her face touched his waistcoat. She felt his arms, warm and secure, come around her, felt his hand lightly touch her hair. A tight knot in her chest loosened.
She sobbed harder.
Parks repressed a sigh. The girl was Miss Margaret Peterson—Meg, Westbrooke had called her. He’d met her at Tynweith’s house party last spring. He’d liked her. She’d seemed quite levelheaded—very knowledgeable about garden design and plants in general. He’d enjoyed talking to her.
And looking at her.
All right, he had enjoyed looking at her. She was very attractive. Slim, but with generous curves in all the right places. Warm brown eyes with flecks of gold and green. Silky brown hair.
He tangled his fingers in that hair, massaging the back of her head. She felt very nice in his arms. It had been too long since he’d held a woman.
Much too long, if he was feeling amorous urges toward a lady who was blubbering all over his cravat. He would pay Cat a visit as soon as he got back to the Priory, right after he checked on that plant shipment.
He patted her shoulder. Her skin was so smooth, soft…
He dropped his hand to the safety of her corseted back.
What had she been thinking, coming out into Palmerson’s dark garden with a man of Bennington’s stamp? Was she no better regarded than she should be? She had been a guest at Tynweith’s scandalous house party.
And had behaved perfectly properly there. She had gone into the garden with him, but always in the daylight and always to discuss a particular planting.
She made a peculiar little sound, a cross between a sniff and a hiccup.
“Are you all right, Miss Peterson?”
She nodded, keeping her head down.
“Here—take my handkerchief.”
“Thank you.”
She still would not meet his eyes.
He studied her. There was enough light to see one slender white shoulder was completely exposed, as was the lovely curve of her breast…
He moved his hips back to save her the shock of his sudden attraction.