The Naked Marquis. Sally MacKenzieЧитать онлайн книгу.
Emma shouted his name, grabbing his arm and shaking it.
“See? That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
She pressed her lips together. “I believe I would prefer to finish this trip in silence.”
“Splendid. I shall entertain myself contemplating all the lovely things we can do together the next time we have the opportunity.”
Miss Peterson did not rise to the bait. Charles contented himself with imagining what it would be like to strip each article of her clothing slowly from her lovely body. He had a very good imagination. He shifted on the curricle seat. Too good an imagination. He had better turn his mind to less elevating thoughts.
Emma made a small sound, a cross between a hiss and a moan. He glanced at her. She was scowling at her hands. Where had her thoughts wandered now? Hopefully not the same place his had—he wanted her smiling, not frowning, when she pictured them together. More than smiling. Groaning. Writhing with need.
“Don’t care for your style of glove, my dear?”
She grunted. “My father did not do that with Mrs. Graham.”
“Ah. If you say so.”
“He couldn’t have—could he?”
“I hesitate to point this out, love, but your mere presence on this earth would indicate that he could.”
Her hand flew to her lips. “Surely that is not how children are conceived?”
Charles swallowed his laughter. “Not exactly, but it does have something to do with the process.”
“How much?”
“Ah, love, how I long to show you.” He laughed at the annoyance in her eyes. If there’d been a china dog handy, he would definitely have felt it cracking over his head. “Think of it as the opening bars of the waltz, sweetheart. There are quite a few more steps to be completed before the dance is over.”
“Miss Peterson!”
The call came from a man up ahead. Charles studied the fellow as he rode closer. He had a terrible seat—stiff and awkward. But then the nag he was astride was a sorry specimen as well. Showy, but with terrible gaits. Obviously bought by a man who knew nothing of horseflesh.
“A friend of yours?”
“An acquaintance—Mr. Albert Stockley. He’s renting Mr. Atworthy’s house while Mr. Atworthy is in Town.” Emma nodded and smiled as the man drew up next to them. “Good afternoon, Mr. Stockley.”
“Miss Peterson.” Mr. Stockley bowed stiffly.
Charles liked him even less on closer inspection. He was just as showy as his horse. Small and wiry, he wore his mud-colored hair fussed into some stylish arrangement and his shirt points so high he risked poking out his watery blue eyes. His nose and lips had the perpetually pained expression of someone who smells something bad—or expects he will smell something bad in just a moment. He looked to be one of those tiresome small men who always have something to prove.
“Mr. Stockley, have you met Lord Knightsdale?” Emma was saying.
Charles definitely did not like the way Stockley’s gaze sharpened when he heard his title.
“No, I have not.” He bowed in Charles’s direction. “A pleasure, my lord.”
“Stockley.” Charles inclined his head slightly. He was delighted to see Stockley’s eyes narrow.
“Miss Peterson,” Stockley said, “I had been going to call on you at Knightsdale, but now that his lordship is in residence, I assume you have moved back to the vicarage.”
“Well, actually—”
“Miss Peterson has kindly offered to stay and help with my nieces while their governess is away attending her ailing mother.”
Mr. Stockley frowned. “Oh? Is that completely proper, my lord? Not that I wish to criticize, of course, but Miss Peterson is an unmarried lady. She needs to guard her reputation.”
Charles felt Emma stir at his side.
“You need not be concerned,” he said. “My aunt, Lady Beatrice, is in residence. She will see that I keep my animal instincts under control.”
“My lord, I did not mean to imply—”
“Excuse me, but in case it has escaped your notice, gentlemen, I am still sitting in this curricle.”
Charles smiled—Emma sounded quite annoyed.
“Mr. Stockley,” she said, “I appreciate your concern, but you may put your mind at rest. I am in no danger from his lordship’s ‘animal instincts.’”
“No, of course not. I didn’t mean to imply…I know your virtue is unassailable…. Well, I just wished to discover if you would like to go for a drive tomorrow afternoon?”
“That would be lovely, however—”
“However, Miss Peterson will be busy tomorrow afternoon, Stockley. I’m hosting a house party, and she has consented to attend, when her duties as temporary governess allow, of course. My guests should be arriving tomorrow—you’re quite welcome to come, if you’d like.”
Stockley smiled, a sudden odd eagerness in his face. “I would be delighted to attend, my lord.” He bowed again. “I look forward to seeing you both tomorrow.”
Charles was quite pleased to see the man’s back, even if he looked like a scarecrow on a job horse.
“Stockley’s an odd fish,” he said. “Do you know anything about him?”
“I believe he has some connection to shipping—he’s only been in the neighborhood a few weeks. He seemed a perfectly amiable gentleman, until just now, that is. Really, my lord, I do not enjoy being discussed as if I were not present.”
“I don’t like the man.”
“Well, that was rather apparent.”
“Has he been buzzing around you?”
“No, he has not been ‘buzzing’ around me. You are being absurd.”
“Hmm.” There was something off about Stockley. Charles didn’t doubt the man was interested in Emma, but there was something more, something twisted in his regard. He planned to keep a close eye on him. “There is something you should know, Emma.”
“What?”
“You are definitely in danger from my animal instincts.”
Emma was relieved to reach Knightsdale. She was hoping to retreat to her room for a short while to gather her composure before she sought out the girls for lessons. At least she could trust Isabelle to have walked Prinny. She was such a responsible girl.
“Miss Peterson, you have company,” Mr. Lambert said as she crossed the threshold.
“Entertaining already, Miss Peterson?” Charles raised his eyebrows, a smirk hovering on his lips. “I am so glad you are treating my house as if it were your own.”
“My lord! Please. I’m sure there’s been some mistake. Are you certain the individual asked for me, Mr. Lambert?”
“Four individuals, miss.”
“Four?”
“Four ladies, miss. Older ladies. Lady Beatrice is entertaining them at the moment.”
“Oh.” Emma slapped her hand over her mouth. “The Society. This is the second Tuesday of the month, isn’t it?”
“I believe so, miss. Lady Beatrice has requested refreshments. Perhaps you could join the ladies in the blue drawing room?”
“Certainly. Thank you, Mr. Lambert.”
“The