The Naked Earl. Sally MacKenzie

“Oh, look! It’s Lord Peter.”

      “Let him in.” Lady Felicity peered inside Lizzie’s wardrobe.

      “Um.” Lizzie wished she could think. That last glass of ratafia had definitely been ill-advised. Her head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton wool.

      She couldn’t let them find Robbie. He didn’t want to be found. She watched Lady Felicity light all the available candles. How was she going to stop them? There were only so many places to look.

      Lord Peter, dressed in his shirtsleeves and pantaloons, climbed in the window. “Saw him vault in here.” He chuckled. “Hard to miss his lily-white as—” He coughed. “Ankles. His lily-white ankles. Hard to miss them in the dark.”

      “So where is he, Lady Elizabeth?” Lady Felicity glared at her.

      “Um, he who?”

      “Lord Westbrooke, of course. Didn’t he just climb in your window?”

      “Uh…” Lizzie’s mind went blank.

      “Lady Felicity, surely you cannot be suggesting that Lord Westbrooke would behave in such an inappropriate manner?”

      Lizzie turned to see Lady Beatrice, her nominal chaperone for the Season. Thank God! Lady Bea would deal with this mess in short order.

      Lady Felicity lifted her chin. “I only know what I saw.”

      Lady Bea lifted an eyebrow. “And what exactly did you see, miss?”

      “I saw Lord Westbrooke leap naked out the window.”

      “I thought you said he came in the window.”

      “Not this window.”

      “Ah, the window in your room then? Correct me if I am wrong, but any man exiting your window would end as a rather unsightly corpse on the terrace. Or have you changed rooms recently? I thought your bedchamber was just a few doors down the hall from mine on the other side of the corridor.”

      Lady Felicity turned red. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words issued forth.

      “Let’s look in the bed, Felicity.” Lord Peter left the window and reached for the bed curtains. “I’ll wager Westbrooke is hiding between the sheets.”

      “Lord Peter!”

      Everyone turned to stare at the petite woman who’d managed to push to the fore of the crowd. The Duchess of Hartford—Lady Charlotte Wickford before her marriage to the elderly duke—was not someone Lizzie would ever have imagined coming to her rescue. Charlotte hated her. Well, she really hated James, but James spent most of his time in Kent these days. Lizzie was a much more convenient target.

      “What, your grace?” Lord Peter stood back, gesturing to the bed curtains. “Would you like to do the honors?”

      Charlotte stared at him. He flushed and dropped his arm.

      “If you won’t do it, I will.” Felicity grabbed a handful of cloth.

      “Lady Felicity.” Charlotte’s tone stopped Felicity’s hand before it had moved an inch. “Surely you do not mean to imply that Lady Elizabeth would entertain a man in her bedroom?”

      Felicity looked at Lizzie’s small breasts. Lizzie crossed her arms over them.

      “Entertain? No. However—”

      “However, if Lord Westbrooke should be so bold as to visit Lady Elizabeth in her room at night—if he were found in her bed—I assume he would do the gentlemanly thing and offer for her.” Charlotte shrugged. “Her brother, the duke, would insist, wouldn’t you say?”

      Felicity paused, an arrested expression on her face.

      “In fact, I imagine if Lord Westbrooke were indeed hiding behind those bed curtains, he’d be wed to Lady Elizabeth before the week was out.” Charlotte smiled. “I’m certain you would want to dance at that wedding, hmm, Lady Felicity?”

      Lady Felicity’s hand fell to her side. “Uh. Yes. You’re right. Of course. Lord Westbrooke would never invade Lady Elizabeth’s room. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

      “I know what you were thinking. You told me—”

      “Lord Peter!”

      Lord Peter frowned and turned to Charlotte.

      “I believe we intrude on Lady Elizabeth’s privacy.” Charlotte smiled up at him as she ran her fingers over his shirt cuff. “It’s time you went to…bed, don’t you think?”

      It was Lord Peter’s turn to have an arrested expression. He stared down at Charlotte for a moment and then grinned.

      “I believe you are correct, your grace.”

      “Of course I am.” Charlotte glanced at Felicity. “I imagine you dreamt the event, Lady Felicity. Sometimes our dreams are so vivid, they appear real, do they not?”

      Felicity tore her eyes off the bed curtains. “Yes. Yes, I’m certain you are right, your grace.” She glanced back at the bed. “Sometimes my dreams do seem real.”

      “Exactly.” Charlotte moved toward the door, Lord Peter at her side. “So sorry to disturb you, Lady Elizabeth.” Her eyes drifted to the bed also. “I’m certain you are eager to get back to”—Charlotte smiled slightly—“sleep.” She inclined her head. “You have depths I never suspected.”

      Lizzie watched the crowd disperse. Lady Beatrice was the last to leave. She looked at the bed and raised her eyebrows.

      “Anything you would like to tell me, Lizzie?”

      Lizzie looked at the bed, too.

      “Um, no.”

      “You’re certain?”

      “Yes.” Lizzie nodded. She was definitely certain. She did not want to discuss the evening’s bizarre events with anyone. She was of half a mind that she, too, was the victim of a very vivid dream. “I’m a trifle out of curl. I think I will just go to bed.”

      “I see.” Lady Beatrice addressed the bed in a very stern voice. “Well, I am more than certain the duke would eviscerate any man who played fast and loose with his sister’s reputation—or harmed her in any way.”

      “Yes. I’m sure. Thank you. Good night.”

      Lizzie ushered Lady Bea out the door and closed it firmly behind her. Then she sagged against the solid wooden surface, puffed out her cheeks, and eyed the bed.

      Could she have dreamt the entire sequence of events? Was it possible the evening was simply the product of overindulgence?

      There was only one way to find out. She pushed away from the door and stepped toward the bed.

      Chapter Two

      “What were you thinking?” Charlotte drew Felicity into her room. Sometimes she wanted to shake the girl. If she were serious about catching Lord Westbrooke, she’d have to start using her head for something other than keeping her ears apart. Men were supposed to think with their nether regions, not women.

      Felicity stopped just inside the door. “Aren’t you expecting company?”

      “Yes, thanks to you.” Charlotte took a deep breath, repressing her annoyance. Perhaps it was just as well. She needed to get Lord Peter into her bed. The evening’s drama had served to force her over her initial reluctance. She glanced at her watch.

      “He’ll be here soon.” And gone soon, too, she hoped. “I told him I had to speak to you first.” And she wanted to fortify her nerves with a sip or two of brandy.

      “Peter’s not a patient man.”

      Charlotte shrugged. “He’s not a bright man, either. If I hadn’t distracted him and reined you in as well, Westbrooke would