The Naked Earl. Sally MacKenzie

should target Lord Peter instead. He is a marquis’s son.”

      “Fifth son.” Felicity shook her head. “No, I definitely want Westbrooke’s title and money.”

      “Well, if he really was in Lady Elizabeth’s room, I imagine there’ll be a betrothal by breakfast.”

      Felicity clenched the shepherdess. “There had better not be. Westbrooke is mine.”

      “Careful!” Charlotte sat up abruptly. “Tynweith might well be a bit possessive of his trinkets.”

      Felicity looked at the figurine in her hand, then put it carefully back in its place. “If he treasures the knickknacks, why put them in the guest rooms?”

      “I assume he harbors the mistaken impression that his guests are civilized.”

      Lizzie’s hand shook as she lit a candle. At least the events of the night had cleared her head. She no longer felt muzzy with wine.

      She eyed the bed. So far, no motion or sound had come from behind the curtains. Had she imagined the evening’s odd occurrences? There was only one way to find out. She reached out to pull back the cloth.

      “Eek!”

      Robbie’s hand twitched aside the curtain just as her fingers touched it. He glared at her.

      “Shh! You’ll get everyone back in here. And watch that candle. You don’t want to set us both aflame.”

      “No.” Lizzie already felt flames burning in some very odd locations. Her breasts and her…belly. Robbie might be glaring, but he was still naked. Her sheet covered him from the waist down, but his lovely neck, arms, and chest were exposed. The candlelight created interesting shadows begging to be explored.

      She was very hot indeed.

      Robbie turned away from her and tugged on the sheet. She watched his muscles bunch in his back and arms.

      “Could you give me a hand here, Lizzie?”

      “What?” Robbie needed a hand? Where? She would love to give him a hand—both her hands. She’d love to run them over his shoulders, down his back, under the sheet at his waist….

      He tugged again. “It’s not coming loose.”

      “What?”

      “Can’t you say anything other than ‘what’?” He jerked on the sheet once more. “This. The sheet. It’s not coming loose. Could you pull it out at the corners? I’m going to have to borrow it to get back to my room.”

      “Oh. Yes. Of course.”

      Lizzie put down her candle and pulled the sheet free of the mattress. Robbie wrapped it around his waist and slid off the far side of the bed.

      “I don’t know why Charlotte came to our rescue, but I’m not complaining,” he said as he tucked the ends of the sheet more securely around his waist. “It would have been extremely awkward if Felicity had opened the curtains and everyone had seen me in your bed.”

      “Uh.” Lizzie wasn’t thinking about their close brush with discovery. She was thinking about Robbie’s chest and shoulders. About the muscles in his upper arms. About how she wished the sheet would slip free of his waist.

      Would he jump again if she touched him?

      She started moving around the bed.

      He started moving toward the window, giving her a wide berth.

      “I do apologize for disturbing your sleep.”

      “I wasn’t sleeping.” She flushed.

      His face turned red, too. Obviously he’d remembered what she had been doing.

      “Still, I apologize for invading your room. I was in desperate straits, believe me.”

      Lizzie reached for his arm, but he jerked it away. He tried to take a longer stride, tripped on his sheet, and caught himself on the wall.

      “Why did you come to my room?”

      He grabbed the windowsill and turned. “I wasn’t coming to your room, Lizzie. I was fleeing mine. As I’m sure you guessed from all the commotion, I woke up to find Felicity in my bed—quite uninvited, I assure you. I had to exit quickly.”

      “So you went out the window?”

      He shrugged, making the muscles in his chest move in a most intriguing fashion. “I had no choice. I’m certain Lord Peter was stationed in the hall ready to nab me at Felicity’s first scream.”

      Lizzie nodded. “Felicity is rather determined.”

      “Determined!” Robbie ran a hand through his hair. His arm muscles bunched and shifted delightfully. “She’s beyond determined. She’s a bedlamite.”

      Lizzie bit her lip and clutched her nightgown to keep her fingers from misbehaving.

      “Once I was out on the portico roof, I had very few options. Yours was the only open window. I was hoping it was Parks’s. He got in late, after most people had retired.”

      “I know. His room is next to mine.”

      “Yes, well, I realized that rather quickly.” Robbie leaned out the window and looked right and left.

      “Would you have wed Felicity if her plan had worked?”

      He looked back at her and frowned.

      “I suppose so. I don’t know. The thought is appalling. You can be sure I will find a way to secure my bedchamber door from now on.” He sat on the sill and swung his legs over it. “I am sorry for all the, um”—his gesture encompassed the room—“commotion. I think—I hope—there will be no lasting repercussions.”

      “Repercussions?”

      He shrugged.

      A naked shrug was definitely more interesting than a clothed one.

      “Rumors, that sort of thing.” He looked everywhere but in her eyes. “I’m certain it will all blow over if we don’t let ourselves get flustered by the gabble grinders.”

      “Yes. Of course. Certainly.” Surely he didn’t think she was as bad as Felicity? She would never try to trap him into matrimony.

      “Good. Then I’ll see you in the morning, shall I?” Robbie dropped down to the portico’s roof. “Sleep well.”

      “Sleep well.” Lizzie hung out her window, watching him mince back to his room. He took a longer step and his sheet slipped. She held her breath, but he caught it quickly, allowing her only a glimpse of the top of his muscled buttocks.

      When he reached his window, his hands went to his waist. Was he going to discard the sheet? It would definitely be easier to climb in without it.

      She hung farther out her window. Yes, he was opening it….

      He glanced back and saw her just as the cloth slid past his waist. He caught it.

      She could have cried in frustration.

      He waved.

      She waved back.

      He waited. It was clear he was not going to attempt to reenter his room while she was watching. She pulled back from the window….

      …And leaned out again. All she saw was the sheet slithering over the windowsill.

      She sighed and shut the window, drawing the curtains closed. Now that Robbie was gone, she could think more clearly. She glanced at the mirror and flushed. In her high-necked white nightgown, she looked the perfectly proper virginal sister of a duke, but earlier….

      What had possessed her? She covered her face with her hands. Her cheeks were hot to the touch. Perhaps she was feverish. She had a brain fever, that was it. An alcohol-induced brain fever. She didn’t know herself. She had never behaved in such a way before.