The Naked Duke. Sally MacKenzie
on the bed. This morning could not get any more bizarre. Was the man a lunatic? Naked or not, she should have thrown herself on those ladies’ mercy while she’d had the chance.
“I don’t see what’s so funny.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” The man sat up and grinned. “In fact, I should be crying, not laughing. But I’m not unhappy. This unusual incident may prove to be the best thing to happen to me in a long time.”
Sarah tried to keep her eyes on his face. It would have helped if he would show the least embarrassment about his naked state, but now that the older ladies were gone, he seemed quite comfortable in his skin. It was very nice skin. The blanket had slipped down to pool at his hips, revealing a fine dusting of golden hair, slightly darker than that on his head. She felt the shocking urge to use her fingers to trace its path from his collarbone to his navel, over the planes of his chest and the muscles of his flat belly. She flushed, looking up to find his eyes on hers.
“Sweetheart, I would love to let you do whatever it is you’re thinking of, but if I don’t get dressed and downstairs promptly, Aunt Gladys will be storming back in here to help me.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“No? Well, perhaps it’s just my dirty mind that’s imagining all the lovely things we could be doing if I didn’t have to be downstairs—and if you weren’t a lady, of course.”
He turned to swing his legs off the bed. Sarah admired the ripple of muscles in his broad back before she dove under the covers. She heard him laugh, then move around the room.
“Coast is clear,” he said. “I’ll be right outside the door when you’re ready.”
Once she heard the latch click, she pulled the blankets off her head and took a deep breath. Well, at least now she knew who the mysterious James was. That is, she knew what he looked like. She burst into a hot blush. She knew what quite a lot of him looked like.
Still, she didn’t know his surname. What was she to call him? Not James. She had never addressed a man by his Christian name. But then, she had never slept with a naked man before. Naked with a naked man! If her face got any hotter, she would set the bed aflame. She slid out from between the covers and darted over to the fireplace to retrieve her clothing.
If she had to find a man in her bed, she had certainly found an excellent specimen. She knew the Abington sisters would tell her that she shouldn’t notice such things, but she wasn’t blind, and only a blind woman would not have found this man wonderful with his dark blond hair, broad shoulders, and amber eyes. And his voice! It made her think of warm honey. Mellow and deep and magical. It had certainly cast a spell over her.
She pulled her dress over her head and dug a comb out of her reticule. She surveyed her hair in the mirror. She should have braided it last night, but then it wouldn’t have dried. Well, she had paid the price. Now it was a mare’s nest—a red mare’s nest. She started to tug her comb through the mess, remembering how the Abington sisters had bemoaned its unfortunate hue.
“Maybe it will darken as you get older,” Clarissa Abington had said when Sarah was thirteen, “and look more like your father’s.”
“Just keep your bonnet on, dear, and no one will notice,” Abigail whispered.
“Sometimes, Sarah, men think girls with red hair are fast, so you must be especially careful.” Clarissa waggled her stumpy index finger under Sarah’s nose. “Red hair is a curse—it’s that simple. Men will assume you are a whore.”
Sarah’s hand stilled. Had the man in her bed this morning thought she was a whore? Heart pounding, she leaned against the wall for support. Exactly what had happened last night?
She took a deep breath and tried to suppress her rising panic. Was she still a virgin? Certainly she would know if she wasn’t, wouldn’t she? She would feel…different.
Well, she had certainly felt different when she awoke this morning. Was that enough? She did not know. No one had ever bothered to explain the mechanics of procreation to her. Was being alone with a man sufficient? The Abington sisters had always been so careful that none of their students was ever by herself with a gentleman caller. Sarah put her hands to her hot cheeks. She had not just been drinking tea alone with a man in the school parlor! No, she’d been in bed with him. At night. Unclothed.
Sarah put a shaking hand on her stomach. Could there be a child growing within her right now?
And why had the man laughed when she’d told him who she was? He had appeared to believe her. He must realize now that she was not a whore.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She would not let her imagination run away with her. There was nothing she could do about it at the moment. She would just tie her stomach into knots fretting.
She wrapped her hair into a bun at the back of her neck and fastened it there with her hairpins. She surveyed the result. Not elegant, but at least she no longer looked like a red haystack. She opened the door.
The man was waiting in the hall, as promised. He looked very elegant and unapproachable with clothes on.
“There you are.” He offered her his arm. “Let’s go downstairs and brave the dragons.”
Sarah stepped closer. Now that he was standing, she saw that he was quite tall. She was used to looking men in the eye, but she came only to this man’s shoulder.
“You’re not going to introduce her to your aunt, are you, James? I can take her down the backstairs and settle up for you if you haven’t had time.”
Sarah started. She had not noticed the other person in the hall. It was the red-haired man of last night. She frowned. Why had he put her in his friend’s room? She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, but James was already talking.
“We’ll sort this all out downstairs, Robbie. I don’t relish discussing my business in the hall, nor do we need to go through this more than once.”
“But, James, you can’t—”
James raised his hand. “Be careful what you say, Robbie. I am most certain you will regret it.”
Robbie stared, then shrugged. “As you will. I suppose you know what you’re doing. You always do.”
Another door opened and a third man stepped into the corridor. He was shorter and broader than the other two, with curly, brown hair. “Morning, James, Robbie, ma’am. Uh, witnessed the commotion this morning. Shall I take charge of the, um, lady?”
“Good morning, Charles. Do come along.” James looked down at Sarah. “Forgive me for not taking the time to make introductions, dear. I assure you, it is better to wait until we have some privacy downstairs.”
Sarah nodded. She had no idea what was going on and decided it was better to hold her tongue. She saw Charles shoot Robbie a questioning look. Robbie shrugged.
The little group walked along the hall and down the stairs, stopping before a closed door. “Courage,” James whispered, touching her hand.
Sarah and the men stepped into a private sitting room. The tall elderly woman and her shorter companion looked up from their tea. The companion wrinkled her nose, as if she’d happened upon a pigsty.
James smiled down at Sarah. There was a sparkle in his eyes as though he were enjoying some grand joke. He turned to the older women. “Aunt, Lady Amanda, may I present Miss Sarah Hamilton of Philadelphia? Sarah, this is my aunt, Lady Gladys Runyon, and her companion, Lady Amanda Wallen-Smyth.”
“Damn!”
Sarah glanced around to see where the expletive had come from. Charles looked bewildered; Robbie looked ill.
Lady Amanda’s nostrils flared as if the pig had left the sty and had had the audacity to root around her skirts. “Alvord, I don’t care if you import your wh—”
Lady Gladys put a hand out to stop