mouth; her lips felt swollen, sensitive.
She tilted her chin, closed her eyes. Every part of her—even some shockingly embarrassing parts—tingled with anticipation. Waiting…
Would it be as wonderful as the first time?
Would it be better?
Would it—
She felt him move away. Her eyes flew open. His eyes were still hot, but with anger instead of seduction.
“You are going to bed.”
“Huh?” She felt like a four-year-old being sent to her room with no supper for doing…what?
“You are going upstairs.” He tugged on her arm. “Now.”
“No.” She dug in her heels, but she was no match for his strength. He dragged her toward the door. “You’re hurting me.”
He paused. “Am I really hurting you or are you playing one of your tricks on me?”
Lord Motton was a fast learner, especially considering he had no siblings. Best not to answer that question.
“My lord, you know you need help.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
He didn’t bother answering; he just moved closer to the door. She had to do something.
They’d reached the Pan statue. It was in pieces—obviously the work had been a plaster cast and not the solid stone she’d initially supposed. Her foot sent Pan’s mammoth member skittering across the carpet to slip between the legs of a small loveseat.
Had she seen something sticking out of the broken end, right before it had disappeared under the furniture? A piece of paper perhaps?
Excitement shivered up her spine. She had to get her hands on that penis.
Chapter 2
Jane threw herself toward the loveseat. Motton must have been startled by her sudden movement, because he loosened his grip.
That was all she needed. She’d learned early, playing with John and Stephen, to take any opening she was given. In a flash, she’d twisted her wrist and broken free. She fell to her hands and knees to peer under the loveseat, looking for the errant organ.
The Widmores’ regular servants apparently were not much better than the temporary ones—the dust under the loveseat was easily an inch thick. Jane sneezed.
“What are you doing?” Lord Motton sounded extremely annoyed.
Jane spared him a glance. He looked extremely annoyed, too. “I’m searching for something.”
“What?”
She grinned at him. “Pan’s penis, if you must know.”
“What?”
“Wait a minute.” Her fingers brushed over something long and hard. “I think I’ve got it.”
Motton stared at Miss Parker-Roth’s delectable derrière. Had she just said she was searching for a…penis? His personal penis jumped at the thought.
What was the matter with him? He wasn’t usually plagued by such inappropriate thoughts about young ladies. Of course, he wasn’t usually treated to such a singular view of a young lady’s nightgown-clad bottom. It would be so easy to catch the hem of her gown and pull it up to reveal—
No. This was Stephen and John’s little sister who had the delightfully round, entrancing…
He pulled on his hair. “Will you come out of there?”
She grunted and started to back out. Her knee caught the fabric of her nightgown, stretching it tight across her lovely—
He clasped his hands behind his back and looked up to admire the ceiling molding.
“Look what I have.”
He examined the object she was waving under his nose. It indeed looked to be Pan’s once prominent penis.
“Er, yes, I see.” He could not think of anything else to say. Surely she would not try to engage him in a discussion of…anything. “It appears poor Pan is somewhat the worse for wear.”
Miss Parker-Roth shrugged. “I hit the statue with the candlestick when you surprised me. I should have realized then it was plaster and not stone, but I was thinking of other things.”
“Yes, well.” He could not afford to think about what a seductive armful a thrashing Miss Parker-Roth had proved to be. He considered picking the Holland cloth up from the floor and dropping it over her hand and the object she held. “I noticed you’d covered the sculpture.”
She laughed. “Oh, no. Mama’s an artist, remember? I’m inured to such things, but Mrs. Brindle, our temporary housekeeper, is not. I’m afraid she does not appreciate Clarence’s work. The house is dotted with Holland cloth.”
“Ah.” There didn’t seem to be anything else to say to that.
“But look here.” She held the penis out again, her delicate fingers wrapped tightly around the hard length. It was a rather realistically rendered representation—if poor Pan were still connected to it, he’d be a very happy god.
His own organ let him know how delighted it would be to receive similar attentions.
Damn it, he could not be lusting after this woman. And furthermore, most proper young ladies would be swooning, not clutching a bodiless cock with such enthusiasm. “What is it?”
The lady blinked. His voice had sounded rather harsh, but, Zeus, he was sorely tried. She was standing there in her nightgown, for God’s sake, totally naked under that flimsy covering. He knew exactly how her soft breasts felt pressed against his chest and how her bottom filled his hands. He’d tasted her hot, wet mouth, felt her tongue sliding over his, breathed in the musky scent of her desire. And she was standing there holding a fully engorged cock.
He should be lauded for only speaking harshly instead of doing what he’d really like to do—tear off that gown and bury his own cock deep inside her.
And he was sure he should be castrated for entertaining even for a moment such a shocking thought concerning the sister of two of his friends.
If he didn’t get out of here soon, he was going to forget everything except she was a woman and he was a man.
“Look.” She pointed to the organ’s base where it had been attached to Pan’s body. He forced the lust from his mind to examine the spot. Was that a corner of paper? He reached for it—
“No.” Miss Parker-Roth snatched Pan’s penis away, hiding it behind her back. “I found it; I shall look at it first.”
Motton crossed his arms. “Well, look then.”
“I will.” Jane stared defiantly at Lord Motton; the viscount gazed blandly back. Finally, she brought the penis from behind her back. There was definitely a paper there. She grasped the corner that was sticking out and pulled carefully—she didn’t want to tear it.
Lord Motton plucked a candle from the mantel as she spread the sheet on the desk and smoothed the wrinkles out. “It is a sketch. Well, part of one.” Two sides of the paper were ragged—someone had obviously torn it. She bent closer to study the figures. They were jumbled together very oddly. What were they doing?
Lord Motton made a strangled sound and snatched the paper away.
“Hey!” She tried to grab it from him, but he held it above his head. “Give that back.”
“No.” The word was a verbal stone wall. Lord Motton looked exceedingly stony himself. His lips were pressed into a tight, thin line and his nostrils flared. “It is an inappropriate scene for you to view.”
“It is?” Now she wanted