She considered that. Yes, a few of the figures might have been partially naked, and they had been very oddly arranged. “I’ve never seen a sketch of an orgy.”
“I should hope not.”
She really, really wanted another look at that piece of paper. “I didn’t realize you were a prude, Lord Motton.”
“I am not a prude, I am merely cognizant of proper behavior.”
“You are a prude.”
He glared at her. She’d hoped by teasing him, she’d get him to relent and give her back the paper, but it was clear that wasn’t going to happen. “Is it an orgy of French spies?”
“No.” Lord Motton looked at the sketch, carefully keeping it out of her line of sight. “But I believe this is what Ardley was looking for. He’s here in the picture.”
“He is? What’s he doing?” Jane hopped a little to see if she could catch a glimpse of the scene, but it was hopeless. If only she’d looked more carefully when she’d had the chance, but it had all been so confusing.
“Nothing you need to know about, Miss Parker-Roth.” Lord Motton’s tone was icy now. Oh, if only he weren’t such a prig. He hadn’t seemed so priggish when he’d been kissing her earlier.
“Do you recognize anyone else?”
“Yes.”
She counted to ten. She’d kick him in the shins if she didn’t know she’d only hurt her toes. “You know that’s only part of the sketch.”
“I’m aware of that fact.”
“We should search for the other pieces.”
“No, we should not.”
“What? Why not?”
He shrugged. Miss Parker-Roth looked like she was ready to leap out of her skin. He was certain she was dying to snatch the paper out of his hands. It was completely inappropriate material for a woman such as herself to see, however. He glanced at it again. Completely inappropriate.
“I agreed to look for a drawing of spies, because I was persuaded it might be of some import to the well-being of the country. This”—he held up the paper and then folded it and put it in his pocket—“is merely evidence of peers behaving badly.”
“Don’t you think it must be more than that? Why would Clarence have torn it into pieces and hidden it away? And why would Lord Ardley be so anxious to locate it?”
“As to Ardley, I imagine he would find it extremely embarrassing if this were to show up in any of the London print-shop windows. He is anxious—very anxious—to wed the daughter of a cit, a Miss Barnett. Mr. Barnett is a Methodist. He would not wish to give his precious daughter into the keeping of a profligate.”
“As well he shouldn’t.” Miss Parker-Roth looked horrified. “We must find some way to put a word in Miss Barnett’s ear.”
Surely the woman couldn’t be that blind to the ways of the world? Though now that he considered the matter, he’d never heard of her angling for a title. “Miss Parker-Roth, if the woman weds Ardley, she becomes a countess.”
“So? If she weds him, she’s also saddled with a disreputable husband. At least Miss Barnett should be told of Lord Ardley’s behavior so she can make an informed choice.”
“The world doesn’t work that way.”
“My world does.” Miss Parker-Roth glared quite fiercely at him. “We must find a way to let her know.”
“We?”
“All right, I shall find a way.”
“You can’t tell Miss Barnett about the sketch—we don’t even know that it depicts an actual scene.” The thought of this impetuous woman spreading tales that could ruin Ardley’s marriage plans caused his heart to seize. The earl was reaching point non plus. If he didn’t wed Miss Barnett—and get his hands on her money—he was going to end up in debtor’s prison. He might well lose his estate.
Ardley would not tolerate anyone—especially some young woman like Miss Parker-Roth—interfering.
“I can’t not tell Miss Barnett. I can’t let a fellow female fall into such a terrible trap.”
“Miss Parker-Roth, you don’t understand—”
“No, Lord Motton, you do not understand. I am determined to alert this poor girl.” She stepped closer and poked him in his chest. “Can you truthfully say you’d let your sister, if you had one, marry Lord Ardley if there’s any truth behind Clarence’s drawing?”
Miss Parker-Roth was overreacting. Men—normal, decent men—did sometimes engage in behavior that women would not approve of. Orgies…well, perhaps not orgies. He had been compelled to attend an orgy or two in his days of skulking and listening, but thank God he’d not been required to participate. He did not at all care for the public nature of such an activity. Some things should definitely be conducted in private. In a bedchamber with a locked door and a soft bed…
And he should damn well not be thinking of any private activities with this annoying female, but he was, and in startlingly precise detail. Not as precise as he’d like, of course. He needed to get that nightgown off to see—
No. He would not see. He would not think of privacy and nakedness and Miss Parker-Roth.
He removed her finger from his chest. The woman was correct on one point. He would not want his sister, if he had one, marrying Ardley. “I—”
Blast! Was that the front door? And damn, he heard steps in the hall. Miss Parker-Roth must hear them, too. She inhaled sharply.
“Mama’s home early.”
“Damn—” He swallowed his curse and took hold of her shoulders, holding her gaze with his. He spoke as authoritatively as he could, and having been raised to the viscountcy—having been the viscount since he was sixteen—he knew something of authority. “Miss Parker-Roth—Jane—you cannot, you must not tell anyone about this sketch. Not your mother or your brother or especially Miss Barnett. No one.”
“I have to do something. I can’t stand idly by while a young woman ruins her life.”
He thought she was greatly overstating the case. Most women would put up with a lot to become a countess, but Miss Parker-Roth clearly believed Miss Barnett was in peril. He could feel the tension in her shoulders. “I’m not asking you to. I’m just asking you to wait until we can discuss this further.”
“Jane, are you down here?” It sounded as if Mrs. Parker-Roth was just outside the study door.
He shook Jane slightly to emphasize his point. “Wait. Please?” He looked over at the door—the knob was turning. “I have to go.”
“When will I see you?”
“At the Palmerson ball tomorrow night.”
Jane watched Lord Motton slip out the French window and disappear into the shadows just as Mama came into the study.
“Were you talking to someone, Jane?” Mama removed her cape.
“Er.” Jane was a terrible liar.
“Good heavens, what happened to poor Pan?” Mama stared down at the plaster pieces on the rug.
“I’m afraid I knocked him over.” Jane clasped her hands to stop her fingers from pleating her nightgown nervously. “I came down for a book.”
Mama smiled. “Finished Frankenstein, did you?”
Jane nodded.
“You were probably a little jumpy. And Mrs. Brindle will be happy. She did not care for Pan’s, ah, exuberance.”
“I hope Cleopatra will not be upset when she returns.”