The Naked Viscount by Sally Mackenzie Page B

Seasons—knew gossip and innuendo could fell a person as surely as a bullet.
    â€œInnocence is precious,” Lord Motton said. “Once lost, it cannot be recovered.”
    The man did think she was a child! How patronizing. She should—
    She bit her lip hard and listened to the words again as they echoed through her memory. He hadn’t said them easily. He hadn’t sounded condescending; he’d sounded pained, as if he spoke from bitter experience.
    What innocence had he lost, and when?
    â€œI understand that, too, my lord.” She spoke more gently than she would have. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you need my help. Finding the next statue is important, isn’t it? We can’t just give up.”
    Lord Motton’s lips tightened further into a hard, thin line, turned down sharply at the ends. He clearly wanted to argue with her, but just as clearly realized he had no reasonable argument—and no alternative. Finally he emitted a short, resigned sigh.
    â€œVery well. Please do try not to look at the rest of the sketch.” He pulled the scrap of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her, pointing to one corner. “There’s the flower. If you look closely behind it, you’ll see the statue.”
    â€œYes.” The light was very dim. She moved closer to one of the lanterns Lord Palmerson had hung throughout the garden for his guests. There was Lord Ardley and Lady Farthingale. What were they—oh, my! She was…he was…
    Was that possible?
    Jane felt her face burn so, she feared it was brighter than the lanterns. At least Lord Ardley and Lady Farthingale appeared very jolly about whatever they were doing.
    Lord Motton had thrust his hands in his pockets. He looked very gloomy. “The drawing must be of some other garden.” He shook his head. “When Stephen said Palmerson had one of these trees, I thought—But it would be too dam—demmed easy if the statue were here, of course. Do you know any other gardens I might search?”
    â€œYou are not searching gardens by yourself; I thought we had already established that.” She turned from the graphic biology to examine the botany more closely. There was nothing to indicate Clarence was trying to illustrate an actual view from one of Lord Palmerson’s windows, so the placement of objects to one another was probably irrelevant. Still, if the statue was here, it would make sense it was near the magnolia.
    â€œWe should go back to the ballroom. Your mother will notice your absence.”
    She put her hand on Lord Motton’s arm to stop him. “No, not yet.” The statue would have to be hidden from the path; if it wasn’t, the gabble-grinders—and thus all the ton —would know about it.
    Where could one hide an obscene statue? The Magnolia grandiflora must be a hint.
    He plucked the sketch out of her fingers. “Miss Parker-Roth, it’s time—”
    This spot, behind this line of evergreen bushes, would be adequate, but the lantern’s presence indicated it was not remote enough. Where were the bushes even bushier, the foliage denser, the—“There!”
    â€œWhat?” What the hell was the woman up to? She ignored his proffered arm, gathered her skirts, and strode through the darkened greenery toward an unsightly mass of dense vegetation. Blast it! If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up tripping over some damn root and sprawling face-first in the dirt.
    He took off after her—and had to grab a low-hanging branch to save himself from measuring his length in a patch of Palmerson’s weeds.
    â€œBloody hell—” He untangled some ivy from around his ankles. He wasn’t much interested in greenery, but if his head gardener ever let any of his plantings run wild like this, the man would be explaining himself or finding a new position.
    He straightened and looked back at the path. With all the noise he