Free The Naked Viscount by Sally Mackenzie

the Mouse know about the sketch? Could he be in the sketch?
    The thought of Mr. Mousingly participating in an orgy was both ludicrous and appalling.
    â€œI believe sculptors often draw their subjects before they begin work on statues,” she said.
    The Mouse shook his head. “But Clarence drew pictures. Scenes. Er, details.”
    Jane took another step backward. “I’m sure he did. Few artists work solely in one discipline. My mother paints, but she also draws.” Could she steer the conversation away from Clarence? “Mr. Widmore’s sister is a very accomplished painter, you know. She’s—”
    â€œHave you seen any of Clarence’s sketches lying about?” The Mouse stepped closer; Jane stepped back once more—and onto someone’s foot. She heard a grunt of pain as two gloved, male hands steadied her.
    â€œOh! I’m so sorry. Please excuse me.” Jane turned quickly and almost bumped into an elegant black waistcoat embroidered with silver threads. She looked up. Viscount Motton smiled down at her.
    Oh, my. Her heart slammed into her throat, and her mouth turned as dry as a field in the middle of a summer drought. He was so close. She drew in a deep breath and inhaled his scent—clean linen, eau de cologne, and…male.
    He’d been incredibly handsome last night, but he was impossibly handsome now, dressed so elegantly in waistcoat, coat, and cravat.
    â€œL—Lord Motton.”
    â€œMiss Parker-Roth.” His gaze was so intent. He made her feel as if she were the only woman in the room. No, more than that. As if everything else—the orchestra, the ton, everything but the two of them—had faded away.
    His eyes grew sharper, hotter. What was he going to do? She held her breath…
    He dropped his hold on her and stepped back.
    Oh. She wanted to cry with disappointment or frustration or…something. But the extra space between them freed her from her stupor. Awareness and sanity rushed back.
    They were in the middle of Lord Palmerson’s ballroom, and she would have kissed the viscount right there in front of half the ton if he’d offered her the opportunity. Good God!
    â€œWell, well. If it isn’t Motton and my little sister.”
    Her head snapped around. Damn! Stephen was sauntering toward them, a glass of champagne in his hand. She hoped he hadn’t noted her stupefaction. If he had, she’d never hear the end of it.
    â€œStephen.” She tried to smile. He was her favorite brother most days. John tended to lecture her far too much, and Nicholas was still up at Oxford—and still too young and full of himself to be pleasant company.
    But Stephen was not her favorite brother this evening. “You should be surprised to see me. You were supposed to stop by Widmore House and escort Mama and me to this ball, you know.”
    If Stephen had arrived as he was supposed to, she wouldn’t have been subjected to Mama’s worried gaze. It would have been a much pleasanter trip—as long as Stephen hadn’t made note of her distraction. On second thought, she’d take Mama’s worry over Stephen’s teasing any day.
    â€œI do know, and I give you my deepest apologies.” Stephen bowed slightly, looking properly contrite—except for the teasing light in his eyes. “But I see Mama managed to drag you here without my help.”
    Jane laughed. She could never stay angry with Stephen. “Yes.” No need to mention there’d been no dragging involved. She angled a glance at Lord Motton. Fortunately, he was looking at Stephen, and Stephen was now looking at…Oh, she’d forgotten Mr. Mousingly. The man was still lingering amidst the greenery.
    â€œWhat are you doing hiding in the palms there, Mousingly?” Stephen asked.
    The Mouse executed a small, jerky bow. “I, ah, was just having a pleasant, brief, er, conversation with Miss Parker-Roth when Lord Motton