To Pleasure a Prince (3 page)

He had her there, drat him. Clever gentlemen were such a bother.

He went on smugly, “One would think a duke’s daughter would know better than to throw salacious rumors about a man’s parentage right in his face.” He settled his hand on the gallery rail. “But then, we both know how thin is the facade of manners that your sort put so much stock in.”

“Now see here, you overgrown oaf, I’ve had enough of your half-baked ideas about me and my ‘sort.’ ” Pivoting on her heel, she headed back toward the little stair. “If you want to force Simon and Louisa to sneak around behind your back, then fine by me. Who cares if they’re caught in some compromising position and tarred by scandal? I shall simply tell my brother to go right ahead setting up their secret meetings—”

“Stop!” he roared.

She halted near the stairs, a smile playing over her face.

He came up behind her. “What the devil are you babbling about?”

“Oh, no, I shan’t trouble you with it—you’re far too busy.” She continued toward the stairs slowly—very slowly. “Clearly I’ve taken up too much of your precious time already. So I’ll be on my way.”

She’d already reached the stairs when he grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. “Not until you tell me what’s going on, damn you.”

Fighting a smile, she removed his hand from her arm. “Are you sure you can spare the time?” she said sweetly. “I don’t know if I should impose.”

He marched forward, forcing her to back down the stairs. “Your hints about ‘secret meetings’ had better be more than the figment of your imagination. Because if you think some paltry trick will gain you my attention—”

“Trick? Surely you don’t think a woman who spends her time dithering over which gown to wear could trick a clever gentleman like you.”

He swore under his breath.

Take that, you big lout.
She was so busy congratulating herself that she didn’t pay attention and missed a step. She stumbled and was about to tumble backwards to the floor when his lordship snagged her about the waist.

For a moment they stood frozen, with only his broad arm beneath her back preventing her from falling. Thank God he was strong.

And surprisingly clean, for all his mismatched stockings and rough looks. A heady scent of bay rum and soap wafted through her senses, making her wonder if he were not quite the oaf he seemed.

Then his eyes dropped to where her pelisse had fallen open to reveal her low-cut bodice, and his gaze lodged there as if stuck.

Men often stared at her breasts—on occasion she’d even used that to her advantage. But for some reason,
his
staring unsettled her. He looked as if he wanted to devour them…and make her enjoy the devouring.

As her breasts pinkened beneath his gaze, she opened her mouth to rebuke him, then noticed the edge of the scar that crawled above his beard and onto his cheek. She’d heard he had a scar, but no one seemed to know how he’d received it or how bad it was. His heavy beard covered most of it, but the part that showed looked rather nasty.

He lifted his eyes to her face. Catching where her gaze was fixed, he scowled. “Watch your step, madam. You wouldn’t want to go tumbling.”

His thinly veiled threat sent a shiver along her spine. And what had he done to gain such an awful scar anyway? She shuddered to think.

Shifting her in his arms, he lifted her as if she weighed less than nothing and set her firmly on the floor two steps below, then descended to loom over her.

“Now, Lady Regina, you’re going to explain exactly what you mean by my sister and secret meetings. Because you’re not going anywhere until you do.”

His low rumble of a voice sparked a peculiar quivering in her belly. Apparently, she’d awakened the sleeping dragon.

Now she must figure out what to do with him.

Never trust a young man, whether he be a poor mister or a titled and wealthy gentleman, alone with your charge.

—Miss Cicely Tremaine,
The Ideal Chaperone

A
s Foxmoor’s sister strolled to the center of the library, Marcus followed, trying hard to keep his eyes in his head.

It was impossible. The woman moved as sweetly as a sonata, and it had been too damned long since he’d heard one. He couldn’t take his eyes off her fine bottom, swathed in what was undoubtedly the latest fashion. He’d give half his fortune to have that fashionable ass settled on his lap. To have
her
settled on his lap, where he could touch and squeeze and plunder every honey-perfumed, muslin-draped inch.

He scowled. As if a haughty female like her would let him within ten feet. Even after he’d rescued her from a near fall, she’d regarded him as if he meant to ravish her right there.

He’d wanted to. Who wouldn’t, when a woman’s lovely breasts were served up like that, begging him to dive in and enjoy?

And dash his brains out on the rocks. It could be no coincidence that Foxmoor’s pretty sister had come to argue for him, no matter what she claimed. That’s who was always sent to appease a dragon—a beautiful young virgin.

But this virgin was braver than most. Not many society misses would storm right into his study without an introduction, especially given the gossip about him. And the woman was sophisticated enough that society had dubbed her “La Belle Dame Sans Merci”—the woman without mercy—after that poem by Chaucer about a heartless beauty.

That’s why her brother had sent her. Marcus had best remember that. She was what poets meant when they spoke of dying for love.

She was trouble.

“Well?” he snapped, desperate to get the damned woman out of his study before she put a siren’s spell on him. “What’s all this about secret meetings?”

Boldly she faced him. God help him, why must she be a blonde, too, his particular weakness? The gilt curls peeking out from beneath her feather-adorned hat practically begged to be stroked and fondled and—

A pox on her and her fancy kind. He didn’t need this right now.

She regarded him with cool composure. “Your sister and my brother are determined to see each other. If you don’t consent to their courtship, they’ll sneak around behind the watchful eyes of her guardians. Then they’re sure to be caught in a compromising situation that would harm Louisa more than my brother.”

“Which is why she would never behave so recklessly.”

“No?” Lady Regina stared him down. “I’m here precisely because she doesn’t want to go behind your back until she’s sure you can’t be moved.”

Alarm seized him. “You talked to Louisa about this?”

“I talked her
out
of it. She was ready to go along with my brother’s plans, but I convinced her that even a duke is not above reproach in such matters and that if they were caught, the ensuing scandal—”

“Damn the scandal! I just don’t want her anywhere near your brother and his confounded circle of friends!”

Her gray eyes hardened to steel. “Clearly Louisa doesn’t share your aversion to His Highness.”

That was the trouble. Louisa didn’t even understand it. She’d been ten when their mother left. All she remembered of Prinny was an indulgent “Uncle George” who occasionally brought her treats; Marcus had worked hard to keep her from hearing rumors about the true nature of their mother’s “friendship” with the man.

He’d only heard them himself when he’d gone to Harrow at eleven. Some ass had called him Prinny’s bastard the very first day. That’s when he’d discovered he was the sort of abomination people joked about—an affront to the very values of respectable society. So when Louisa was born shortly after that, he’d vowed to do whatever he must to keep her from suffering the same stigma. Especially since her blood wasn’t tainted like his.

He’d held to that vow ever since. And now this seductive harpy and her brother threatened to expose Louisa to everything he’d tried to protect her from. He would not have it! “Surely you realize that Louisa isn’t wise enough to the ways of society to be a good choice of wife for your brother.”

“She’ll learn. She makes him happy—that’s all that matters.”

He laughed bitterly. “Strange sentiments coming from you, madam.”

She cocked her head, setting her ostrich feather aquiver. “What do you mean? You don’t even know me.”

“I know of you. Who hasn’t heard of Lady Regina Tremaine, who despite refusing scores of gentlemen manages to acquire more marriage proposals with each passing year? Can’t find one to make you happy, madam? Or just can’t find one lofty enough to suit your family’s fine line-age and high expectations?”

Two spots of color stained her pretty cheeks. “I see you’ve been listening to idle gossip.”

“It doesn’t seem so idle now that I’ve met you.”

“I could say the same for the gossip about you.”

“Oh? What do they say about me these days?” He waited for her to hem and haw—no one in society ever gossiped about a man to his face.

She skewered him with a sugared dagger of a smile. “They say you’re a hard man with a foul temper. That you have secrets too dark to speak aloud, and that you will do anything to keep them.”

He snorted. “They say that
you
enjoy putting upstarts in their places. That your sharp tongue has made you the darling of our corrupt society during the seven years since your come-out.”

“Six,” she corrected tightly. “And they say that
you
browbeat tradesmen and toss hapless messengers out on their ears for no reason.”

He stalked toward her. “They say that some idiot poet is writing a poem to your heartlessness.”

Her features grew stony. “They say that William Blake, that daft artist, got the inspiration for one of his horrible dragon paintings from
you.”

He happened to own one of those “horrible dragon paintings.” Blake himself, one of Katherine’s acquaintances, had given it to him. But he’d thought it was Blake’s idea of a joke. Until now.

Scowling, he bent his head until he was nose to nose with the impudent chit. “They say that you’re a haughty bitch of a beauty who thinks the sun rises and sets for her because she’s daughter to a duke.”

When her glittering gaze met his, he thought he saw hurt in it. But that was absurd. Women like her did not hurt.

“They say you eat small children for breakfast,” she countered. “With jam.”

The deliberate absurdity of that last one startled him. And he didn’t like being startled. He glared down at her. “They call you ‘La Belle Dame Sans Merci.’ ”

She thrust her face so close to his that her ostrich feather brushed his forehead. “They call
you
‘the Dragon Viscount.’ But that’s because society entertains itself by attaching titillating names to those they fear, envy, or admire. It says nothing about either of our characters, as you, of all people, should know.”

That astute assessment of society gossip gave him pause. Drawing back from her, he said sullenly, “You left out the worst of the gossip about me. That I bullied my mother and forced her to rely on the kindness of friends—your parents, for example. That I refused to honor the terms of my father’s will. That I even used to beat her. Or had you not heard that, too?”

“I heard.”

“Then why didn’t you mention it? Unless—You believe it, don’t you?”

She thrust out her chin. “Should I? Is it true?”

That took him aback. No one had ever bothered to ask him. “You’ll think what you want to, so it hardly matters what I say.”

“It matters to me.”

She said the words so sincerely he almost believed her. And that infuriated him. “Think what you wish then,” he growled. “It makes no difference.”

“Very well, I’ll do that.”

When she said nothing more, he cursed her for not indicating what she’d chosen to believe. Not that he cared what she thought. He didn’t care in the least. Even if she
was
the most attractive female ever to enter his library.

Then she had the audacity to cast him a sultry smile that sent his pulse pounding. “But I don’t know how we got so far off the subject,” she said. “This isn’t about you or me. It’s about Louisa.”

Louisa, right. Damn her, Lady Regina was driving him mad, with her crazy assertions about her brother’s happiness. She was such a little hypocrite. A dangerously seductive, thoroughly enticing hypocrite with a body made for—

He gritted his teeth. This reaction was exactly what Foxmoor had probably hoped for when the man had sent her here, damn it. “Yes,” he said tightly. “We were discussing how you and your brother have corrupted my sister. Otherwise, she wouldn’t even think of going against my wishes. She can be headstrong, but she isn’t a fool.”

She arched one delicate brow. “Clearly you’ve never been in love, or you would understand that two people in love aren’t liable to behave rationally.”

“In love, hah. After a couple of dances at her come-out?” A sudden chill seized him. Circling around her, he headed for the fireplace. “They can’t have seen each other beyond that.”

“Girls do wander onto balconies at parties, you know.” She watched as he reached for the poker. “And gentlemen enamored of them do follow them into gardens. Attraction can blossom into love after only a few encounters.”

He stabbed the poker into the fire. “My sister might fancy herself in love, but that brother of yours has no such noble motives.”

“If you think my brother would attempt to steal your sister’s virtue—”

“No, that would certainly not be to his advantage.” Not if this courtship had anything to do with Prinny, as Marcus suspected.

She blinked. “You can’t possibly think he wants her fortune. He has one of his own.”

“Good.” Thrusting the poker aside, he faced her. “Because if she does marry him, I’ll cut her off. He won’t get a penny from me.”

When Lady Regina eyed him as if he were a slug, he considered taking back the blatant lie. He’d only said it so she would think twice about helping the couple.

“Such a threat is unlikely to keep my brother from courting your sister,” she said quietly. “It will merely encourage them to sneak around behind your back. And make me more than happy to help them.”

“What? And risk a scandal?” He sneered at her. “You would never do that.”

She assessed him coldly. “If they’re willing to risk scandal to be happy, then I’m certainly willing to help.”

He bit back an oath. Perhaps it was time Lady Regina learned Foxmoor’s true character. Because if she actually believed all that rot about love, she might not approve of his machinations.

And if she already knew Foxmoor’s true plans? Then it was better to lay their cards on the table. “Haven’t you asked yourself why your brother, who could marry any woman he pleases, would pursue a girl whose family and friends are so opposed to him?”

She lifted her chin. “He’s in love.”

He snorted. “He’s in love, all right. With the idea of being prime minister.” He chose his words carefully, not wanting her to know Prinny’s claims about Louisa’s parentage. “You see, Prinny—your brother’s friend—grew fond of my sister in the years he was playing ‘Uncle George.’ He’s annoyed that I refuse to let him near her now—”

“You won’t let His Highness see Louisa? And he allows that?”

“Why shouldn’t he? He knows he can’t press it—he has no connection to her. She’s merely the daughter of his former mistress. But that doesn’t stop him from trying to stick his nose in where it doesn’t belong. Look at what he and Mrs. Fitzherbert did with that poor girl Minney after the death of her mother, his mistress. Everyone knew the girl wasn’t his, yet he fought her family for custody and won, solely by abusing his power.”

He glared at her. “Fortunately, I know enough of the prince’s secrets that he would never dare such a thing with me. Which is why he’s trying to get at Louisa through your brother, a man who will do anything to further his political career—including scheme to bring Louisa into Prinny’s sphere against my wishes.”

Blanching, she reeled away from him. “You think that my brother…that the prince is using my brother—”

“I think your brother is using my sister. At Prinny’s behest. Your brother is more than eager to give Prinny what he wants, in exchange for his support once Prinny becomes king in truth.”

When she faced him again, her eyes were glittering. “Why has Louisa never mentioned your suspicions?”

“Because she doesn’t know about them. I’ve never told her about Prinny’s interest in her future. Or your brother’s aims. I do not want to hurt her.”

“Neither do I. And I certainly wouldn’t be here arguing his case if I thought my brother intended such a thing. I assure you that if he wanted to marry her for a political purpose, he would state that outright.”

“I’m not sure that marriage is his true intention. A courtship would be enough excuse for bringing my sister around the prince—”

“How dare you! Simon would never use a woman in such an underhanded manner, preying on her feelings merely for some political advantage.” She brightened. “Besides, if that’s all he wanted, he would have told her of the prince’s aims the first time they danced. Yet she has never mentioned that. Clearly, you are wrong about his intentions.”

“I’m not wrong. I don’t know why your brother hasn’t told her, but I assure you it’s not out of any great ‘love’ for her. And all this talk about sneaking around is to bring her to Prinny, so the man can flatter her and undermine my authority.”

“Don’t you think she should know of the prince’s interest in her future?”

“Absolutely not. She’s just young enough to be dazzled by the idea of traveling in court circles, without being wise enough to understand how dangerous Prinny can be.” Stepping nearer, he lowered his voice. “And so help me, if you dare tell her any of this—”

“I am not a tattler, sir,” she retorted with a mutinous set to her chin. “Besides, I am not about to tell her some unfounded nonsense about a plot between His Highness and my brother.”

Her loyalty to her brother was commendable but misplaced. “If you don’t believe me, ask Foxmoor why he’s courting her. See what he says.”

A hint of uncertainty showed in her eyes before she stepped away with a sniff. “I don’t have to. I know my brother. He is not the calculating devil you make him out to be.” She arched one elegant eyebrow. “Nor are you giving your sister enough credit. She’s a lovely girl. Any man would be happy to marry her.”