In the Prince’s Bed by Sabrina Jeffries (13)

Chapter Two

Katherine Merivale couldn’t believe it. Apparently Papa’s scandalous chapbook had been right—a practiced rakehell could tempt a woman to sin with just a look. Because only a nun could resist the power of the Earl of Iversley’s gaze from across Lady Jenner’s ballroom. Katherine had never been so unsettled by a man’s stare. But then, no man had ever looked at her quite like that, either.

She tried to ignore him. Yet everywhere the waltz took her and her dance partner, Sir Sydney Lovelace, she could feel Lord Iversley’s blue gaze following her, stripping her bare, unveiling all her secrets.

And she didn’t even have any secrets.

If she were to believe the gossip about him, however, he certainly did—ten years of secrets from his wild and reckless adventures in exotic ports. And every one of those years showed in the darkly compelling eyes that promised he could make any woman yearn for his caresses…

Lord preserve her, how her imagination ran away with her! And what right did the Earl of Iversley have to undress her with his eyes, anyway? She hadn’t even been introduced to him, for goodness sake.

After another circuit around the ballroom, she sneaked a glance to where his lordship still stood by the gallery doors, holding a glass of champagne. Lady Jenner was with him now, leaning forward to give the man a generous view of her ample bosom.

Katherine rolled her eyes. Just because Lord Iversley was a handsome devil in that striped white-on-white waistcoat and suit of jet-black superfine was no reason for women to slobber over him.

Not that Katherine cared who slobbered over his lordship. She had Sydney, her betrothed. Her nearly betrothed, anyway, if he would ever get around to making their informal childhood “understanding” into a formal lifelong one.

All right, so Sydney’s shoulders weren’t quite that broad, and his hair fell in precise golden ringlets instead of that gloriously rumpled mass of smoky black waves—

She stifled a groan. There was no comparison. Sydney epitomized gentlemanly refinement. Lord Iversley looked downright dangerous, like that caged panther she and Mama had seen at the menagerie today. No true gentleman had such tanned skin, such large hands, such blatantly muscular thighs practically bursting from his tight knee breeches…

Goodness, what was wrong with her? And now both he and Lady Jenner were staring at her and murmuring together.

About her? Surely not. A man of his vast experience and taste for wild living would never pursue her. Not according to The Rake’s Rhetorick, that horrible book she’d found hidden in her late father’s study. It dictated that “since willing widows and wives abound, the pleasure-bent rake should avoid wellborn virgins. Seducing an innocent brings consequences that outweigh its delights.”

She was certainly a wellborn virgin, and Lord Iversley was surely bent on the sort of pleasure only the Lady Jenners of this world could give.

“Kit?” Sydney said as he swept her into a turn.

She jerked her gaze from Lord Iversley. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Sydney had noticed the earl staring at her and was now insanely jealous? “Yes?”

“You’re attending my reading tomorrow, aren’t you?”

Suppressing a sigh, she gazed up into the sweet face she knew as well as her own. “Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”

He beamed at her, then returned to his usual state of distraction, probably mulling over a difficult rhyme in his latest epic poem. No, Sydney would never notice the earl’s glances.

And if Sydney didn’t act soon, Mama might make good on her threats. Katherine set her shoulders. Perhaps it was time to force her suitor’s hand. “I only wish I could also attend your reading at the Argyle Rooms next month.”

He blinked. “Why can’t you?”

“We lack the funds to stay in London much longer. Unless something changes in our situation, of course.” How much broader a hint could she give?

With a frown, he glanced over at Katherine’s mother. “You can’t touch the funds your grandfather left you? You’ve spoken to the solicitor?”

“He says the will is inviolable. I can’t access my fortune until I marry.” Which was why Mama was driving her mad about settling her future.

“Dashed inconsiderate of your grandfather to do that to you.”

Katherine thought it rather clever. Between Papa’s illicit pursuits and Mama’s love of lavish spending, the money would have disappeared in a matter of weeks otherwise. Unfortunately, Grandfather hadn’t expected Katherine to take so long to marry. Or his son-in-law to die young and leave them in debt to half of Heath’s End.

Sydney whirled her beneath the crystal chandeliers threaded with sprigs of cherry blossoms. “Perhaps I should speak to Mother about inviting you to stay at our town house.”

“No, we couldn’t impose.” And she cringed to think of Mama striding about his town house, calculating the cost of the furnishings. A week with Mama close by would make Sydney cry off for sure. “Besides, it might look improper.”

“True.” That seemed to settle the problem for Sydney. “What an unusual gown you’re wearing tonight.”

All right, so he was changing the subject, but at least he’d noticed her carefully chosen attire. “Do you like it?”

“It’s an…interesting color.”

She swallowed. “I figured red was appropriate for Lady Jenner’s annual Cherry Blossom Ball.”

“Cherry blossoms are white.”

“Yes, but cherries are red.”

“Well, your gown is certainly red. That particular shade is very…er…”

Fetching? Provocative?

“Bold,” he finished. “But then, you always do wear bold gowns.”

Bold was a bad thing in Sydney terms. “You don’t like it,” she murmured.

“I didn’t say that. In fact, I was thinking that the color would be excellent for my character Serena in La Belle Magnifique.”

Katherine stared at him. “The courtesan?” Her voice rose above the music. “The one who’s so flashy she embarrasses the king?”

Sydney blinked. “Oh, no…I don’t mean that you…I only meant—”

“Is that why Serena’s hair is red like mine?” Her hurt deepened. “Is that how you see me, as flashy and—”

“No, not you—just your gown!” He paled. “Just the color…I mean—Dash it all, Kit, you know what I mean. It’s rather scarlet, don’t you think? And with that gold sash tied about it…well, it draws attention. Especially when you wear it with that cannetille and enamel jewelry.”

“I can’t afford real gems, Sydney. Not until we marry, at any rate.”

He ignored that hint. “But young unmarried ladies don’t usually dress so audaciously. They wear pearls and white gowns—”

“Which, with my hair and figure, would make me look like a candle. My hair is bold, whether I like it or not. But if I have to be conspicuous for it, I might as well give people something to look at.”

“You could try a turban,” he offered helpfully. “I hear they’re fashionable.”

She drew herself up with wounded dignity. “I am not wearing a turban, I am not giving up my jewelry, and I am not going to wear unflattering gowns.”

Alarm spread over Sydney’s face. He loathed arguments. “Or course not. I didn’t mean you should.” His voice turned placating. “You know I think you’re delightful. You’re my muse, always inspiring me to improve my verse.”

And giving him ideas for his most shameless characters. So much for hoping that her gown would make Sydney notice her as a woman. Couldn’t he see she was no longer the tomboyish Kit of their childhood? He never even tried to kiss her. He talked like a suitor but behaved like a friend. Although she wanted to marry the friend, it would be nice if for once he took her in his arms and—

“Come on, you can’t stay mad at me.” The waltz ended, and Sydney led her from the floor with his usual elegant grace. “You know I can’t do without you.”

“Because I’m the muse for your poetry,” she grumbled.

“Because you are my poetry.”

The tender statement dissolved all her anger. “Oh, Sydney, that’s lovely.”

He brightened. “It is, isn’t it? What a good line—I must write that down.” He began patting his pockets. “Dash it all, I have nothing to write on. I don’t suppose you have any paper in your reticule?”

Numbly, she shook her head. She’d never get Sydney to the altar, never. Mama would plague her about their debts until she had to marry some fortune hunter just to access her fortune and keep her little sisters from becoming governesses and her five-year-old brother from inheriting a dilapidated manor.

Sydney was oblivious to her dejection. “That’s all right. If I can only—” He stopped walking, forcing her to stop, too. When she glanced at him in surprise, he was scowling at something beyond her. “Don’t look, but the Earl of Iversley is watching us.”

She fought a smile. “Is he?” It had certainly taken Sydney long enough to notice. “He’s probably staring at my shameless gown.”

“I never said it was shameless,” he snapped. “Besides, he’s staring at us both.”

“He is?” When Sydney’s gaze shot to her, she added hastily, “Why would the Earl of Iversley be staring at us?”

“He probably recognizes me—I went to Harrow with the wicked devil. He and his friends were wild and reckless sorts, didn’t study or do anything useful. Iversley was the worst—he never met a rule he didn’t break. And he got away with it because he was heir to an earl.” Sydney’s resentment shone in his face. “We used to call him Alexander the Great. I suppose he’s in London to burn through whatever fortune his late father left to him.”

She stole another peek at Lord Iversley. Anyone who could rouse the amiable Sydney’s ire must be a wicked devil indeed.

And he was staring at her again. Goodness, that frank gaze he skimmed down her gown was quite scandalous, a thrillingly slow appraisal that sucked the breath right out of her. By the time his eyes returned to her face, she was light-headed.

Then he lifted his glass of champagne in a toasting gesture, as if the two of them shared some secret. Like “two larks who alone know the words to their song,” her favorite line from Sydney’s poems.

With a blush, she jerked her gaze away. She was supposed to be coaxing Sydney into offering for her, not gaping at Lord Iversley.

“That dashed blackguard.” Sydney tugged on her arm. “Let’s go this way before he begs an introduction to you. I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

No, indeed. Because if the earl could make her breathless with only a look, imagine what he’d do up close. Probably stop her heart. Clearly, the man had a thorough knowledge of the secrets divulged in The Rake’s Rhetorick.

“Besides,” Sydney added, “I need to talk to you privately about something.”

Katherine’s heart lifted as Sydney pulled her toward the gallery doors. Thank you, Lord Iversley. Her own hints might not have penetrated Sydney’s usual fog, but a little jealousy was apparently working beyond her wildest dreams.

It was about time.

*   *   *

With a scowl, Alec watched his fetching quarry disappear with the blond baronet. Had Lady Jenner been right? Was Miss Merivale nearly engaged to the man? Byrne hadn’t mentioned it.

Alec had wanted to meet the flame-haired female even before he’d learned who she was. Her gown alone distinguished her from her insipid peers. None of that virginal white for Miss Merivale, oh no. She wore scarlet in a pattern with some life to it, like the richly hued costumes Alec used to see in Portugal and Spain.

And to think she was Byrne’s little heiress—how could he be so lucky? Or cursed—the squire’s daughter was now alone on the gallery with that damned Sir What’s-His-Name. If Alec had to choose another heiress after all this, he was not going to be happy. Because this one already intrigued him. None of the others did.

Setting down his champagne glass, Alec strolled out the gallery doors, then edged down the marble walkway until he could see the couple. Sliding behind a pillar, he lit a cigar and tried to hear their conversation. He didn’t have to try hard.

“Admit it, Kit,” the man said peevishly, “you’re upset because I haven’t made any…well…formal offer for your hand.”

“I’m not upset,” Miss Merivale answered. “I’m sure you have your reasons.”

Her voice, direct and capable yet still feminine, pleased Alec as much as her self-composed words. He couldn’t stand simpering, vacuous women.

“Actually, I do,” her companion said defensively. “For one thing, Mother’s neuralgia has been acting up again, and she—”

“Forgive me, Sydney, but your mother’s neuralgia seems to come and go at her whim. If you delay offering for me until she recovers, my funeral will come before my wedding.” Miss Merivale’s voice dropped so low, Alec had to strain to hear it. “Your mother doesn’t seem to approve of me.”

“It’s not you; it’s your family. She thinks they’re a trifle…well—”

“Vulgar.”

Her whispered word made Alec scowl. By God, how he loathed that term. He’d heard it far too often in his childhood.

“Not vulgar, exactly,” Sydney corrected her. “But Mother never approved of my father’s friendship with yours. Even you must admit that the squire was a coarse and immoral fellow. Not to mention that your mother is rather—”

“Crass. Yes, I’m perfectly aware of my family’s faults.” The woman’s voice held such wounded dignity that Alec winced. “I know what you’re trying to say, and I don’t blame you for deciding we shouldn’t marry.”

“No! That’s not it at all! You know you’re the only woman for me.”

Alec gritted his teeth. Blast. For a moment there, he’d thought—

“I merely need time to bring Mother round,” Sydney went on.

“I don’t have time,” the woman said regretfully. “Mama has warned me that if you don’t offer in the next two weeks, she’ll tell everyone I’m free and take the best offer for my hand that presents itself before we return to Cornwall.”

Alec pricked up his ears.

“She can’t do that!” Sydney protested.

“Of course she can’t. She knows I’d never comply with such a Gothic maneuver. But until I do, life at home will be horrible. And we do need money—”

“I know.” Sydney gave a heavy sigh. “All right, give me the two weeks to bring Mother round. If I can’t, I’ll ask your mother for your hand anyway.”

Alec rolled his eyes. Offer for the woman and be done with it, or give her up and let someone else take the field.

“What difference will two weeks make?” the woman asked quietly.

Smart wench.

“Dash it all, Kit, what do you want from me?” Sydney’s voice turned bitter. “Unless you’re the one changing your mind. Perhaps you’ve decided you want to marry a more exciting man than a quiet poet.”

“Like who, pray tell?”

“Well, there’s Iversley, for one, and all his staring at you.”

Alec chomped down hard on his cigar to restrain his laugh. This was priceless. He ought to feel guilty for causing the poor blighter’s misery, but any man who let his mother run his life brought that misery on himself.

“Just because he stared—” she began.

“You stared back. Why, you had that devil toasting you, of all things. Right in front of everyone.”

“How do you know he wasn’t toasting you? You’re his school chum.”

Alec frowned. Did he know a Sydney from Harrow?

“I was never his chum—he wouldn’t have toasted me. And you know it, too, or you wouldn’t have blushed so furiously.”

“How else should I react when a man you called ‘wild and reckless’ stares at me?”

Alec’s eyes narrowed. Wait a minute—wasn’t there a versifying twit at Harrow who’d always eyed him with contempt? Ah yes, Sydney Lovelace, heir to a baronet and a mama’s boy.

“You didn’t have to encourage Iversley,” Lovelace grumbled.

“I doubt a wicked fellow like that needs encouragement. Don’t his sort consider it their mission to debauch everything in skirts? Lord knows Papa did.”

By God, the woman was frank. But at least she understood society’s hypocrisies, another point in her favor.

“Honestly, Kit,” Lovelace said, “sometimes you know more than any respectable young lady should about…well…things like that.”

“Now we reach the heart of the matter—how much my character resembles my immoral father’s,” she said bitterly. “Well, you may be right. Because I want to know even more about ‘things like that.’ ”

Alec found this conversation more fascinating by the moment.

“Good Lord, what are you saying?”

That she wants you to show her those things, you clod-pate. Then you won’t have to accuse her of flirting with complete strangers.

“I’m saying I want to know how you feel about me,” the woman retorted.

“But you do. You’re the only woman I want to marry. Why, I’m dedicating my poem to you at the reading tomorrow. How much more do you need?”

The man was thick as a post, for God’s sake. If this was the competition, Alec would be married within the week.

“I need something more than a poem from you!” Her voice turned low and pleading. “For goodness sake, I’m twenty-two, and I’ve still never been kissed.”

“Katherine!”

Sydney’s unreasonable shock made Alec shake his head. Following propriety in public was one thing, but in private—

“We’re as good as engaged,” Miss Merivale pressed on, “and engaged people sometimes kiss. Even the proper ones.”

“Yes…but…well…I would never show you such a lack of respect. And surely you wouldn’t want me to.”

“You might be surprised,” she muttered.

Alec smothered a laugh. Seized by an urge to see as well as hear this fascinating discussion, he edged out from behind the pillar. Lovelace wore a look of sheer panic, but Miss Merivale stood resolute, her cheeks fetchingly flushed and her expression imploring.

The man was either stupid, blind, or mad. What sane man could resist a woman like that? Was there another woman, perhaps? Lovelace didn’t seem the philandering type.

“I swear I don’t know what’s come over you.” Lovelace scowled. “It’s Iversley, isn’t it? He’s got you all confused, thinking about things you…shouldn’t. Him, with his toasting and his flirting—”

“It has nothing to do with him!” the woman snapped. “I don’t even know the man. But I’ll bet he would kiss me if I asked him to.”

As soon as she said it, she clapped her hand over her mouth in horror.

Too late for that, sweetheart, Alec thought smugly. Now you’ve attacked the poor man’s pride. Even a cock-robin like Lovelace won’t stand for it.

Lovelace drew himself up stiffly. “If that’s the sort of reckless behavior you want, then perhaps I’m not what you need in a husband. But if you want a man who sees past the superficialities of the physical, and who adores you for your cleverness and your responsible character, you know where to find me.” Turning on his heel, Lovelace stalked back into the ballroom.

Leaving Miss Merivale behind and the field clear.

Alec stepped out of the shadows. “As it happens, Miss Merivale, you’re right. I would definitely kiss you if you asked me to.”