To Pleasure a Prince (10 page)

Sordid details? Simon tamped down his curiosity. The secret to being His Highness’s confidant was not to ask too many questions.

“When the time is right,” the prince went on, “
I
will tell her that she’s my daughter. But first I must get her alone, and you’re supposed to take care of that.”

“I’m trying, damn it. I don’t see why you can’t demand that the Iversleys bring her to Carlton House for a visit.”

“Because if I press Iversley, Draker will certainly reveal things I’d rather not have known, especially in this tumultuous time.”

“Why has Draker not revealed them before?”

His Highness waved his bejeweled hand. “I suppose he enjoys holding them over my head, the impudent scoundrel. And now he seeks to thwart me by gadding about town with Lady Regina and keeping me from seeing my daughter, damn it!”

“Patience, my liege, patience. They agreed to court for a month, and Lord Draker won’t last more than a week with Regina.”

He hoped not, anyway. Simon would never survive a month of courting Louisa. A month of seeing her in blue satin and pearls, but imagining her in a lacy chemise that clung to her breasts and her belly and—

He swore under his breath as his pulse leaped into triple time. Christ, but she was beautiful. She would make some man a hell of a wife.

Not him, unfortunately. As prime minister, he would need a wife groomed to be a society hostess, not one allowed to grow wild in the country. A woman with sophistication and polish and a knowledge of her place. Louisa was both too naive and too headstrong to be a proper wife for him.

Yet he desired her. He found her innocence enormously appealing and her ungoverned tongue refreshing. She differed vastly from the calculating misses he generally met in society. If not for her connections and the future that Prinny intended for her, Simon would make her his mistress in a trice. All that wealth of black curls spread out on his pillow…those temptress’s lips whispering naughty promises…those slender white arms opening to his embrace—

He groaned as his breeches grew tight. No point in thinking about it. He could never have her as his mistress. Draker would eat his liver for breakfast if he tried. And the prince would join him.

“This courtship might work in our favor if you’ll only leave matters to Regina,” Simon went on. “I give her a week at most to have Draker eating out of her hand. Then he’ll do anything Regina asks, including letting me court his sister. You’ll have your chance at Louisa yet.”

“I’d better. Charlotte and William will marry soon, and I must have someone to watch over the princess whenever they travel to the Netherlands.”

After the lax care that Princess Charlotte, Prinny’s only legitimate daughter, had received under his estranged wife, His Highness was taking no chances. He wanted nothing to ruin this politically advantageous marriage between Princess Charlotte and Prince William of Orange. Charlotte’s mother had already behaved with a shameless lack of regard for her position. Prinny wanted no taint of scandal attached to Charlotte, since she was next in line for the throne.

The prince paced before Simon. “You say that Louisa has a kind heart and good sense. Surely she will be eager to serve her half sister as a lady-in-waiting. And I will have someone I can trust to be my ears and eyes in Charlotte’s household, someone I can mold.”

Simon suspected there was more to this than a mere desire to have Louisa serve the princess. But if so, His Highness was not revealing it. That made him nervous. “You’re assuming that Louisa will side with you, and not Draker, whom she adores. She may not be all that pleased to hear that you’re her father.”

“Nonsense. She’s been without one for years—what girl doesn’t want a father looking out for her interests?”

Simon broached another delicate subject. “She may also not be pleased to hear that I am…not planning to marry her.”

His Highness eyed him closely. “You haven’t done anything foolish, have you? Made her promises you don’t mean to keep? Or seduced her into falling in love with you?” He leaned in close. “Or anything worse?”

“No, indeed,” Simon said hastily. He preferred keeping his ballocks attached to his body, thank you very much. Although he wasn’t sure how much longer he could restrain his desire to kiss her. Just once. To taste that innocent mouth—

“We discussed this at the very beginning—that she would be better off married to a man whose interest in her is not political,” His Highness warned.

“You’re encouraging Charlotte to marry for political reasons.”

“Yes, and I married Charlotte’s mother for such reasons, too; look how badly that turned out. But Charlotte and I have duties, so we cannot marry where our hearts lead. Fortunately, Louisa is free to follow her heart. When she does fall in love, I want it to be with a man who reciprocates her feelings, a man capable of seeing her as more than a means to an end. And we both know you’re not.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Simon could easily see her as more than a means to an end…in the bedchamber. But he couldn’t exactly admit that to her father.

“Now we shall have to hope that Lady Regina does indeed distract my son enough to gain us the opening we need. Otherwise, I shall not be pleased.”

And if His Highness were not pleased, Simon would lose any chance at advancement in the government.

“Don’t worry, you can count on Regina. They don’t call her La Belle Dame Sans Merci for nothing.”

The proper chaperone should never put her needs above her charge’s, even when attending favorite entertainments.

—Miss Cicely Tremaine,
The Ideal Chaperone

L
a Belle Dame Sans Merci is certainly in fine form tonight,
Marcus thought sourly as they arrived at the Italian Opera House. Like a society hostess at a party, she acted polite, interested…remote. As if she hadn’t been melting in his arms behind that column just last night.

Damn her. He couldn’t stop thinking about that, about kissing her mouth again, her soft, yielding—

He cursed under his breath. Had he lost his mind? This was how she sucked those other fools in, by making them clamor for the taste of her, then treating them with cool disdain.

Very well, let her play her tricks; he had a few tricks of his own. He’d proved well enough last night that the little hypocrite
enjoyed
his kisses and caresses. He would remind her of it. Repeatedly. Remind her what a courtship entailed, what a suitor had a right to expect. If that didn’t drive her screaming from him, then nothing would.

They’d reached Iversley’s box to find that it was prominently situated in the first tier. Good—Regina couldn’t avoid having the whole world see her enter on his arm.

Better yet, “box” proved to be a generous term for the closet Iversley had rented. Regina seemed none too happy about it when she halted just inside the door. “Perhaps we should use Simon’s box. There’s more room.”

“This looks fine to me.” Marcus let his gaze linger on her. “Very cozy.”

“It does have a marvelous view of the stage,” Louisa said brightly.

“From what I understand,” Marcus said, “the view of the boxes from the other boxes is all that matters to ladies at the opera.”

“How would you know?” Louisa raised her voice to be heard over the din of the other patrons. “You’ve never been to the opera.”

“That wouldn’t keep your brother from voicing his opinion,” Regina said archly. “Why obtain any facts before making pronouncements about society?”

“Actually, I
have
been to the opera,” Marcus said. “In my salad days, I was as eager to ogle opera dancers as any other unlicked cub. So unless matters have changed since then, I doubt anyone is here to listen to the music.” He certainly wasn’t. He liked a good song as much as the next man, but opera was downright silly. “Are we staying in Iversley’s box or not?”

“Yes, let’s.” Winking at her brother, Louisa took the arm of Regina’s cousin. “Come, Miss Tremaine, we’ll sit in the front.”

Marcus bit back a smile at how deftly his sister had positioned him with Regina behind her chaperone. As Regina took her seat in the back row, he waited until she was well settled before he slid the other chair closer to hers and sat down.

He could tell from her stiff posture that she was not pleased. Good. And just so she’d have something to stew about, he laid his arm on the back of her chair.

She raised an eyebrow, but he merely smiled. She knocked her reticule onto the floor. “Oh, dear,” she said in a voice loud enough to carry, “I’ve dropped my reticule. Lord Draker, if you would be so kind…”

He had no choice but to pick it up, which meant removing his arm from the back of her chair. When he straightened to hand her the pearl-encrusted bit of nothing, she’d inched her chair flush against the wall.

Sly wench. Obviously she thought a private dalliance was fine, but she seemed determined to hide their association from her friends.

He wouldn’t let her. “Forgive me,” he lied as he bent closer. “I forgot my promise to make my impertinences more discreet.” Deliberately, he took her hand.

Just as deliberately, she snatched it back, a faint blush touching her cheeks. “I would prefer that you not be impertinent at all.”

“I thought it was merely the possibility of someone’s seeing my impertinences that bothered you.” He laid his hand on her thigh, and when she reached to remove it, captured her hand in his. She tried to tug it free, but he held firm.

Her gaze shot to him, annoyed, then calculating. “Do you have my copy of the translation, sir?”

“You know very well that I do. You entrusted it to me in the carriage.”

The opera house sold libretto translations at the performance, but apparently she had connections to buy hers ahead of time. She said it was so that she could read it beforehand and not miss the music. He suspected it was just so she could turn up her nose at everyone who had to buy theirs at the opera house.

“Well then,” she said, eyes gleaming, “may I see it?”

It was sandwiched between their chairs, where he’d placed it when they’d sat down. And short of becoming a contortionist, he could not reach it without releasing her hand. Which she apparently knew very well, blast her.

“Where’s the copy I bought?” he countered.

“Louisa and Cicely are using it. So if I may just see mine…”

With a scowl, he dropped her hand. Dragging out the cheaply bound pamphlet, he started to hand it to her, but she snatched it from him and rose in one fluid movement, edging over to stand beneath the lamp in the corner of the box.

The orchestra tuned up. Soon the music would begin. He gazed up at her. “Do you intend to stand there the entire evening, reading it out to us?”

The lamplight flickered over her flushed cheeks. “Of course not. I merely wanted to check something in the third act.”

Since she had only turned one page, she was nowhere near the third act. He smiled. “It’s farther back—bring it here, and I’ll find it for you.”

A sudden panic flashed in her eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of looking for it myself, thank you.”

Her voice had risen enough over the clamor to make her heard by their companions. Miss Tremaine turned to shoot them both a wary glance. Marcus stared hard at her, until at last she coughed and returned her gaze to the stage.

“Come sit down,” he told Regina, growing irritated by her determination to keep him from touching her. “It’s about to begin.”

The door behind them opened, and a male voice said, “I thought that was you over here in Iversley’s box. Didn’t I tell you that was Regina I saw, Henry?”

“Indeed you did, Richard. Indeed you did.”

Henry and Richard turned out to be men about Regina’s age. At her amiable greeting, they squeezed into the box, along with a younger fellow they called Tom.

As Marcus stood, Regina introduced the gentlemen with her usual serene grace. Henry proved to be Lord Whitmore, heir to the Earl of Paxton. The other two were his brothers. Apparently the three were also Regina’s cousins. Very adoring cousins, judging from how they looked at her.

Insolent pups. Now they were crowding round her, complaining about the small quarters and urging her to join them in
their
box. As if Marcus were invisible.

When she refused, and they continued to press her, Marcus rose to his full height. “The lady said no, so if you value your necks, you’ll take her at her word.”

Louisa rose swiftly. “Now, Marcus,” she said in a placating voice, “I’m sure the gentlemen don’t mean anything by it.”

“Come, Draker,” the one named Richard chimed in, “we’re merely concerned for the lady’s comfort. How can she enjoy the opera in this tiny box?”

“She’d enjoy it better without a lot of chattering idiots swarming about her,” Marcus retorted.

Whitmore stepped up to him. “Now see here, you overgrown—”

“Henry,” Regina put in swiftly, laying her hand on his arm. “I’d like some refreshment before the opera begins. Would you accompany me to the lobby?”

Triumph gleamed in Henry’s face. “I’d be honored, cousin,” he said, with a smirk for Marcus.

The four of them vacated the box, leaving Marcus standing there seething.

As soon as the door shut behind them, he whirled on Miss Tremaine, who was sitting quietly in her chair. “Well? You’re her chaperone. Do you generally let her go off alone with any Tom, Dick, and Henry?”

Miss Tremaine shrugged. “They’re family. She’ll be perfectly safe with them.” She fixed him with a baleful glance. “They’re also gentlemen.”

Yes, he could tell what sort of gentlemen the asses were. “Fine, then I’ll go.” He hurried out the door, ignoring Louisa’s and Miss Tremaine’s protests.

All right, so he was behaving like an idiot, but he hated the idea of Regina alone with those three. He hated how they looked at her. He hated how they spoke to her. And he damned well hated that she’d rather go off with them than spend one more minute in his presence.

She’d made a bargain, confound her, and now she wanted to bend the rules by running off with those other fools. If she wanted to end their bargain, she’d better tell him to his face, where Louisa could hear it. If not, she had no business hiding their courtship from the world.

He wandered the theater for a few minutes with no success. Then, while pushing through a throng of people standing near some pillars, he heard a voice on the other side say, “Good God, Regina, I can’t believe you tolerate that devil.”

He froze, instantly recognizing the Eton clip of one of her cursed cousins.

The man went on in a snide voice. “We were shocked to see you here with the man. What does Foxmoor say about it?”

“My brother has no say in whom I allow to accompany me to the theater,” she said. “And neither do you or your brothers, Henry.”

Marcus scowled. She hadn’t used the word “court,” had she?

“We’re your cousins. We’re concerned.”

“Lord Whitmore is right, Lady Regina,” a female voice put in. “The man is appalling. Aren’t you simply terrified to be near him? You know what they say—”

“It’s all nonsense. Trust me, he can be perfectly amiable when he wants.”

Marcus stood there flabbergasted. She was defending him? To her friends?

“Draker must not have wanted to be amiable when we were upstairs,” another of her cousins said, “because that was the rudest lout I’ve ever met.”

“And did you see his hair?” one of the women said. “Good gracious, you’d think he’d never even heard of scissors.”

“Or a razor. Or a tailor. Or a decent boot maker.”

They all laughed, and he tensed. Silly buffoons. Frivolous asses. And Regina wasn’t defending him now, was she? She was probably laughing right along.

He stepped out from behind the pillar, a snide remark on his lips, but it died when he realized Regina had gone. Somewhere between her defense of him and the laughter, she’d left. And one of her cousins was missing, too.

His anger burned even hotter. Ignoring the squeak one of the women made when she saw him, he scanned the lobby. He spotted Regina’s lace-capped head next to Whitmore’s perfectly coifed one just as they disappeared up the stairs.

Damn her to perdition. He would
not
let her keep company with some other fellow when she was supposed to be keeping company with him. He shoved through the crowd, his temper rising with every step. It was high time he reminded Lady Regina of the terms of their bargain.