The Naked King

by Sally MacKenzie

  Evie grinned, arching her brows as if to say I told you so.

  Cousin Clorinda glared, first at their hands and then at Mr. Parker-Roth’s face. The gentleman gazed blandly back.

  “Sir, I am not accustomed to such scandalous behavior.”

  “There is nothing scandalous about our behavior, Miss Strange. Anne is my betrothed, and we are in the privacy of my carriage. I am merely holding her hand, not making wild, passionate love to her.”

  Anne could not be the only one to blush furiously at that statement, though to give Cousin Clorinda her due, the woman seemed more annoyed than embarrassed.

  Mr. Parker-Roth shrugged; he was so close, she felt his shoulders move. “And who is to spread the unremarkable tale? You?”

  “Of course not.” Clorinda favored them with another glare and then sniffed, turning her attention to the window.

  Anne stared out the window, too, and tried to ignore the man next to her.

  She failed miserably. He was now drawing lazy circles with his thumb on her palm. She closed her eyes to better concentrate on the sensation. Mmm. She shivered.

  He leaned closer again, his weight pressing her against the carriage wall. “Cold, sweetheart?” His whisper teased her ear.

  “N-no.” She cleared her throat. “No.” She was not cold; she was hot—very, very hot. And embarrassingly damp.

  The carriage hit a bump, and the seductive devil braced himself—totally unnecessarily, she was sure—against the wall on her side of the carriage. She had a very close look at his waistcoat and cravat. His scent—shaving soap and linen and man—filled the air around her. She shivered again.

  “Are you sure you aren’t cold?” He righted himself, a task that for some odd reason required him to slide his hand over her lap. “I could put my arm around you, if you like.” His eyes—his very blue eyes that were only inches away—laughed at her.

  “Will you sit back? You are smothering me.”

  “My apologies.”

  He did sit back then, but his thigh was still touching hers. It rubbed and pressed against her with every bump—and there were countless bumps. She’d not noted before how uneven the London streets were.

  The odd, hot feeling was growing in her again. Her nipples were hard; her breasts, sensitive; and the place between her thighs was damp and achy. She needed his—

  No ! She drew in a sharp breath. She never wanted anyone to touch her there again. Once had been more than enough. It had been painful and messy and embarrassing.

  “Are we almost there?” She suspected Mr. Seducer Parker-Roth had instructed his coachman to take the long way to Kenderly House—most likely by way of Yorkshire.

  He smiled at her, a private, sly smile that only increased the annoying need in her. She’d wager all her pin money the fellow knew exactly how she felt.

  “Yes. In fact, I believe the coach is slowing now.”

  Thank God! Anne tried to keep her relief from showing on her face.

  “Well, it’s about time.” Clorinda didn’t bother to hide her relief. “I thought we would never arrive.” She fixed Mr. Parker-Roth with a penetrating gaze as the footman opened the carriage door and let down the steps. “I hope you know what you are about, sir.”

  “Oh, I do.” Mr. Parker-Roth’s voice was cool and firm. He stepped out to help the ladies.

  Anne took her first deep breath since she’d entered the coach. She hadn’t been this agitated since the damn house party. When she’d come home from that devastating visit, she’d felt so stupid and so . . . dirty. She’d felt as if everyone had been laughing at her, Brentwood included. All the other girls had seen what Brentwood was; they’d avoided him. But she hadn’t. She’d been the only silly idiot—

  No, she wouldn’t berate herself. That was one of the terms of the peace she’d made. There could be no looking back. She’d accepted her . . . mistake and its consequences. She’d stopped dreaming of a husband and children.

  Except, apparently, she hadn’t.

  “Anne, love,” Mr. Parker-Roth said from the carriage door, “are you going to sit in my coach all night?” He grinned—she could see the whiteness of his teeth in the darkness. “I could climb back in and show you all the lovely things we could do there, if you like. It would surely scandalize your sister and cousin and it would most likely be outside even a liberal interpretation of acceptable conduct between betrothed, but I’m game if you are.”

  She repressed the tiny voice that suggested she call his bluff and propelled herself toward the door. “Oh, no. We don’t want to keep Lord and Lady Kenderly waiting.”

  He took her hand and held it, looking directly into her eyes, his face surprisingly serious. “Anne, I don’t give a damn about Lord and Lady Kenderly’s convenience, and their party can go on without us with my blessing.”

  “Oh.” Her heart thudded in her chest. He really wouldn’t take her back inside the carriage and show her all those . . . things, would he?

  He looked like he definitely would.

  Chapter 9

  Anne’s hand trembled in his grasp. She looked both horrified . . . and tempted. He was a beast to tease her, but he couldn’t help himself. He was too damn happy.

  He’d been attracted to her even in her ugly dress and bonnet, and he’d certainly admired her mind and personality, but it was a great pleasure—and relief—to feel consuming lust for the woman he was compelled to wed.

  He turned her hand over and pressed a kiss to her palm, grinning when he heard her quick intake of breath. She was so unspoiled and responsive—such a change from the experienced widows he was used to. “That is just the first of many kisses I plan to give you tonight,” he whispered.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Will you two hurry up?” Clorinda’s voice came from Kenderly’s doorstep. “We can’t be announced until you join us.”

  “But unfortunately,” he murmured, “it appears I shall not be allowed to give them to you in my oh-so-comfortable carriage.”

  “Of course not!” Anne was sputtering again, full of delightful outrage.

  He’d best not tell her now about Damian’s garden. It had a number of splendidly leafy, dark bowers, perfect for private . . . conversations. He’d taken several widows out to explore the secluded spots over the years, but this time would be different. This time he’d be taking his betrothed. He would kiss her thoroughly, and then give her the ring that was currently burning a hole in his pocket.

  “Mr. Parker-Roth, please,” Clorinda said. “We are waiting.”

  “And not very patiently, eh?” he said to Anne. She choked on what might have been a giggle as he helped her down the steps and placed her hand firmly on his arm. “Here we are. You may knock, Fredrick,” he told his footman.

  Fredrick, the impudent fellow, grinned before plying the brass knocker.

  Huntington, Damian’s butler, opened the door almost immediately—he’d likely been waiting on the other side, wondering what was taking them so long—and bowed. “Mr. Parker-Roth, ladies, please come in.”

  Huntington handed their things to a footman and preceded them to Damian’s drawing room. Lady Kenderly—Jo—came over the moment they were announced, towing along a mustachioed, bespectacled, white-haired man.

  “How lovely to see you again, Stephen,” she said. “I’m so glad you could come.”

  He bowed, grinning at her. “Thank you for including us at the last minute.”

  “I am delighted to add your friends to our group.” She nodded to the man at her side. “May I introduce Lord Ramsey? Miss Strange, I believe you are already acquainted with the baron.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Clorinda said. “Dickie and I have known—and argued with—each other for years.” She sniffed. “I would say we disagree on every ornithological issue.”

  “Not every one, surely,” Lord Ramsey said.

  Clorinda raised an eyebrow. “We cannot even agree on what we disagree about.”

  Ramsey laughed. “Surely you can agree you’d rat
her discuss birds than the bird-brained goings on of the ton?”

  “Well . . .” Clorinda was obviously struggling with her desire to disagree and her dedication to the truth. “Perhaps.”

  “No doubt about it. Party’s an insufferable bore—if you’ll pardon my saying so, Lady Kenderly. I wouldn’t be here if the invitation were from anyone but your husband, the earl. If you’ll excuse me and Miss Strange?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t know that I agreed to go converse with you, Dickie. You’re being a bit highhanded—as usual.”

  Lord Ramsey took Clorinda’s arm. “You always were one to bite off your nose to spite your face, Clorinda. Do put aside your fussing and let me tell you about my great tits. I have quite a flock of them on my property.”

  “I don’t know why I should be interested in your tits,” Clorinda said, but she allowed herself to be led away to a quiet corner.

  “It would be nice if those two made a match of it,” Jo said, watching them go.

  “Do you think so?” Evie wrinkled her brow. “Wouldn’t they just fight all the time?”

  “Ah, but sometimes the making up is worth it.” Jo glanced across the room at her husband.

  “I wouldn’t think Cousin Clorinda would give any male without wings and feathers a second glance.”

  “Anne!” Evie stared at her sister in surprise.

  Anne flushed. “Oh, please excuse me. My wretched tongue. I should not have said that.”

  “But it’s true.” Stephen laughed. “Or at least, I would have wagered on it until this moment.”

  “No, I think you are right,” Jo said, shaking her head. “Lord Ramsey’s been a widower for three years now; if he’d had any interest in acquiring another wife, I imagine he would have already done so.” She shrugged slightly and smiled at them. “I just like to see people paired up, now that I’m happily wed. And speaking of that, how remiss of me.” She turned to Anne. “I should have wished you happy the moment we met.”

  Anne looked like a startled deer. She glanced up at Stephen. Surely she wasn’t going to tell Jo they weren’t really betrothed?

  “Oh, I know you haven’t announced it yet—Stephen told us when he asked us to include you tonight. I’ve already congratulated him.” Jo met his eyes. “I’d say he was quite taken with you.”

  “And you’d be completely correct, Jo.”

  Jo’s smile widened. “Splendid. I confess Damian and I had our concerns—only because it seemed so sudden and the particulars sounded a bit odd—but now I see everything is as it should be. Amazing how one can attain clarity of vision in what seems like only a moment, isn’t it, Stephen?”

  “Indeed it is.” He smiled down at Anne. Now he only had to persuade his prickly beloved to see things his way.

  Anne took a sip of wine and surveyed the dinner table. There were eighteen people gathered there—the Marquis of Knightsdale and his wife had been delayed— and all were good friends of the earl and his countess. Everyone was smiling and in animated conversation. Clorinda and Lord Ramsey sat together down the table, arguing about something avian no doubt, and Evie was chatting with a pleasant looking young man whose name Anne couldn’t for the life of her remember.

  Sadly she couldn’t remember much of the pre-prandial conversation either. Oh, everyone had been very polite and no one had asked her about the rumored betrothal, but they must all have supposed it to be true since she was there. She should have felt at ease, but she hadn’t. She’d felt like an imposter.

  She was an imposter—and if these people discovered her real secret, they would give her the cut direct. Unmarried women who’d misplaced their virginity were not good ton.

  And if Stephen found out . . . She closed her eyes.

  With Brentwood in London, the question wasn’t “if” but “when.”

  The butler appeared at the dining room door. “Lord and Lady Knightsdale have arrived, my lord.”

  “Splendid.” Lord Kenderly and all the men stood as the couple entered. “So glad you could make it.”

  “My apologies, Kenderly. One of the children wasn’t feeling well, and Emma wished to be certain everything was in order before we left.”

  “I hope it’s nothing serious,” Lady Kenderly said.

  “Oh, no.” Lady Knightsdale smiled as she took her seat. “Just a slight fever. Our older son had it first and now it is moving through the family. Nurse has everything well in hand, but of course I still worry.”

  “Of course.” Lord Kenderly gestured around the table. “I believe everyone is known to you, except perhaps for Lady Anne Marston and her sister, Lady Evangeline, Lord Crane’s daughters. They just arrived in London yesterday; we were delighted they could join us.”

  “My pleasure,” Lord Knightsdale said, bowing, but his lady did not look so pleased. She frowned at Anne before turning to speak to Lord Westbrooke.

  “I don’t believe Lady Knightsdale cares much for me,” Anne whispered to Mr. Parker-Roth who was sitting on her right.

  “Oh, don’t mind Emma,” he said, taking a swallow of wine. “She can be somewhat fierce if she thinks her family is endangered, but she has a heart of gold.”

  “Emma?” Anne darted another glance at the woman and then darted her eyes back to Mr. Parker-Roth when she saw the marchioness was looking at her again. “How is it you are on such close terms with Lady Knightsdale?”

  The annoying man grinned. “Never say you’re jealous!”

  She felt herself flush. “Of course not. I’m just surprised, though I suppose I shouldn’t be. You obviously move in the first circles.”

  Mr. Parker-Roth laughed. “Oh, I don’t know Emma from Town. Her sister is married to my brother.”

  “Oh.” That was right. She remembered the account of the scandal in last year’s papers.

  “Unfortunately, that connection is enough for her to take an interest in me. I’m certain she’ll approach us at the ball to ask pointed questions about the betrothal rumors—and she won’t be quite as polite as everyone else. But Knightsdale will rein her in.”

  “Ah.” Lovely. Perhaps Anne could manage to hide in the retiring room all evening—but then who would keep an eye on Evie? The way Clorinda had her head next to Lord Ramsey’s, it didn’t look as if she would be taking on that responsibility.

  “I don’t believe I’ve seen you in London before, Lady Anne.” The Duke of Alvord, on her left, claimed her attention. “Surely this can’t be your first trip to Town?”

  “But it is, your grace.” The Duke of Alvord was one of the most powerful men in England, yet Anne had liked him and his American-born wife the moment they were introduced. His amber gaze held intelligence and humor.

  “You didn’t have a come-out?”

  “No. My stepmother was increasing with my twin brothers when I should have come to London.” It was a good excuse, and one she’d given so many times it slipped from her tongue with ease. It was true—to a point. If she’d insisted, Papa would have had some female relative bring her out. His sister, Lady Farrington, had offered. But Anne hadn’t wanted to go to Town, and Papa hadn’t pressed the matter. “And once the babies were born, I was needed to help with them and Evie.”

  “I see.” The duke’s gaze was thoughtful. “Are you looking forward to taking your bows now?”

  “Oh, I plan to stay very much in the background, your grace. This is my sister’s come-out, not mine.”

  The duke grinned at her. “Pardon me for bringing it to your attention, Lady Anne, but you will never be successful at fading into the background. Your beauty and your betrothal to the King of Hearts here will make you the center of much interest.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks flamed yet again. She felt Mr. Parker-Roth’s hand cover hers under the table and give her fingers a comforting squeeze.

  The duke looked puzzled. “Have I spoken out of turn? I do apologize, but the news of your betrothal was all over White’s this afternoon. I didn’t think it a secret.” He shrugged, smiling. “The
truth is, if it was supposed to be a secret, it’s not any longer.”

  “Exactly.” Mr. Parker-Roth looked down at her, giving her hand another surreptitious squeeze. “We’d planned to wait until Anne’s father came home to make a formal announcement, but that was before Lady Dunlee spotted us. There’s no point now in waiting as everyone does know. I’ll send a notice to the papers when I get home tonight.”

  The papers! Anne’s heart clenched, and black specks danced before her eyes. To have this pretend engagement appear in black and white in every breakfast room in Mayfair, by every cup of chocolate or coffee or tea . . . The scandal would be tremendous when they called it off, even if they waited until the Season was over.

  No. A heavy chill settled in her stomach. Not the end of the Season. She was forgetting Brentwood. Once he read the announcement, he’d reveal her secret.

  Oh, dear God, she’d become a joke. Her name would be bandied about in all the gentlemen’s clubs. Lewd prints would appear in the shop windows. Everyone would turn from her in disgust. Everyone—especially Mr. Parker-Roth.

  She tried to swallow her panic. It would be a relief not to hide her . . . situation any longer. She’d go home and live quietly. Papa wouldn’t throw her out—would he? No, of course he wouldn’t. He needed her to run the estate.

  She just wished there was some way to save Evie’s Season.

  Mr. Parker-Roth was knocking his knife against his glass to get everyone’s attention. He stood, pulling her up beside him. Her knees barely supported her weight.

  “Friends, I have an announcement to make.” He grinned. “Perhaps it’s not much of an announcement as the duke just told us the rumor has already reached White’s, but nevertheless I wish to tell you myself that Lady Anne has agreed to make me the happiest of men.”

  “A toast,” the Marquis of Knightsdale said, getting to his feet. All the other men rose as well. The marquis held up his glass. “To Parker-Roth and Lady Anne—may they find the happiness together we all have found”—he gestured to the married couples at the table—“and, to Lady Anne especially, welcome to my extended—very extended—family.”