In the Prince's Bed

by Sabrina Jeffries

  A spark of fear leaped in her eyes. Good. At least she wasn’t as immune to him as she pretended.

  He gave an exaggerated shrug. “But if the idea of my chasing you worries you, then it probably wouldn’t work. You’d fall madly in love with me and end up with a broken heart.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Of course, I’m taking a risk, too.” Like the possibility that Lovelace would crack under the pressure and offer for her before Alec could secure her. “I might fall madly for you, and then you’d run off with Lovelace and break my heart.”

  She sniffed. “Right. Directly after you give all your goods to the poor and become a lowly rector in the country.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Since you’ve got my ‘sort’ so neatly figured out, you shouldn’t have any trouble resisting me. Knowledge is the best defense.”

  As they moved through the steps of the waltz, she frowned. Thank God he excelled at anything that required good balance, coordination, and sense of timing. Otherwise, he would have trod on her skirts a dozen times by now while trying to read her thoughts.

  “There would have to be rules,” she said at last.

  He suppressed a triumphant smile. “Of course.”

  “You can’t kiss me, for one thing.”

  Blast it. “What enjoyment can I find in that? I said I wanted to chase you, not trail behind you like your pet pony.” He swept her close. “Besides, if you’re wise to my ‘sort,’ what can a few kisses hurt?”

  “No kissing,” she repeated stubbornly. “Or no deal.”

  He considered refusing, but then she’d simply rebuff his attempts at courtship. Besides, she might protest his kisses in a well-lit, noisy ballroom, but when he had her alone in the dark…

  He smothered a grin. He could work around her rules. And there were more ways to entice a woman than by kissing her. She had set the bar a little higher, but he could handle the jumps. “All right.” When she smiled, he added, “But I have rules of my own.”

  Her smile faltered. “You don’t get to have rules.”

  “I’m doing you a favor, remember? And I just agreed to take half the fun out of it by not kissing you.”

  She grimaced. “So what are your rules, my lord?”

  Her formality made him stiffen. “The first is that you not call me ‘my lord’ when we’re alone.”

  “You don’t take any of the proprieties seriously, do you?”

  “Not if I can help it.” To prove it, he slipped his hand up beneath the gold sash around her waist and caressed the smooth silk beneath, delighting when she blushed prettily. He loved women who blushed. There seemed so few of them left. “I’d rather you called me Alec in private.”

  “All right… Alec.”

  Hearing her use his Christian name made him want to drag her out into the bushes and behave exactly like the “sort” of man she thought him to be.

  Too bad he was a gentleman. “The second rule is that you inform me of all your plans. If you accept an invitation to a ball, then I should know about it, so I can show up to pursue you.” He dragged his thumb over her silk-sheathed ribs.

  “Th-that sounds fair,” she said in a breathy little whisper that turned his blood to molten heat.

  He pressed his advantage. “I expect complete honesty from you—no seeing Lovelace behind my back.” When she scowled, he added, “You mustn’t fall into old habits. If I’m not around, you might revert to the role of patient friend, and he’ll return to his former complacency. Then you’ll be back where you started.”

  “I begin to think I shouldn’t have left where I started,” she grumbled.

  “Standing on a gallery unkissed and unbetrothed?”

  She glared at him.

  “And one more thing—when you’re with me, you can’t discuss Lovelace beyond planning our next encounter with him. I want no dreamy accounts of your first meeting and no whining about how he doesn’t appreciate your undying love.” He added dryly, “We both know there will be no gushing about your first kiss.”

  Color suffused her cheeks. “First of all, I do not whine or gush. Secondly, why do you care if I talk about Sydney?”

  “Because I’m supposed to get some enjoyment from this game, remember? And I won’t get it from listening to a woman prattle on about another man.”

  She looked insulted. “I don’t prattle, either.”

  “Excellent, then we’ll deal together nicely, if you agree to my terms.”

  “I hardly see why I should refrain from talking about Sydney—”

  “No talking about Sydney. Or no deal.” He glanced over to where Katherine’s mother was now regaling Lovelace with some tale that had the baronet looking frantic to escape. “Ah, look at your suitor and your mother. They get on so well, don’t you think? Perhaps you won’t need my help after all.”

  As Mrs. Merivale’s grating laugh sounded clear across the ballroom, Katherine groaned. “Whoever dictated that young ladies need chaperones never knew Mama. She would drive even the most determined suitor away.”

  He’d feel sorry for her if her mother weren’t playing so well into his plans. “So?” he pressed his point. “Do you agree to my terms or not?”

  She cast him a grimly determined smile. “When do we start, my lord?”

  An hour later, Katherine was already having second thoughts about Alec’s plan. Especially since Sydney’s response to Alec’s attentions was to disappear into the card room. He hadn’t even seen her accept Alec’s second invitation to dance. And although that reel was ending and Alec was leading her from the floor, she still saw no sign of Sydney.

  “Now we’ve run him off entirely,” she muttered, as they squeezed past a clump of chattering girls and their chaperones.

  Alec shot her an enigmatic glance. “You’re not giving up already, are you? No race was ever won by a rider who accepted defeat fresh out of the gate. Stay the course and give him time. He’ll come round.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then he’s an idiot, and you’re better off without him.”

  “You don’t understand—Sydney isn’t like other men.” She scanned the room, annoyed to find that neither Sydney nor her mother was anywhere in sight. “He’s liable to see my flirtation with you either as a betrayal or as evidence of my vulgarity.”

  “You aren’t vulgar,” he snapped. “Don’t ever let him say you are.”

  The edge to his tone took her by surprise. She glanced up to see him staring grimly ahead, his jaw taut with anger.

  “Why do you care?” she asked softly.

  His eyes met hers, vividly blue. “My father used to call my mother that. ‘You’re a vulgar little Cit,’ he’d say, and she would bow her head and acknowledge the insult. As if she deserved it simply because she’d once—” He broke off, jerking his gaze away. “She didn’t deserve it. And neither do you.”

  That glimpse into Alec’s past intrigued her. “I thought perhaps you and your mother didn’t get along. The gossips say you didn’t even return to England when she fell ill. I understand she lingered for some time.”

  His face grew shuttered. “There was a war on, and the family had trouble… reaching me. I didn’t receive word of her illness until long after her death. By then, there was no point.”

  “I see.” But she didn’t really. As much as she cringed at her mother’s raucous laugh or crass musings about what everything cost, she couldn’t imagine losing touch with her so entirely that months of an illness could go by without her knowing. Or not coming to the family’s aid even after her mother’s death.

  Then again, if Alec’s father had been as awful as he sounded… Oh, why did she care? Alec was only a means to an end.

  “Speaking of mothers,” Alec remarked, “perhaps yours is in the refreshments room. We should look there.”

  She nodded and let him lead her under the cherry blossom arch into the other room. A blossom fell onto her gloved hand that lay on his arm. It clung there until he reached over and fli
cked it off. Then covered her hand with his.

  She suddenly found it hard to breathe.

  Painfully conscious of his warm hand atop hers, she searched the room, but Mama wasn’t there, either. “Knowing my mother, she deliberately disappeared when she saw the dance ending. That way you couldn’t bring me to her, and you’d be forced to spend more time in my company.”

  “What a sacrifice,” he teased. “I see that your mother and I will be fast friends.”

  “You say that now because you don’t know her. She’s always doing things like this. I have half a mind to march off in search of her by myself.”

  “But you won’t because…”

  “It’s not proper.” She sighed. “Although that’s a foolish rule if I ever heard one. What harm is there in a woman’s traversing a ballroom alone?”

  “Nice to know I’m not the only one who doesn’t take the proprieties seriously.”

  “I do take them seriously. I merely wish I didn’t have to.”

  He bent his head to whisper, “You don’t. Not with me.”

  A frisson of anticipation shook her to her toes. Fighting to ignore it, she cast him a stern glance. “I can well imagine which proprieties you’d like me to ignore.”

  “I doubt that.” His hand stroked hers with an intimacy that violated every rule of propriety. “But if you want to take a stroll in the garden, I’ll show you.”

  She firmly removed his hand from hers before he melted her resolve entirely. “I’ve had quite enough lessons of that sort for one night, thank you.” Sweeping her gaze about the room, she nearly collapsed with relief to see Mama and Sydney enter from the card room.

  “Ah, look, there they both are,” she said brightly.

  “You see?” Alec rumbled. “You had nothing to worry about. Lovelace didn’t abandon you after all.”

  “Actually, he’d already asked me to dance the last with him so he could take me in to supper. And Sydney is nothing if not conscious of his obligations.”

  “All except one.” Alec slanted her a glance. “Would it matter so much if he didn’t come up to snuff? If you ask me, you don’t seem to suit.”

  “Why, because he won’t kiss me? That will change once we’re married.”

  Alec slowed his pace. “In my experience, marriage doesn’t change a man. It merely throws his bad qualities into high relief.”

  “Really?” she said tartly. “So you’ve been married, have you?”

  A reluctant smile touched his lips. “No. But I watched my father, who was not very… affectionate. His example has stayed with me.”

  “As my father�s has with me. Believe me, indiscriminate affection can be every bit as damaging as none at all.”

  “So you’ve decided on a man who will give you the latter.”

  “I’ve decided on a man who can be my friend. Friendship will last long after the other is gone.”

  “Sounds dull to me,” he retorted.

  Sydney and Mama had spotted them, and Mama was waving in a most unladylike manner. Katherine winced. “That’s because you’re the one engaging in the wild revelries, not the one dealing with the aftermath. You’re not the one living amidst the jealous rages and embarrassing village gossip about Squire Merivale’s latest indiscretions. It’s a good thing you never did marry. At least you’ve spared some hapless woman such a life.”

  Without warning, he tugged her out of sight behind a pillar and turned her to face him, his eyes glittering. “Let’s settle one thing. No matter what you’ve heard about me, I did not spend my time abroad lurching from woman to woman in reckless abandon.”

  “Then how did you spend it?”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Keeping busy, that’s all. There’s plenty to do abroad when a man has all the time in the world to do it.”

  She snorted. “Oh yes, I’m sure you enjoy touring cathedrals and museums.”

  For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. Then he sighed. “Actually, I spent much of it on horseback.” He shot her an enigmatic glance. “Tell me, Katherine, do you ride?”

  Chapter Six

  The same methods for seducing women

  often work equally well for allaying the

  suspicions of overprotective mamas—

  flattery, gifts, and those little courtesies

  ladies so love.

  —Anonymous, A Rake’s Rhetorick

  The next afternoon, Katherine sat at the desk in the tiny study of their rented town house dressed in her best violet riding habit. She’d just finished writing this morning’s letters to Cornwall. What an exercise in futility that was. The one to the butcher offering him a prize spring lamb from Merivale Manor’s new birthings to pay off their debt was offset by one to the tailor authorizing a new gown for her sprouting sister Bridget. The girl’s gowns had grown so indecently short that the rector had actually complained to the Merivale housekeeper, who also served as their nanny, governess, and nursemaid.

  Thank goodness for old family servants, or she and Mama could never have made this trip, which was supposed to end with her officially betrothed to Sydney and finally in possession of her fortune. Would that ever happen?

  A glance at the clock made her sigh. Half an hour until she left to go riding with Alec instead of going to Sydney’s poetry reading as she should. Oh, what had possessed her to agree to that last night?

  Pure annoyance, that’s what. Sydney had behaved abominably to her at the ball supper. If he’d even once mentioned the reading to her while he sulked on the journey home, she would have bowed out of her agreement to ride with Alec.

  But no, he’d been too angry at her for consorting with his schoolboy nemesis to say a word about when or if he’d pick her up. And Alec was no help at all, gleefully stoking Sydney’s anger by flirting with Katherine.

  Her cheeks warmed, and she cursed under her breath. A pox on that man for kissing her and throwing everything into a muddle. Hadn’t she learned anything from Papa’s naughty book?

  Clearly, she hadn’t learned enough yet to hold her own with the quick-witted earl. It would behoove her to remind herself of what he was.

  Opening the bottom desk drawer, she drew Papa’s wicked chapbook from its hiding place. She read the cheap-looking pamphlet merely to gain knowledge about men, of course. How else could a young lady learn all the ways a rake tempted a woman to sin? As Alec had said last night, knowledge was the best defense.

  Glancing around to be sure she was alone—not that Mama would ever venture in here to do any work—she flipped open the book. Then blushed as one of the naughty pictures in the back met her gaze.

  The first time she’d seen the naked figures in contorted poses, she’d briefly thought them pictures of Greek sport. After all, the Greeks had performed their sports naked, and the captions—things like “A Wild Ride” and “The Sideward Thrust”—had sounded vaguely athletic.

  Then she’d stumbled across “The Wheelbarrow,” the very print she was looking at now. A man held a woman by her ankles as she held on to a wheel. It looked sportlike enough—as if he were pushing her along, perhaps in a race, with a big stick coming out from between his legs.

  But a closer look revealed it wasn’t a stick. And the couple clearly had no interest in athletics.

  She probably should have thrown the book away when she’d realized what the pictures were, but they’d been too fascinating to ignore. Especially when her knowledge of that area of life had been limited to what she’d gleaned from watching horses and sheep on the estate.

  Now she knew more—a lot more. But she wondered, why use such… well… odd positions for lovemaking? Some of them looked downright painful. Like the one where the woman put her ankles on a man’s shoulders— how did a woman get her legs up so high, anyway?

  Then there was this next one… but wait, it made more sense today. Perhaps a man would indeed want to put his tongue down there. Perhaps the woman would even enjoy it. Katherine had certainly enjoyed having Alec’s tongue in her own mouth last nig
ht; it had made her feel hot all over. Apparently men liked putting their tongues in certain places, and women liked having them put there.

  If she were to judge from these pictures, though, tongues weren’t the only things men liked to stick into women. But she wasn’t entirely convinced that the woman would like having that… that staff stuck into her.

  Especially when it was as large as this one in the picture. She turned the book to the side and peered at it. Surely this was an exaggeration… like the woman’s breasts, which were big as cantaloupes and not at all like Katherine’s own decidedly modest ones.

  But if the book wasn’t meant to be realistic, then why had Papa bought it in the first place? Or was it just another of his wicked curiosities, like the opera dancer Mama had accused him of toying with out of pure mischief?

  Katherine winced, remembering that particular argument, after which she’d had to explain to her sisters what a blowsy slut was. Mama had never been very discreet, but after Grandfather died, any discretion she’d possessed had flown right out the window. Without the influence of her father, Mama felt free to be her natural self. Which unfortunately meant that no subject was too private to air before her children.

  Realizing she was still staring at the picture of the man with his tongue in a naughty place, Katherine turned the pages swiftly back to the text. At least the book wasn’t all wicked.

  Like this chapter on gifts, about how a man should soften a woman’s resistance with jewels and such. She read the line on flowers: Costly hothouse blooms never fail to make a woman’s heart beat faster, since women are primarily mercenary creatures.

  With a snort, she slammed the book shut and shoved it back in the drawer. How like a man to think he must spend money to make a woman’s heart beat faster. But obviously Papa had slavishly followed that bit of advice, or she wouldn’t be in her present fix, having to marry as soon as possible to access her fortune so she could pay the family debts.

  The sound of a carriage stopping outside made her jump. Goodness, Alec had come for her early. Now, where had she put her gloves while she was working?