The Naked King

by Sally MacKenzie

  Lady Kenderly rolled her eyes this time. “I know that. I haven’t been so blinded by my love for you, my lord, that I can’t see beyond the end of my nose.”

  Damian bristled, suddenly frowning. “Here, now, Jo, you’d best not be wanting any other men!” He sounded only half joking.

  “Don’t be silly. Looking and wanting are not the same thing at all, at least for women.” She laughed. “Or, not wishing to speak for all my sisters, at least not for this woman.” She looked up at Damian, a teasing note in her voice. “You keep me far too busy for my affections to wander.”

  “I do, don’t I?” Damian had a very self-satisfied grin on his face.

  Stephen shifted in his seat. He was glad Damian was happily married, but he did not care to observe the heated look the man was exchanging with his lady. Surely they hadn’t forgotten his presence?

  Lady Kenderly patted Damian on his thigh—rather too close to a certain organ for Stephen’s comfort—and laughed again. “Here we are, putting poor Mr. Parker-Roth to the blush. What are we thinking?”

  Stephen was all too aware what Damian must be thinking. The earl opened his mouth as if he were going to answer the question, but then, fortunately, thought better of it. He grinned while Lady Kenderly turned to Stephen.

  “Getting back to your problem, Mr. Parker-Roth,” she began.

  “Oh, no, don’t feel as if you need to get back to my problem, Lady Kenderly.” Stephen would be delighted to let that topic drop. “As I say, I don’t have any problems. No problems at all.” He took out his pocket watch. “I see I should be—”

  Lady Kenderly put her hand on his wrist. “Sir, I cannot believe you really wish to wed Lady Anne.”

  Was Damian’s wife a lack-wit? “As I’ve said, my wishes have nothing to say to the matter.”

  “They have everything to say to the matter!” Lady Kenderly tightened her grip on him, shaking him a little, and then released him and sat back. “I realize you’ve compromised the girl—”

  “She’s hardly a girl. She’s almost my age.”

  “Ah,” Damian said. “Then she should have known what she was about. Perhaps she’s a conniving minx out to trap herself a wealthy husband.”

  Anger surged in Stephen’s gut. “She’s no such thing.”

  “She is a little long in the tooth to be unwed,” Lady Kenderly said. “She might be more than a little desperate.”

  “She is not desperate.” Stephen drew in a deep breath. He didn’t usually have any trouble controlling his anger. “Her stepmother, the earl’s current wife, gave birth to twins when Anne should have made her come-out, so Anne never came to Town.”

  “Not for all these years?” Damian sounded skeptical.

  “I take it she’s had so many responsibilities, marriage never seriously crossed her mind. You know how Crane will take off at a moment’s notice when he gets wind of any new antiquity. Apparently Lady Crane is also keen on the subject and travels with him. Anne is put in charge of the family when they leave, including now.” He looked back at Lady Kenderly. “Crane and his wife dropped everyone at Crane House and immediately departed for foreign shores, leaving Anne to manage her sister’s come-out alone.”

  “Heavens!” Lady Kenderly looked properly horrified. “Has she no one to assist her?”

  “Only her elderly cousin, Miss Clorinda Strange.”

  “That odd woman who’s obsessed with birds?” Lady Kenderly asked.

  Stephen nodded. “The same.”

  “Isn’t she the harridan who attacked Lady Wappingly last Season because she had plumes from some exotic bird on her bonnet?” Damian asked. “Snatched the thing right off Lady Wappingly’s head, calling her any number of unpleasant names.” He laughed. “The caricaturists had a grand time with that. The drawings were in the windows of all the print shops for a week or more.”

  “Quite possibly. I didn’t come up to London last Season.” He’d stopped down at the Priory to deliver the plants he’d brought back from the Amazon for John, and then he’d gone off again.

  “Ah, that’s right.” Damian grinned. “Now that I think on it, I guess it’s time for the annual Parker-Roth scandal. Your sister entertained the gabble-grinders the Season before last with her hurried marriage to Viscount Motton and staid old John shocked the ton last year. Now it’s your turn.”

  “Very funny.” Damian was right, though. He hoped Mama and Da had become inured to tittle-tattle regarding their children.

  “Gentlemen,” Lady Kenderly said, “you have strayed far from the point. Let us return to the crux of the issue.” She looked at Stephen. “Do you love Lady Anne, Mr. Parker-Roth?”

  “Do I love her?” Stephen gaped at Damian’s wife. “I’ve only just met her.”

  “Jo, let me put it in terms my male friend might understand.” Damian grinned. “Do you lust after her?”

  Bloody hell. Stephen felt a hot flush climb his neck. Did he lust after Anne? He pictured her in her hideously drab, shapeless brown dress.

  No, he didn’t.

  He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “How can it be more complicated?” Damian reached for the brandy he’d abandoned on a side table when his wife had arrived. “You either want her or you don’t. I’d say you don’t.” He took a sip. “You can’t marry her if you don’t desire her. That would be hell.”

  “Hell for her, too,” Lady Kenderly said.

  Blast and damn. His insides were all twisted up. He didn’t know how he felt, which was a completely foreign state of affairs for him. He always knew his own mind.

  He might not know his mind, but he knew his duty. “I compromised her; I have to marry her.” He shrugged. “I’ve just turned thirty—it’s time I wed.” He tried to grin. “My mother certainly thinks so.”

  “Thirty is not ancient,” Damian said. “You have plenty of time. It’s not like you have a title to secure.”

  Lady Kenderly sucked in her breath and said in mock anger, “So that’s why you wed me!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Jo. I wed you because I was mad for you.” Damian shook his head. “You can’t marry the woman if you don’t like her, Stephen. I’ll tie you up and ship you off to the Continent before I’ll let you do that.”

  “You’re welcome to try.” Truth was Damian was almost as good a fighter as he. He didn’t think the earl could get the better of him, but he wasn’t one hundred percent certain. “And I do like Anne.”

  “Well, that’s something,” Damian said. “So at least it won’t be a completely cold marriage of convenience.” Damian pulled a face. “Be sensible. You don’t want a polite, lukewarm arrangement. It would be one thing if you came from chilly stock, but I’ve heard the stories about your parents and your sister Jane—hell, everyone thought John was the Parker-Roth with ice in his veins and look what happened with him. You’re the King of Hearts—you can’t marry without love.”

  Stephen felt trapped and angry. “I detest that nickname, Damian, as well you know.”

  Lady Kenderly touched his knee. “But you’ve just met Lady Anne. I can see having an immediate physical reaction, but you said you don’t lust after her. You can’t know her well enough to know if you like her or not.”

  “Lady Kenderly, I pride myself in being a good judge of character; I’ve had to be. Out in the wild, in the jungle or on the savannah, often among natives who may not speak English, all you’ve got to go on is your gut.”

  Damian nodded. “That’s true. And I would agree you’ve got excellent instincts where people are concerned. You had the wisdom to befriend me, after all.”

  “I just didn’t care to see you go head first into the privy courtesy of Brentwood.”

  “Details, details.”

  “Oh, do be serious, Damian,” Lady Kenderly said. She nodded at Stephen. “I understand what you mean, Mr. Parker-Roth. I’ve observed that myself. Some people have an unerring sense of whom to trust; others are always falling into disa
strous ‘friendships.’”

  “Exactly. Anne is trustworthy and responsible, and she sincerely loves her half sister and half brothers when she could easily be surly and resentful. She guides them with an excellent mix of firmness and sympathy.”

  “She sounds like a damn paragon,” Damian said.

  “I won’t have you disparaging her, Damian.”

  Lady Kenderly held up her hand. “Gentlemen, please. Then let me ask you this, Mr. Parker-Roth.”

  “Lady Kenderly, if your hard-headed husband here does not object, I’d be happy to have you call me Stephen.” He smiled wryly. “I would say our conversation has strayed beyond the formal.”

  Lady Kenderly smiled. “I would like that. Damian speaks so highly of you.”

  “Jo, you can’t tell him that,” Damian said in mock alarm. “It will go straight to his head; there’ll be no tolerating him.”

  Lady Kenderly snorted, but otherwise ignored her husband’s comment. “And you must call me Jo, Stephen, though you may wish to call me ‘damn Jo’ as Damian sometimes does when I ask you this last question.”

  “Take care, old friend,” Damian said. “You are in trouble now. Jo’s questions can be like rapier thrusts to the heart.”

  Jo spared a glance at her husband. “Really, dear, I’m not certain you’re helping matters.” She turned back to Stephen. “You said you’d kissed Lady Anne, Stephen. Would you do it again?”

  Stephen flushed. A rapier thrust indeed.

  “Of course he would do it again, Jo,” Damian said. “He’s a man—we’ve established that.”

  “Yes, and Lady Anne is a lady. One kiss might be a mistake, but two—well, I think that must show some attraction or affection—”

  “Or lust!” Damian laughed. “And if there’s some spark, it may grow into a raging fire, eh, love?”

  “Exactly.” Jo lifted her brows and considered Stephen. “So, Stephen, would you kiss Lady Anne a second time?”

  Talk about raging fires—Stephen was certain his face resembled a conflagration. He cleared his throat. “I already have.”

  Jo clapped her hands. “Excellent. Then I have great hopes for you. And I shall be happy to help your Lady Anne find her way—not that I am an expert in the social scene, of course, being so new to it myself, but Damian is a man of great consequence as he periodically likes to remind me.”

  “Now, Jo—”

  “Oh, hush, Damian. I am teasing you.” She grinned at Stephen. “I suggest you stay betrothed for the Season and see how your feelings grow. If you find you cannot love Lady Anne—or if she cannot love you—then you can end your betrothal quietly when the Season is over.”

  Stephen was not sure how it happened that Damian’s wife had taken charge of his marital situation, but he feared somehow she had. “But I will not be ending the betrothal.”

  She stood and shook out her skirts. “You know, Stephen, I do think you might not.” She kissed Damian on the cheek. “Now if you will excuse me, I will go see if Cook has been calmed and our food tonight will not be a complete disaster.”

  Anne stared at the dress on the bed. She had hoped Madam Celeste would have chosen the green fabric first, but no.

  “It’s very . . . red, isn’t it?” Evie said, doubt clear in her voice. “Do you think it will go with your hair?”

  Anne sighed. “I suppose we will find out, won’t we? And if it doesn’t, I can always wear my best ball gown from home.”

  They both looked at that poor, drab dress, draped over a nearby chair. Anne had got it out of the wardrobe once she’d unwrapped the package from Madam Celeste. It was brown and sadly out of date, but at least she would blend into the background if she wore it.

  She certainly wouldn’t blend into the background in the red dress. She’d look like a, a . . . well, she wasn’t certain what she would look like. She ran her hands over the silky fabric.

  Her first reaction when she’d seen the dress was to bundle it back up. She might have done so if Evie hadn’t come in.

  She shouldn’t waste time trying it on, but it felt so soft. Her fingers lingered over the cloth. And the little swatch of fabric Mr. Parker-Roth had held up against her skin in Madam Celeste’s shop had made her look... different. Almost pretty.

  She looked at Evie again and smiled. “At least you will make a spectacular debut, and that is all that matters.” She shook her head in wonderment. “You always look beautiful, but tonight . . .” She sighed happily. “Tonight you are exquisite.”

  Evie preened in front of the mirror, unable to contain her excitement. “The dress is lovely, isn’t it?”

  The dress was lovely—delicate white muslin with small puffed sleeves and a wide blue ribbon around the waist that exactly matched Evie’s eyes. “Yes, but the girl in the dress is even lovelier.”

  Evie took one last look at herself and then turned back to Anne. “I’m sure Madam Celeste wouldn’t make a dress for you that wasn’t flattering, Anne, and Mr. Parker-Roth surely must have excellent taste. He helped you choose the color, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, but the small bit of fabric we looked at in Madam Celeste’s shop didn’t seem so overwhelmingly red. I’m sure to look like a ripe tomato.”

  Evie giggled. “Don’t be silly. You are far too thin to look like a tomato of any sort.” She picked up the dress and shook it out, the bright satin whispering over itself. “It’s not red, really, but coquelicot. There are definitely tones of orange.”

  “Hmm.” The dress was simply cut with few embellishments. Clean, uncluttered, and so very bright. It looked almost alive in Evie’s hands.

  “Come, Anne, try it on. Mary went to help Tredlick get Cousin Clorinda ready, so I’ll act as your maid.”

  Anne had the oddest feeling that if she put that dress on, she’d turn into someone else. Ridiculous, of course. But still . . . it would be very hard to avoid attention in that gown.

  Evie shook the dress again. “You don’t have all night, you know. Mr. Parker-Roth will be here shortly.”

  On odd thrill shot through her, and her stomach shivered. Mr. Parker-Roth would see her in this dress . . . was that a good thing or not?

  More to the point, why did she care?

  “Very well.” She let Evie help her into Madam Celeste’s shocking creation. The cloth smelled sweet and new; the satin slid sensually over her skin, caressing her body, hugging its contours in a way Mrs. Waddingly’s dresses never had, and falling to swirl around her feet. Something, some new energy, thrummed through her. She felt more alive than she had in a long, long time—since before Baron Gedding’s house party.

  She kept her eyes closed, afraid to see how garish she must appear. She wanted to look beautiful for once. She didn’t want to take off this new gown and put on her boring, old dress that she’d worn to countless assemblies and balls for the last five years. She was suddenly heartily sick of it.

  “Oh, my.” Evie’s voice had a very peculiar tone to it, almost one of awe.

  Anne forced one eye open to peek at her reflection. “Oh!” She opened the other eye and gaped at the woman in the mirror. Was it truly she? She raised her hand to touch her face, and the woman in the mirror did the same.

  Through some miracle, Madam Celeste had crafted the dress so Anne actually appeared to have a figure. The neck was cut rather low over her small bosom and the skirts flared out from a high, but defined waist. The color, rather than making her look like a clown or, far worse, a cheap whore, made her skin glow and her eyes appear greener. “I look almost pretty.”

  “Pretty? You look”—Evie paused, apparently searching for the proper word—“ravishing. Mr. Parker-Roth won’t be able to take his eyes off you. I suspect all the men we meet tonight will be unable to look at any other woman present. I am quite put in the shade.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Anne managed to tear her eyes away from the vision in the mirror, though she couldn’t resist darting glances at herself. “I am an elderly spinster, very much on the shelf. No one will give me a
second glance.”

  “You are not on the shelf—or won’t be much longer. You are betrothed to Mr. Parker-Roth.” Evie grinned. “I am counting on him to discourage all the other men from flocking around you.”

  “Flocking around me like a gaggle of geese? Now you are being completely absurd.” She wished she could share the story of her betrothal with Evie. It would be a relief to have someone know the truth. Perhaps if she swore her to secrecy—

  “Here I am, miladies. Did ye think I’d forgotten ye? I had to—lordie!” Mary stopped just inside the door to Anne’s room, her mouth hanging open. “Lady Anne, is that really ye?”

  Anne felt herself flush. “Of course it is, Mary.” She gestured to Evie. “Isn’t Evie beautiful?”

  Mary took in Evie’s dress and then returned to consider Anne. “Aye. Lady Evie is always a treat, and that dress is very special, but ye, milady . . .” She shook her head and then grinned slyly. “I’m guessing ye’ll be having a very short betrothal.”

  “Mary!” Anne was certain her cheeks were now bright red. Evie was blushing, too, but laughing as well.

  “Mark my words,” Mary said. “Once that man sees ye in this dress, he’ll be running for a special license.” She winked. “He’ll want ye out of the dress and in his bed as quick as may be.”

  “I’m sure you should not be saying such things.” Anne could barely get any words out, she was so embarrassed—embarrassed and something else. Nervous, yes. And excited. It would be nice to have a man—to have Mr. Parker-Roth—look at her with some admiration in his eyes.

  Mary shrugged. “Yer both old enough to be thinking of marriage—and marriage beds.” She pulled out the dressing table chair. “Now come, I need to get ye ready and be quick about it. Hobbes just sent word up that Mr. Parker-Roth has arrived. Miss Clorinda has already gone down.” She pushed Anne into the chair. “We don’t want to keep the poor man waiting, especially waiting with Miss Clorinda. She’s sure to set his teeth on edge in no time.” She pulled a brush through Anne’s unruly hair.

  “I can’t wait to see Mr. Parker-Roth’s face when he catches sight of you, Anne,” Evie said. “I think Mary’s right. He’ll be completely entranced.”