Page 6 of In the Prince's Bed

“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 inLa Belle Magnifique.”

Katherine stared at him. “Thecourtesan?” 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 youaremy 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.”