Page 53 of To Pleasure a Prince

Lost in the past, he said, “Who?”

“La Belle Dame Sans Merci.”

Marcus thrust the poker onto the rack. “Don’t be absurd.”

“She’s quite a beauty. And I suppose she knows it, too.”

You want only my body…

He stiffened. “Yes, she knows it. But she’s not vain about it, if that’s what you mean.”

“Ah. And is she as heartless as they say?”

“She’s refused eleven proposals of marriage,” he said evasively. “What do you think?”

His brother stood and lowered his voice. “I think you should be careful, man. The woman was bred for better fellows than you.”

Marcus rounded on him with a glower. “First you, then Iversley. What sort of sniveling coxcomb do you two take me for? I told you this is just a bargain. I’m only courting her to keep an eye on Foxmoor.”

“So you say. But she’s brought many a man to his knees in the past.”

“I know how to guard myself against her kind of woman, for God’s sake. I was twenty-two when I left society. Before then, I suffered often enough through jokes about my size and my lack of interest in the fine arts of cravat-folding, card-playing, and empty flattery.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Then there were the many girls too high in the instep to countenance the attentions of a young man with a Jezebel for a mother. Even though the law considers me legitimate, I’ve had gossip about my parentage whispered by plenty of those ‘refined’ girls—”

“So have I,” Byrne broke in. “But I spent years learning how to turn my unfortunate birth to my advantage. I’ve figured out what makes those ‘refined’ women want a man, and I use it to have them groveling at my feet.”

“Behind their husband’s backs.”

“And in front of them, if I can get away with it.” Byrne’s eyes sparked blue as sapphires. “No one calls me bastard to my face anymore, you can be sure of that. Most of them can’t afford to get on my bad side.” For a moment, he looked more menacing than any demon spawned by hell.

Then he forced a smile. “But you, dear brother, have spent the last third of your life in a cave. And now a stunning female has deigned to let you court her, which you can’t help but find flattering—”

“I am not the smitten fool you and Iversley take me for,” Marcus snapped. “I have matters well in hand. So do I get my Stranger’s Ticket for Almack’s or not?”

“I’ll do my best.” A grin creased his face. “But God help Almack’s if I succeed.”

Chapter Twelve

One is always safe with one’s charge at Almack’s.

—Miss Cicely Tremaine,The Ideal Chaperone

Regina’s fingers flew over the strings of her harp as she searched for the configuration of notes that would express her discontent. But the harp just wasn’t made for that sort of music. What she needed was a soulful violin. Or cymbals. That she could bash upon a certain man’s head.

“Are you sure you don’t want some tea?” came a plaintive voice from the table across the room.

Cicely was scribbling in that little book she always carried, the one that she called a diary. Regina wondered, rather unkindly, what Cicely could possibly have to write about in a diary. Her life lacked any real excitement.

Rather like Regina’s. She scowled and attacked her favorite piece of music with a vengeance, wishing it sounded less…pretty. “I’m not in the mood for tea.”

“Perhaps you would like me to read to you—”

“No!” When Cicely winced, she softened her tone. “I am definitely not in the mood to hear a book read.” Or to remember that Marcus preferred them to her.

Her fingers fell slack on the strings.

“You’re better off without him, you know,” Cicely said.

Regina’s head shot up, and she colored to see her cousin eyeing her as if she could read every thought in her head.