In the Prince's Bed Read online

  “Sounds rather cynical,” Draker said.

  “You of all people know it’s accurate. Why else do you escape society at your estate in Hertfordshire?” When Draker scowled, Alec added, “Not that I blame you. I tried escaping by staying abroad instead of returning here to demand my due when I came of age. That’s why I’ve nearly lost everything.”

  He smiled grimly. “I learned my lesson. You play by their rules—at least in public—to get what you want. And I want to restore Edenmore. If that means hunting a fortune like the other penniless lords, then, by God, I’ll hunt a fortune.”

  Draker shook his head. “Any heiress with that kind of money is armed to the teeth against fortune hunters. And if she isn’t, her father will be.”

  “The man’s an earl,” Byrne told Draker. “Plenty of merchants would gladly pay to have their daughters made into countesses.”

  “For such a large sum?” Alec went to stoke up the fire. “What fool would hand over his precious daughter and seventy-five thousand pounds to a fortune-hunting lord with a reputation for abandoning his family in the pursuit of pleasure? I can’t tell the truth about my time abroad without explaining the real reason for my estrangement from my father, which I don’t want to do.”

  He stared into the flames. “But the rumors alone won’t damage my chances, as long as I hide my penury while I’m courting. I plan to take my heiress in hand before she learns of my finances.” He wouldn’t make the old earl’s mistake—letting his intended wife know he was marrying her for money. That only led to trouble.

  Dusting his hands off on his trousers, he faced them again. “That’s why I need your help. I have to secure my heiress before the truth about my situation reaches London. Trouble is, I don’t know any. I was too young to be in society when I left, and I don’t have the weeks it will take me to learn who’s who.”

  He narrowed his gaze on Byrne. “You move in those circles and deal with financial matters every day. You could give me the information I need.”

  When Byrne looked stony, Draker cleared his throat. “Since I’ve been out of society half my life, I can’t imagine what good I could do you.”

  Tearing his gaze from Byrne’s, Alec said baldly, “You could loan me a carriage. Most things I can get on credit, but not something that large.”

  “You don’t even own a carriage?” Byrne said in disbelief.

  Alec stiffened. By God, he hated this begging. “My father sold both our carriages, along with the London town house, which is why I live here at the Stephens Hotel. I can keep my lodgings secret, but if I always show up in a hack, someone will get suspicious.” He stared at Draker. “And I figured since you—”

  “Don’t go into society,” Draker finished, “I could spare you a carriage.”

  Alec nodded tightly. “I promise to keep it in good working order.”

  Draker appeared more amused than insulted. “If you will also promise not to harness a lot of ill-matched nags to it—”

  “You’ll help me?” Alec broke in. “You’ll join this alliance I propose?”

  “I suppose it can’t hurt. Especially if my pesky sister gets a decent husband out of it.” Draker arched a shaggy brown brow. “And not a fortune hunter.”

  Alec smiled ruefully. “I hope my heiress’s relations are not so particular.”

  “I know of one who might suit your needs,” Byrne put in. When Alec turned to stare at him, he added with a shrug, “Gamblers do talk.”

  Alec’s blood thundered in his ears. “So you’ll join this alliance, too?”

  “The Royal Brotherhood.” A muscle ticked in Byrne’s jaw. “It’s all well and good for you and Draker—in the eyes of the law, you’re legitimate. But you can’t make me legitimate, or gain me the respect Prinny denied me and my mother.”

  “Surely we can help you obtain something you want. I promise you’ll gain as much as we do from this enterprise.”

  “I intend to,” Byrne said tersely. “Besides, it might be amusing to watch you succeed under our good father’s very nose.”

  For the first time in many weeks, hope swelled in Alec’s chest. “Then it’s agreed? We’ll join hands as brothers to achieve all that we desire?”

  “Agreed,” Draker murmured.

  “Agreed.” Byrne poured more brandy for them all. “This calls for a toast.” He rose and lifted his glass. “To the Royal Brotherhood of Bastards, and their future prosperity.”

  The other two stood and lifted their glasses to echo the toast.

  They drank, and then Alec lifted his glass again with a grim smile. “And to Prinny, our royal sire. May he rot in hell.”

  Chapter Two

  No woman can resist a man who undresses

  her with his eyes.

  —Anonymous, A Rake’s Rhetorick

  Katherine Merivale couldn’t believe it. Apparently Papa’s scandalous chapbook had been right—a practiced rakehell could tempt a woman to sin with just a look. Because only a nun could resist the power of the Earl of Iversley’s gaze from across Lady Jenner’s ballroom. Katherine had never been so unsettled by a man’s stare. But then, no man had ever looked at her quite like that, either.

  She tried to ignore him. Yet everywhere the waltz took her and her dance partner, Sir Sydney Lovelace, she could feel Lord Iversley’s blue gaze following her, stripping her bare, unveiling all her secrets.

  And she didn’t even have any secrets.

  If she were to believe the gossip about him, however, he certainly did—ten years of secrets from his wild and reckless adventures in exotic ports. And every one of those years showed in the darkly compelling eyes that promised he could make any woman yearn for his caresses…

  Lord preserve her, how her imagination ran away with her! And what right did the Earl of Iversley have to undress her with his eyes, anyway? She hadn’t even been introduced to him, for goodness sake.

  After another circuit around the ballroom, she sneaked a glance to where his lordship still stood by the gallery doors, holding a glass of champagne. Lady Jenner was with him now, leaning forward to give the man a generous view of her ample bosom.

  Katherine rolled her eyes. Just because Lord Iversley was a handsome devil in that striped white-on-white waistcoat and suit of jet-black superfine was no reason for women to slobber over him.

  Not that Katherine cared who slobbered over his lordship. She had Sydney, her betrothed. Her nearly betrothed, anyway, if he would ever get around to making their informal childhood “understanding” into a formal lifelong one.

  All right, so Sydney’s shoulders weren’t quite that broad, and his hair fell in precise golden ringlets instead of that gloriously rumpled mass of smoky black waves—

  She stifled a groan. There was no comparison. Sydney epitomized gentlemanly refinement. Lord Iversley looked downright dangerous, like that caged panther she and Mama had seen at the menagerie today. No true gentleman had such tanned skin, such large hands, such blatantly muscular thighs practically bursting from his tight knee breeches…

  Goodness, what was wrong with her? And now both he and Lady Jenner were staring at her and murmuring together.

  About her? Surely not. A man of his vast experience and taste for wild living would never pursue her. Not according to The Rake’s Rhetorick, that horrible book she’d found hidden in her late father’s study. It dictated that “since willing widows and wives abound, the pleasure-bent rake should avoid wellborn virgins. Seducing an innocent brings consequences that outweigh its delights.”

  She was certainly a wellborn virgin, and Lord Iversley was surely bent on the sort of pleasure only the Lady Jenners of this world could give.

  “Kit?” Sydney said as he swept her into a turn.

  She jerked her gaze from Lord Iversley. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Sydney had noticed the earl staring at her and was now insanely jealous? “Yes?”

  “You’re attending my reading tomorrow, aren’t you?”

  Suppressing a sigh, she gazed up into the sweet face
she knew as well as her own. “Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”

  He beamed at her, then returned to his usual state of distraction, probably mulling over a difficult rhyme in his latest epic poem. No, Sydney would never notice the earl’s glances.

  And if Sydney didn’t act soon, Mama might make good on her threats. Katherine set her shoulders. Perhaps it was time to force her suitor’s hand. “I only wish I could also attend your reading at the Argyle Rooms next month.”

  He blinked. “Why can’t you?”

  “We lack the funds to stay in London much longer. Unless something changes in our situation, of course.” How much broader a hint could she give?

  With a frown, he glanced over at Katherine’s mother. “You can’t touch the funds your grandfather left you? You’ve spoken to the solicitor?”

  “He says the will is inviolable. I can’t access my fortune until I marry.” Which was why Mama was driving her mad about settling her future.

  “Dashed inconsiderate of your grandfather to do that to you.”

  Katherine thought it rather clever. Between Papa’s illicit pursuits and Mama’s love of lavish spending, the money would have disappeared in a matter of weeks otherwise. Unfortunately, Grandfather hadn’t expected Katherine to take so long to marry. Or his son-in-law to die young and leave them in debt to half of Heath’s End.

  Sydney whirled her beneath the crystal chandeliers threaded with sprigs of cherry blossoms. “Perhaps I should speak to Mother about inviting you to stay at our town house.”

  “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 in La Belle Magnifique.”

  Katherine stared at him. “The courtesan?” 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 you are my 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.”

  She fought a smile. “Is he?” It had certainly taken Sydney long enough to notice. “He’s probably staring at my shameless gown.”

  “I never said it was shameless,” he snapped. “Besides, he’s staring at us both.”

  “He is?” When Sydney’s gaze shot to her, she added hastily, “Why would the Earl of Iversley be staring at us?”

  “He probably recognizes me—I went to Harrow with the wicked devil. He and his friends were wild and reckless sorts, didn’t study or do anything useful. Iversley was the worst—he never met a rule he didn’t break. And he got away with it because he was heir to an earl.” Sydney’s resentment shone in his face. “We used to call him Alexander the Great. I suppose he’s in London to burn through whatever fortune his late father left to him.”

  She stole another peek at Lord Iversley. Anyone who could rouse the amiable Sydney’s ire must be a wicked devil indeed.

  And he was staring at her again. Goodness, that frank gaze he skimmed down her gown was quite scandalous, a thrillingly slow appraisal that sucked the breath right out of her. By the time his eyes returned to her face, she was light-headed.

  Then he lifted his glass of champagne in a toasting gesture, as if the two of them shared some secret. Like “two larks who alone know the words to their song,” her favorite line from Sydney’s poems.

  With a blush, she jerked her gaze away. She was supposed to be coaxing Sydney into offering for her, not gaping at Lord Iversley.

  “That dashed blackguard.” Sydney tugged on her arm. “Let’s go this way before he begs an introduction to you. I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

  No, indeed. Because if the earl could make her breathless with only a look, imagine what he’d do up close. Probably stop her heart. Clearly, the man had a thorough knowledge of the secrets divulged in The Rake’s Rhetorick.

  “Besides,” Sydney added, “I need to talk to you privately about something.”

  Katherine’s heart lifted as Sydney pulled her toward the gallery doors. Thank you, Lord Iversley. Her own hints might not have penetrated Sydney’s usual fog, but a little jealousy was apparently working beyond her wildest dreams.

  It was about time.

  With a scowl, Alec watched his fetching quarry disappear with the blond baronet. Had Lady Jenner been right? Was Miss Merival
e nearly engaged to the man? Byrne hadn’t mentioned it.

  Alec had wanted to meet the flame-haired female even before he’d learned who she was. Her gown alone distinguished her from her insipid peers. None of that virginal white for Miss Merivale, oh no. She wore scarlet in a pattern with some life to it, like the richly hued costumes Alec used to see in Portugal and Spain.

  And to think she was Byrne’s little heiress—how could he be so lucky? Or cursed—the squire’s daughter was now alone on the gallery with that damned Sir What’s-His-Name. If Alec had to choose another heiress after all this, he was not going to be happy. Because this one already intrigued him. None of the others did.

  Setting down his champagne glass, Alec strolled out the gallery doors, then edged down the marble walkway until he could see the couple. Sliding behind a pillar, he lit a cigar and tried to hear their conversation. He didn’t have to try hard.

  “Admit it, Kit,” the man said peevishly, “you’re upset because I haven’t made any… well… formal offer for your hand.”

  “I’m not upset,” Miss Merivale answered. “I’m sure you have your reasons.”

  Her voice, direct and capable yet still feminine, pleased Alec as much as her self-composed words. He couldn’t stand simpering, vacuous women.

  “Actually, I do,” her companion said defensively. “For one thing, Mother’s neuralgia has been acting up again, and she—”

  “Forgive me, Sydney, but your mother’s neuralgia seems to come and go at her whim. If you delay offering for me until she recovers, my funeral will come before my wedding.” Miss Merivale’s voice dropped so low, Alec had to strain to hear it. “Your mother doesn’t seem to approve of me.”

  “It’s not you; it’s your family. She thinks they’re a trifle… well—”