The Naked King Read online

  “You didn’t give me much chance, did you?” Lady Anne said, a touch waspishly. She turned to Stephen. “Sir, as I’m sure you’ve surmised, this is my sister, Lady Evangeline, and my brothers, Philip—Viscount Rutledge—and George.” She looked at her siblings. “And this is Mr. Parker-Roth.”

  Evie extended her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Mr.—oh!” She snatched her hand back before Stephen could touch her fingers. “But—” She bit her lip. “I must have misunderstood. I thought you were married, sir.”

  “That’s his brother, Evie,” Anne said.

  “Indeed, my older brother, John.” Stephen smiled. “I’m the second son, Stephen Parker-Roth.”

  Evie’s eyes widened. “The King of Hearts?” She shot Anne an odd look.

  “Er, yes,” he said. He’d never been much pleased with that sobriquet, but he was heartily sick of it now. “I’m rather good at cards, you see.”

  “Cards? But—”

  Anne cut her sister off. “Cards,” she said with a note of finality and a significant look at the boys.

  Philip’s eyes lit up. “We shall have to play some day, sir.”

  “Watch out,” George said. “Phil fleeces us all, even Papa.”

  “Stubble it, you lobcock!” Philip glared at his brother and then turned back to Stephen. “We only play for pins, sir, not that I could get the better of you, of course. But it’s true none of the others has much of a head for cards. They can’t remember what’s been played.”

  “A common failing.” Stephen smiled. “I’ll be happy to play with you when I’m not squiring your sisters to the Season’s entertainments.”

  “Oh, will you, sir?” Evie sounded thrilled. “Escort us to all the balls and parties, that is.”

  Anne looked alarmed. “Don’t be silly. Of course he won’t. Mr. Parker-Roth is far too busy for that.”

  “Of course I will,” Stephen said, reaching over to take Anne’s hand. He thought at first she was going to protest, but at the last minute she must have realized how odd that would look—the boys might not remark on it, but her sister would—and let him wrap his fingers around hers. “What could be more important than attending the ton’s gatherings with my betrothed?”

  “Indeed!” Evie almost bounced with delight. “I confess I was quite worried about my come-out. My particular friend, Constance Donbarton, warned me I would have a hard time of it, even when we thought Mama would be here to chaperone me. Mama is a rector’s daughter, you see, and Papa, though an earl, only goes to London when he must. Constance says the ton considers him peculiar, which isn’t surprising since he is rather.”

  “Papa’s not peculiar,” Anne said, tugging to free her hand from Stephen’s grasp. He didn’t let her go.

  “You know he is, Anne. He thinks of nothing but antiquities.”

  Anne grumbled. She could not deny that fact.

  Evie looked earnestly at Stephen. “Papa’s mama is sadly departed and his only sister has also gone aloft, so I have no one to help ease my way into society. It might be different if Anne had had a Season and was married to someone of importance, but she didn’t and isn’t, if you see what I mean.”

  “It’s very clear, Evie.” Anne sounded as if she’d prefer to shout her words.

  “And you must agree Cousin Clorinda will be no help at all, Anne. Rather the opposite—she’s even more of a bluestocking than you are.”

  “She is not.” Anne’s scowl became even more pronounced. “I mean, she’s much more of a bluestocking than I.”

  Evie ignored her, looking hopefully again at Stephen. “You have a sister, do you not, sir? I believe your consequence, especially as Anne’s betrothed, might be enough to do the trick, but female assistance must always be preferred.”

  “I have three, but I expect you mean Jane since Juliana and Lucy aren’t out yet,” Stephen said. “If you read the gossip columns as your sister does”—he shot Anne a speaking look, which she ignored—“you might have seen Jane mentioned rather prominently the year before last.”

  Evie’s face fell. “Oh, yes, now I remember . . . the scandal with Viscount Motton. But they wed, didn’t they?”

  “Indeed they did and with no lasting damage to their social prominence, I believe. However, Jane has never been a great fan of the Season, and she firmly believes country air is far superior to London’s soot for her son, so she’s not planning to come to Town anytime soon.” He also suspected she might be in the family way again, but she and Motton hadn’t said so yet. “The only Parker-Roth you might encounter this Season besides me is my younger brother, Nicholas, who’s just finished his studies at Oxford.”

  “Oh, well, I’m sure you must know everyone.” Evie looked both hopeful and nervous. “With you to guide us, I’ll fare much better than if I had only Cousin Clorinda and Anne to rely on.”

  “Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Anne said dryly. She did have to admit to some relief, though. Evie was completely correct—Anne knew next to nothing about London society. She’d woken up in a cold sweat early this morning—one reason she’d been out walking Harry—terrified of putting a wrong foot forward and blighting Evie’s chances. And she’d already done that . . . but Mr. Parker-Roth’s presence at their side would definitely help.

  She couldn’t risk ruining Evie’s Season; who knew if Papa would think to give her another. Evie was too beautiful and vivacious to be condemned to spinsterhood or forced in desperation to marry one of the fat, old men hanging out for a young wife at home.

  “I do have a friend or two who’s stepped into parson’s mousetrap,” Mr. Parker-Roth was saying. “I’ll wager their ladies will be more than happy to help steer you past society’s treacherous shoals.”

  Evie clasped her hands together again. “That would be splendid.”

  “And you said your younger brother had just finished Oxford, didn’t you, sir?” George asked.

  Mr. Parker-Roth smiled. “Yes. Do you plan to go to Oxford yourself, George?”

  “No. Or, that is, I don’t know. Philip’s the scholar, not me.” George shrugged and looked at Philip. “I was just wondering . . .”

  “. . . if your brother—or, if not he, then a friend of his—might be interested in being our, well, tutor?” Philip finished.

  “Except he wouldn’t have to do lessons,” George hastened to add.

  “He’d just have to take us around London to the museums,” Philip said, “and . . . balloon ascensions.”

  “And Astley’s Amphitheatre.”

  “And the Royal Menagerie.”

  “And all the things a boy should see in London,” George finished, “but which we won’t see if it’s left up to Anne or Evie or Cousin Clorinda.”

  “Papa said he’d find us an amiable fellow to keep us out from under the women’s feet,” Philip said, “but then he got wind of the new antiquities discovery and forgot.”

  “Papa forgets everything when anyone mentions antiquities,” George said.

  Two identical faces stared up at Mr. Parker-Roth, hearts in their eyes. The man smiled as though he really understood how the boys felt.

  Anne felt an odd sensation in her chest, as if her own heart had turned over. “I’m afraid Philip and George are right,” she said. “Papa did neglect to make any arrangements for them—or if he did, he didn’t tell us what they were. And I expect Evie and I will be too busy to do much with the boys. Nor can I see relying on Cousin Clorinda—”

  “Cousin Clorinda? You couldn’t be so shabby as to stick us with her!” George said. “She’d probably lock us in the library. Phil might survive, but you know I ain’t bookish. I’d cock up my toes from boredom in a trice.”

  Anne frowned. “A little reading would do you good, George.”

  “You saw her try to get me to read that damned—”

  “George!”

  “—deuced book on some stupid bird last night.”

  “And I saw how you gave her palpitations when you told her the only good bird was one turning
on a spit,” Evie said, laughing.

  “Yes, well, I did say I couldn’t see relying on Clorinda,” Anne said. “I suppose I could send you and Philip about with a footman, but I can’t like that, either. I wouldn’t put it past you to bamboozle the poor man into letting you do any hare-brained thing that occurred to you.”

  “Let me talk to Nicholas,” Mr. Parker-Roth said. “He’s not in Town yet, but I expect him any day. If he can’t ride herd on these fellows, I’m sure he’ll know someone who can.”

  “That would be very kind of you.” Anne glanced at the clock on the mantel and blushed. Oh dear, it would have to go, too. The male and female figures entwined around the timepiece were misbehaving in a shocking manner. Who had been in charge of decorating this room? “Look at the time—or well, don’t look. But I’m afraid Evie and I need to get ready to go shopping.”

  Mr. Parker-Roth’s eyebrows went up. “You sound as if you’re contemplating a trip to Newgate Prison rather than a pleasant excursion to Bond Street.”

  “There’s nothing pleasant about shopping.” Anne could feel her stomach clenching already. She hated going to the mantua-maker. She was too tall and too thin and had red hair—Mrs. Waddingly’s face always fell when Anne came through her door. She’d taken to urging Evie to precede her; the anticipation of dressing her beautiful sister helped keep the poor woman from complete despair.

  “Mama mentioned Miss Lamont as a dressmaker, Mr. Parker-Roth,” Evie was saying, “but Mama is not much for fashion either. Nor is Cousin Clorinda—she just shrugged and said one place was as good as another when I asked her.”

  Mr. Parker-Roth’s eyes widened and he deftly turned a laugh into a cough. The man was the King of Hearts. He must be very familiar—intimately familiar—with ladies’ clothing makers.

  “I’m afraid I can’t agree with your cousin,” he said. “Nor can I advise visiting Miss Lamont. Do you know where her shop is? I’ve not heard of it.”

  “No-o.” Evie looked at Anne. “Do you know, Anne?”

  “Of course not. I assumed Clorinda would.”

  “Then I think Miss Lamont,” Mr. Parker-Roth said, “as estimable as she may be, must be eliminated.”

  “I suppose you are right.” Evie bit her lip. “But then what are we to do?”

  Anne knew what she would like to do—forget the whole thing, but even she realized she and Evie couldn’t attend the Season’s entertainments dressed in their country clothes.

  “I will be happy to help. I happen to know a few of the more fashionable shops.” Mr. Parker-Roth didn’t even have the grace to blush. “I’d be delighted to accompany you and act as your guide.”

  “You don’t need to—” Anne started to say.

  “That would be wonderful—” Evie said at the same time.

  They stopped and stared at each other, and then Anne looked at Mr. Parker-Roth. “People will remark on it if you escort us to the dressmaker’s.”

  He grinned and his damnably attractive dimples appeared. “No, they won’t. I’m sure it is unexceptional for a man to help his betrothed and her sister find their way when they are so newly arrived in Town. It would be more remarked upon if I deserted you in your hour of need.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Mr. Parker-Roth must be correct, Anne,” Evie said. “He certainly wouldn’t do anything to put you in a bad light.” She laughed, shaking her head. “I still find it difficult to comprehend you’re betrothed.” She gave the fellow a sly look. “Not that I didn’t notice how you paid particular attention to any mention of Mr. Parker-Roth in the gossip columns, Anne.”

  Mr. Parker-Roth’s eyebrows shot up.

  She was going to strangle Evie, if she didn’t die of mortification before she could wrap her hands around her sister’s neck.

  “But where did you meet Anne, sir?” Philip asked, looking up from rubbing Harry’s belly. “She’s not been to London—she’s not been anywhere.”

  “And you haven’t been to Crane House,” George said.

  Anne’s stomach dropped. Dear God! Trust the boys to ask the obvious question. She and Mr. Parker-Roth had not yet concocted a plausible story—they hadn’t had time.

  She flushed. And the time they’d had, they’d not spent wisely.

  “I’ll let Anne tell you our story,” she heard Mr. Parker-Roth say.

  What?

  Everyone looked expectantly at her. Her brain—the part that wasn’t cursing a certain society gentleman—froze. “I, ah, met Mr. Parker-Roth at, er, Baron Gedding’s house party.”

  She closed her eyes briefly. Why the hell had she said that? She never wanted to consider that horrible gathering again.

  “At Baron Gedding’s?” Philip naturally sounded confused. “When were you at Baron Gedding’s, Anne?”

  “A long time ago.” Now she would really sound like an idiot. “Right around the time you were born.”

  “I remember,” Evie said. “I haven’t thought about it in years—I was only seven when you went. You did come back different.” She frowned. “But I’d have said you were rather sad and quiet. You should have been happy if you’d fallen in love.”

  What could she say? She hadn’t fallen in love of course; she’d been unceremoniously flung out of it—or at least her youthful dream of it.

  The days after the house party had been terrible. Her view of the world and her place in it had undergone a sea-change; there was no going back to the innocent, trusting girl she’d been.

  At least her courses had come right after she’d got home, so she hadn’t had to worry there’d be a child as the result of her wrong headed encounter with Brentwood.

  “And, you know,” Evie was saying, “I think you’ve been sad ever since.”

  Sad? She might not have been merry as a grig, but she hadn’t been constantly Friday faced either.

  Mr. Parker-Roth finally came to the rescue, in a manner of speaking. “Ah, but you see, we were far too young to consider marriage then—or, at least I was—I was only nineteen.”

  And probably well on your way to being crowned King of Hearts, Anne thought—and not for your card-playing prowess.

  “So we had to part.” He took Anne’s hand again. “And, being only nineteen, I’m afraid I was somewhat cavalier in my leave-taking. I believe I may have wounded Anne.”

  Anne cringed at the romantic nonsense. George, gagging dramatically, hands around his throat, flopped backward on the couch.

  Evie, however, swallowed the story as if it had been published by the Minerva Press. She sighed as she looked at Anne. “So that’s why you never showed particular interest in any of the gentlemen at home. You’ve been pining for your true love.”

  Philip looked doubtful. “But for ten years, Evie? That’s a long time.”

  “Not for true love,” Evie said.

  Anne thought she might join George, who was now rolling his eyes and making quite amazing faces of disgust.

  “Did you never see each other again till now?” Evie asked, clearly hoping they had.

  “Well, I was out of the country a lot, you know,” Mr. Parker-Roth said, “hunting plants for my brother. But I believe we did meet again, didn’t we, dear heart?”

  Think. Had she ever been away from home another time?

  Yes—when Grandpapa had died.

  She’d gone to Cambridge in Papa’s carriage with only a maid as a companion. Papa had left for some antiquity-rich patch of ground in Yorkshire before they’d got word. The twins had been sick, so for once Georgiana had stayed with her children.

  “We did manage to see each other two years ago in Cambridge when my mother’s father passed away.”

  She shouldn’t try to maintain this fiction, but she didn’t have much choice. Evie and the boys could never keep a secret, and while the twins probably wouldn’t have occasion to let the cat out of the bag in a socially damaging situation, Evie would. She only hoped no one from that damn house party was in Town. Who had been there besides Baron Gedding and Lord Brentwood?
She didn’t remember.

  “Ah, yes,” Mr. Parker-Roth said. “We had those few sweet, stolen moments before I had to leave for the jungles of South America.”

  Must he mouth so much romantic twaddle? She frowned at him.

  He grinned and pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket. “If I’m going to escort you shopping, ladies, we’d best bestir ourselves.”

  “You might wish to go home first, sir,” Philip said. “You’re rather muddy.”

  Mr. Parker-Roth looked down at his spattered breeches and ruined shoes. “So I am—very good point, Philip. I’ll go back to my rooms to change, and then return for you ladies in”—he consulted his watch again—“an hour’s time, shall we say?” He looked at Philip and George. “And I’ll see you both once my duties to your sisters are completed.”

  “Yes, sir,” Philip said.

  “Huzza!” George cheered while Harry barked in support. “We’ll finally get out of this house.”

  “You’ve only been here since yesterday, George,” Anne said. “You’ve hardly been imprisoned.”

  Mr. Parker-Roth laughed. “Even a few hours can feel like a hundred to a ten-year-old boy, eh, George?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Mr. Parker-Roth smiled and kissed Anne’s hand. “Till later then.”

  Damn it all, Anne thought as she watched him go, she should not feel bereft at the King of Hearts’s departure.

  Chapter 4

  Stephen almost had to push Lady Anne through the door to Madam Celeste’s shop. He’d wager if he hadn’t been standing behind her like a wall, she would have fled. He’d never seen a female so skittish about dressmakers.

  Evie wandered farther into the shop, looking around with wide eyes at all the bolts of fabric and pattern books, but Anne stopped stiffly right inside the door.

  Celeste was at the counter with an older, very stylish white-haired woman—Lady Brentwood. Fortunately Lady Brentwood’s unpleasant son, the marquis, was not with her—not that the reprobate made a practice of hanging about his mother’s skirts. God, no. But Lady Brentwood’s were about the only skirts the blackguard didn’t frequent.