Page 56 of To Pleasure a Prince
“He took me to task for letting a man like Draker spend time with you. I explained to him about our wager—”
“Youwhat?”She shot him a glare. “What right did you have to do that?”
“I was doing you a favor. He wants to marry you, and I didn’t want to ruin your chances by letting him think you’re seriously considering marriage to Draker.”
“For your information, Henry has already asked me twice to marry him, and both times I turned him down.”
“I see.” Simon surprised her by smiling. “I can’t say I’m disappointed. The man’s a silly ass, but since you prefer silly asses in general—”
“I do not.” A blush suffused her face. How could her brother understand her so little?
But then, they hadn’t exactly spent much time together. By the time she’d grown old enough to know him, he’d already gone off to Eton. After his return, he’d spent all his time with the prince and his friends. Even after Father died a few years ago, and Simon became head of the family, he’d taken for granted that she could handle her own affairs and left her to do pretty much as she pleased.
Until recently.
“All the same,” Simon went on, “Whitmore made some vague statements about Draker’s not being a gentleman worthy of you. And when I pressed him, he wouldn’t give any details.”
Thank heavens. “He’s only jealous.”
Simon arched an eyebrow. “I asked Cicely about it, and she claimed not to know what happened. Either she’s lying, or she really doesn’t know, and since Cicely never lies to me, it must be the latter. So I expectyouto tell me.”
Dropping her gaze from his, Regina ran her finger over the harp’s intricately carved and gilded neck. “Henry insulted Lord Draker, and the viscount was his usual rude self. That’s all there was to it.”
“I doubt that.” Stepping up to the harp, Simon set his hand on the gilded wood next to hers. “Since Whitmore will be at Almack’s tonight, perhaps I should speak to him again. He might be more forthcoming about what happened if I offer him some incentive, like a promise that I will fully support his suit.”
Her gaze shot to his, and the sudden steely blue of his eyes made her shiver. “You wouldn’t tell him such a thing—why, you just called him a ‘silly ass.’ ”
“True, but who knows what I’ll say if I’m bored. Without you and Cicely and Louisa at Almack’s to distract me, I’ll have nothing to do but talk to Henry.”
She glared at him. This was blackmail. Very effective blackmail. She wasn’t entirely certain Marcus’s dire threats would keep her jealous cousin from voicing his nasty suspicions if he thought it might profit him. “All right, I’ll go to Almack’s. But I can’t promise to be good company.”
He shrugged. “I don’t need you to be good company. I just need you to be there.”
When he turned and sauntered out of the room with his usual smug assurance that he’d gotten his way, she succumbed to the childish urge to stick out her tongue at him.
Drat her brother. And drat Marcus, too, for putting her in this position. She couldn’t let Simon find out the truth about the encounter between Marcus and Henry. He would almost certainly make a fuss about it.
But hours later, as she and the rest of their party approached the grand staircase through the crowded foyer, she regretted letting Simon bully her into coming here. What was wrong with her? She liked assemblies. She enjoyed the dancing and the conversation; she delighted in seeing who was wearing what.
If it had all grown a little wearisome in recent years, it was only because she worried about whom Simon might marry and bring into their household. It had nothing to do with boredom on her part. No, indeed.
So why were her spirits flagging just at the sight of the long, spare ballroom with its six towering windows that loomed like dreary sentinels above the throng? Why did even the orchestra sound tinny tonight?
This was absurd—she refused to let Simon or Marcus or Henry or any of the men bedeviling her life destroy her enjoyment of an evening of dancing and music. She would dance her feet off tonight if it killed her.
She danced with Mr. Markham, widely considered to be a wit, then picked apart his every bon mot. She danced with Lord Brackley, and then couldn’t follow his intricate footwork, although she generally matched him step for step.
An interminable hour had passed by the time the smooth-tongued Lord Peter Wilkins took her to the floor for a reel. Thank heavens the reel allowed for little conversation. If she heard one more high-flown compliment voiced by one more gushing gentleman eager to impress her with his superior wit, she’d surely scream.
Whatever had happened to actual conversation? Or for that matter, blunt honesty? And why did she suddenly crave such a preposterous thing?
“You’ll never believe who just came in,” Lord Peter murmured, as they took their places and waited for the music to begin.
“Who?” she asked, though she doubted it was anyone she cared about.
“Your latest beau. Draker.”
She froze. How couldhebe here? Louisa had said nothing, and the Lady Patronesses would never have given him a voucher, even if he’d been willing to ask for one.
