Page 8 of To Pleasure a Prince
But this virgin was braver than most. Not many society misses would storm right into his study without an introduction, especially given the gossip about him. And the woman was sophisticated enough that society had dubbed her “La Belle Dame Sans Merci”—the woman without mercy—after that poem by Chaucer about a heartless beauty.
That’s why her brother had sent her. Marcus had best remember that. She was what poets meant when they spoke of dying for love.
She was trouble.
“Well?” he snapped, desperate to get the damned woman out of his study before she put a siren’s spell on him. “What’s all this about secret meetings?”
Boldly she faced him. God help him, why must she be a blonde, too, his particular weakness? The gilt curls peeking out from beneath her feather-adorned hat practically begged to be stroked and fondled and—
A pox on her and her fancy kind. He didn’t need this right now.
She regarded him with cool composure. “Your sister and my brother are determined to see each other. If you don’t consent to their courtship, they’ll sneak around behind the watchful eyes of her guardians. Then they’re sure to be caught in a compromising situation that would harm Louisa more than my brother.”
“Which is why she would never behave so recklessly.”
“No?” Lady Regina stared him down. “I’m here precisely because she doesn’t want to go behind your back until she’s sure you can’t be moved.”
Alarm seized him. “You talked to Louisa about this?”
“I talked heroutof it. She was ready to go along with my brother’s plans, but I convinced her that even a duke is not above reproach in such matters and that if they were caught, the ensuing scandal—”
“Damn the scandal! I just don’t want her anywhere near your brother and his confounded circle of friends!”
Her gray eyes hardened to steel. “Clearly Louisa doesn’t share your aversion to His Highness.”
That was the trouble. Louisa didn’t even understand it. She’d been ten when their mother left. All she remembered of Prinny was an indulgent “Uncle George” who occasionally brought her treats; Marcus had worked hard to keep her from hearing rumors about the true nature of their mother’s “friendship” with the man.
He’d only heard them himself when he’d gone to Harrow at eleven. Some ass had called him Prinny’s bastard the very first day. That’s when he’d discovered he was the sort of abomination people joked about—an affront to the very values of respectable society. So when Louisa was born shortly after that, he’d vowed to do whatever he must to keep her from suffering the same stigma. Especially since her blood wasn’t tainted like his.
He’d held to that vow ever since. And now this seductive harpy and her brother threatened to expose Louisa to everything he’d tried to protect her from. He would not have it! “Surely you realize that Louisa isn’t wise enough to the ways of society to be a good choice of wife for your brother.”
“She’ll learn. She makes him happy—that’s all that matters.”
He laughed bitterly. “Strange sentiments coming from you, madam.”
She cocked her head, setting her ostrich feather aquiver. “What do you mean? You don’t even know me.”
“I know of you. Who hasn’t heard of Lady Regina Tremaine, who despite refusing scores of gentlemen manages to acquire more marriage proposals with each passing year? Can’t find one to make you happy, madam? Or just can’t find one lofty enough to suit your family’s fine line-age and high expectations?”
Two spots of color stained her pretty cheeks. “I see you’ve been listening to idle gossip.”
“It doesn’t seem so idle now that I’ve met you.”
“I could say the same for the gossip about you.”
“Oh? What do they say about me these days?” He waited for her to hem and haw—no one in society ever gossiped about a man to his face.
She skewered him with a sugared dagger of a smile. “They say you’re a hard man with a foul temper. That you have secrets too dark to speak aloud, and that you will do anything to keep them.”
He snorted. “They say thatyouenjoy putting upstarts in their places. That your sharp tongue has made you the darling of our corrupt society during the seven years since your come-out.”
“Six,” she corrected tightly. “And they say thatyoubrowbeat tradesmen and toss hapless messengers out on their ears for no reason.”
He stalked toward her. “They say that some idiot poet is writing a poem to your heartlessness.”
Her features grew stony. “They say that William Blake, that daft artist, got the inspiration for one of his horrible dragon paintings fromyou.”
He happened to own one of those “horrible dragon paintings.” Blake himself, one of Katherine’s acquaintances, had given it to him. But he’d thought it was Blake’s idea of a joke. Until now.
