Page 18 of In the Prince's Bed
She couldn’t take the chance. Besides, from the dagger glances Mama was shooting at her, she’d never hear the end of it if she turned him down. “When you put it like that, how can I resist?”
Ignoring Sydney’s wounded expression and Mama’s suddenly sunny smile, Katherine took the arm the earl proffered and let him lead her to the floor.
Chapter Five
Plotting to seduce a woman is like planning a military campaign. You must outflank her at every turn until her only choice is surrender.
—Anonymous,A Rake’s Rhetorick
As Alec carried Katherine off to the floor, he reveled in the resentment festering on Lovelace’s face.Too bad, “old chum.” You had your chance. She’s mine now.And for one of those new waltzes, too, which was even better.
Then Katherine faced him, her lovely eyes glinting mutinously. Uh-oh, perhaps his gloating was premature.
She tossed back her pretty head. “I hadn’t realized you were so desperate for female companionship you’d resort to blackmail to gain a dance partner.”
“I merely asked you to dance,” he said, feigning innocence.
“And I asked you to leave me be.” Despite her sharp words, a blush stained her cheeks.
The music started. Deliberately, he drew her into his arms far closer than propriety allowed for the waltz. “You didn’t mean it.”
As she fell into step, anger turned the amber glints in her brown eyes to flames. “You are the most pompous, arrogant man I’ve ever met.”
“Ah, but I’m dancing with you, while your poet friend can only watch.”
No doubt the baronet was getting an eyeful, too. Katherine danced surprisingly well for a country girl, with a natural grace that compensated for any uncertainty about the steps. As she matched his rhythm perfectly, he wondered if she’d do the same in bed. The thought of her rising eagerly to meet his every thrust made him tighten his grip on her hand.
She flashed him an annoyed glance. “Sydney was right about you.”
“Was he? What else did my old school chum tell you about me?”
“That you got away with the most outrageous behavior simply because you were an earl’s son.”
God rot Lovelace’s self-righteousness. Not to mention his selective memory. “Has it occurred to you that your friend Sydney might have his own reasons for not telling you the entire story?”
“Do you deny that your classmates at Harrow called you Alexander the Great because you were allowed to do as you pleased?”
“How do you know it wasn’t because they admired my talents?”
“Sydney says you never studied, never applied yourself, and spent all your time getting into trouble with your friends.”
“While Lovelace spent allhistime crying for his mother.”
A direct hit. She paled and dropped her gaze to his cravat. “There’s nothing wrong with a boy…missing his mother.”
“Perhaps not at first. But even in his third term, your Sydney was writing his mother weekly. And receiving packages nearly as often.”
Unerringly she homed in on his resentful tone. “Didn’t your mother send you packages, too?”
He gritted his teeth. “I wouldn’t let her,” he lied, as he’d done so often at Harrow. “No boy with a spine wants his mother to coddle him.”
The truth was, the old earl wouldn’t allow it. While Lovelace had feasted on marzipan and fresh apples and the occasional saffron cake from home, Alec had pretended he didn’t care about such nonsense.
“Is that why you dislike Sydney?” The sudden gentleness in her voice grated. “Because he got packages from his mother, and you didn’t?”
“Don’t be absurd. If I dislike Lovelace at all, it’s because he doesn’t appreciate life’s finer things.”
Her bristly expression returned. “Like wine, women, and song?”
