Free The Naked King by Sally MacKenzie

share—but he hadn’t been this intrigued by a female in a long, long time, if ever.
    “Of course I remember. How could I forget? I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”
    He wasn’t usually attracted to viragos. Some men thought fiery women burned up the sheets once on their backs, but in his experience women who argued and nagged in the drawing room did exactly the same in the bedroom. Anne was different though. He’d wager his annual income her prickliness sprung not from bad temper but from something else . . . at a guess, something to do with the Marquis of Brentwood.
    “I can’t believe I participated in such a scene,” she was saying, shaking her head. She frowned at him. “If you hadn’t been drunk—”
    He put his finger on her lips and felt her breath suck in. Her eyes widened.
    “If you’d slapped me soundly, Anne, I would have stopped. Even drunk, I would have stopped. As I told you before, you don’t have to fear me.”
    She jerked her head back. “I’m not afraid of you, you big coxcomb.”
    She was lying. She was afraid, if not of him, then of something. What?
    He would find out eventually—but not now. He grinned instead and tilted her face up with the edge of his hand. “You seem rather . . . jumpy around me. Was your sister correct? Have you been pining for me?”
    She flushed and her eyes slid away from his. “Of course not. I just met you.”
    “True. But I’ve observed sisters usually know the worst truths.”
    Her gaze flashed up to meet his and then dropped again. He released her, and she stepped away, turning her back on him and walking toward Evie and Celeste. “Have you found the perfect dress yet, Evie?” Her gay tone sounded more than a little forced.
    Lady Anne Marston was an interesting puzzle. Spirited and shy; bold yet timid. Maddening.
    It was a good thing he liked puzzles.
    “Many dresses, Anne.” Evie was breathless with excitement. “Carriage dresses and evening dresses and ball dresses and walking dresses. Oh, look at this darling habit.” She sighed. “I do wish we’d brought horses to Town.”
    “Well, we didn’t, and a good thing it is. Think of the expense. Horses eat their heads off.” Anne sounded so waspish Celeste and Evie stared at her.
    It was going to be a very interesting Season if Anne was determined to pick fights with everyone she encountered.
    “I don’t have horses in Town since I’m not here much,” he said, “but I have friends who keep a full stable. I’m sure I can find you a mount, Evie.”
    “Mais oui, mademoiselle.” Celeste nodded vehemently. “You must go riding in the Hyde Park. Eet is de rigueur.”
    Celeste was, of course, trying to coax a few more pence into her purse, but she was correct. “In any event you’ll need a habit for all the house parties you’ll attend.”
    Evie’s face lit up—and Anne stiffened like a poker.
    Hmm. His betrothed obviously did not approve of house parties, and since it sounded as if the only house party she’d ever attended had been Baron Gedding’s ten years ago . . .
    He must find out what had happened at that ill-fated gathering. Gedding was in Town—and Stephen prided himself on his ability to extract information from people so discreetly they weren’t aware of what they were revealing. The man was such a jaw-me-dead getting him to talk would not be a problem; steering him in an informative direction, however . . . that would be the challenge.
    “And you, Lady Anne,” Celeste was saying, “you must also have dresses. Pardon-moi, but this”—she gestured at the rag Anne was wearing—“eet will not do at all.” She chose a few sketches and offered them to Anne. “Regardez these, s’il vous plait.”
    “No, I . . . that is, I won’t . . .” Anne looked at the papers in Celeste’s hand as if they were poisonous snakes.
    “Let me see.” Stephen took the sketches and flipped through them. He stopped at one of a ball gown with an especially low bodice. “Here