Free The Naked King by Sally MacKenzie Page A

you go. This would look splendid on you, Anne, in moss green to match your eyes.”
    Anne glanced at the drawing. “No, I don’t think so.”
    He frowned at her. “Why not?” He held it up for Evie and Celeste to see. “Don’t you think this gown would suit Anne?”
    “It would not suit me.” Anne almost strangled on the words. For a man with a supposedly discerning eye, Mr. Parker-Roth had failed to discern an obvious problem—her poor little breasts were far too small to be displayed in such a way, even with the heroic efforts of an exceptional corset.
    “It’s very pretty, Anne.” Evie studied the picture. “It hadn’t occurred to me—I mean it’s nothing like what you usually wear—but I think Mr. Parker-Roth is right. It would look very good on you. What don’t you like about it?”
    “Oui, Lady Anne, what is the problem?” Madam Celeste smiled, but Anne could hear a touch of exasperation in her voice. “The dress is tres jolie—you will be beautiful in it. All the men will envy monsieur.”
    They were all mad—or blind. “The dress is very pretty; it just will not look good on me.” She felt herself flush, damn it.
    Mr. Parker-Roth—and Evie and Madam Celeste—all stared at her as if she were a bedlamite. “Let’s see what else there is.” She grabbed for the sketches, but Mr. Parker-Roth held them out of her reach.
    “Enlighten us, Lady Anne,” he said. “Why won’t the dress look good on you?”
    She turned to Madam Celeste. The woman was a dressmaker; she must understand. Mrs. Waddingly, the dressmaker back home, certainly had. She was always adding another row of lace, a bow, or a knot of ribbons to Anne’s bodices in a vain attempt to hide her deficiencies. “You must have something of a more modest nature.”
    “Modest?” Madam Celeste looked from Anne to Mr. Parker-Roth. “I do not comprehend. What is not modest?”
    Surely the woman wasn’t going to force her to spell it out? “Something with a higher neck, perhaps?” She smiled somewhat desperately she feared. “I’m only a chaperone, you see. I don’t wish to bring attention to myself.”
    Madam Celeste’s jaw dropped. “Only a chaperone?”
    “Yes, of course. It’s my sister’s come-out after all, not mine. I will be sitting along the wall with the other mature women.” That had certainly been her plan as soon as she’d realized Georgiana was leaving her in charge of Evie’s Season. And especially now that she knew Lord Brentwood was here; she would rather not encounter the man.
    “But you are monsieur’s betrothed! All the eyes of London will be upon you!”
    “Surely not.” Anne felt ill.
    “I’m afraid Celeste is probably correct, Anne,” Mr. Parker-Roth said. “People do take an inordinate amount of interest in my life—you saw how often I was mentioned in those infernal gossip columns. It’s extremely annoying, but inevitable whenever I’m in London.”
    “Oh.” This just got worse and worse. How was she ever going to survive this Season? “But can’t they look at me in a dress with a high neck and long sleeves? I get chilly so easily.”
    Madam Celeste looked horrified, probably wondering how much she could pay Anne not to tell anyone who had had the making of her dresses.
    Mr. Parker-Roth laughed. “You won’t get chilly in a London ballroom. Trust me, they are stifling.” He shook his head, but his eyes were uncomfortably penetrating. “You don’t want everyone whispering I’m marrying a quiz, do you? Not that I care what the society cats say, but the gossip and sniggering will cause you and probably Evie some discomfort, and I confess it will make me angry on your behalf.”
    “And there is no need for it,” Madam Celeste said. “Pardonnez-moi, my lady, but you are being tres silly. Everyone will envy you; you are the betrothed of le Roi de Coeurs. You have succeeded where so many others have failed. Why would you not wish to wear a gown that matches your beauty?”
    “Oh,