The Naked Prince Read Free

she’s some blushing virgin. She can’t claim I’ve ruined her reputation; she’s no reputation to ruin unless it’s her reputation as a nimble piece in bed, and she’d be lying if she said I’ve hurt that.”
    That was the question, wasn’t it? How was Maria going to trap Stephen? “I don’t know what she’ll do, but I swear she’s got something planned. She’s as thick as inkle weavers with Lady Greyham, you know.”
    â€œWhat of it?” Stephen flicked his fingers at Damian. “You worry too much.”
    â€œAnd you don’t worry enough.” Though that wasn’t true normally. Stephen wasn’t careless; he wouldn’t be so successful a plant hunter if he were. But he’d seemed on edge—reckless even—ever since he’d got back from his last expedition in the fall. He’d been drinking more. And he usually started planning his next trip almost as soon as he set foot on English soil; here it was February, and Damian had yet to hear anything but vague ruminations of another expedition.
    Perhaps Stephen’s odd behavior had something to do with his older brother’s marriage and impending fatherhood; perhaps it was due to his thirtieth birthday approaching. Whatever the cause, it was disturbing. It had worried Damian enough to make him leave his comfortable study and current translation of one of Juvenal’s Satires to come to this blasted house party and keep an eye on Stephen.
    The coach turned and started up the long drive. Stephen leaned forward to tap Damian on the knee. “You do worry too much, you know. I’m the damn King of Hearts, aren’t I? I’m not about to be caught unawares.”
    Damian shrugged. There was no point in arguing further. Stephen wouldn’t listen, and Damian couldn’t blame him. Until he had something more than vague worries to offer, he would do best to bite his tongue—and keep his eyes open.
    Stephen sat back. “The real joke here is that I’ve been worried about you .”
    â€œYou have?” Damian frowned. “Why?”
    â€œBecause you’ve turned into a bloody hermit, that’s why. You used to be up for every frisk and frolic, gambling and drinking and wenching as much—or more—than I. You were crowned the Prince of Hearts, after all.”
    â€œA nickname I hate as much as you hate yours.”
    â€œYes, but now they’ve taken to calling you Brother Damian, the monk.”
    â€œRidiculous.”
    â€œIs it? You warn me against Maria, but when was the last time you took a woman to bed?”
    â€œThat’s none of your bloody business.” Damian felt a hot blush sweep up his neck; he turned to look out the window. Where the hell was Greyham’s damn door?
    â€œCan you even remember the last time?”
    Damian kept his eyes on the passing scenery. Thank God the coach was finally slowing and he could escape this inquisition. “I’ve been busy. This translation is very tricky.”
    He was afraid he’d see Stephen’s jaw hanging if he dared look in that direction.
    â€œA tricky translation,” Stephen said. “Good God.” He reached over and grabbed Damian’s shoulder. “Face it, man. When a jumble of letters written by some dead Roman is more interesting than a tumble between the sheets of a warm and lively lady you need help.”
    â€œI—”
    Stephen held up his hand. “Say no more. I’m convinced this house party is exactly what you need to cure you of your blue devils.”
    â€œI am not blue deviled.”
    â€œYou certainly are if you can’t remember the last time you had any bed sport. But don’t worry. Greyham is certain to pair you with a pleasant girl unencumbered by morals. Enjoy her, Damian. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, and Lupercalia the day after. It’s a time for love . . . or lust.” Stephen grinned as the