The Naked Prince Read Online Free Page B

shan’t I?”
    Becky considered Jo’s poor little case again and chewed her lip. “Let me see what I can do. I think Lord Greyham’s sister was about yer size; leastways everyone always said she was a giant.”
    Was Becky determined to insult her at every opportunity? It wasn’t her fault most of the females in the neighborhood were midgets—most of the men, too. “I am not a giant; I am merely taller than the average woman.”
    Lord Kenderly wasn’t a midget. He must be over six feet tall; her eyes had been level with his mouth. Mmm, his mouth . . .
    She had no business thinking of his height or his mouth. He was an unprincipled rake, like all of Lord Greyham’s male guests.
    Becky was staring up at her, brows raised, clearly saying—without uttering a word—that Jo was acting like a great ninny.
    â€œAnd Rosalind married and moved out ten years ago,” Jo said. “Even I know any clothes she left behind would be sadly outdated.”
    â€œAye, but I’m very clever with my needle.” Becky moved to open the valise and pull out Jo’s dinner dress. She shook it out and looked at it doubtfully. “This is yer best gown?”
    â€œYes.” Her poor frock did look a bit woebegone.
    Blast it all, she knew she should have refused the invitation to this scandalous party, though she hadn’t anticipated her wardrobe as well as her reputation would come under siege.
    â€œAt least it’s not too creased.” Becky frowned. “I wouldn’t have thought this shade of pink would suit ye.”
    â€œIt’s fine,” Jo said, grabbing the stupid dress from Becky and putting it on. She looked in the mirror.
    She’d forgotten how consumptive it made her look. She’d bought it because Mrs. Wiggins, the local dressmaker, had purchased too much cloth for another order and so was willing to make her a gown for almost nothing.
    â€œI don’t have occasion to wear it often.” Jo averted her eyes from the mirror. “It serves its purpose.”
    â€œAnd what would that be? Giving the gentlemen nightmares?”
    â€œOh, come, Becky.” Jo scowled. This was the problem with growing up in the area; the servants had no compunction about sharing their opinions. “I’m twenty-eight years old. I’m sure I don’t appear in any gentleman’s dreams.”
    Becky glared back at her. “Yer female—that’s enough for most men.” She stood back and looked Jo up and down. “And yer not bad looking—or wouldn’t be if ye weren’t wearing that ugly dress. Ye could even be pretty, if ye made a little effort. Now come sit at the dressing table, and I’ll try to put yer hair into some order.”
    Jo sat and watched Becky brush her unruly curls. She would like to be pretty, just for this house party. She’d like to appear in Lord Kenderly’s dreams....
    No. She mustn’t forget he was a rake. She’d been misled by his letters; apparently scholars could be as scandalous as any man. “I have no illusions as to why I’m here. I’m merely a poor relation invited to make up the numbers.”
    â€œAye, and ye’ll never be more than that if ye keep thinking that way.”
    Jo pressed her lips together. There was no point in arguing further; Becky was—
    â€œOuch!”
    Becky was wielding the brush with a little too much enthusiasm. Her efforts to dispatch one particularly difficult tangle brought tears to Jo’s eyes.
    â€œThere ye go. At least ye don’t look like ye was dragged through a bush backward anymore.”
    â€œThank you. I’m just glad you left a few hairs still attached to my head.”
    â€œAye. I had to leave a few for the cats downstairs to rip out, don’t ye know.”
    Jo lifted her chin, ordered her stomach to stop jumping about like a mouse trapped in the bottom of an empty jug, and headed for the door.