“What precisely did Friar Prance recommend in place of frolicking?”

“He was particularly disturbed by what he called ‘smock treason,’ which was essentially anything that women and men might choose to do together. So he established a board in the drawing room with a sort of point system. The reward, naturally enough, was life everlasting.”

Kate thought about that as she ate her venison. “I’ve heard rhetoric of that sort from the pulpit.”

“Yes, but priests tend to be so vague . . . a reference here or there to Pearly Gates and perhaps clouds. Friar Prance had the courage of his convictions; his promises were quite explicit. Furthermore, his point system allowed one to earn little rewards for memorizing parts of the Bible.”

“And those awards would be?”

“The right to wear robes of spun silver rather than plain white was a particular favorite among the ladies. In fact, the question of fashion was an irresistible temptation for those who might otherwise be inclined to disbelief. It became quite a competition around the court, only exacerbated when he agreed to give extra points to those who recited their verses in public.”

“I’m training my dogs with a system quite like that,” Kate said. “Of course I’m using cheese instead of heaven as the ultimate reward, but for them, it’s likely the same thing.”

“Well, that’s probably why I was such a failure. I dislike cheese.”

Back to himself, Kate thought. She ate another bite rather than return to his favorite subject.

“Aren’t you curious about my particular failures?” he persisted.

“I haven’t got all night,” she said, favoring him with a smile. “If you wouldn’t mind terribly, I’d rather hear more about your brother’s court. Did everyone eagerly submit to the system?”

“They tried, after Augustus indicated a keen interest. That’s the nature of a court.”

“It sounds tiresome.”

“Augustus’s newly acquired piety was a blow, I’ll admit. But you see how well it turned out: He pitched everyone out of his court who couldn’t drum up the necessary enthusiasm for the scheme, and that’s how I ended up here.”

“Does your court operate on the same principle?”

“Mine? I don’t have a court.”

She looked around. “Tall stone walls, and tapestries that must go back to the days of Queen Elizabeth herself. Lovely courtyard. Loads of servants. Why, I do believe I’m in a castle!” Considering her point made, she smiled at the footman standing to her right. “Yes, I am finished with this venison, thank you.”

“A castle is not the same thing as a court,” the prince said.

“Dear me, Your Highness ,” she said sweetly. “Of course you’re right, Your Highness .” It was actually quite fun to see his jaw go a little rigid. The poor prince . . . obviously so used to people kissing his toes that he couldn’t even be playful.

“A court serves a useful purpose,” he pointed out. “The king or grand duke, as in my brother’s case, rules his lands. I rule no one, Miss Daltry. Therefore, this is no court.”

“Then you are doubly lucky. You needn’t worry at all about whether you are useful or not,” she replied.

“I suppose you would say that I am not?”

“You yourself said that you were a prince without subjects. Of course you are not useful, but that is hardly your failure. It’s a matter of birth, and your birth, Your Highness, means that you need never be useful. Or question the market value of anything, which I would consider an even better inheritance.”

“You believe a prince is someone who knows the price of nothing?” There was something in his smile, something a little dark and sardonic that made Kate suddenly wonder if she was over her head, being too clever.

“I expect,” she said more delicately, “that you know the value of a great many things, if not their prices.”

He stared at her for a moment, and then leaned just a trifle closer. “I did hear somewhere that the price of a woman, my dear Miss Daltry, is above that of rubies. Or was that the price of a good woman? How unfortunate that Friar Prance is not here to settle the question.”

“It was indeed a good woman,” she told him.

The prince smiled at her, the calculated, tigerish smile that he probably used to seduce wayward ladies. “And are you a good woman?”

She returned the favor, giving him the gentle smile one gives to a deluded infant. And in case he didn’t entirely understand, she patted his arm. “If you don’t mind a word of advice, one never asks a lady to set her own price. If you have to ask, the answer will always be more than you can afford.”

The elderly man on her right turned his head at that moment. “Do tell me more about your war museum,” Kate said to him. “I’ve always thought that milk bottles were remarkably versatile. No, no, you’re not interrupting anything. His Highness and I are boring each other silly.”

G abriel felt like laughing aloud as he blinked at the back of Miss Daltry’s head. It served him right for jumping to the conclusion that all women wanted to be princesses. Or that any Englishwoman would like him simply because he was a prince.

This Englishwoman had decided within seconds that he was a self-important ass. He’d seen it in her eyes, in the way she looked down her straight little nose.

Perhaps her nose was a little too long. Wasn’t Dimsdale’s fiancée supposed to be a raving beauty? He didn’t think she was. There were dark blue shadows under her eyes, for one thing. Beauties were supposed to have glowing skin the color of peach blossoms.

A lady of the court would have plucked her eyebrows to high, airy peaks . . . hers slashed over her eyes, giving them punctuation. Rather extraordinary eyes, he had to say. They suited that foolish purple wig of hers.

Another question: What color was her hair under that wig? Her eyebrows suggested a warm brown, perhaps a chestnut brown. Perhaps she had one of those short cuts that he hated, but could quite imagine on her. It would highlight her cheekbones and—

He realized his aunt was clearing her throat ominously. What on earth was he doing? Likely Wick was right, and he was obsessing over his nephew’s betrothed simply out of dread of his own.

Tatiana probably had a perfect short nose. And sweet eyes that would look at him with approval.

The thought came into his head, willy-nilly: Miss Daltry was the epitome of beddable .

But biddable?

He turned to his aunt with a lavish smile.

Never.

Twelve

D o you truly plan to go to bed?” Algie inquired, when the party had finally moved to a drawing room. “I know that you haven’t been out much, but it’s outrageously early.”

Not been out much was a nice way of summing up Kate’s life in Mariana’s house. “You stay here,” she told him. “The less I’m in company, the better. Apparently Mr. Toloose met Victoria last spring. We were lucky that he wasn’t offended when I accidentally snubbed him a minute ago.”

Algie shrugged. “You should smile at everyone, just to be sure. The important thing is that the prince seems reasonably pleased with you. Who would have thought that so many people would be here? Lord Hinkle just told me that the ton is dying of curiosity about my uncle.”