The Naked Prince Read Online Free PDF

mystified as well.
    â€œYes. It’s about Jo.”
    â€œJo?”
    â€œMiss Atworthy.”
    â€œAh.” Of course Lord Greyham wished to ascertain his guest hadn’t sustained an injury, though it would make more sense for the man or, better, his wife to go up and speak to Miss Atworthy directly. “I was happy to be able to save her from what could have been a very serious accident.” Had Greyham heard about the kiss? Better not mention it.
    â€œEr, yes,” Greyham said. “Glad you could be of help. Wouldn’t want Jo getting hurt, of course.”
    â€œOf course.” Damian waited. Lord Greyham cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot. “Was there something else?”
    The baron tugged on his waistcoat. The man’s belly had grown significantly in the last few years. “Yes, actually. I wanted to tell you—” He coughed. “This is a little awkward, but given your reputation—your current reputation, that is, not your old reputation as Prince of Hearts, heh heh.”
    Damian and Stephen just stared at him.
    â€œYes, well, given your current reputation, I assumed you wouldn’t mind.”
    Lord Greyham smiled. Damian blinked. “Mind what?”
    â€œThat I’ve paired you with Jo.”
    An embarrassing bolt of lust shot through him, lodging in the obvious organ. “Oh.” It was his turn to clear his throat. “Why would I mind?”
    â€œWell, you see, the thing is we invited Henrietta Helton to be your, er, valentine. She’s a knowledgeable widow and would have been very”—Greyham winked—“accommodating. But then she took ill at the very last minute. Literally. By the time I got word, there was no hope of inviting a suitable substitute. The Widow Bellingham, who sometimes attends our parties, was off visiting her daughter in Manchester, and none of the other mature ladies in the area would ever deign to darken our door. They’re a nasty bunch of puritanical prudes; they turn their blasted supercilious noses up at us.” Greyham shrugged. “My only option was Jo. Her father’s a distant cousin; they live on the estate.”
    â€œI see. And Miss Atworthy doesn’t share the local prejudice against your parties?” Damian asked. She’d looked a bit like a prude in her outdated outfit and severe expression when she’d arrived in that cart, but she hadn’t felt—or tasted—like a prude when he’d had her in his arms.
    â€œOh, she probably does. I took the precaution of asking her father before I sent the invitation. He said he thought he could convince her, but frankly, I was shocked to hear she’d come—I’d expected to get my invitation back torn up into tiny pieces.” He shrugged. “Just wanted to warn you, she’s not up to snuff, no matter that she’s not a dewy young miss. To tell the truth, she’s a bit of an ape-leader. Past her prayers, don’t you know.” He grinned suddenly. “Or maybe that’s why she came—to find out what she’s been missing all these years. If so, you’re just the man to educate her, aren’t you, Kenderly?” He waggled his brows. “You two can do a little conjugation together.”
    Stephen choked on his Madeira; Damian scowled at the baron, even while an evil little voice in the randy section of his brain pointed out Miss Atworthy had shown great promise while kissing him. A confirmed prude would have slapped him soundly.
    Greyham looked over Damian’s shoulder and frowned. “Damn.” He sighed. “I’m afraid Jo looks exactly like the stuffy, dull Latin tutor she is.”
    Damian turned and felt another jolt of lust.
    Miss Atworthy stood in the doorway, wearing perhaps the ugliest gown he’d ever seen—a hideous pink frothy affair with a high neck, long sleeves, and far too many ruffles. But above the nauseating pink cloud, her