Devilish Page 0,75

gold braid. Her petticoat was figured cream silk, and she wore shoes to match. The rich stomacher was formed of silk ribbon and gold lace, and a small bunch of the silk flowers nestled in the lace by her breasts.

Breath caught as she thought of last night.

Would the flowers remind him?

She hoped so.

She knew he would be working hard now to avoid, to block, to rebuild defenses, but she would do everything she could to break them down.

Then she recalled that her purpose at the moment was not to break Bey's will, but to convince the king that she was a safe, conventional lady.

She looked the part. She would be expected to be grand as suited her station, and court fashion required face paint which allowed her to pretend a delicate pallor. She protected her complexion so it was honestly pale, but now the healthy glow in her cheeks was hidden as well. She'd not darkened her brows and lashes, and that too made her seem more faded, less strong, especially with powdered hair.

Her eyes traveled to the flowers again, and she realized that her bodice was very low. Not unsuitable for court, but here was a chance to seem particularly modest.

"My fichu," she ordered. "The embroidered muslin one."

After a flurried return to the boxes, it was found and draped around her neck, the ends tucked between her breasts behind the flowers.

Better. Sickeningly demure.

With that in mind, she chose simple jewelry. She had left off her rings after the bath, even though they were her armor. They were too much of an idiosyncrasy to wear for this performance. Now she chose one small ruby and a modest pearl. Around her neck and in her ears she wore a seed pearl and ruby set she'd been given when sixteen. Paltry stuff.

She took a last look and nodded. Rich but slightly mousy. No challenge to anyone.

Would Bey approve? She took up her ivory fan and went to find out, foolish heart already trembling at the thought of seeing him again.

After such a long time apart.

A footman was stationed in the corridor to escort her. To her surprise, he took her downstairs and toward the back of the house which would usually be the household offices. With a tap on the door, he opened it and announced her.

Diana went in and found herself in a very businesslike study. Most of the walls were covered with bookshelves and drawers. A map drawer stood open with a map on display. The huge desk in the center of the room was a masterpiece of marquetry and gilding, but it was still a desk, and Bey had been sitting there dealing with large amounts of paperwork before rising as she came in.

He worked too hard, trying to hold the world together.

All the same, she smiled at his beauty in rich red silk and elegant powder.

Then she saw the picture on the wall to one side of him.

A young woman with coiled dark hair, in a loose gown of flaming red, sat apparently at her ease, but with an arrogant or perhaps challenging turn to her body. At first glance she seemed strong, her smile confident and sure, her eyes direct, but almost immediately Diana sensed fear.

Would she have even thought it if she hadn't known what was to come? For this surely must be Bey's mother. His father's dark hair and eyes suggested a degree of likeness that wasn't there. Bey had his mother's exact features in stronger form - the high brow, the classic bones, the square chin, the straight, sculptured nose with flaring nostrils.

Was that why he felt so threatened by her mental instability?

Was that why he kept this picture here to remind him?

Diana knew that he had brought her here to see this. He had even dressed in red to make the likeness clear.

Undeclared, the war was on, and this was his defensive attack. The picture was to remind her of the facts, and to convince her that he had sound reasons to walk away from what they could have and be.

Commanding her racing heart to calm, Diana moved closer to the picture, her stiff silks rustling in the quiet room. "She looks frightened. Did she not want to marry your father?"

He stared, as if surprised. "She made no objection that I've heard, but it was somewhat of an arranged affair, yes. Arranged by loving parents on both sides. Her mother - my grandmother - is still alive, and still convinced that my father