One Night with a Prince Read online

  “Absolutely! You’re a seasoned gambler, and I’ve only begun to learn. Of course I’ll lose.”

  Reaching across the table, he took the deck and shuffled the cards, slowly, methodically. “There’s no ‘of course’ about it. If you concentrate on remembering the cards, you’ll have a fighting chance. And I suspect you’ll be far more likely to concentrate if the consequence of not doing so is that I see you naked.”

  Naked. The word perversely sent wanton thrills along her every nerve. This afternoon with the dressmaker had been bad enough, when his thorough examination of her half-clothed form had made her blush like a silly schoolgirl. But if she were forced to bare her breasts and her belly and…and…

  “No,” she said firmly. “You’re trying to seduce me.”

  A rakish smile touched his lips. “That would be a fitting end to the evening, but you’ve already said that sharing my bed doesn’t interest you. So I hardly see how one of us being naked will change that.”

  She eyed him askance. “Really, Byrne, I’m not a fool.”

  “No, but you claim to find me unappealing. Are you saying you’ve changed your mind? That you consider one of us being naked too great a temptation for your virtue?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” But the idea of Byrne sitting naked in her parlor lodged in her brain. If she happened to win—which was unlikely—she would get her revenge upon him for his high-handed behavior earlier, when he’d made her strip down to her corset and chemise in front of him.

  “You already have the advantage,” he said. “You females wear more clothes than we males. And if you lose, you need only sneak upstairs. While I’ll have to drive home in my open cabriolet, wearing nothing but my overcoat and hat.”

  The ludicrous image swayed her further. “That does sound appealing.”

  “I’ll make it even easier for you.” His continued card shuffling sounded as loud as carriage wheels on cobblestone. “I’ll give you four items of clothing before we start. You’ll begin the game with a substantial lead. You’ll have all my clothes in no time. If you play well enough.”

  “You’ll cheat,” she persisted.

  “I don’t cheat.” He lifted one maddening brow. “I wouldn’t have to cheat to win anyway, not when you’re playing without a care for strategy.”

  Blast him. He knew it stuck in her craw that she couldn’t best him. But could she really do any better if she concentrated? “What if I refuse your stakes?”

  “That’s your choice, of course.” He leaned forward to set the shuffled deck before her. “But consider this—the more clothes you take off, the more distracted I’ll become. You might actually win.” His smooth smile taunted her. “And you know you want to win.”

  She weighed her options. She didn’t want to stop the lessons until she’d proved she wasn’t a complete ninny at whist. But to encourage his wicked games was sheer madness. Look how disastrous Philip’s gambling with Byrne’s fast set had proved to be.

  Still, wouldn’t that make besting him even more satisfying? To march out of the parlor with his clothes in her hand? To watch him drive home through the streets of London wearing only his overcoat and hat? What a delicious thought.

  “Cut the cards, Christabel,” he said in a low murmur.

  He thought he would win. Ha! She would show him.

  She cut the cards and handed them back. “You said you’d give me four items of clothing to start. So take them off.”

  “Certainly.” He stood and rounded the table. Reaching inside his coat, he withdrew her pistol. “I believe this is yours, madam.”

  She seized on it eagerly. “Now I have something else to remove if I lose.”

  “No weapons, remember?”

  “Oh, right.” She set the pistol on a nearby chair.

  Removing his watch, he handed it to her, followed by his coat and waistcoat. She draped the items over her pistol. But when he unbuttoned his shirt, alarm swelled in her chest. “Aren’t you going to take off your cravat first?”

  “I can remove my clothes in any order I please. Those are the rules.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t thought about what effect his nakedness might have on her. She tried not to stare as he worked the collar of his shirt out from beneath his tight cravat. “Are there other…rules to this ridiculous game that I should know about before we start?”

  “Any item of clothing or adornment counts—my watch, for example, or your earbobs.” He smiled. “If you were wearing any.”

  Blast it all. Next time she was with him, she would definitely wear jewelry.

  He unfastened his cuffs. “We’ll score the thirteen tricks that count by using regular whist rules—whoever wins the hand gains one point for each trick won beyond six.” Dragging his shirt free of his trousers, he raked her with a devilish gaze. “And for every point, the winner gets a piece of the loser’s attire.”

  Abruptly, he pulled his shirt off over his head. She tried not to gape, but that was impossible. Even with his cravat covering part of him, she could still see ample proof of his sculpted chest and finely hewn arms. The silky dusting of reddish brown hair surrounding his flat nipples appeared also around his navel, then trailed down in a thin line to disappear beneath his trousers.

  His markedly bulging trousers.

  Blushing, she jerked her gaze back to his face, only to find him grinning. “If you want to see more, all you have to do is win my trousers and drawers.”

  “I-I…was not—” she stammered. “I-I did not mean—”

  “Of course not,” he said smugly, dropping his shirt into her lap. “There’s your fourth item. Good luck gaining the rest.”

  Snatching up his shirt in a fit of temper, she started to toss it over with the other items. Then she caught a whiff of his scent—a tonic mingled with sweet oil and pure male musk. How long had it been since she’d smelled the distinctive scent of a man? It seemed like forever.

  A groan escaped her lips. It was all she could do not to lift the linen to her nose and inhale. And wouldn’t he delight in that, the arrogant wretch? Setting the shirt firmly aside, she snapped, “Deal the cards, sir.”

  To her satisfaction, she won the first hand, though only by one point. He didn’t seem perturbed, but merely removed his ruby cravat pin and laid it on the table between them as she gathered up the cards.

  Uneasily, she placed the pin with the other items. “Can you afford to lose this? It looks rather costly.” She shuffled the cards, then pushed them over to him.

  With a chuckle, he cut them and passed them back. “Don’t worry—I never risk more than I can afford to lose.”

  “Another of your gambling rules?” She dealt the next hand.

  “Absolutely. Only a fool goes into debt playing cards.”

  Then thank God they were only playing for clothing, because she lost the next hand. Badly. So badly that he took every trick save one. Blast it all.

  His eyes gleamed at her across the table as he gathered up the cards. “Six points. That means six items of—”

  “I know what it means.” But which items would be least mortifying to remove?

  Inspiration struck. Hiding her smile, she removed a hairpin and laid it on the table.

  As she reached for another, he jerked upright in his chair to growl, “You can’t count those, for God’s sake.”

  “I most certainly can. You said ‘items of clothing or adornment.’ You got to take out your cravat pin—how is this is any different?”

  Glowering at her, he shuffled the cards with jerky snaps of his wrists. “You must have twenty of those at least.”

  “At least,” she echoed smugly as she removed another.

  Unfortunately, she needed every single one to hold up her heavy hair. After the fourth pin, she felt her coiffure droop. After the fifth, it fell entirely, sending a few pins pinging upon the floor. Frantically, she grabbed for the mass to make sure the other pins didn’t fall.

  As he regarded her half-fallen hair, his gaze began to smolder. “Yo
u can’t play cards while holding your hair, Christabel.”

  She released it gingerly, wincing when two more pins hit the floor. “We’ll count one of them against this hand and the rest toward my future losses.”

  His voice was low, husky. “Oh no, lass, those don’t count. They’re no longer items of adornment once they leap from your body of their own accord. Otherwise, you could claim every speck of dirt that fell off your boots.”

  “But—”

  “That’s only logical, Christabel,” he said firmly.

  Curse him for being right. “Blasted logic,” she muttered as she plucked out one of the few remaining pins and plopped it on the table.

  That’s when the battle began in earnest. She forced herself to play as he’d trained her, to contain her anger, to concentrate on every card he laid down. And her efforts paid off—as they headed into the last trick of that hand, she was winning by two points.

  “Hah!” She played her last card with a flourish, beating him by three points. “Take that, you wily rascal!” She tossed her head back, which cost her the rest of her hairpins, but she didn’t care. She didn’t need those pins anyway. She could beat him without them.

  Yet her success didn’t seem to annoy him at all. Removing each of his boots, he came around the table in his stocking feet to hand them to her. With a gloating smile, she placed them on the pile of clothes, then turned back to find him unbuttoning his trousers. Right in front of her.

  Her mouth went dry as he slipped them off to reveal the short stockinette drawers beneath, stretched taut over his full arousal. Lord help her.

  Because she couldn’t seem to look away. He was so very…large. The stockinette enfolded his erection with such loving attention to detail that she could even make out the heavy weight of his ballocks.

  “Do you want to keep playing, lass?” he asked in a husky murmur. “Or shall we turn to more enjoyable entertainment?”

  Swallowing hard, she forced herself to meet his gaze. Sheer hunger shone in his face, so raw and palpable it made her breath quicken.

  Dear Lord, she must be mad to be playing this game. Or perhaps she was mad not simply to give in to his seductions. Here was her chance to discover if it could be as heavenly as some women claimed, as all of his women must think, anyway, judging from how eager they were to share his bed.

  But seizing that chance was far too dangerous. Lovemaking with Philip had fallen far short of heavenly, yet it had been enough to turn her into a weak-spined ninny, willing to let him wrangle out of her the family’s most volatile secret. Only imagine what she might do if Byrne pleased her in bed. She’d probably give him the keys to the blasted kingdom.

  She’d already had her heart broken by one man’s betrayal; she didn’t want to try for twice. “Let’s keep playing.”

  His eyes flared hot, but he merely nodded. “Whatever my lady wishes.”

  But as he dropped his trousers in her lap and strolled back to his chair, her gaze trailed inexorably down his very fine buttocks, then to his surprisingly muscular thighs, then to—

  She blinked. “You’ve got a knife strapped to your calf.” His boot normally hid it from view.

  “Yes.” He took his seat. “It’s easier and safer than carrying a pistol.” Flicking his hand toward the cards, he added, “It’s your deal.”

  She gathered up the cards and shuffled, then handed the deck over for his cut. “But why—”

  “I go to and from my club at all hours, sometimes with large sums of money. I didn’t get where I am by handing my earnings over to cutthroats.” He cut the cards and handed them back to her. “A better question might be why do you carry a pistol to a dinner party?”

  She dealt the cards. “As you just admitted, London is dangerous.”

  “So is carrying a loaded pistol.”

  “Not if you need one.”

  He shot her a searching glance, ignoring his cards. “When did you need a pistol? Few women carry them. Come to think of it, few women know how to grab a man with intent to maim. What happened to you?”

  She picked up her own cards, trying to appear nonchalant. “I was accosted in an alley in Gibraltar once.”

  “What were you doing alone in an alley?” His clipped words reflected the sudden tension in his posture.

  “You’ll think me a complete ninny if I tell you.”

  “Try me.”

  “I was seventeen, young enough to be foolish. Papa had always said that if I needed to go out, and he wasn’t available, I should take a footman or send to the barracks for an officer. But I knew that either would report my movements to him—they always did.” She fanned out the cards in her hand, but didn’t see them. “I’d noticed this amazing sword for sale that I knew he’d like for his birthday, and I wanted to surprise him. So I thought that if I just popped round to the shop myself—it was only a few streets away—I could purchase it and be home without anyone the wiser. And…well…”

  “Well what?” he prodded.

  “There was a shortcut through an alley that would get me there in minutes.” She frowned, remembering. “Except that just as I neared the street, three scruffy local men blocked the alley. And they sort of…took a fancy to me.”

  He let out a low curse.

  “If they’d realized I was English, they might not have come near me for fear of reprisals, but my hair is dark, and the light in the alley wasn’t the best. They assumed I was fair game, and since they were clearly scoundrels—”

  He paled. “Did they—”

  “No, they didn’t get that far, thank heavens, though it was a near thing. One held my arms while the second covered my mouth and the third tried to lift my skirts. He probably would have succeeded if I hadn’t managed to bite the hand of the man covering my mouth. As soon as he drew back his hand, I let out a scream fit to wake the dead.” A faint smile touched her lips. “A British officer walking nearby heard me and came to my rescue. He routed them with his sword.”

  Byrne stared intently at her. “Haversham.”

  She nodded. “That’s how we met.” A sigh escaped her lips. “You should have seen him then, so gallant, so dashing in his red coat. When he brought me home, and they summoned my father, Papa couldn’t stop praising his courage and quick thinking. It was only later that—” She broke off with a silent curse.

  “Yes?”

  “Nothing.” She went on hastily. “Philip courted me for a year. Then we married. That’s all.”

  He picked up his cards. “Is he the one who taught you how to grab a man by the ballocks?”

  “No, Papa did that after the incident. Even though I had a suitor to protect me, he wasn’t taking any chances.”

  “Your father taught you well,” Byrne said wryly.

  She snorted as she arranged her cards. “When I tried it on you this morning, I only managed to…well…”

  “Arouse me? Ah, but that’s because everything you do arouses me, lass,” he said in that richly sensual voice that sent temptation coursing along her nerves.

  Blast him. Just like that, he reminded her that he was sitting across from her, half-naked and erect. Desiring her.

  “Play,” she said tersely.

  With a low, mocking laugh, he did.

  They played a few minutes in silence. Then he said, “Did you ever use your maneuver on Haversham?”

  “Why would I?” She played a card. “He was my husband.”

  “Not at first. A year is a long time to court. Didn’t he ever try to put his hands where he shouldn’t?”

  She rolled her eyes. “This may come as a shock to you, but in many parts of society—obviously not the ones you frequent—such behavior from a gentleman to a lady is frowned upon. My husband happened to be a respectable man when I met him. He behaved respectably the entire year we courted.”

  He gazed at her over his cards, a sudden heat flaring in his face. “I wouldn’t have lasted a year with you.” His eyes drifted down to her mouth. “I would have been lucky to last a month.”<
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  Feeling color flood her cheeks, she jerked her gaze down to her cards, and realized she had no idea what had been played. “Stop that. You only flirt like that so you can distract me into playing badly.”

  “Is it working?”

  She glared at him.

  He laughed. “You credit me with more deviousness than I possess. Flirting comes naturally to me. Especially when I’m with a beautiful woman.”

  “Don’t insult my intelligence. I’ve seen your mistresses in the flesh, and I don’t begin to compare.”

  “You undervalue your attractions,” he said tightly. “If I didn’t find you appealing, I wouldn’t be trying to beat you at whist merely for the chance to see you naked. I don’t make such an effort with every woman.”

  “Just a large number of them.”

  He chuckled. “True.”

  The next few hands went badly, but though she blamed it on her poor cards, Byrne’s lack of clothes was every bit as distracting as he’d claimed hers would be. It wasn’t just what she could see either—like his muscles flexing when he played a card—but what she couldn’t see. Beneath the table, was he still aroused? Did he intend to act on it? If he did, what would she do?

  Worse yet, he didn’t seem bothered by watching her remove her clothes. It only spurred him to better playing. He won hand after hand, gathering a point here, three points there. Her handkerchief, half boots, and garters went first, then her stockings and her petticoat.

  How she wished she’d worn more than one petticoat. How she wished she’d ignored Rosa and worn her fichu. Anything—even a cheap iron ring—would be welcome.

  She forced herself to ignore his half-dressed state, to concentrate on the cards, yet she lost to him by three points.

  Gazing at her with satisfaction, he gathered up the cards. “It appears you’re faced with a difficult choice. You can either remove your gown, corset, and chemise…or your gown, corset, and drawers. Personally, I think you should strip down to your drawers—”

  “You would,” she said with a sniff. Rising from her seat, she reached up under her gown and deftly removed her drawers, then tossed them onto the table. “You’ve been trying to get a look at my bare bosom all day. I swear, you’re the most infuriating man.”