One Night with a Prince Page 7

  “That explains why you do it so well. I’ve never seen a woman—and few men, for that matter—handle a rig so competently.”

  Eyes twinkling, she glanced over at him. “Some of us women do have abilities beyond the bedchamber, you know.”

  He chuckled. “Then I shall have to hire you as my coachman. It would certainly liven my jaunts about town.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. None of that ladylike tittering for Colonel Christabel, oh no. Hers was a hearty, deep-throated laugh that resonated deep inside him. And when her bonnet flew off to go tumbling down the road, she only laughed harder, her pretty cheeks flushing with the sheer joy of being in perfect control of her fate on such a pleasant day.

  When was the last time he’d gained joy from that simple a thing? Not since he was a very young boy, almost certainly. Before his mother had exhausted all attempts to get Prinny to continue her annuity. Before they’d moved from lodging house to lodging house, each one meaner than the last.

  Before the fire that had tossed him into the cold world at twelve to fend for himself.

  Shaking off the dark memory, he laid his arm behind her back. “I noticed that your butler wears an eye patch. Why?”

  “He went blind in one eye when a stray bullet shattered his cheekbone.”

  “Not one of your bullets, I hope.”

  “No, indeed! He was in the war. But after he was wounded he could no longer serve in the army, so we hired him.”

  “You and Haversham? Or just you?”

  She shrugged. “He was in my husband’s regiment. I couldn’t very well let the man starve, could I?”

  “Some people would.”

  Her lips tightened into a fierce little line. “Then they don’t properly appreciate the sacrifices our soldiers make to keep them safe.”

  He eyed her consideringly. “So you really do find your servants on the battlefield.”

  “A few. Five, I think. No, six. I always forget about Cook, since he was a chef long before he served in the navy.”

  “Quite the military household you have there. I suppose I should be happy you were the only one to shoot at me that day.”

  A smile played over her lips. “I shall have to issue pistols to my staff.”

  “That sounds exactly like something you’d do.” And oddly enough, it didn’t dampen his desire for her one whit. Christabel was a bracing tonic after all his coolly sophisticated mistresses.

  He frowned. That might prove a problem for their scheme. Would his friends believe he’d changed his preference in mistresses on a whim? Or would they—and possibly Stokely—suspect a deeper reason for the change?

  Perhaps he should test the waters before they went any further. What day was it? Tuesday. Perfect. What he had in mind would have the added advantage of showing Christabel exactly what she was getting herself into.

  “Change of plan,” he told her. “Give me the reins.”

  She did as he said, though her face showed her disappointment. “Why? Where are we going?”

  He took the next turn, heading them off toward Cheapside. “Somewhere you can learn firsthand how to be a proper mistress.”

  “Now see here, we agreed—”

  “Not like that. Believe me, when I get ready to seduce you, you’ll know it. Right now we’re going to a card party.”

  She looked perplexed. “How will that teach me to be a proper mistress?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Chapter Five

  As mistress to an earl, I witnessed many a

  scandalous event, but none so outrageous

  as the secret card parties.

  —Anonymous, Memoirs of a Mistress

  Christabel was ready to throttle Byrne. He refused to say a word about where they were going, no matter how much she plagued him.

  And that comment of his—when I get ready to seduce you. Hah! Did he think she’d fall into his bed the minute he decided he was “ready”? Bonny Byrne indeed. He was more like a Prince of Sin, trying to corrupt anything in skirts.

  Look at how he tooled the vehicle to ensure that she touched him as often as possible. At first she’d thought him merely a bad driver, but it soon became apparent from the way his spirited horses followed his every command that his motions were intentional. If she slid away on the seat, he took a corner fast to throw her back against him. And every time he did it, she marveled at the taut muscles in the thighs plastered to hers, the fine control of his whipcord of an arm.

  By the time they drew up in an alley behind a nondescript town house in Cheapside, Christabel’s blood was thundering in her veins. Despite her determination to ignore him, he made touching him an addictive enjoyment.

  Which was, of course, what he intended. To make her want him, crave him…desire him. It wasn’t going to work, no matter how much he tried. It wasn’t.

  As he helped her down, she glanced uneasily around the alley. This looked less a place for a card party than a place for secret assignations. A little iron-barred door led into a high-walled garden amazingly lush for the middle of town.

  When he produced a key to unlock the door, her suspicion that the place might belong to him deepened. Until he brought her up the path of the garden and in the back way to a kitchen, where his appearance threw the servants into a tizzy.

  “Monsieur Byrne! What a delightful surprise!” exclaimed a tall, spindly fellow sporting a chef’s hat and a thick French accent. “If I had known you were coming, I would have sent to ze butcher for a leg of lamb.”

  Byrne laughed. “We won’t be here for dinner, Ramel. And I doubt your mistress would approve.”

  With a snort, the chef lowered his voice. “La canaille upstairs with Lady Jenner do not appreciate fine lamb—for them, I only make le boeuf.” He said it as if beef were beneath his abilities. “But for you, it should be lamb with petits oignons—”

  “Monsieur Ramel!” a female voice barked from beyond the kitchen doorway. “Where’s the tea we called for over ten minutes ago?”

  When the woman entered to find Byrne and Christabel standing there, she halted abruptly. “What the devil are you doing here?”

  “My lady,” the chef said hastily, “Monsieur Byrne came in the back way—”

  “Good afternoon, Eleanor,” Byrne told the woman.

  Even Christabel had heard of Byrne’s torrid affair with the Countess of Jenner. So this was the famous whist-player, who won and lost thousands of pounds at the tables without blinking. Did she always wear such outrageously low-cut gowns? And hadn’t the chef mentioned guests?

  Tossing back the blond locks that flowed shockingly unbound over her shoulders, Lady Jenner frowned at Byrne. “You can’t come up. I’m unwell.”

  “Relax, I know all about your Tuesday afternoon card games.”

  Lady Jenner’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you?”

  He arched one eyebrow.

  The buxom female groaned. “I swear, I don’t know how you unearth everyone’s secrets. But we don’t allow strangers, so if you’ve come to play, you’ll have to get rid of your friend.”

  “We’ve come to watch.” Byrne settled his hand in the small of Christabel’s back. “And my friend isn’t a stranger. She’s Haversham’s widow.”

  Lady Jenner cast Christabel a withering glance. “You’re the Marchioness of Haversham? The woman who wouldn’t accompany her husband to town because, as he put it, ‘she’s too afraid of society’?”

  Christabel bristled. “What? I’ve never been afraid of anything in my—”

  “Yes,” Byrne said, giving Christabel’s waist a warning squeeze. “This is the same woman. As you can see, Haversham’s description wasn’t entirely apt.”

  “Still, we can’t be sure she won’t gossip.”

  “I’ll vouch for her discretion.” Byrne lazily surveyed the kitchen. “But if you don’t want us to stay, I could always mention to your husband the purpose to which you’re putting the town house you inherited from your family.”

  “Damn
you, Byrne.” She pouted in that fetching manner only certain women could pull off. “Very well, I suppose if you only wish to watch…”

  “That’s all. I want Lady Haversham to see truly excellent whist-playing, and I thought at once of you and your friends.”

  That seemed to soften the woman’s temper. “We are the best.”

  “That’s why we’re here.” A devilish gleam appeared in his eyes. “To assess the competition for Stokely’s party.”

  “You and Stokely won’t win the pot this year, I promise you. We’ll lead you a merry dance.” She shifted her gaze to Christabel, running it down her awful black gown with an impudence bordering on insult. “If you’re planning to play at Stokely’s, Lady Haversham, I do hope you’re better at it than your husband was.”

  Christabel’s curiosity got the better of her. “You played cards with Philip?”

  The woman’s laugh grated on her nerves. “Of course. We played him when we needed to plump our pockets after a loss. Dreadful player, your husband.”

  With another grating laugh, she turned and gestured to them to follow, leaving Christabel to shake with impotent rage. All right, so Philip had been awful at cards, but it was still a cruel thing to taunt a man’s widow with.

  Suddenly, she felt Byrne’s hand soothingly stroke her waist. “Pay Eleanor no mind.” Byrne led her after their hostess. “The only thing she excels at besides playing cards is being a hellcat.”

  Christabel stifled a gasp at his bluntness.

  “Is that why you became my lover, Byrne dear?” Lady Jenner remarked from ahead of them in silky-sweet tones. She began to climb a rather narrow staircase. “Because you enjoyed bedding a hellcat?”

  “That’s why I became your ex-lover,” he shot back. “I have better things to do than serve as your scratching post.”

  Lady Jenner had reached the top of the stairs, where she now stood waiting for them. Catching sight of Christabel’s shocked look, the countess apparently misunderstood the source of it, for she said with a sly smile, “I take it that Byrne didn’t say you’d be meeting one of his mistresses here.”

  Christabel managed to smooth her features. “Former mistresses, you mean.”

  The woman shrugged. “We come and go. He has so many.” A gloating smile touched her lips. “As a matter of fact, there are two more here this afternoon.”

  Christabel forced a smile of her own. “Good. Then I’ll have the chance to determine for myself if they’re as tiresome and stupid as he claims.”

  That wiped the smile right off Lady Jenner’s face. Turning abruptly, she headed down a dimly lit hall.

  As they followed, Byrne murmured, “I believe Eleanor has met her match.”

  She cast Byrne a wary glance. “Is that why we’re here? To see if I can hold my own around your former mistresses?”

  “Among other things. Think of this as a rather extreme example of what you might encounter at Stokely’s party. If you can stomach this, you can stomach anything. We’ll watch them play at whist and scandal.” He skimmed his hand up her spine. “And we’ll give the cardplayers the chance to watch us.”

  “Watch us do what?”

  He kissed her cheek, then whispered, “Pretend to be man and mistress, of course. So if I were you, I’d hold that quick tongue of yours. Watch, learn, and listen. And try not to look shocked. Your reactions are entirely too transparent.”

  That was her only warning before they entered a most licentious scene.

  Three players were ranged around a card table as Lady Jenner took her seat on a settee drawn up to it, making the fourth. There were four other guests in the moderately sized drawing room, and most of the eight were behaving indecently.

  A blowsy brunette in a low-cut day gown was curled up on a chaise longue beside a pointy-nosed fellow with thinning hair, her hand rubbing his thigh as he examined his cards. An exceedingly handsome young gentleman in his shirtsleeves shared Lady Jenner’s settee, draping his right arm across the back so he could tangle his fingers in her unpinned hair. Then there was the gray-haired matron who divided her concentration between her cards and the fierce-looking fellow in an unbuttoned uniform jacket, who leaned over her shoulder to nibble her ear.

  But most wicked of all was the slender, reddish blond female who actually sat upon a portly man’s lap, giggling as he sipped from a glass of brandy.

  “Byrne!” exclaimed the portly man as he caught sight of them. “Fancy seeing you here.” He leered at Christabel. “And who is this fair creature?”

  As Christabel stiffened instinctively, Byrne squeezed her waist in warning. “This is Lady Haversham. A very good friend of mine.”

  Apparently, that was code for “mistress,” because the women exchanged knowing glances, and the men joined the portly man in leering at her. Though bile rose in her throat, Christabel forced a smile for their benefit.

  Then Byrne performed the introductions. Names flew at her so quickly she couldn’t take them in: Talbot, Markham, Bradley, Hungate, Talbot again…

  Two Talbots? She must have misunderstood.

  “There’s only one chair left,” the countess said matter-of-factly, gesturing to a heavy walnut bergère a short distance from the card table. “You can share it.”

  “All right.” Byrne shoved the chair closer to the table. Then before Christabel could react, he took a seat and hauled her onto his lap.

  She froze. She’d never sat across a man’s lap in her life, not even Philip’s. It was the most intimate thing she could imagine—save activities reserved for the bedchamber. In shock, she swung her gaze to Byrne, only to find him watching her with an impudent smile.

  Deliberately, he stretched his arm out on the chair behind her rigid back and settled his other arm across her waist, his taunting gaze daring her to protest.

  “I can call for one of the servants to carry a chair for you up from the dining room if you’re uncomfortable, Lady Haversham,” their hostess said slyly.

  Christabel forced herself to relax, to lean back against his arm. “No need to go to that trouble,” she managed. “I’m fine here.”

  “Fine, indeed,” Byrne murmured, giving a whole new meaning to the word.

  He splayed his fingers over her belly, sparking her temper. His head was close enough that the bracing scent of his shaving oil filled her nostrils, and his breath practically scorched her cheek. How dared he take advantage of the situation to hold her so scandalously?

  She glanced around the company, only to find that no one regarded her presence on Byrne’s lap as the least bit strange or alarming. Except perhaps Lady Jenner, who shot her a malevolent look. Or did she? Seconds later the countess was regarding her cards in apparent deep concentration.

  None of the other women even showed a hint of jealousy. And two of them had been his mistresses! But which ones? The red-haired woman? The brunette in the appallingly naughty gown?

  She didn’t want to know. That would mean she cared, and she didn’t. Not one whit. All she cared about was her mission, and if she must play a scandalous lady to gain the letters, she’d do it.

  But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

  “Do you play, Lady Haversham?” asked Mr. Talbot, the pointy-nosed gentleman.

  “She’s going to be my partner at Stokely’s,” Byrne answered for her.

  Christabel shot him a questioning glance he ignored. Yesterday, he’d refused to let her partner him at the house party. What had changed his mind?

  Lady Jenner looked just as surprised by the admission. “You’re not partnering our host as usual?”

  “Not this year, no.”

  The countess regarded Christabel with new antagonism. “For your sake, madam, I hope you’re better at whist than your late husband. Byrne detests losing.”

  Mr. Talbot threw a card on the table. “Stokely has to invite her first anyway. And you know how he feels about bringing new people into our cozy group.”

  “I don’t go unless she goes,” Byrne drawled. “And since s
he’ll be with me, he should know he can trust her.”

  Mr. Talbot shrugged. “If you’re not partnering him, why should he bother?”

  “Because Stokely can’t resist a challenge. He’ll invite her out of sheer curiosity to see who I threw him over for.”

  Christabel began to sweat. Dear Lord, she should never have lied to him about her whist-playing.

  “In any case,” Mr. Talbot said, “the man never invites anyone after he’s sent out his invitations, and ours arrived last week, didn’t they, my dear?”

  The flame-haired female answered, not the woman with her hand on Mr. Talbot’s thigh. “Yes. We were in town when they came.”

  We?

  From her seat on the portly gentleman’s lap, the flame-haired woman batted her long lashes at Byrne. “But I’m sure he’ll make an exception for you. Stokely’s party wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t there.”

  “Don’t waste your flirtations on Byrne,” Lady Jenner said snidely. “Can’t you see he’s presently occupied? The man may be incapable of faithfulness to a woman, but at least when he’s with her, he gives her his full attention.” Lady Jenner shot Mr. Talbot a cold glance. “Unlike your husband there.”

  Christabel’s mouth fell open.

  “Yes, they’re married,” Byrne hissed in her ear. “And yes, they’re both here with other lovers. Wipe that shock from your face.”

  Unable even to comprehend such blatant debauchery, she swung her gaze to him. But that proved a mistake, for when Byrne saw her outrage, he took immediate measures to hide it.

  He kissed her. Before the entire roomful of people, he kissed her, slowly, leisurely, as if it were his right. His mouth was hard and thorough, commanding her response, leaving her no choice but to play the part, though her every feeling revolted at the idea of behaving so intimately in front of other people.

  She forced her eyes closed and her lips apart to admit the heated thrusts of his tongue. And as if it weren’t bad enough that she had to put on this shameless display, she could feel his arousal grow hard and insistent beneath her bottom—