One Night with a Prince Page 8

  “For God’s sake, Byrne,” Lady Jenner said peevishly. “Did you come here to watch us play or to make love to your mistress?”

  Christabel tore her mouth from his, grateful for the reprieve. Byrne’s warning glance kept her mute as his broad hand shamelessly stroked her belly. “Both.” He shifted his gaze to Lady Jenner. “We’re not the only ones enjoying ourselves. Unless I miss my guess, that’s Lieutenant Markham’s hand rubbing your thigh under the table. At least, I hope it’s your thigh.”

  Christabel had to bite her tongue to keep from gasping.

  The lieutenant started to yank his hand out, but Lady Jenner caught it and held it still. “Don’t pretend you care what Markham and I do, Byrne. We both know you don’t waste time on jealousy after you’re done with a woman.”

  “Ah, but you’re wrong,” Byrne said in a lazy drawl. “I don’t waste time on jealousy even before I’m done with a woman.”

  As Lady Jenner scowled and the men laughed, Christabel forced a smile. How she wished she could leap from Byrne’s lap and stalk off. But she dared not. So she sat there, chafing at the harsh reminder of his true character.

  And how could anyone be so very wicked? Oh, he might kiss well, but he had no tender feelings, for her or anyone else. If she ever succumbed to his advances, she’d end up being the same to him as one of these women—a discarded plaything to trade public insults with and nothing more.

  Perhaps he’d had a conscience once, before he’d been forced to work in the streets as a boy, but sadly that had ruined him forever. Because the Byrne before her now clearly had no morals, no scruples. Otherwise, he couldn’t be so comfortable here.

  Lord, she’d never even imagined that such nonchalance about infidelity existed among the nobility. When Byrne said they were a fast set, she’d imagined ladies who wore too much rouge and gentlemen who made the occasional bawdy comment. No wonder he’d tried to warn her.

  But if she wanted her father’s letters back, she had to play her part and be convincing, no matter how disgusting she found it.

  Pasting a look of lazy contentment on her face, she relaxed against Byrne’s chest. His quickly drawn breath gave her a measure of satisfaction. He thought she couldn’t handle this, but she would prove him wrong.

  She met the portly gentleman’s leer with a sultry smile. When she realized Mr. Talbot was watching her, she deliberately covered Byrne’s hand on her waist with her own, then rubbed it as she’d seen Mrs. Talbot rub her lover’s chest.

  She could feel Byrne’s heated gaze on her, feel his arousal harden again beneath her bottom. The Prince of Sin, no doubt about it.

  Then she felt his mouth against her ear. “Very good, lass. Keep that up, and even I might believe you a wanton.” He slid his hand along the underside of her breasts. “Now it’s time for you to pay attention to the players, if you’re to partner me in whist. Watch Talbot, the best of the lot. And Eleanor’s partner, Lady Hungate. She’s good, too.”

  From then on, Byrne was all business, explaining the intricacies of their plays in heated whispers. Christabel forced herself to attend, even though his arousal didn’t abate, and her shocking surroundings grew no less shocking.

  Before long, she realized that his arousal came as much from the game as from her. She and whist were both challenges to be mastered. Well, he might have mastered whist, but he would never master her. No, indeed.

  “Your whispering over there grows tiresome,” Lady Jenner said just as Byrne explained a particularly perplexing move that Lady Hungate, the gray-haired lady, had made. “Can’t you stop your flirting for even one moment, Byrne?”

  “We’re discussing strategy. Strategy is the key to winning at whist.”

  “I thought good cards were the key to winning at whist,” the countess retorted. “But let’s see who’s right. We’re almost finished with this rubber—why don’t you and your new ‘friend’ play the winners? It’ll give us a chance to assess your playing the way you’ve been assessing ours.”

  Panic rose in Christabel’s chest. Oh no, not now, not here. She hadn’t even played a practice game in two years!

  But before she could think of an excuse, Byrne tightened his grip on her waist as if in warning, and said, “Why not?”

  Lord help her. She was in deep, deep trouble.

  Chapter Six

  Beware those women who regard all other

  women as rivals, for they delight in

  spreading misery wherever they go.

  —Anonymous, Memoirs of a Mistress

  Much as Gavin hated having Christabel leave his lap, it was time to test her abilities. He suspected the wench had lied to him about her facility for whist. He’d done his best to refresh her on the rules with his explanations about strategy, but if she were truly inexperienced, she could botch it anyway.

  That would either hurt their cause…or help it. Although Stokely would be angry that he’d lost his longtime partner to a poor replacement, it might be like spilling blood in the water to draw the shark. Stokely might invite Christabel if only to show Gavin what a mistake he’d made in choosing her.

  It was a calculated risk, but one Gavin was prepared to take. Because he now realized that she had to be his partner as well as his mistress for his plan to work. Once she was at Stokely’s, Gavin needed her in plain sight at all times. Otherwise, during one of his heated games with the others, she might retrieve her “property” and be off before Gavin could get his hands on it.

  But first he had to make sure Stokely invited her. And that meant she must keep her wits about her and stay in her role as wild-living marchioness. It would be hard enough to tempt Stokely into inviting a stranger—if he caught even a whiff of Christabel’s lofty morals, they were done for. So Christabel had to convince the man’s friends that she could be as debauched as they were.

  At least playing cards would take her mind off the wickedness around her. And after tonight, he wouldn’t bring her around Stokely’s set again until he’d thoroughly prepared her to look them in the face without blinking.

  “Well, Byrne?” Eleanor asked. “Are you going to play or not?”

  He stared down at his cards and heartily wished he’d started out with better luck. All his trumps were low, and he held only one court-card. Christabel would have to carry the hand. If she could.

  To his surprise, she acquitted herself very well even though her cards were nearly as bad as his. They lost the hand, but it was a respectable performance.

  He smiled encouragingly at her as he took up the deck to deal. “Let’s hope for better cards this time, my sweet, to show off your competent playing.”

  When she beamed at him, he realized he’d never had a mistress whose smile was genuinely warm. Calculated, yes. Flirtatious, certainly. But when Christabel smiled, really smiled, her whole heart showed in her face. It had the perverse effect of dampening his ardor. If he used her family’s property for his own purposes, he’d almost certainly demolish her joy, and that thought was oddly lowering.

  He took up his cards with a frown. He was being ridiculous. This situation was no different than any other. He was going after what he wanted as he always had, heedless of the effect upon other people. So no mere smile would deter him.

  He forced his attention back to the game. His cards were just as bad that hand. If he hadn’t dealt them himself, he might have guessed foul play was involved. But he’d played enough through the years to know that luck came in streaks. A clever man could win despite luck’s vagaries.

  “Some brandy, Byrne?” Markham poured himself a glass.

  “Not at the moment,” Gavin retorted. And never when he was at the tables.

  Christabel made a bad play, and Talbot snorted. The man stood behind her, drinking a glass of wine as he stared down at her cards. His mistress, bored by a game in which her lover wasn’t involved, wandered over to the window to look out at night falling over the city.

  But Talbot paid his mistress no attention. He was too absorbed in trying to l
ook down the front of Christabel’s gown. “It’s too bad we’re not playing Whist for the Wicked. We’d have Lady Haversham in her chemise in no time.”

  Stiffening, Gavin frowned at his former mistress. “I should have known you could never keep silent about that.”

  Eleanor shrugged. “I had to tell Talbot—I knew he would find it perfectly delicious, the way you and I divested that little cheating couple of their attire. They thought they were so clever, so sure to fleece us, even after we proposed such outrageous stakes. But I don’t imagine they complained too much about losing the clothes on their backs after a night in our respective beds.”

  Gavin shot Christabel a warning glance, but there was no need. She kept her face carefully blank, though he fancied he could see revulsion in her tightened lips.

  “What is Whist for the Wicked?” Markham asked.

  Talbot chuckled. “A game Eleanor and Byrne invented.”

  “A private game we invented,” Gavin said tersely.

  “Since when do you keep anything private, Byrne?” Eleanor said. “Or has the good Widow Haversham reformed you?”

  To his surprise, Christabel said, “Why would I do that? Then he wouldn’t be any fun anymore.”

  Gavin bit back a smile. Perhaps the woman could manage this after all.

  “Pray continue, Mr. Talbot,” his wily pretend mistress went on. “Explain the rules for your wicked whist game.”

  “Gladly, madam.” Talbot’s eyes gleamed as he gazed down Christabel’s bodice. “The stakes are any item of clothing or adornment on one’s person—coat, gown, jewelry, watches, etc. A man’s purse and a woman’s reticule are excluded, as are other nonattire items, such as weapons. For every point the opposing team gains, the members of the losing team each have to give over an article of attire.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Lady Hungate put in. “The stakes are deplorably uneven. A watch can hardly equal a stocking.”

  “That isn’t the point,” Talbot retorted irritably. “The point is to strip both members of one team down to nothing. The game ends when one side is naked.”

  Though Christabel swallowed convulsively, she kept her gaze fixed on her cards. “And do you and your friends play this game…often?”

  Eleanor laughed. “Not as often as Talbot would like.”

  “Don’t listen to them, Lady Haversham,” Lady Hungate said as she rearranged the cards in her hand. “This is the first I’ve even heard of it. Appalling idea—taking off one’s clothes before a group of cardplayers. Mr. Talbot and Lady Jenner are only trying to shock you. It’s their favorite pastime.”

  “Then they’re in good company with Byrne,” Christabel remarked.

  “Oh, Byrne isn’t as shocking as he sometimes seems.” Lady Hungate cast him an arch look. “Boys will be boys.”

  Gavin stifled a chuckle. Lady Hungate was the only former mistress whom he counted as a friend, even if she was the biggest hypocrite in London. They’d made abysmal lovers—she’d had tastes too bizarre even for him. But he still enjoyed talking to her; her gossip sources exceeded his own by a mile.

  “Speaking of boys,” Eleanor said, “a few weeks ago I ran into that young card cheat Byrne and I played in wicked whist. The fellow said little Lydia had left him to work in some dress shop the day after our game. It seems his mistress didn’t approve of his manner of making a living, and adamantly refused to help him cheat people anymore. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Byrne?”

  Gavin concentrated on his cards, though he could feel Christabel’s gaze boring into him. “Why should I?”

  “You seemed rather taken with the pretty young Lydia, as I recall.”

  Hard to be “taken with” a girl little more than eighteen. Especially when she stared up at you with haunted eyes, utterly bewildered to have ended up naked in a stranger’s bedchamber instead of her card cheat lover’s arms. What was he supposed to do with a chit like that? Not bed her, that’s for sure.

  “Don’t be absurd, Eleanor. The girl was nothing more than a night’s entertainment. I haven’t given a thought to her since.” He played his only decent card, trumping her king. “And you would be better served paying attention to your game than annoying me with stupid questions.”

  “Indeed, she would,” Lady Hungate said tersely, as they finished the round with a surprising win for Gavin and Christabel. “Stokely is going to eat us for breakfast if you don’t attend better than this, Eleanor.”

  To his and Christabel’s misfortune, Eleanor began to pay better attention at once. They’d had some luck with that last hand, but neither his skill nor their luck could continue the wins. Christabel’s playing simply wasn’t sophisticated enough to beat the likes of Eleanor and Lady Hungate. Nor did the other distractions in the room help—Talbot’s leering down her bodice, Markham’s lewd jokes, and Talbot’s wife kissing her lover with her husband right there in the room.

  It was a scene straight out of some obscene novel, and clearly Christabel couldn’t blot it out. More than once, she played out of suit, forcing him to ask if she didn’t have a card in suit after all. And her strategy for trumps was deplorable.

  Unfortunately, the more she lost, the worse she played. Unsurprisingly, the good widow Haversham was a sore loser, and in keeping with her tempestuous nature, she allowed her emotions to affect her playing.

  They lost the second game, and Eleanor sat back with a gloating grin. “Well, Byrne, I do hope Lady Haversham’s prowess in bed exceeds her prowess at whist. You’ll need her to console you after you lose every single rubber at Stokely’s house party. If he even invites the two of you, that is.”

  Christabel bristled, but before she could say anything, Lady Hungate responded. “Don’t be an idiot, Eleanor,” the matron said coolly. “The woman is clearly only trying to lull you into letting down your guard at Stokely’s. You should know Byrne well enough to realize he’d never let his lust overtake his judgment. If he says the woman can play cards expertly, then she probably can.”

  As Eleanor’s face fell, Gavin stifled a laugh. Leave it to Lady Hungate to punch holes in Eleanor’s armor. He couldn’t have done it better himself.

  “They’ve found you out, Christabel,” he said smoothly. “Next time we play, you’ll have to show them your true mettle.”

  After a second’s surprise, she fell right in with Lady Hungate’s lie. “I was showing them my true mettle,” she said with a secretive little smile sure to give Eleanor pause. “I can’t imagine why Lady Hungate would think otherwise.”

  “Let’s play again then,” Eleanor snapped, taking up the deck of cards. “I’d like to see this ‘true mettle’ of yours.”

  “Certainly,” Christabel said mutinously.

  Gavin wasn’t about to let her pride destroy the illusion Lady Hungate had so conveniently created. Taking out his watch, he made a show of examining it. “Sorry, Eleanor, but we’re done for tonight. I have to be at the club in a couple of hours, and before that I’d like to…escort Lady Haversham home.”

  Eleanor scowled at him, but she knew his habits well enough to accept his reasons. Gavin’s favorite time for lovemaking had always been right before he left for the club. He’d often “escorted” Eleanor home…and right up to her bed, whenever her husband was dining with his own mistress.

  “Very well,” Eleanor said, pouting. “Perhaps we’ll see you next Tuesday.”

  “Perhaps,” he said noncommittally. He stood and rounded the table toward Christabel. “Shall we go, my sweet?”

  She had the good sense not to gainsay him. “Of course.” She rose and took his arm. “Thank you, Lady Jenner, for a most enlightening afternoon.”

  They’d already started for the door when Eleanor said, “And thank you, Lady Haversham, for clearing up a little question I had about your late husband.”

  Bloody hell. He’d almost extricated them from this situation without incident. He tried to keep Christabel moving, but she halted, turning to face her adversary with a look of sheer bel
ligerence. “Oh? What question is that?”

  Alarm bells rang in his head, especially when Eleanor skimmed her gaze down Christabel’s black-gowned form with clear contempt.

  “Why he was always leaving his wife at home to run to town. I see now that he was only searching for more—” Eleanor paused to fluff her long blond hair with one hand “—stimulating company.”

  Damn the bitch for her petty vindictiveness. Lady Hungate might have succeeded in covering up Christabel’s incompetence at cards, but in the process, she’d made Eleanor regard the widow as an enemy.

  Gavin attempted to steer Christabel toward the door, but she wrenched free to stride right up to where Eleanor sat gloating.

  “If your company is so wonderfully stimulating,” Christabel said, planting her hands on her hips, “then why did Byrne leave you for me?”

  Eleanor’s glee abruptly vanished. “Don’t be absurd, he did not—” She glanced to Gavin. “You couldn’t possibly have been dallying with this…this mouse when we were still…”

  Gavin arched an eyebrow. “You’re the one who said I’m incapable of faithfulness.” Not waiting to endure more of her temper, he turned to Christabel. “Come, lass, I find myself direly in need of stimulation.”

  They left Eleanor sputtering behind them.

  But as soon as they were in the narrow hall, Christabel marched off toward the stairs like an officer hastening into battle.

  He caught up to her at the top of the stairs. “Christabel—”

  “Teach me to be an expert at whist,” she hissed.

  He started to remind her that supposedly she already was, then thought better of it, considering her present mood. “All right.”

  Lifting her skirts, she scurried down the stairs. “Teach me how to eviscerate that…that witch. I want her to lose so spectacularly that she can never hold her head up among you and your abominable friends again.” Tears welled in her eyes, tears she brushed away with furious swipes of her hand. “I want to humiliate her! I want…I want…”