One Night With A Prince (21 page)

“You thought I was one of his creditors. It’s perfectly understandable.” Stokely’s eyes narrowed. “But actually your husband and I were engaged in a…different sort of transaction.”

Damn Stokely to hell. He was testing her to see what she knew. Gavin only prayed that she could brazen it out.

Apparently she could, for she flashed the man a game smile. “Oh, dear. Philip was asking to borrow
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money, wasn’t he? I’m afraid every one of his friends had to endure that from him. I must apologize for my husband—”

“No need.” Stokely slanted a glance at Gavin. “Besides, clearly I was not the only person from whom your husband borrowed money.”

Gavin bristled at his implication. He’d been accused of many things, but never forcing a woman to his bed to repay her husband’s debts.

Before he could level the man with an acid retort, however, Christabel slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow and cast Gavin what could only be called a fond smile. “Yes, thank heavens. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met Byrne. And he’s been such a comfort to me.”

“A comfort?” Stokely’s expression grew calculating. “That’s a new way to put it, eh, Byrne?”

Gavin covered Christabel’s hand with his. “It’s growing late, Stokely. Perhaps you should have someone carry our bags to our rooms, so we’ll have time to dress for dinner.”

“Of course.” Stokely waved a footman over. “Put Mr. Byrne’s bags in his usual room. And put Lady Haversham’s in the blue room.”

Gavin scowled. “If I remember correctly, the blue room is in another wing from mine. In fact, it’s right across the hall from the master bedchamber. Isn’t that where you usually putyour mistress?”

“We parted ways a few weeks ago. Since Lady Haversham was such a late addition to my party and I’d run out of rooms by then, I decided to put her there.”

“You aren’t trying to steal my partner, are you?” Gavin snapped.

“Of course not.” Stokely’s expression was impenetrable. “And about that, I’ve changed the rules for our games this week. I’m telling the others at dinner, but I suppose you can hear it now.” He settled his black gaze on Christabel. “Whist partners for each rubber will be randomly selected. Until the eliminations begin, that is.”

The blood pounded in Gavin’s temples. “Why?”

Stokely shrugged. “As you know, that’s how it’s generally done in the clubs. It prevents cheating between partners who know each other well.”

Ignoring Christabel’s killer grip on his arm, Gavin said in a deliberately amused tone, “Are you expecting trouble with cheaters? It hasn’t been a problem before.”

“There’s always a first time. Besides, that will give everyone a chance to observe their fellow players. Then, when it’s time for the eliminations, they can choose their partners more…objectively before they start.” He scanned Christabel’s translucent gown with a decidedly lustful glance. “And it will lend more interest to the game.”

“I thought the pot was what lent interest to the game,” Gavin bit out. “Unless you’ve decided to change that, too?”

“No, but there is one other minor change that you will hear more about at dinner.” He glanced at a
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nearby clock. “Which you will miss if you do not go to your rooms at once. Byrne, you can find your own way.” With a smooth smile, he offered Christabel his arm. “I shall show Lady Haversham to her room myself.”

As Christabel reluctantly took Stokely’s arm, and they headed up the stairs with Rosa trailing behind, the most unsettling urge seized Gavin. He wanted to snatch Christabel free of the man, march her out to his carriage, and carry her back to London. He could scarcely keep from striding up the stairs after them. What the hell had come over him? He’d known what to expect when they came here, and so had she. All right, so neither of them had guessed that Stokely had known her from before. Or might have invited her for that reason. Or that Gavin’s half-jesting comment from a week ago, that Stokely might have taken a fancy to her, would prove to be true.

Damn the bastard. He didn’t like how Stokely looked at her. He didn’t like Stokely seeing her in that clinging gown, which showed her delectable shape. And he bloody well hated that she’d be sleeping a few yards away from the man.

Stokely could have any woman in the place…and often did. Most women found his combination of stark white hair and black eyes captivating.

In the past, Gavin hadn’t cared if the baron shared an interlude with Gavin’s companions, but it bothered him that Stokely might think Christabel equally accessible. And why did it bother him? It must be because he hadn’t yet bedded her himself. What other reason could there be?

There was only one solution—Gavin would have to bed her as soon as possible. He wasnot going to stand by and do nothing while Stokely played his nasty games with Christabel. And once she was in Gavin’s bed, he meant to keep her there for a very long time.

rise up to haunt me.

—Anonymous,Memoirs of a Mistress

Christabel could scarcely breathe as Lord Stokely led her up the stairs. She’d never dreamed that the white-haired man in Philip’s study all those months ago had been Baron Stokely himself. She did remember overhearing Philip say, when she was outside the door, “She prefers Rosevine, and I prefer to have her here.”

Lord Stokely had answered something she couldn’t hear. But later when she’d asked Philip who he was, he’d told her the man was no one of importance. That’s why she’d assumed Lord Stokely was a creditor.

Philip had probably sold the letters to him that very day, blast him.

“I hope you’ll find your accommodations suitably comfortable, Lady Haversham,” Lord Stokely remarked, as soon as they were out of Byrne’s earshot. “You don’t mind being on this end of the house,
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do you?”

“Wherever you put me is fine,” she murmured, unsure what to answer.

“I was surprised to hear that you and Byrne are…friends. Your late husband said that you shot at the man.”

She groaned. “Philip told you about that?”

“He mentioned it, yes. While he was explaining the reason for his dire financial situation.”

“The reason for his dire financial situation was his gambling. And though I acted in a fit of temper when Byrne came to collect on my husband’s debt, I did eventually realize that the person at fault was Philip, not Byrne.”

Byrne was right about that at least. Her husband had brought his own ruin upon himself.

“Still, Haversham told me you disliked society, especially society of Byrne’s sort.”

She managed a laugh. “That’s what he would have preferred, I’m sure.”

“I did wonder if he merely wanted to keep you to himself.” Laying his hand over hers, he stroked her fingers. “And now I understand why.”

She had to choke down a sarcastic retort. Was every gambler in England a randy devil? And why did Byrne’s flirtations heat her blood while Lord Stokely’s just made her want to laugh? Nonetheless, it wouldn’t hurt to remain on the man’s good side. “And nowI understand why my husband didn’t introduceyou .” She gave him a brazen smile. “No doubt he feared that your silver tongue would tempt me to…indiscretion.”

He cast her a speculative glance. “Is that the only reason he didn’t introduce us that day?”

Was he alluding to the letters? Did he really think she would admit to knowing that he had them? With a look of wide-eyed innocence, she said, “I can think of no other reason, can you?”

He searched her face, then said, “Not at the moment.” Then he halted before an open doorway leading into a spacious bedchamber. “Here we are, madam. I shall not keep you. Besides, we can talk more at dinner.”

Blast. She was hoping to beg off so she could search his room while the others dined. But clearly he expected her there, and she dared not rouse his suspicions by disappointing him. “I’ll see you then.”

Only after he’d gone and she and Rosa were in the room with the heavy oak door firmly closed did she let out a breath. “Thank God that’s over,” she muttered. Then she caught Rosa eyeing her with disapproval. “What?”

“You were flirting with your host. What about Mr. Byrne?”

“I wasn’t flirting. I was merely trying to be a congenial guest. And trust me, Byrne won’t care anyway.”

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It was true, but still a lowering thought.

Rosa snorted, but turned to hunt through the trunks that the footmen had carried up the stairs ahead of them. “Which gown will you wear tonight?”

“The rose one.” Since she and Byrne had spent every moment of last week playing whist, her trip to the theater with him had never come to pass. So she still hadn’t had the chance to wear it. “We’d better hurry, too.” She glanced at the pretty Jasper clock beside her bed. “We’ve got only twenty-five minutes.”

With a shriek, Rosa scurried to unpack the appropriate trunk. There was no time to ooh and ah over the rich azure damask draping the windows and French canopy bedstead, no time to admire the Persian rug spread before the massive marble fireplace. It took every minute of their allotted time to peel Christabel out of her sodden garments and dry her sufficiently to don a fresh chemise, corset, and evening gown. Rosa was nearly done cursing her way through repairing Christabel’s sadly fallen coiffure when a knock came at the door.

“Come in!” Christabel called out.

Rosa finished just as Byrne entered. “Ready?” he asked.

Christabel rose, and he sucked in a breath, his gaze trailing slowly down the gown, then back up to fix on her décolletage. “Bloody hell. I should never have told Mrs. Watts to make you that gown.”

Disappointed by his reaction, she thrust out her chin. “Whyever not?”

“Because you look too damned beautiful in it.” He balled his hands into fists at his sides. “Stokely is going to salivate all over you.”

She couldn’t believe it—Byrne actually sounded jealous. A satisfied smile tugged at her lips. “Do you really think so?” she asked, surprised to hear a certain coyness in her voice. He lifted his gaze to hers. “Let me put it this way—it’s clear why the man assigned you the bedchamber across from his.” He scanned the room with narrowed eyes. “He gave you the best room in the house. Do you realize that?”

“Did he?” She grabbed her fan and hurried to his side. “Let’s go.”

As they left the room, Byrne settled his hand in the small of her back with an oddly possessive gesture.

“I tell you, the man is up to no good. He never puts a guest in the family wing, never.”

“Perhaps it’s just as he claimed—he ran out of rooms.”

“In this mansion? Not bloody likely.” Byrne slanted her a dark look. “Did he say anything to you?”

She related their conversation in full.

Byrne’s lips tightened into a grim line. “Either he’s playing games with us, or he’s taken a fancy to you. Whichever it is, I don’t like it. It’ll make getting those letters all the more difficult.”

Her heart sank. She should have known Byrne wouldn’t be jealous; he was merely concerned about
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their purpose here.

Not that she wanted him to be jealous. She was already far too attracted to him as it was. If she thought for one minute that he might actually care for her…

That was dangerous thinking indeed.

They reached the bottom of the stairs where others waited to go in to dinner. Guests here and there hailed them, some of whom she recognized. The Talbots were there, along with Lady Jenner and a man who was probably her husband. Her lover, Lieutenant Markham, also stood close by, exchanging pleasantries with a raven-haired woman whom Christabel didn’t recognize. Laughing, the woman turned so that her profile was to them, and Byrne suddenly tensed. “Anna?” he said, his tone disbelieving.

The raven-haired beauty glanced over, then paled from the roots of her hair to the bodice of her fashionable emerald gown. She faced them slowly. “Gavin?”

She looked stricken. Byrne looked the same.

Christabel’s heart sank. Was this another of Byrne’s former mistresses? But no, she’d never heard him speak of any of them with that peculiar note of pain in his voice. And none of them called him Gavin. Or so he’d said.

“What are you doing here?” Byrne asked hoarsely, his fingers digging into Christabel’s waist like iron talons.

“Lord Stokely invited me and Walter, of course.” The woman tugged on the arm of a man who stood near her. “Come, dear, I’d like you to meet someone.”

Christabel found it hard to breathe past the tightness in her chest. Judging from Byrne’s reaction, this was no mere mistress, whoever she was. But why could this “Anna” make him tense and angry when no other woman—including Christabel—touched his emotions?

The elderly man who turned around looked as if he’d rather be sleeping by a fire than waiting in a crowd to go in to dinner. “Eh? What is it?”

“Walter, may I present an old friend of…my family’s, Mr. Gavin Byrne. Mr. Byrne, this is my husband, Lord Kingsley.”

A muscle ticked in Byrne’s jaw as he nodded at the gentleman. “Lord Kingsley. You’re certainly a long way from home. Dublin, right?”

“Yes, Dublin.” Lord Kingsley lifted his lorgnette to eye Byrne closely. “Have we met before?”

“No.” Byrne shot Lady Kingsley a glance, then added in a voice thick with irony, “But I’ve heard of you.”

Coloring, the woman said hastily, “Mr. Byrne owns a gentlemen’s club in London, my dear. The Blue Swan. I’m sure he makes it his business to know everything about the most important men in England and Ireland.”

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“Quite.” Lord Kingsley leveled a condescending gaze on Byrne. “Rather surprising that Stokely invited your sort, but I suppose that’s to be expected. This being a gaming party and all.”