One Night With A Prince (3 page)

She stiffened. “I don’t think it’s quite fair for you to ask an additional payment for your services when His Highness has already offered you a barony.” When his eyes narrowed, she added hastily, “But I’ll meet your price if I must.”

Now she was trying to reduce his seduction to a mercenary act. But her shaking hands gave her away—this was all bluster. Damn, but this must be important to her—and to Prinny. He ought to keep pressing her to see how far she’d go, but the truth was, he liked his women willing.
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What pleasure would there be in taking a woman to bed who didn’t want to be there? If he agreed to her scheme, though, he’d have plenty of time to bring her round. And that would make the pleasure even sweeter in the end.

When he said nothing, she added, “Shall we seal the deal now? You gentlemen are usually quick with your swiving, so I could throw up my skirts, and you could take care of matters before anyone guesses—”

“Enough, madam, you’ve made your point.” Not the point she thought she’d made, but an effective one nonetheless. “Where did you learn a word likeswiving, anyway?”

She eyed him coolly. “I’ve spent most of my life in the company of soldiers. My father is a general, remember?”

“Right.” Which was why, when pressed to the wall, she had tried to outmaneuver him. Little did she know that it would take an army of general’s daughters to outmaneuverhim .

“Very well,” he said smoothly. “I agree to keep this a masquerade only.” The relief in her eyes at not having to share his bed pricked his pride. “For the moment.”

“Are you sure?” she snapped. “Because I could still—”

“Watch it, my sweet,” he said in that soft, deadly tone that men knew to beware. “Best to stop while you’re holding the winning hand.” He dropped his gaze to her trembling mouth. “You won’t get another.”

He walked to the door and opened it. “Now run along like a good little girl and let the men talk. My agreement with you is conditional upon whether His Highness will agree to certain terms of mine. And they don’t concern you.”

Though she bristled at his insulting dismissal, she nodded and headed toward the open door. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Byrne.”

“No need to be formal. If we’re pretending to be lovers, call me Byrne as everyone else does.” He arched one eyebrow. “Or feel free to call me ‘darling.’”

An inelegant snort escaped her. “Feel free to call me Christabel.”

“For God’s sake, how did a general’s daughter get such a fanciful name?”

“I had a mother, too, you know.” With that she stalked out, her lovely hips swinging. As heat rose in the wrong places, he marveled at the perverse intensity of his attraction to her. She had a mother, did she? Then it must be some Amazon or fairy queen or succubus from hell. No mere Englishwoman could possibly have spawned that whirling dervish of a female. A whirling dervish who thought to put him off by implying that his lovemaking would be a chore, or worse yet, a business transaction. But that wouldn’t last long. He would have the Widow Haversham begging for him to take her if it was the last thing he did. He’d built a fortune on his ability to mix business with pleasure, so he would play her game for now, but in the end he’d have it all—her mysterious property, his revenge upon Prinny, and a willing Christabel in
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his bed.

“Well?”

Iversley’s voice snapped him out of his reverie. He looked up to find his brothers approaching. After they entered the room, he shut the door. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent,” Draker said.

“But I have an additional condition. I want a private audience with Prinny when it’s done.”

“Why?” Draker asked.

“I have my reasons.”

Draker eyed him intently, then sighed. “I’ll see if he’ll agree to that.”

“He’d better if he wants me to help Christabel.”

“Christabel?” Iversley said.

Might as well tell them the plan. They’d hear of it soon enough. “Stokely will only invite the good widow if she’s my mistress. So she will be.”

Draker drew himself up. “I hope you did not coerce that poor woman—”

“Did I mention that she’ll be mypretend mistress? We’re perpetrating a deception like the one you and Regina perpetrated with your pretend courtship.”

“It may have started out as a pretend courtship,” Draker retorted, “but it didn’t stay one for long.”

A smile curved Gavin’s lips. “Exactly.”

“I thought you didn’t like Lady Haversham,” Draker snapped. Gavin thought of Christabel’s soft, curvy body pressed to his, of the quickening of her breath when he’d touched her—of the stubborn will that he would greatly enjoy bending to his own. “She grows on a man.”

The overly moral Draker frowned, but Iversley burst into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Gavin asked.

“Draker’s pretense with Regina eventually led to marriage,” Iversley said slyly. “Or had you forgotten?”

When Draker began to chuckle, too, Gavin retorted, “Don’t worry. I have no interest in marriage.” Only once had he even considered it, as a green lad of twenty-two. But Anna Bingham had cured him of that nonsense.

“Women have a way of changing a man’s mind,” Iversley said.
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“Not bloody likely.” His idiot brothers’ sly winks and knowing glances annoyed him. “Besides, Lady Haversham appears quite happy with her current situation.”

Draker lifted one eyebrow. “That could change, too.”

“For God’s sake, you’re as bad as your wife, with her talk of connubial bliss and falling in love. Contrary to what Regina seems to think, some bachelors actually have no interest in love.”

The disaster with Anna had taught him that there were lines even “love” didn’t cross, that his preference for sophisticated women could only be assuaged in illicit physical liaisons. No respectable woman would marry him unless she was after his money, and he had no desire to endure such a hypocrisy of a marriage.

Besides, the more adulterous affairs he engaged in, the more cynical he became about marriage, his brothers’ happy unions notwithstanding. Any woman worth her salt married for financial or social advantage. Would Katherine or Regina have married his brothers if they hadn’t had titles? He didn’t explore that question further, for it made him uncomfortably aware of the main difference between him and his half brothers. Their mothers’ husbands had claimed each of them as legitimate sons. Gavin’s mother hadn’t had that choice, which was why he would be Byblow Byrne until he died. Unless he became the Baron Byrne. He certainly likedthat idea. Especially if forcing Prinny to set matters straight and acquiring the intriguing Christabel as his real mistress were part of the bargain.

“So it’s settled,” he said, ready to change the subject. “I’ll get Christabel onto Stokely’s guest list, and our sire will hand me a barony.”

“Yes, it’s settled,” Draker said.

“We’re glad you agreed to this,” Iversley added. “It’s time you got something more from our alliance than entertainment.”

“Don’t worry. When this is done, I intend to get a great deal more than entertainment from it.” When Iversley looked speculative, Gavin added quickly, “This calls for a toast.” He poured brandy all round, then lifted his glass. “To the Royal Brotherhood of Bastards.”

They all echoed the usual toast, then drank. When he went to refill Draker’s glass for the second toast, his half brother shook his head. Gavin glanced to Iversley, who was clearly toying with his glass to avoid having it refilled.

“You two really have gone soft,” Gavin muttered, then refilled his own glass and raised it defiantly. “To our noble sire,” he said loudly. “May he rot in hell.”

convince you otherwise.

—Anonymous,Memoirs of a Mistress

What an insane bargain! As Christabel gazed round Lord Draker’s dinner table, she wondered if she’d
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made an enormous mistake. Play Mr. Byrne’s mistress? At a house party with sophisticated sorts like these ladies and gentlemen? She must have been mad to suggest it. Though truly, she’d been fortunate Mr. Byrne hadn’t called her bluff and demanded that she be his real mistress. What would she have done?

She choked back a hysterical laugh. As if she could please a man of his scandalous tastes. If she were capable ofthat, her beloved Philip would never have taken a mistress. The usual low ache began in the pit of her belly, and she stifled an oath. It didn’t matter now, did it? Compared to Philip’s other betrayal, it was nothing. So why couldn’t she stop thinking about it? Because of that Mr. Byrne with his flirtations. He’d stirred up all sorts of…naughty feelings that should have stayed buried with her husband.

And Mr. Byrne probably didn’t evenmean his flirting! It was merely his nature, which meant he must have some other motive for agreeing to her plan. He was just that sort of devious scoundrel. Nothing she’d seen this evening had changed her initial opinion of him one whit. He was the Prince of Darkness himself—polished, more handsome than she remembered, and possessed of an Irishman’s glib tongue. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t approve of him.

She found him utterly fascinating.

Of course. She always found the wrong sort of men fascinating. That’s why she’d ended up here in the first place.

“Do try some of the galantine, Lady Haversham,” Lady Draker said from her post at the end of the dinner table. “Our cook is famous for it.”

Christabel blinked at the fair-haired viscountess. Which of the dishes before her was a galantine? That’s why she hated coming into society. She always floundered in the morass of rules and French words. Not to mention the expectation that she—a mere general’s daughter—knew how to behave as a proper marchioness.

“If I may,” Mr. Byrne said, and offered her a dish.

Oh, the aspic-covered thing. “It does look delicious,” she lied as she took some. She ventured a bite, relieved to find it edible. She only prayed that Lord Stokely didn’t have a French cook, or she’d never make it through his meals.

Perhaps Mr. Byrne could help with that, too. For a notorious owner of a gaming club, he seemed perfectly adept at navigating the treacherous social waters, perfectly at ease in this august company. Then again, Mr. Byrne was rumored to be the prince’s natural son, like Lord Draker, which would make them half brothers. That might explain it. It might also explain His Highness’s willingness to ask the two men to help her.

His Highness—oh dear. He wouldnot be happy when he heard the outcome of the meeting. He’d wanted Mr. Byrne to act as a go-between only—not dangerously involved in the entire scheme. But what else could she do? Lord Stokely was threatening to have her family’s letters published if the
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prince didn’t meet his outrageous demands. And the prince had made it painfully clear what could happen to Papa if she didn’t get them back.

“Would you like some of these, Lady Haversham?” Mr. Byrne asked from beside her, startling her. Forcing her attention to the heavy platter he balanced easily in one hand, she sighed with relief when she recognized it. “Oh, yes, Ilove oysters.”

The sudden gleam in Mr. Byrne’s eye gave her pause. “Do you?” He scooped three out of their shells and onto her plate with the silver serving spoon. “Do I dare hope you’re also inordinately fond of pomegranate and Spanish fly?”

“What’s Spanish fly?” she asked when the two ladies turned beet red, and their husbands scowled.

“Stop teasing the poor woman, Byrne,” Lord Draker said sternly. “Can’t you see she has no idea what you’re talking about?”

Christabel bristled. Perhaps she didn’t understand exactly what had brought that sensual huskiness into Mr. Byrne’s voice, but she wasn’t a complete fool. “I know it’s probably wicked.” She shot Mr. Byrne a side glance. “He seems to think women find wickedness attractive in a man.”

Mr. Byrne grinned. “Some women do.”

“Only the shameless femalesyou consort with.” Hearing a choked sound from across the table, she glanced at their hostess, and hastily added, “Present company excepted, of course.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Lady Iversley said with a laugh, “we’re entirely in agreement with you about Byrne’s shameless females.”

“You see, Draker?” Mr. Byrne said. “You needn’t try to protect Lady Haversham from me. The woman can hold her own very well.”

“So we heard,” Lady Draker put in. “Pulled a rifle on you, did she?”

Christabel wanted to sink under the table in mortification. Papa and his fellow soldiers might find the tale of her encounter with Mr. Byrne amusing, but this company would surely be shocked. Oddly enough, however, the only one showing disapproval was Mr. Byrne, who glowered at Lord Draker. “Youtold Regina?”

With a smug expression, their host served himself the last of the roast pheasant. “How could I resist? It’s not every day that you get shot at by a woman.”

“And you no doubt deserved it,” his wife added with a small smile. Christabel tipped up her chin. “He did indeed.”

“Yes,” Mr. Byrne snapped. “Like a fool, I tried to collect my due after your husband ordered his banker not to honor his note. What was I thinking?”

His sarcasm—and his lies—infuriated her. “Philip said you allowed him credit, then reneged.”

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“Haversham lied.”

“He would never have done something so dishonorable,” she said stoutly.

“Oh? Have you forgotten why you’re here?”Because your husband stole your property to gain money to pay his gambling debts?

He was right, of course. Everything she’d thought about Philip had been turned on its ear since his death.

“I should have shot you when I had the chance,” she mumbled.

“So you really did fire at Byrne?” Lady Iversley’s eyes sparkled with curiosity.