One Night with a Prince

by Sabrina Jeffries

  He wondered how she fared. Was she winning? Losing? Panicking over losing?

  That very real possibility squeezed his chest in a vise. He should never have brought her here. She didn’t belong—seeing her with the others made that easily apparent. She could soak in a pool of debauchery for hours and still have none cling to her skin. And the truth was, he would hate to see her besmirched by it.

  Why was that? Wouldn’t it be easier to get what he wanted from her if she’d just slide down the slippery slope into sin?

  Yes, but at what cost? Bloody hell, Christabel had said that very thing to him once—but at what cost to his soul? Now he was even starting to think like her. And that wouldn’t do.

  As if she felt his eyes on her, she met his gaze from across the room, and the vise around his chest tightened unbearably. Until she smiled, telling him that everything was all right.

  “Byrne?” Talbot asked. “For God’s sake, stop ogling your mistress and play your card. You’ll have plenty of time for ogling later.”

  “If Stokely doesn’t get to her first,” said Talbot’s present partner, Markham.

  Biting back an oath, Gavin played his card. “You’re assuming that Lady Haversham would choose Stokely over me. And that’s not bloody likely.”

  Markham smirked at Gavin. “Unless she thinks it will help her gain the pot.”

  “Lady Haversham may not need Stokely for that,” Talbot put in. “She and Lady Kingsley gave me and Lady Jenner a run for our money. We won, but only because we had better cards. And from what I hear, she and Hungate destroyed the two they played against.”

  Gavin couldn’t squelch a burst of pride at Christabel’s success. He’d known the woman could do it if she really put her mind to it.

  “How did you meet Lady Haversham, anyway?” Colonel Bradley asked.

  “I knew her husband,” Gavin said evasively.

  “That fool couldn’t win at whist if his life depended upon it,” Talbot said. “He should’ve made his wife partner him. Then he’d never have been in debt.”

  “Is that how the pretty widow landed in your bed?” Markham asked with a smirk. “Are you allowing her to pay off Haversham’s debts with other services?”

  Hearing that accusation for the second time tonight annoyed him. “Have you ever known me to need such tactics to get a woman into bed, Markham?”

  “No, but you have to admit she’s not your type.” Markham glanced across the room. “Then again, a woman with diddies like that is any man’s type.”

  An ungoverning anger seized Gavin at the idea of Markham even looking at Christabel’s “diddies,” and he could barely suppress a hot retort.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He and Markham and Talbot had compared mistresses like this before—their “diddies,” their mouths, their arses. But the idea of these idiots sullying Christabel with their coarse comments made him want to snarl at them to shut up.

  It was merely pent-up lust—perfectly understandable. He should have bedded the woman the first chance he’d had. Letting her put him off was turning him into a blithering idiot.

  “I’ll tell you how he got her into his bed,” Talbot put in. “He told her that he’d gain her a chance to win Stokely’s pot. That would tempt any widow.”

  Bradley snorted. “If she fell for that, she’s a fool. Any of us can tell her it isn’t that easy to win Stokely’s pot, even with Byrne for a partner.”

  “True,” Talbot said, “but though she may not win the pot, I wager she’ll be in the final four to play.”

  Stokely had been listening from the next table, and now he leaned over. “Is that a true wager you’re offering, Talbot? Or are you spouting nonsense as usual?”

  Talbot blinked, then dropped his gaze to his cards without answering.

  “If he’s not offering it, I am.” Gavin flashed Stokely a taunting smile. “A thousand pounds says Lady Haversham will be in the final four.”

  The discussion had caught the attention of other players at the surrounding tables, and they stopped playing to see what Stokely would answer.

  Stokely cast Gavin an assessing glance. Then he turned toward another part of the room, and called out, “Lady Haversham!”

  She looked up, startled.

  “Byrne here is wagering a thousand pounds that you’ll be among the final four players. What do you think—should I take the wager?”

  She recovered swiftly from her shock, pasting on an expression so unreadable it did him proud. “I can’t tell you what to do, Lord Stokely,” she called back. “Only you know if you can afford to lose a thousand pounds to Byrne.”

  That brought laughter from everyone, since Stokely could afford to lose several thousand pounds.

  “So you think Byrne will win, do you?” Stokely asked.

  Christabel’s gaze locked with Gavin’s across the room. “Byrne always wins.”

  Gavin’s blood ran hot. He certainly meant to win this time. And not just the wager, either. “Well, Stokely? Will you take it or no?”

  Stokely was quiet a moment, then said, “Why not? Contrary to what Lady Haversham thinks, you don’t always win.”

  “True.” Gavin tore his gaze from Christabel’s to find Stokely regarding him with a speculative glance. “Only when it’s important.”

  The gong suddenly sounded, jarring everyone, reminding them that this was their last game. Stokely always had a servant bang a gong at 3 A.M., after which no more new rubbers were to be started. It was the only way to ensure that everyone played roughly the same number each night; otherwise, some would play around the clock.

  Gavin returned his attention to his cards. They were only halfway through this hand, and probably a game or two from completing the rubber. Bloody hell. Another hour before he could join Christabel in bed.

  As he and Bradley won the hand, Gavin glanced up to see Christabel rise from her table. She was finished already?

  She conversed a moment with her fellow players, then came to his table, where Talbot was shuffling the cards.

  “How did you do, my sweet?” Gavin asked her.

  She shrugged. “I won more than I lost.”

  “Good. That bodes well for my wager with Stokely.”

  She watched a moment, then said, “I’m all done in, so I think I’ll retire.”

  “You could stay and give me luck,” he teased.

  She snorted. “As if you need luck. No, I believe I’ll go on. But do stay as long as you must.” She gave an exaggerated yawn and left.

  Only then did it dawn on him why she’d been so eager to leave without him. She meant to snoop about Stokely’s house alone while their host was occupied at the card tables.

  Damn the woman. Didn’t she have the sense she was born with? Searching the place while everyone was still awake wasn’t only foolish, but downright dangerous if Stokely caught her.

  He couldn’t leave in the middle of a rubber without rousing suspicions, but that didn’t keep him from worrying. After Talbot dealt the cards, Gavin had to force himself to pay attention.

  They were halfway through the hand when the table next to them broke up. Stokely’s table.

  Gavin tamped down his concern. No reason to think Stokely would deviate from his usual practice of staying in the card room until the last guest had retired.

  Two of the players at Stokely’s table went off to bed right away. Anna came to stand by Gavin. When he ignored her, she said good night and left. After Stokely circled the room playing the attentive host, he returned to Gavin’s table and announced his own decision to retire for the night.

  “Perhaps I’ll see if Lady Haversham wants some company,” he said.

  The other players tensed, recognizing the blatant challenge to Gavin. Gavin didn’t care about Stokely’s strutting—he cared about Christabel not getting caught. “Go ahead.” Hiding his alarm, he played a card. “But I warn you—once the chit is asleep, she sleeps like the dead. She won’t hear your knock.”

  “We’ll see.” Stokely sa
luted the others. “Good night, gentlemen.”

  As he sauntered off, a surge of rage seized Gavin. While he had to sit here and play the rubber out to avoid rousing suspicion, that arse meant to try seducing Christabel.

  He scowled. That wasn’t the point—it was the possibility that she could be caught that should concern him. Because if she were, their attempts to regain her letters would come to an abrupt end. Making sure that didn’t happen had to be his first concern.

  Not Stokely’s interest in the woman. Not the fact that the handsome baron might try to put his hands—

  Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? When had he begun putting a woman ahead of whatever scheme he was engaged in?

  Well, no more. He would finish the rubber and win. Then he would find Christabel and explain in a calm, rational manner that she could not just go searching about the place willy-nilly.

  And if Stokely should happen to get in the way of his fist in the process, so be it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  There’s nothing more satisfying than

  having two men fight over you.

  —Anonymous, Memoirs of a Mistress

  Christabel wished she could lock the door while she searched Lord Stokely’s study, but that would rouse suspicion if he happened to come along.

  She had to be careful, as careful as the baron himself had apparently been. Twenty minutes of searching had so far yielded her nothing. The man’s desk drawers weren’t even locked, which of course meant there’d been nothing of importance in them.

  She turned to examining the few bookshelves, hoping one of them might conceal a secret safe. But even as she made her slow way along every shelf, despair gripped her. She hadn’t realized how large his estate would be, how many places a man could hide something as small as a packet of letters. It could be anywhere. How on earth was she to find it in only a week?

  Suddenly, she heard footsteps in the hall. She froze, then grabbed a book off the shelf and pretended to be reading it. Just in time, too, for the door opened, and a male voice said, “Ah, there you are. I thought you’d gone to bed. Then I saw the light from under the door and decided to check.”

  Lord Stokely. Heart thundering, she pasted a bored smile to her lips and faced him. “I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t sleep, so I came looking for a book.”

  He stepped inside the room, and to her consternation, closed the door. “I’m glad you did. Now we have a chance to get to know each other better.”

  A chill ran down her spine. “Oh, I think I already know you very well, Lord Stokely,” she said lightly. “You’re the sort of man it’s dangerous for a woman to be alone with.” Tucking the book under her arm, she headed toward the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

  With a toothy smile, he blocked her way. “Come now, my dear, no need to be coy. We both know why you’re really here.”

  Fear churned in her belly. “Oh?”

  Stepping nearer, he took the book from her and tossed it onto his desk. “You’re looking for entertainment of a different kind. And since Byrne is too preoccupied with his cards to provide it…” He caressed her cheek with his forefinger in a move worthy of any fine seducer. “You came to find me. Poor Byrne should know that you’re not the sort of woman to be kept waiting.”

  Her eyes narrowed. If Lord Stokely really was as attracted to her as he seemed, some mild flirting might gain her more information than hours of searching.

  “Am I to judge from your silence that my assessment is correct?” Lord Stokely asked, eyes gleaming.

  She forced a teasing smile to her lips. “I came here with Byrne. What makes you think I’d transfer my affections to you?”

  “Perhaps because you like variety?” He bent his head to nibble her ear. Strangely, the motion left her cold. “Or perhaps because Lady Kingsley has arrived. She was still in the card room keeping Byrne company when I left.”

  Christabel fought to contain her jealousy. Even if the man spoke the truth, it didn’t mean that Byrne was welcoming the woman’s attentions. “As long as Byrne comes to my bed in the end, I don’t care who keeps him company in the card room.”

  “Fortunately, he doesn’t care who keeps you company in my study,” Lord Stokely murmured in her ear. “Byrne and I have shared many a woman. He won’t be bothered if you indulge yourself with me, I assure you.”

  He was probably right, blast him. But that didn’t stop her from recoiling when the man slid his arm about her waist and pulled her into an embrace.

  As he seized her mouth in a kiss, panic broke loose in her chest. It was one thing to flirt with the man to uncover his secrets, but quite another to let him seduce her. And would he even give her a choice? They were alone—if he wanted to, Lord Stokely could do as he pleased.

  She tried to break the kiss, but he grabbed her chin to hold her still while he thrust his tongue against her closed lips. Just as she lifted her hands to shove against his chest, a knock came at the door.

  “Christabel, are you in there?” Byrne called out.

  Lord Stokely drew back with a curse. “I should have locked the damned door.”

  Relief swamping her, she called out, “Yes, Byrne, I’m here.”

  Byrne strode in, then halted, his eyes narrowing as he spotted her and Lord Stokely in an embrace.

  Lord Stokely didn’t even bother to release her. “As it turns out, Byrne, the widow wasn’t sleeping after all.”

  “I see that,” Byrne said tersely. “Ready to retire, my sweet?” He offered her his arm.

  Only then did the baron release her. But as she hurried to Byrne’s side, thanking God for her narrow escape, Lord Stokely said, “Care to amend your wager, Byrne?”

  Byrne stared at the man with a steely gaze. “In what way?”

  Christabel seized Byrne’s arm as Lord Stokely ran his lustful gaze down her body. “If you win the wager, I’ll pay you a thousand pounds. If I win, however, then Lady Haversham spends the last night in my bed.”

  “I can hardly amend the wager’s terms in such a manner without the lady’s consent,” he said in a faintly bored tone.

  “Lady Haversham?” Lord Stokely turned to Christabel. “Do you agree?”

  Christabel was staring at Byrne in amazement. She meant so little to him that he would agree to her being offered as a prize?

  Her temper flared. “I’ll consider it,” she said on impulse, though she didn’t mean a word. Honestly, Byrne could be so unfeeling, it drove her mad.

  “Give me your answer tomorrow then—” Lord Stokely began.

  “No need,” Byrne broke in. “I don’t agree to the terms.”

  The murderous look in his eyes gave Christabel pause.

  “But Lady Haversham said—”

  “I don’t care what she said. My wager is for a thousand pounds, nothing else.”

  Lord Stokely’s eyes narrowed. “You’d rather pay a thousand pounds than share Lady Haversham?”

  Byrne shrugged. “I can afford it.”

  He was back to sounding bored, but his hand now held hers in a killer grip, and he was clearly on the verge of strangling Lord Stokely.

  A thrill shot through her. What had happened to Byrne’s famous lack of jealousy?

  “Well then,” Lord Stokely said snidely, “I wish you joy of her. The bitch must have a gold-plated honeypot to have you wanting to keep her to yourself.”

  Byrne snapped, “You’ll never get the chance to find out. I promise you that.” And slipping his arm about her waist, he practically dragged her from the room.

  As he hurried her away from the study, she marveled at the sudden fury that had seized him. If this wasn’t jealousy, then she didn’t know what it was.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, encouraging that arse?” he hissed at her, as they headed up the staircase. “Just because I wagered on you to end up in the final four doesn’t mean you’ll win, for God’s sake. Do you want to share Stokely’s bed?”

  That was definitely jealousy in his voice.
Her spirits lifting, she cast him an airy smile. “No, but if I happen not to make it to the eliminations, I’ll have to leave the estate, and this way I could stay until the end no matter how badly I play.”

  He glared at her. “Stay. With him. As his bed partner.”

  “It would certainly help me in my efforts to find the letters,” she said blithely. “I would have the run of the house.”

  With a curse, he dragged her into an alcove, where he pressed her against the wall. Bracketing her body between his arms, he growled, “You won’t share my bed, but you’d share his? For the sake of those bloody letters?”

  She met his gaze steadily. “Those ‘bloody letters’ are gaining you a barony. Why do you care what methods I use as long as you get what you want?”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “There are better ways.”

  “Oh?” She pressed the issue, determined to make him admit his true feelings. “It would be simpler if I seduced Lord Stokely into—”

  “No,” he said flatly.

  She bit back a smile. “I could just—”

  “No.” He leaned in close, eyes glittering. “I won’t let you whore for the letters.”

  “Why not? You’ve always claimed you don’t mind if your mistresses are unfaithful, and it’s not as if you care for me. If I were to play up to Lord Stokely—”

  “No,” he said stubbornly. “No.” He bent his head to hers. “Never.”

  Then his mouth was on hers, and he was kissing her possessively, as he’d never kissed her before. He’d never made her feel as if the world would end if he couldn’t kiss her.

  She threw her arms about his neck and gave herself up to it. It had been over a week since he’d kissed her, over a week since she’d promised herself not to let him do this to her.

  How many times had she caught him looking at her with that barely banked fire in his eyes and felt her heart flip over in her chest? How many nights had she lain awake aching for just this taste of his mouth on hers?