Page 107 of One Night with a Prince
“You blasted cheater,” she hissed. “You’d better produce those other three letters, or I swear I’ll—”
“What? Tell all of London about them and risk your father’s neck? Not likely, my dear.” His eyes gleamed at her. “But thank you for the pot, both of you. I can always use the funds when I go to court my…ah…future royal wife.”
“I don’t understand,” Lady Kingsley put in. “What on earth is this about? What are those?”
“Nothing you need worry about,” Lord Stokely reassured her. Out of the corner of her eye, Christabel saw Gavin reach for the knife in his boot, then realize it wasn’t there. When his gaze met hers, she understood, and instantly slid her fan across the table.Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlGavin caught it, and seconds later was on his feet behind Lord Stokely, jerking the man’s head back by the hair so his other hand could press the blade to the man’s neck. “The missing letters, if you please,” he growled.
Lord Stokely’s surprise rapidly twisted into fear. “I don’t have them.”
Gavin stared down at his old “friend.” He didn’t believe for a minute that Stokely didn’t have the other letters. Especially since Christabel’s expression showed that she didn’t believe it either. “Then what happened to them?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“A pity.” Gavin pressed the blade closer. “Now I’ll have to kill you so you can’t use them.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Stokely whispered, though his hands were shaking, and sweat had broken out on his brow. “For God’s sake, Byrne, I’m a lord of the realm. Kill me, and you’ll end up on the gibbet.”
“Not when Prinny hears of it. He wouldn’t hesitate to free the man who acted to save his throne.” He lowered a blade a bit. “But you do have a point—if I kill you, I won’t get the other letters, and someone else might stumble upon them who could use them.”
“Yes,” Stokely said, breathing a little easier.
“So I’ll just have to remove pieces of you until you recover your memory.” Gavin slid the knife around until it lay directly beneath Stokely’s left ear. “Shall I start with this?”
“You wouldn’t—”
“You forget where I was raised.” Gavin could feel both ladies watching him in horror, but he dared not respond to that. Stokely had to believe he would do it. “I learned all sorts of things living in Drury Lane. Did you know that a man can survive very well without his ear? And if you’re worried it might make your head look uneven, I could always remove the other—”
“Enough,” the man said hoarsely. “The other letters are in the safe. Behind you. In the mantelpiece.”
“Where exactly?” Gavin demanded. With his free hand, he grabbed Stokely’s ear and dragged him up out of the chair by it. “Show me.” Gavin drew back the blade just enough to allow Stokely to edge toward the mantel.
The baron pressed something, and a piece of the marble swung open to reveal a safe.
“Right here in the card room,” Christabel said in disgust. “How you must have enjoyed knowing that we were looking everywhere but here, that we were playing cards a few inches from your safe.”
Stokely’s shrug ended when Gavin pressed the knife against his neck once again. “Open it.”
“I thought you knew how to open a safe,” Christabel said.
“This is how.” Gavin shot her a faint smile. “You can get any man to open a safe if his only other choice is losing his life.” He shifted the knife to beneath Stokely’s ear. “Or parts of his anatomy.”
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlStokely stiffened but complied.
The safe swung open to reveal not only the pile of pound notes that constituted the pot, but the missing letters. “I always like a man who pays his debts,” Gavin growled. Reaching inside, he ignored the money and took the letters. Then he retracted the blade, pocketed the fan, and thrust Stokely aside. “It’s been a pleasure, Stokely, but we must be on our way.”
Gavin scooped up the other packet of letters where Christabel had left them.
“What will you do with them?” Stokely asked, his voice less shaky now that he no longer had a blade at his throat.
But Gavin didn’t hear him. It had finally dawned on him what he held in his hand. Power. The power to hurt Prinny. The power to avenge his mother. If he had them published—
“Give the letters to me, Gavin,” Christabel whispered.
Her voice penetrated his consciousness, drawing his attention. He looked over to find the blood draining from her face.
She stretched her hand out to him. “Gavin, please, think what you’re doing.”
“Yes, think,” Stokely prodded with a malevolent smile. “You could ruin His Highness forever.”
