Page 11 of One Night with a Prince
“Nosy?” As soon as the tactless word left her mouth, she groaned. Lady Iversley merely laughed. “Yes, nosy. But we’re only concerned. Don’t misunderstand us—Byrne is a dear friend to both our families, and we adore him for that, but he isn’t the marrying sort.”
Lady Draker nodded. “Believe me, we’ve tried and tried to marry him off.”
“He pokes fun at the very idea of marriage,” Lady Iversley said with a sigh. “Though that doesn’t stopGenerated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlwomen from falling in love with him, even when he states outright that he has no interest in a respectable connection.”
Christabel withdrew her hand from Lady Iversley’s. “Thank you for your concern, but I assure you I’m no more interested in marriage than Mr. Byrne. And I’m perfectly capable of handling myself around him. Unlike some women, I’m not the least bit impressed by rumors that he has a royal connection—”
“Impressed?” Lady Iversley shook her head. “Trust me, he succeeds with women despite, not because of, his ‘royal connection.’ His Highness’s public refusal to acknowledge Byrne as his son and those nasty rumors he spread about Byrne’s poor mother practically ensured that the man would never gain any advantage fromthat. ”
“Now, Katherine—” Lady Draker began.
“It’s true, Regina, and you know it,” Lady Iversley said. “The prince may be a friend of your family’s, but he treated Byrne and his mother very wrongly. No boy should be forced into the streets to help support himself at the age of eight.”
“At eight!” Christabel said, horrified at the very idea. If His Highness had treated him so ill, why was he willing to help her? She had to know more. “What sort of job could he have found at eight?”
“Running errands for the blacklegs. That’s how he got his start in gambling. He was ten when he started helping with the E-O tables at the races.”
Christabel knew about blacklegs and Even-Odd tables from Philip. The blacklegs were swindlers in the gaming world. As for E-O, authorities had been trying to stamp out the low form of roulette for years, but it persisted at the races, where E-O table runners descended to offer gambling to anyone who would play. The game was foolish at best and shady at worst, run by scoundrels who often got into fights with customers suspecting them of crookedness.
“Dear Lord, that’s young to be working an E-O table.” Christabel’s heart ached at the thought of any ten-year-old boy forced into such an environment. “Did he run his own?”
A voice came from the open doorway. “Not until I was twelve.” Mr. Byrne strolled into the room, casting Lady Iversley and Lady Draker a dark glance. “But that was after the fire.”
Christabel sucked in a breath. She’d heard that his mother died in a fire, but hadn’t realized he’d been only a boy when it happened.
“Eavesdropping, Byrne?” Lady Draker asked.
A hint of defiance touched his brow. “Always. Actually, I’ve come to tell you I must dash off. An emergency has arisen at the Blue Swan.” Lady Draker began to rise, but he shook his head. “No need to get up. I can show myself out.” He turned to Christabel. “I’ll come for you tomorrow at 2:00P.M .”
“So late?”
“I run a gaming club, remember? Two o’clock is first thing in the morning for me.” He bent to clasp her bare hand, then pressed a lingering kiss to it that made her skin feel all shivery. Eyes gleaming, he murmured, “Until tomorrow, my sweet Christabel.”
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlBlast him. She’d been feeling sorry for him until he’d exposed her lie about their being involved only in a business transaction. Mindful of her companions, she forced a cordial smile. “I shall see you then, Mr. Byrne.”
Though he lifted an eyebrow at her formality, he released her hand to stroll toward the door. But he paused on the threshold to flash the other two ladies an arch glance. “Try not to elaborate on my wicked exploits for Lady Haversham. I hate repairing holes in my cabriolet.” With a wink at Christabel, he left. As soon as they heard his footsteps descending the stairs, Lady Draker muttered an unladylike oath.
“That man is up to no good. We wouldn’t blame you if you shot at him again,” she told Christabel.
“I can’t,” Christabel said woefully as she held up her reticule. “I forgot the balls for my pistol at home.”
Lady Draker stared at her blankly. “You brought a pistol with you?”
“Of course. London is by no means safe.”
Lady Draker burst into laughter. “Oh, heavens, you’re perfect for him.”
“Perfect,” Lady Iversley agreed. “Blunt, practical, and as suspicious as he.”
“He doesn’t stand a chance,” Lady Draker told her friend. “She’ll never let him get away with a thing.”
“Never.” Lady Iversley leaned toward Lady Draker confidentially. “I’ve always said he needs someone who would keep him in line.”
“Exactly. Someone with intelligence, who can match him step for step.”
“He chooses frivolous women on purpose, you know,” Lady Iversley pointed out. “It makes it easier for him to discard them—”
“For pity’s sake,” Christabel cut in, “what on earth are you talking about?” Both ladies blinked at her as if the writing table had just up and spoken to them. “My association with Mr. Byrne isn’t what you seem to think—”
