Page 20 of One Night with a Prince
She was saved by the door opening, and the dressmaker saying cheerfully, “I think we’ve found two gowns that will—Oh, dear. I-I’m sorry, I’ll come back.”
“No, stay,” Christabel called out, grateful that Byrne’s back was to the door. Releasing his privates, she started to withdraw her hand, but he gripped it before she could. When her gaze flew to his, he hissed, “Next time you touch my cock, it had better be under much more enjoyable circumstances. Understood?” Only then did he let go. As he turned to face the dressmaker and Rosa, cool as you please, it was all Christabel could do not to throw something at him. He was in for a surprise if he thought that she’d ever touch his cock inthat way. He’d just reminded her of the dangerous devil who lay beneath the smooth, charming façade, and there was no way she was ever sharing a bed withthat man.
Chapter Four
I learned early on to guard my secrets. A
man will keep them faithfully as long as
he’s sharing your bed, but once he discards
you, all his loyalty is lost.
—Anonymous,Memoirs of a Mistress
The warmongering female had actually threatened to unman him! Shaking his head, Gavin settled back in a chair to watch as Mrs. Watts marked one of Christabel’s black monstrosities for alteration. Christabel pretended to ignore him. The bloody chit was a real piece of work. One minute she responded to his kiss with all the fervor of a dockside tart, and the next she loosed that fiery temper of hers.
He’d infuriated many a mistress, but none had ever dared to grab him by the ballocks and vow to maim him. Even the boldest ones knew better than to tempt fate with him. But not Colonel Christabel, oh, no. She made a habit of tempting fate. And every time she did, it only stoked his desire higher. If she continued it, he’d soon be walking around with a bloody Maypole in his trousers.
Careful, Gavin. You’ve got bigger matters at stake than some female, no matter how pretty.
“Tighten the bodice, too, would you, Mrs. Watts?” he called out, venting his annoyance at himself by annoying Christabel. “Make it nice and snug.”
“I’ll try, sir, but it will take time. The trim makes it impossible to simply double the fabric. It would make the seams too thick.”
“Like Mr. Byrne’s skull,” Christabel grumbled.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlGavin waited until she looked at him for his response, then said, “It’s not my skull that’s thick right now, lass.”
With her cheeks flaming, she jerked her gaze from his. Good. Lether be uncomfortable for a change. This arousal was bloody inconvenient. He ought to be trying to unearth her secrets, instead of dwelling on the sheer pleasure of kissing her.
But the woman had quite a talent for kissing, whether she knew it or not. There’d been none of those coy female tricks he was used to from his mistresses—no false air of innocence or fake shyness or pretense of propriety, all meant to stimulate his jaded palate, though they usually served only to irritate him. Even if people weren’t honest anywhere else, they should at least be honest in bed. Like Christabel’s kisses. In their honesty, they’d been more erotic than those of any sophisticated courtesan. Her mouth had tasted of currants and cinnamon, like a Christmas pudding, sweet and warm and generous. It was nothing like the perfumed mouths of the practiced society women, who only gave enough to get what they wanted—a pleasant romp with a man who wouldn’t interfere in their marriages or expect anything of them other than enjoyment.
Christabel didn’t want a pleasant romp from him. Nor was she willing to buy what she wanted with kisses. And the fact that she’d still responded to his kiss with such generosity of feeling intoxicated him. Made him want more. A great deal more. And soon.
He couldn’t wait to take down her “unfashionable” hair, wrap it about his hand, and feel it tumbling over his chest, his belly, his cock.
“Mr. Byrne!” said a sharp voice.
He snapped to attention. Damn, there he went again. He looked up to find that Mrs. Watts had started unbuttoning the marked-up gown to remove it.
And Christabel was glowering at him. “If you don’t mind—”
“I don’t.” There was no way he’d let the chit throw him out now. The more unsettled he kept her, the more likely she was to let something important slip. “I’ve already seen you in your corset, my sweet.”
She stayed Mrs. Watts’s hand. “But I still prefer to have privacy.”
“And I still prefer to watch.” He motioned to Mrs. Watts to continue, then added, “Besides, your chemise and that long corset are so prim and proper, you might as well be wearing armor.”
She looked skeptical, as well she should. Armor it might be, but it highlighted her figure so temptingly that Gavin’s blood pounded in his temples as Mrs. Watts slipped the gown off her. It still astonished him to find such a lush form hidden under the voluminous fabric of her widow’s weeds. He liked women with some flesh to them, and she was built as if made for him, with plump breasts, full hips, and a rounded belly reminiscent of that painting of Venus rising from the sea. Christabel might be short, but she wasn’t short on curves. He itched to touch them, to taste every inch of that sweetly abundant flesh.
A pity she had to don her damned ugly gown again. She seemed to think so, too, for after she wasGenerated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmldressed, and he was speaking to Mrs. Watts about a few final matters, he noticed the widow running her hand slowly over the rose satin that was to be made into an evening gown for her. He bent close to Mrs. Watts and lowered his voice. “The rose gown—what would it cost to have it finished in time for her to wear tomorrow evening?”
The dressmaker followed his gaze, then named some exorbitant sum.
“Done.” This had nothing to do with any sudden urge to please Christabel, he told himself. It was merely another tactic for keeping her off guard.
“And your lady will need the matching pelisse and—”
