Page 24 of One Night with a Prince
“Some people would.”
Her lips tightened into a fierce little line. “Then they don’t properly appreciate the sacrifices our soldiers make to keep them safe.”
He eyed her consideringly. “So you reallydo find your servants on the battlefield.”
“A few. Five, I think. No, six. I always forget about Cook, since he was a chef long before he served in the navy.”
“Quite the military household you have there. I suppose I should be happy you were theonly one to shoot at me that day.”
A smile played over her lips. “I shall have to issue pistols to my staff.”
“That sounds exactly like something you’d do.” And oddly enough, it didn’t dampen his desire for her one whit. Christabel was a bracing tonic after all his coolly sophisticated mistresses. He frowned. That might prove a problem for their scheme. Would his friends believe he’d changed his preference in mistresses on a whim? Or would they—and possibly Stokely—suspect a deeper reason for the change?
Perhaps he should test the waters before they went any further. What day was it? Tuesday. Perfect. What he had in mind would have the added advantage of showing Christabel exactly what she was getting herself into.
“Change of plan,” he told her. “Give me the reins.”
She did as he said, though her face showed her disappointment. “Why? Where are we going?”
He took the next turn, heading them off toward Cheapside. “Somewhere you can learn firsthand how to be a proper mistress.”
“Now see here, we agreed—”
“Not like that. Believe me, when I get ready to seduce you, you’ll know it. Right now we’re going to a card party.”
She looked perplexed. “How will that teach me to be a proper mistress?”
“You’ll see.”
Chapter Five
As mistress to an earl, I witnessed many a
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlscandalous event, but none so outrageous
as the secret card parties.
—Anonymous,Memoirs of a Mistress
Christabel was ready to throttle Byrne. He refused to say a word about where they were going, no matter how much she plagued him.
And that comment of his—when I get ready to seduce you.Hah! Did he think she’d fall into his bed the minute he decided he was “ready”? Bonny Byrne indeed. He was more like a Prince of Sin, trying to corrupt anything in skirts.
Look at how he tooled the vehicle to ensure that she touched him as often as possible. At first she’d thought him merely a bad driver, but it soon became apparent from the way his spirited horses followed his every command that his motions were intentional. If she slid away on the seat, he took a corner fast to throw her back against him. And every time he did it, she marveled at the taut muscles in the thighs plastered to hers, the fine control of his whipcord of an arm. By the time they drew up in an alley behind a nondescript town house in Cheapside, Christabel’s blood was thundering in her veins. Despite her determination to ignore him, he made touching him an addictive enjoyment.
Which was, of course, what he intended. To make her want him, crave him…desire him. It wasn’t going to work, no matter how much he tried. Itwasn’t .
As he helped her down, she glanced uneasily around the alley. This looked less a place for a card party than a place for secret assignations. A little iron-barred door led into a high-walled garden amazingly lush for the middle of town.
When he produced a key to unlock the door, her suspicion that the place might belong to him deepened. Until he brought her up the path of the garden and in the back way to a kitchen, where his appearance threw the servants into a tizzy.
“Monsieur Byrne! What a delightful surprise!” exclaimed a tall, spindly fellow sporting a chef’s hat and a thick French accent. “If I had known you were coming, I would have sent to ze butcher for a leg of lamb.”
Byrne laughed. “We won’t be here for dinner, Ramel. And I doubt your mistress would approve.”
With a snort, the chef lowered his voice. “La canailleupstairs with Lady Jenner do not appreciate fine lamb—for them, I only makele boeuf .” He said it as if beef were beneath his abilities. “But for you, it should be lamb withpetits oignons —”
“Monsieur Ramel!” a female voice barked from beyond the kitchen doorway. “Where’s the tea we called for over ten minutes ago?”
