Page 28 of One Night with a Prince
Lord help her. She was in deep, deep trouble.
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Chapter Six
Beware those women who regard all other
women as rivals, for they delight in
spreading misery wherever they go.
—Anonymous,Memoirs of a Mistress
Much as Gavin hated having Christabel leave his lap, it was time to test her abilities. He suspected the wench had lied to him about her facility for whist. He’d done his best to refresh her on the rules with his explanations about strategy, but if she were truly inexperienced, she could botch it anyway. That would either hurt their cause…or help it. Although Stokely would be angry that he’d lost his longtime partner to a poor replacement, it might be like spilling blood in the water to draw the shark. Stokely might invite Christabel if only to show Gavin what a mistake he’d made in choosing her. It was a calculated risk, but one Gavin was prepared to take. Because he now realized that she had to be his partner as well as his mistress for his plan to work. Once she was at Stokely’s, Gavin needed her in plain sight at all times. Otherwise, during one of his heated games with the others, she might retrieve her
“property” and be off before Gavin could get his hands on it. But first he had to make sure Stokely invited her. And that meant she must keep her wits about her and stay in her role as wild-living marchioness. It would be hard enough to tempt Stokely into inviting a stranger—if he caught even a whiff of Christabel’s lofty morals, they were done for. So Christabel had to convince the man’s friends that she could be as debauched as they were. At least playing cards would take her mind off the wickedness around her. And after tonight, he wouldn’t bring her around Stokely’s set again until he’d thoroughly prepared her to look them in the face without blinking.
“Well, Byrne?” Eleanor asked. “Are you going to play or not?”
He stared down at his cards and heartily wished he’d started out with better luck. All his trumps were low, and he held only one court-card. Christabel would have to carry the hand. If she could. To his surprise, she acquitted herself very well even though her cards were nearly as bad as his. They lost the hand, but it was a respectable performance.
He smiled encouragingly at her as he took up the deck to deal. “Let’s hope for better cards this time, my sweet, to show off your competent playing.”
When she beamed at him, he realized he’d never had a mistress whose smile was genuinely warm. Calculated, yes. Flirtatious, certainly. But when Christabel smiled, really smiled, her whole heart showed in her face. It had the perverse effect of dampening his ardor. If he used her family’s property for his own purposes, he’d almost certainly demolish her joy, and that thought was oddly lowering. He took up his cards with a frown. He was being ridiculous. This situation was no different than any other. He was going after what he wanted as he always had, heedless of the effect upon other people. So no mere smile would deter him.
He forced his attention back to the game. His cards were just as bad that hand. If he hadn’t dealt themGenerated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlhimself, he might have guessed foul play was involved. But he’d played enough through the years to know that luck came in streaks. A clever man could win despite luck’s vagaries.
“Some brandy, Byrne?” Markham poured himself a glass.
“Not at the moment,” Gavin retorted. And never when he was at the tables. Christabel made a bad play, and Talbot snorted. The man stood behind her, drinking a glass of wine as he stared down at her cards. His mistress, bored by a game in which her lover wasn’t involved, wandered over to the window to look out at night falling over the city. But Talbot paid his mistress no attention. He was too absorbed in trying to look down the front of Christabel’s gown. “It’s too bad we’re not playing Whist for the Wicked. We’d have Lady Haversham in her chemise in no time.”
Stiffening, Gavin frowned at his former mistress. “I should have known you could never keep silent about that.”
Eleanor shrugged. “I had to tell Talbot—I knew he would find it perfectly delicious, the way you and I divested that little cheating couple of their attire. They thought they were so clever, so sure to fleece us, even after we proposed such outrageous stakes. But I don’t imagine they complained too much about losing the clothes on their backs after a night in our respective beds.”
Gavin shot Christabel a warning glance, but there was no need. She kept her face carefully blank, though he fancied he could see revulsion in her tightened lips.
“What is Whist for the Wicked?” Markham asked.
Talbot chuckled. “A game Eleanor and Byrne invented.”
“Aprivate game we invented,” Gavin said tersely.
“Since when do you keep anything private, Byrne?” Eleanor said. “Or has the good Widow Haversham reformed you?”
To his surprise, Christabel said, “Why would I do that? Then he wouldn’t be any fun anymore.”
Gavin bit back a smile. Perhaps the woman could manage this after all.
“Pray continue, Mr. Talbot,” his wily pretend mistress went on. “Explain the rules for your wicked whist game.”
“Gladly, madam.” Talbot’s eyes gleamed as he gazed down Christabel’s bodice. “The stakes are any item of clothing or adornment on one’s person—coat, gown, jewelry, watches, etc. A man’s purse and a woman’s reticule are excluded, as are other nonattire items, such as weapons. For every point the opposing team gains, the members of the losing team each have to give over an article of attire.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Lady Hungate put in. “The stakes are deplorably uneven. A watch can hardly equal a stocking.”
“That isn’t the point,” Talbot retorted irritably. “The point is to strip both members of one team down toGenerated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlnothing. The game ends when one side is naked.”
Though Christabel swallowed convulsively, she kept her gaze fixed on her cards. “And do you and your friends play this game…often?”
