Page 35 of One Night with a Prince
She eyed him askance. “Really, Byrne, I’m not a fool.”
“No, but you claim to find me unappealing. Are you saying you’ve changed your mind? That you consider one of us being naked too great a temptation for your virtue?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” But the idea of Byrne sitting naked in her parlor lodged in her brain. If she happened to win—which was unlikely—she would get her revenge upon him for his high-handed behavior earlier, when he’d made her strip down to her corset and chemise in front of him.
“You already have the advantage,” he said. “You females wear more clothes than we males. And if you lose, you need only sneak upstairs. While I’ll have to drive home in my open cabriolet, wearing nothing but my overcoat and hat.”
The ludicrous image swayed her further. “That does sound appealing.”
“I’ll make it even easier for you.” His continued card shuffling sounded as loud as carriage wheels on cobblestone. “I’ll give you four items of clothing before we start. You’ll begin the game with a substantial lead. You’ll have all my clothes in no time.If you play well enough.”
“You’ll cheat,” she persisted.
“I don’t cheat.” He lifted one maddening brow. “I wouldn’t have to cheat to win anyway, not when you’re playing without a care for strategy.”
Blast him. He knew it stuck in her craw that she couldn’t best him. But could she really do any better if she concentrated? “What if I refuse your stakes?”
“That’s your choice, of course.” He leaned forward to set the shuffled deck before her. “But consider this—the more clothes you take off, the more distracted I’ll become. You might actually win.” His smooth smile taunted her. “And you know you want to win.”
She weighed her options. She didn’t want to stop the lessons until she’d proved she wasn’t a complete ninny at whist. But to encourage his wicked games was sheer madness. Look how disastrous Philip’s gambling with Byrne’s fast set had proved to be.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlStill, wouldn’t that make besting him even more satisfying? To march out of the parlor with his clothes in her hand? To watch him drive home through the streets of London wearing only his overcoat and hat? What a delicious thought.
“Cut the cards, Christabel,” he said in a low murmur.
He thought he would win. Ha! She would show him.
She cut the cards and handed them back. “You said you’d give me four items of clothing to start. So take them off.”
“Certainly.” He stood and rounded the table. Reaching inside his coat, he withdrew her pistol. “I believe this is yours, madam.”
She seized on it eagerly. “Now I have something else to remove if I lose.”
“No weapons, remember?”
“Oh, right.” She set the pistol on a nearby chair.
Removing his watch, he handed it to her, followed by his coat and waistcoat. She draped the items over her pistol. But when he unbuttoned his shirt, alarm swelled in her chest. “Aren’t you going to take off your cravat first?”
“I can remove my clothes in any order I please. Those are the rules.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t thought about what effecthis nakedness might have onher . She tried not to stare as he worked the collar of his shirt out from beneath his tight cravat. “Are there other…rules to this ridiculous game that I should know about before we start?”
“Any item of clothing or adornment counts—my watch, for example, or your earbobs.” He smiled. “If you were wearing any.”
Blast it all. Next time she was with him, she would definitely wear jewelry. He unfastened his cuffs. “We’ll score the thirteen tricks that count by using regular whist rules—whoever wins the hand gains one point for each trick won beyond six.” Dragging his shirt free of his trousers, he raked her with a devilish gaze. “And for every point, the winner gets a piece of the loser’s attire.”
Abruptly, he pulled his shirt off over his head. She tried not to gape, but that was impossible. Even with his cravat covering part of him, she could still see ample proof of his sculpted chest and finely hewn arms. The silky dusting of reddish brown hair surrounding his flat nipples appeared also around his navel, then trailed down in a thin line to disappear beneath his trousers. His markedly bulging trousers.
Blushing, she jerked her gaze back to his face, only to find him grinning. “If you want to see more, all you have to do is win my trousers and drawers.”
“I-I…was not—” she stammered. “I-I did not mean—”
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“Of course not,” he said smugly, dropping his shirt into her lap. “There’s your fourth item. Good luck gaining the rest.”
Snatching up his shirt in a fit of temper, she started to toss it over with the other items. Then she caught a whiff of his scent—a tonic mingled with sweet oil and pure male musk. How long had it been since she’d smelled the distinctive scent of a man? It seemed like forever. A groan escaped her lips. It was all she could do not to lift the linen to her nose and inhale. And wouldn’t he delight in that, the arrogant wretch? Setting the shirt firmly aside, she snapped, “Deal the cards, sir.”
