Page 47 of One Night with a Prince
His butler came outside. “Sir, do you need assistance?”
“No, I can manage.” Gavin gingerly took the few steps to the stone entrance staircase, then shook the stones from beneath his toes.
His butler said naught about Gavin’s bootless, stockingless state; he knew better. But as Gavin climbed the steps, the servant hurried down to meet him instead of waiting at the top as usual. “I thought you’d want to know, sir—you’ve received a message from Bath. The messenger is waiting inside for your reply. I had just sent a footboy to the club for you when you drove up.”
Bath. He tensed. “Thank you, Jenkins.”
He took the remaining steps two at a time. A summons from Bath was never good. The messenger from Bath met him at the top and wordlessly handed him a sealed missive. Gavin groaned. Sealed missives were never good either.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlHe tore it open, then scanned the message swiftly. Though the tension left him, it didn’t change what he must do. “Jenkins, as soon as that footboy returns, send him to the livery to have them ready my coach. I mean to leave in an hour. And bring me some paper and a pen. I have to write a note or two before I leave.”
Jenkins nodded. “I’ll take care of it at once, sir.”
Gavin’s jaunt to the theater with Christabel tomorrow night would have to wait. But he’d make it up to her. He’d find some bauble in Bath before he returned.
It shouldn’t be too long. The message said the situation wasn’t as dire as it could be. He’d go tonight, spend the day consulting with the doctor to make sure everything was indeed all right, stay there tomorrow night, and come back the day after next.
He’d only lose a day or two of preparing Christabel for Stokely’s party. That shouldn’t affect matters. It might even work to his advantage to have her stew a bit. She might be more eager to reveal the truth about her property if she thought he was losing interest in helping her. His eyes narrowed. Come to think of it, Rosevine wasn’t far off the road between London and Bath. Perhaps he should stop near there on the way back. A few guineas to the right gossipy villager might afford him a bit more information about her and her family. At the very least, he could learn something about the steward who’d broken into her strongbox. Plenty of lords kept on the previous title-holder’s more experienced servants, so the steward might even still live at Rosevine. It was time to start pursuing this from other angles, just to hedge his bets. Because whether Christabel knew it or not, he meant to discover the truth. One way or another.
Chapter Ten
If you require faithfulness, buy a cocker
spaniel. No mistress ever gains it from
her lover.
—Anonymous,Memoirs of a Mistress
Christabel awakened alone after a tempestuous night of erotic dreams. Byrne—curse his soul—figured prominently in every one, him and his searing kisses and stealthy caresses. How would she make it through the next few weeks? Or, for that matter, a week at Lord Stokely’s, where everyone would expect them to behave as if they were intimate? Byrne would certainly take advantage ofthat situation—kissing and touching her at will, rousing her passions at every opportunity. Turning onto her side, she crumpled her pillow into a ball that she cradled against her breasts…her too-sensitive breasts that ached—
Lord help her! What was she doing? What secret potion had the man given her to make her so aware of her body? She never wanted to touch herself wickedly before, yet last night she’d actually stuck her hand under the covers to stroke herselfdown there .
Worse yet, she’d liked it. Weren’t respectable women supposed to dislike such things? She’d alwaysGenerated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlknown she wasn’t like other women, but she’d never guessed she was secretly a wanton. Not until Byrne came along.
With a sigh, she pressed her flaming cheek to the pillow. Perhaps she should simply let matters go where they would. The important thing was getting the letters, and wouldn’t it be easier if she didn’t have to fend him off constantly?
She groaned. Oh, Lord, it was already happening. She was already letting him persuade her into lowering her guard. Next she’d be confiding in him about Papa and His Highness and that fateful day twenty-two years ago…
A shudder wracked her. She mustn’t let that Prince of Sin sway her with kisses and caresses, no matter how enticing. It was too dangerous. She would lay down some firm rules. No physical contact except when absolutely necessary. Their whist lessons would take place with the doors of the parlor open. He couldn’t continue his seductions even if—
A tap at the door prefaced the arrival of Rosa with a breakfast tray. “Good morning!” the maid said cheerily as she set the tray down and went to open the curtains. “I do hope the extra sleep did you good.”
Christabel shot up in bed. “Extra sleep—what time is it?”
“Nearly noon.”
“Oh, blast,” she muttered as she threw the covers aside. “He’ll be here any minute, him and the dressmaker! I have to get ready.”
She dared not let him guess what a restless night she’d spent. A rogue like him would know exactly why she’d overslept. And what—who—had consumed her dreams.
“If you are speaking of your Mr. Byrne,” Rosa said, “a message came for you from him early this morning.”
Christabel glanced at the tray, where a sealed note was indeed propped up between the coffee she couldn’t live without and the plate containing the buttered scones that she ought to live without, but never did.
Why had he written a note? He’d be here himself in a few moments. The note got right to the point:
My dearest Christabel,
