Page 53 of One Night with a Prince
Curious, she edged closer to the couch. Without warning, he grabbed her and hauled her onto his lap, clamping his arm firmly about her waist.
“Byrne!” she protested as she tried to wriggle free. “You said you had something to show me!”
“I do. After you show me how much you missed me.” He seized her mouth with his, and she melted. Even though she knew it was wrong and foolish and utterly dangerous, she melted. Shehad missed him. She’d missed this reckless way he made her feel, as if she were riding headlong into the dark night, where anything could happen and usually did.
For a moment, she let herself enjoy it. She tangled her tongue with his and reveled in the groan that erupted from his throat in response. She savored the slow, sensual caresses of his mouth and the deep thrusts that made her ache in every place he wasn’t touching and caressing. But then his hand slid inside her new gown to fondle her breast—her easily accessible breast—and his parted lips trailed down her throat, and the hunger began to gnaw at her—“No, Byrne.” She pulled his hand out of her gown. “I didn’t come here for that.”
A growl sounded low in his throat, and for a second she feared he would ignore her protest. But then his hand went slack, his fingers curling around hers. He lifted his head to stare at her with that smolderingGenerated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmllook that always heated her in the wrong places. “Didn’t you?”
All right, perhaps deep inside shehad come for this. But she couldn’t allow herself to partake of it, not if she wanted to keep her wits about her. “No.” She wriggled off his lap. She should tell him about the invitation, but first she wanted to glean what information she could about how he worked and what he was up to. “I came to see your club, of course.”
With a sigh, he settled back against the couch. “And snoop through my desk no doubt. Find anything interesting?”
She trailed over to it, trying to act nonchalant. “Just a lot of clippings that make no sense.” She picked up the top set. “Like these—you’ve marked the date of a ship’s docking, then the price of nutmeg, then a society column’s mention of a Miss Treacle’s debut.” She eyed him askance. “Are you choosing your mistresses from the paper now? Really, Byrne, isn’t she a little young for you?”
He chuckled. “Miss Treacle is the daughter of Joseph Treacle, a merchant whose income was moderate until recently. The ship belongs to him, and its cargo was nutmeg, which is presently worth a great deal due to a shortage. We’re nearing autumn, when nutmeg will be in demand, so his cargo will fetch a high price.”
He rose and strolled to the desk. “His daughter came out four months ago, but gained no offers. Now he has the wealth to draw suitors, but no way to indicate that to the world without showing himself to be a vulgar cit, which would hurt her chances.” He smiled. “So I invited him to join my club. He will accept, because my members are either eligible gentlemen, or friends and family to eligible gentlemen. Some of whom desperately need a wife with a substantial dowry.”
Dear Lord, what deviousness. “So Mr. Treacle will join your club and gamble away that new fortune of his, much of which will land inyour pocket.”
He shrugged. “Only if he’s a fool, in which case he deserves to lose it all. But if he’s clever, he’ll pay his membership fee, play a friendly game of hazard here from time to time, eat my food, drink my liquor, and find a husband for the sad Miss Treacle.” His eyes gleamed. “It’s to my advantage for him to be a fool, but it’s really up to him, isn’t it?”
She stared at him, torn between laughter and sheer exasperation. “You must be the most wicked man in creation.”
Leaning against the desk, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Unless a man is born to privilege, he has to be wicked to succeed.”
“But at what cost to his soul?”
He looked amused. “Haven’t you heard, my sweet? People not born to privilege don’t have souls. They’re conscienceless and immoral, little better than animals. Or so our good government would have us believe.”
“You don’t believe that, and neither do I. Everyone has a soul.”
His amusement faded. “If they do, they’re headed for disaster. Because a clever man dispenses with his soul as early in life as he can possibly manage.”
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“And you’re nothing if not clever.” A weight of sadness settled on her chest. Was that how he’d handled his mother’s death and his difficult situation? If so, no wonder he hated the prince. What man could live happily without a soul?
Pushing away from the desk, he took the set of clippings from her and tossed it onto his pile. “Anything else you want to know about my evil endeavors?”
“Actually, yes. Why didn’t you tell me about the estate you own in Bath?”
He grew instantly wary. “What makes you think I do?”
“Lydia told me.”
Cursing, he left the desk to pace the room. “Never trust a card cheat with a secret.”
“Don’t blameher —she thought I already knew. And once she realized I didn’t, she made me promise not to tell anyone else.” Enjoying his discomfiture, she followed him. “But she did reveal a number of other interesting things. It appears from your treatment of her that occasionally you do indeed have a soul.”
“Nonsense,” he said gruffly, raking his fingers through his already disheveled hair. “I merely prefer to retire card cheats from their profession whenever possible. They make everything harder for those of us who profit from legitimate gambling.”
“Yet you did nothing to help Lydia’s friend Jim ‘retire,’ did you?”
“He was beyond help. Eventually some hotheaded gentleman will take care of him by putting a bullet through his idiot skull in a gaming hell.”
“Probably,” she agreed. “But this is getting off the subject. You still haven’t answered my question—why didn’t you tell me about your estate?”
