Page 55 of One Night with a Prince
“Your husband’s old steward is an amazingly chatty fellow once he’s had a few brandies in him. He was more than eager to boast of his great connection to the Marquesses of Haversham, especially the one who gave him a gold ring in exchange for help retrieving some letters from his wife’s strongbox.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Lord help her, how much did he know? Everything? No, if he did, he wouldn’t be asking her. “I can’t tell you what’s in the letters,” she whispered.
“Because you don’t trust me,” he hissed.
“You’re the man without a soul, remember? I’d be mad to trust you.”
A grudging smile touched his lips. “True. But you still need me.” He bent to press his mouth to her ear.
“And there can be advantages to having a man without a soul on your side, my sweet. When it comes to deviousness, you don’t begin to compare to me. If I knew what was in the letters, what Stokely means to do with them, and why you and Prinny want to prevent it, I could help you thwart him some other way than just by trying to steal them back.”
She wrenched free of him. “I’m never going to tell you what’s in them, so stop asking. You won’t cajole or trick or seduce me into doing so, either. If you help me retrieve them, you will get your barony, but that’s all.”
When he merely stared at her with his typically smug expression, she bristled. “And if you persist in trying to bed me, then I’ll find someone else to help me learn how to play whist well. I don’t need the added distraction of having to fend off your advances whenever we’re together.”
“I’ll try to keep my hands to myself,” he said in a lazy drawl. “But you still need me to get you into Stokely’s.”
She tipped up her chin. “Not necessarily. I do have my own invitation.”
His eyes gleamed at her. “I’d like to see you try attending Stokely’s party without a protector. After a couple of days of dealing withhis friends, you’ll welcome the chance to fend offmy advances. If he even lets you stay after I tell him what you’re up to.”
She gritted her teeth. He had her over a barrel, and he knew it. “Fine. I’ll play your mistress at Lord Stokely’s. But I and I alone will look for those letters.”
“Whatever you say.”
Right. As if he would give up just like that. She’d have to keep her eye on Byrne. And make sure she got to the letters before he did.
Buttoning up his waistcoat, he walked over to the sofa. But when he picked up his coat, he paused. “I almost forgot. I brought you a gift.” He pulled a long, slender box out of his coat pocket and turned toGenerated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlhold it out to her. “You see? Idid have something to show you.”
“Why would you give me a present?” she asked warily.
“To apologize for leaving you hanging while I ‘ran off’ to Bath.” He waved it at her. “Go on, take it.”
She did as he bade, her pulse doing a silly little dance. Philip had frequently given her gifts, yet she’d never felt like this when he did. Swallowing, she opened the box, then stared into it, perplexed. “You bought me a fan?”
“Notjust a fan, lass.” He took out the fan, both handles of which were intricately worked in a silver design. Instead of opening the fan, however, he pressed one of the little knobs in the design, and with a click a slender steel blade shot into place, protruding from one handle of the fan. She gasped.
He moved the knob, presumably to lock the blade in position, then presented the fan/knife to her, handle first. “Now you won’t have to carry a pistol.”
Fascinated, she took the thing from him, examining the blade and the release mechanism. He showed her how to work it, and she practiced a few times. Then she opened the fan itself to see if it looked sufficiently fanlike. It did. “You found this inBath ?” she asked, captivated by the very ingenuity of it. He chuckled. “Not quite. I’ve had it for some time, mostly as a curiosity. I picked it up in a shop that specializes in foreign objects. From the design, I’d guess it’s Siamese. You’re the only woman I’ve ever thought might be willing to carry it.” He arched one eyebrow. “Youwill carry it instead of the pistol, won’t you?”
“Yes, thank you.” Pleased in spite of herself, she retracted the blade and folded up the fan. “It really is wonderful.”
“Be sure to take it to Stokely’s. And, speaking of the baron, considering his sudden interest in having you at the party, we should do our best to allay his suspicions about why I’ve chosen you as my partner.”
He held out his arm to her. “Come, my sweet, it’s time to improve your skills at whist.”
Chapter Twelve
Showing indifference toward a man is the
surest way to attract him.
—Anonymous,Memoirs of a Mistress
Gavin couldn’t decide which was worse—traveling to Stokely’s Wiltshire estate in the rain or having Rosa join him and Christabel in the carriage. Christabel couldn’t have come alone with him, of course; that would have ruined her forever in society. Bad enough that her reputation would be seriously tarnished by her association with him. She was only trying to preserve enough of what remained to have a decent future.
But it still chafed to be this close yet unable to touch her. He’d endured that for over a week now, and his control was stretched to the breaking point. Her and her maddening conditions—no caressing, no kissing, nothing that smacked of seduction if he was to continue preparing her for the party.Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlInsanity, all of it. He could tell from how she looked at him that she desired him. And God knew he desired her. He couldn’t remember ever desiring a woman so much. Yet the bloody female persisted in holding him at arm’s length.
