Page 59 of One Night with a Prince
“Wherever you put me is fine,” she murmured, unsure what to answer.
“I was surprised to hear that you and Byrne are…friends. Your late husband said that you shot at the man.”
She groaned. “Philip told you about that?”
“He mentioned it, yes. While he was explaining the reason for his dire financial situation.”
“The reason for his dire financial situation was his gambling. And though I acted in a fit of temper when Byrne came to collect on my husband’s debt, I did eventually realize that the person at fault was Philip, not Byrne.”
Byrne was right about that at least. Her husband had brought his own ruin upon himself.
“Still, Haversham told me you disliked society, especially society of Byrne’s sort.”
She managed a laugh. “That’s what he would have preferred, I’m sure.”
“I did wonder if he merely wanted to keep you to himself.” Laying his hand over hers, he stroked her fingers. “And now I understand why.”
She had to choke down a sarcastic retort. Was every gambler in England a randy devil? And why did Byrne’s flirtations heat her blood while Lord Stokely’s just made her want to laugh? Nonetheless, it wouldn’t hurt to remain on the man’s good side. “And nowI understand why my husband didn’t introduceyou .” She gave him a brazen smile. “No doubt he feared that your silver tongue would tempt me to…indiscretion.”
He cast her a speculative glance. “Is that the only reason he didn’t introduce us that day?”
Was he alluding to the letters? Did he really think she would admit to knowing that he had them? With a look of wide-eyed innocence, she said, “I can think of no other reason, can you?”
He searched her face, then said, “Not at the moment.” Then he halted before an open doorway leading into a spacious bedchamber. “Here we are, madam. I shall not keep you. Besides, we can talk more at dinner.”
Blast. She was hoping to beg off so she could search his room while the others dined. But clearly he expected her there, and she dared not rouse his suspicions by disappointing him. “I’ll see you then.”
Only after he’d gone and she and Rosa were in the room with the heavy oak door firmly closed did she let out a breath. “Thank God that’s over,” she muttered. Then she caught Rosa eyeing her with disapproval. “What?”
“You were flirting with your host. What about Mr. Byrne?”
“I wasn’t flirting. I was merely trying to be a congenial guest. And trust me, Byrne won’t care anyway.”
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlIt was true, but still a lowering thought.
Rosa snorted, but turned to hunt through the trunks that the footmen had carried up the stairs ahead of them. “Which gown will you wear tonight?”
“The rose one.” Since she and Byrne had spent every moment of last week playing whist, her trip to the theater with him had never come to pass. So she still hadn’t had the chance to wear it. “We’d better hurry, too.” She glanced at the pretty Jasper clock beside her bed. “We’ve got only twenty-five minutes.”
With a shriek, Rosa scurried to unpack the appropriate trunk. There was no time to ooh and ah over the rich azure damask draping the windows and French canopy bedstead, no time to admire the Persian rug spread before the massive marble fireplace. It took every minute of their allotted time to peel Christabel out of her sodden garments and dry her sufficiently to don a fresh chemise, corset, and evening gown. Rosa was nearly done cursing her way through repairing Christabel’s sadly fallen coiffure when a knock came at the door.
“Come in!” Christabel called out.
Rosa finished just as Byrne entered. “Ready?” he asked.
Christabel rose, and he sucked in a breath, his gaze trailing slowly down the gown, then back up to fix on her décolletage. “Bloody hell. I should never have told Mrs. Watts to make you that gown.”
Disappointed by his reaction, she thrust out her chin. “Whyever not?”
“Because you look too damned beautiful in it.” He balled his hands into fists at his sides. “Stokely is going to salivate all over you.”
She couldn’t believe it—Byrne actually sounded jealous. A satisfied smile tugged at her lips. “Do you really think so?” she asked, surprised to hear a certain coyness in her voice. He lifted his gaze to hers. “Let me put it this way—it’s clear why the man assigned you the bedchamber across from his.” He scanned the room with narrowed eyes. “He gave you the best room in the house. Do you realize that?”
“Did he?” She grabbed her fan and hurried to his side. “Let’s go.”
As they left the room, Byrne settled his hand in the small of her back with an oddly possessive gesture.
“I tell you, the man is up to no good. He never puts a guest in the family wing, never.”
