Page 63 of One Night with a Prince
“Is that how the pretty widow landed in your bed?” Markham asked with a smirk. “Are you allowing her to pay off Haversham’s debts with other services?”
Hearing that accusation for the second time tonight annoyed him. “Have you ever known me to need such tactics to get a woman into bed, Markham?”
“No, but you have to admit she’s not your type.” Markham glanced across the room. “Then again, a woman with diddies like that is any man’s type.”
An ungoverning anger seized Gavin at the idea of Markham even looking at Christabel’s “diddies,” and he could barely suppress a hot retort.
What the hell was wrong with him? He and Markham and Talbot had compared mistresses like this before—their “diddies,” their mouths, their arses. But the idea of these idiots sullying Christabel with their coarse comments made him want to snarl at them to shut up.
It was merely pent-up lust—perfectly understandable. He should have bedded the woman the first chance he’d had. Letting her put him off was turning him into a blithering idiot.
“I’ll tell you how he got her into his bed,” Talbot put in. “He told her that he’d gain her a chance to win Stokely’s pot. That would tempt any widow.”
Bradley snorted. “If she fell for that, she’s a fool. Any of us can tell her it isn’t that easy to win Stokely’s pot, even with Byrne for a partner.”
“True,” Talbot said, “but though she may not win the pot, I wager she’ll be in the final four to play.”
Stokely had been listening from the next table, and now he leaned over. “Is that a true wager you’reGenerated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmloffering, Talbot? Or are you spouting nonsense as usual?”
Talbot blinked, then dropped his gaze to his cards without answering.
“If he’s not offering it, I am.” Gavin flashed Stokely a taunting smile. “A thousand pounds says Lady Haversham will be in the final four.”
The discussion had caught the attention of other players at the surrounding tables, and they stopped playing to see what Stokely would answer.
Stokely cast Gavin an assessing glance. Then he turned toward another part of the room, and called out,
“Lady Haversham!”
She looked up, startled.
“Byrne here is wagering a thousand pounds that you’ll be among the final four players. What do you think—should I take the wager?”
She recovered swiftly from her shock, pasting on an expression so unreadable it did him proud. “I can’t tell you what to do, Lord Stokely,” she called back. “Only you know if you can afford to lose a thousand pounds to Byrne.”
That brought laughter from everyone, since Stokely could afford to lose several thousand pounds.
“So you think Byrne will win, do you?” Stokely asked.
Christabel’s gaze locked with Gavin’s across the room. “Byrnealways wins.”
Gavin’s blood ran hot. He certainly meant to win this time. And not just the wager, either. “Well, Stokely? Will you take it or no?”
Stokely was quiet a moment, then said, “Why not? Contrary to what Lady Haversham thinks, you don’t always win.”
“True.” Gavin tore his gaze from Christabel’s to find Stokely regarding him with a speculative glance.
“Only when it’s important.”
The gong suddenly sounded, jarring everyone, reminding them that this was their last game. Stokely always had a servant bang a gong at 3A.M ., after which no more new rubbers were to be started. It was the only way to ensure that everyone played roughly the same number each night; otherwise, some would play around the clock.
Gavin returned his attention to his cards. They were only halfway through this hand, and probably a game or two from completing the rubber. Bloody hell. Another hour before he could join Christabel in bed.
As he and Bradley won the hand, Gavin glanced up to see Christabel rise from her table. She was finished already?
She conversed a moment with her fellow players, then came to his table, where Talbot was shuffling the cards.
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