Page 66 of One Night with a Prince
Byrne snapped, “You’ll never get the chance to find out. I promise you that.” And slipping his arm about her waist, he practically dragged her from the room.
As he hurried her away from the study, she marveled at the sudden fury that had seized him. If this wasn’t jealousy, then she didn’t know what it was.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, encouraging that arse?” he hissed at her, as they headed up the staircase. “Just because I wagered on you to end up in the final four doesn’t mean you’ll win, for God’s sake. Do youwant to share Stokely’s bed?”
That was definitely jealousy in his voice. Her spirits lifting, she cast him an airy smile. “No, but if I happen not to make it to the eliminations, I’ll have to leave the estate, and this way I could stay until the end no matter how badly I play.”
He glared at her. “Stay. With him. As his bed partner.”
“It would certainly help me in my efforts to find the letters,” she said blithely. “I would have the run of the house.”
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlWith a curse, he dragged her into an alcove, where he pressed her against the wall. Bracketing her body between his arms, he growled, “You won’t share my bed, but you’d share his? For the sake of those bloody letters?”
She met his gaze steadily. “Those ‘bloody letters’ are gaining you a barony. Why do you care what methods I use as long as you get what you want?”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “There are better ways.”
“Oh?” She pressed the issue, determined to make him admit his true feelings. “It would be simpler if I seduced Lord Stokely into—”
“No,” he said flatly.
She bit back a smile. “I could just—”
“No.” He leaned in close, eyes glittering. “I won’t let you whore for the letters.”
“Why not? You’ve always claimed you don’t mind if your mistresses are unfaithful, and it’s not as if you care for me. If I were to play up to Lord Stokely—”
“No,” he said stubbornly. “No.” He bent his head to hers. “Never.”
Then his mouth was on hers, and he was kissing her possessively, as he’d never kissed her before. He’d never made her feel as if the world would end if he couldn’t kiss her. She threw her arms about his neck and gave herself up to it. It had been over a week since he’d kissed her, over a week since she’d promised herself not to let him do this to her. How many times had she caught him looking at her with that barely banked fire in his eyes and felt her heart flip over in her chest? How many nights had she lain awake aching for just this taste of his mouth on hers?
“Christabel,” he whispered against her lips, “God, woman, you’re driving me mad.”
At least it was mutual. He seized her mouth again, but this time his hands roamed up her ribs and down to her hips, stroking, seeking, caressing…
Someone passing by called out a coarse comment, and Byrne tore his lips from hers. “Come on,” he growled, then tugged her down the hall.
She struggled to keep up with his furious strides. “Where are we going?”
“My room.”
She dug in her heels. “Now see here, Byrne—”
“It’s high time we discussed tactics for regaining your damned letters,” he muttered. “And we can’t do it in your room, with Stokely right across the hall.”
“Oh.” That made sense. Didn’t it? Or was she merely so eager to plummet to her doom that she wouldGenerated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmldo whatever he said?
She let him lead her down a series of halls until he ushered her into a lovely bedchamber where darkly burnished woods and antique brass created a decidedly masculine feel. Clearly he was a popular guest, for the servants had shown him the first attention. A fire blazed high in the hearth, a decanter of whiskey sat on a nearby writing table, and the vases overflowed with fresh flowers. He seemed to notice none of it as he shut the door behind her, his expression grim. “I nearly lost ten years off my life when I saw you closeted in Stokely’s study with him. I was certain he’d caught you going through his papers.”
She sniffed. “I should hope I’m not so obvious as all that. I told him I was looking for a book, and he believed me.”
“Did he?” Byrne edged nearer. “Then why was he so eager to change the wager? He’s playing with you, Christabel—”
“If he is, I can handle him.”
“You can always gut him with that blade I gave you, right?” he snapped, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
“If I have to.”
