Page 72 of One Night with a Prince
mistress might tell you. Her motives for
what she says can never be pure.
—Anonymous,Memoirs of a Mistress
On the third morning after Christabel had thrown caution to the winds and become Byrne’s real mistress, she sat at the dressing table in her room, grimacing with every stroke of Rosa’s brush. “Ouch!” she cried when Rosa pulled a bit too hard. “Are you trying to murder me?”
Rosa clucked her tongue. “These are the sacrifices you make for having a lusty lover.” She cut her eyes slyly at Christabel in the mirror. “He makes love to you all night, no? That is why your hair is so tangled?”
“Notall night.” But often enough to tangle her hair. And ensnare her heart. A sigh broke from her. The trouble with Byrne was that whenever he made love to her, she could almost believe it meant something to him. He lingered over her for hours, bringing her to heights of pleasure beyond her most erotic dreams. After a while, she began to hope that he cared for her more than he let on.
But when they played whist with the others or when they searched Lord Stokely’s mansion, he was that other Byrne, the frighteningly efficient, calculating, ruthless gambler. And seeing that always plunged her into despair.
Wrapping a hank of Christabel’s hair about her hand, Rosa briskly worked her brush through the snarled ends. “You are fortunate to be here with Mr. Byrne and not one of those other fools. He’s good in the bedchamberand good at cards. Mr. Byrne will win you a fortune that you can well use.”
“I don’t know if I like gaining funds that way.”
“By besting idiots like Lieutenant Markham? That man is an insult to the good name of soldiers everywhere, him and his phaeton and his airs. You should be pleased you and Mr. Byrne won his last pence. And his phaeton.”
“I suppose.” Last night had been one of the few times she and Byrne had been whist partners. The game had been a most potent illustration of Byrne’s ruthlessness. “Byrne shouldn’t have talked the man into staking his horses as well. That was unnecessary.”
“Bah, Markham did not have to wager his horses. He did it because he thought he could win.” Rosa smiled proudly. “He should have realized that you and Mr. Byrne are invincible.”
Christabel snorted. “Hardly. Though I don’t understand why Byrne was so determined to win his horses. Byrne told the man he ‘liked the diddies on your nags.’ Why would he say such a vulgar thing?”
Rosa shrugged. “It hardly matters why. The point is he won.”
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
“But he should have at least allowed the man to keep his horses,” she persisted. “Lord Stokely had already informed the lieutenant that he would have to leave, now that he’d lost all his funds. So the poor man has no means for returning to London. What will he do?”
“I heard he walked to Salisbury this morning and pawned his watch for a coach ticket.”
“Oh no.” But the lieutenant couldn’t appeal to Lady Jenner for help, since her husband was present and unlikely to offer his carriage to his wife’s lover. And no one else would wish to help him. Thiswas the sort of people she found herself among, with Byrne their Prince of Sin. Sometimes it disheartened her to think of how far she’d fallen. And for what? A few glorious nights in bed? A man who’d as much as told her he would never marry her and could almost certainly never love her? Not that she wanted him to love her, oh no. She was taking no chances with a man who blatantly referred to himself as lacking a soul, a man who’d tried countless times to coax her into telling him what was in Papa’s letters. She was proud she’d held firm, though she wondered if it even mattered anymore. Because they couldn’t find the blasted things. Byrne thought they were probably in a hidden safe, but they’d found no safe anywhere after going over every inch of Lord Stokely’s library and study, as well as several other public rooms. Time grew short, and still nothing. She hoped to change that today, however. “Are you done yet?” she asked Rosa impatiently.
“Almost. But what is your hurry? The men have gone out shooting, so it is not as if your Mr. Byrne can spend the day with you.”
True, but he’d surprised her by suggesting that she use the time to search while Lord Stokely was occupied with the other men. Probably he thought she’d find nothing anyway. Or he was so sure of her that he believed she would tell him if shedid find them.
Whatever the reason, she would take advantage of it and search Lord Stokely’s bedchamber this morning—if the man kept a hidden safe, it might be there. And once she found it, she’d get Byrne to open it.
Rosa put the final pin in place, and Christabel leaped to her feet. “Thank you, Rosa,” she called as she grabbed her silver fan and left the room. “I’ll see you here again in the morning.”
She’d been spending her wild nights with Byrne, then creeping back to her room before the other guests stirred. She wasn’t sure why she bothered being discreet, however; no one else seemed to. Out in the hall, she glanced both ways, then slid over to Lord Stokely’s door. The downstairs servants would be occupied with serving the early risers breakfast, though it was past noon, and the upstairs maids would be helping those female guests who hadn’t brought their own ladies’ maids. Here in the family wing, the servants were done with the morning’s work, so hopefully she wouldn’t surprise anyone. Still, as she reached for the door handle, she prepared a story for why she was walking into Lord Stokely’s bedchamber unannounced.
The door was locked.
She couldn’t believe it. She tried the door again, but it didn’t budge.Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlHer eyes narrowed. Why would the man keep his door locked with only the two of them in the family wing? Unless he hadn’t gone with the other men to shoot. Just to be sure, she knocked and called out,
“Lord Stokely? Are you there?”
Rosa, curse her, stuck her head out Christabel’s door and frowned. “I saw him leave with the shooting party this morning. And what would you be wanting with him anyway?”
Christabel glowered at her servant. “I need to ask him a question, not that it’s any ofyour concern. And aren’t you supposed to be seeing to the laundering of my drawers?”
Muttering to herself, Rosa closed the door, but Christabel knew the woman would now be listening for her to leave. Sometimes having a nosy servant was quite a nuisance. Tripping the blade on her little fan, she stuck it in the lock and poked around a bit, but her attempts brought her nothing. She could think of no reason for Lord Stokely to keep his room locked, unless he was hiding something in his bedchamber. And what else could it be but her letters? She would have to bring Byrne up here—if anyone knew how to pick a lock, it would be he. Somehow, they could work out a way to sneak into Lord Stokely’s bedchamber when he wasn’t there. Still, in case she was wrong, she’d keep looking elsewhere. There was a private drawing room downstairs that hardly anyone used—it would be easy to search in there. She hurried there, but when she walked in, she startled a group of women who were listening intently as Lady Jenner read to them from a slender book.
“Oh, Lady Haversham, you must join us!” cried Mrs. Talbot. “You will surely find Lady Jenner’s new book as droll as we do.”
