Page 75 of One Night with a Prince
“The woman is either mad or a liar,” Lady Jenner said stoutly. “Why, if you even so much as mention love to the man, that’s the end of it. He might take you to bed one more time, but mention love, and you’ll receive your congé the next day. It doesn’t matter if you tell him you didn’t mean it or were joking or—” She broke off, as if realizing how much she’d revealed. Then she thrust out her chin stubbornly. “If you want to end your association with him, all you need say is, ‘I love you,’ and he’ll end it himself.”
Christabel’s throat grew raw at the very thought of Byrne cutting her off with such cursory disregard.
“It’s true,” Mrs. Talbot said woefully. “Never say those words to him if you want to remain his mistress.”
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlChristabel’s gaze shot to Lady Kingsley, who’d grown quite pale. Blast the woman. It washer fault that Byrne had become like this. How dared she trample on his heart for something as silly as status? She’d taught him not to care, not to let a woman close, not even to countenance talk of love and marriage. Christabel sighed. That wasn’t fair. Shehad hurt him, but other things had shaped Byrne, too: his hard childhood, the prince’s betrayal of his mother—
“Do any of you know about the fire that killed Byrne’s mother?” It suddenly occurred to her that these women might actually know. “How did it happen?”
“Some untended coal fire, I imagine,” Mrs. Talbot said. “I’m friendly with the owner of the theater where Byrne’s mother once worked, and he said it was one of those things—the lodging house was very mean, apparently, and fires like that happen often in the poorer part of town.”
“But why wasn’t Byrne in it, too?” she prodded.
“He was. It was late at night, and he was already asleep in the building when she returned from some jaunt to find it ablaze. She fought her way in and got him out, but her burns were too much for her, and she expired in hospital.”
“You mean, Mrs. Byrne was burned?” Lady Jenner remarked with a cruel laugh. “That sounds like some child’s ditty.”
As Christabel’s stomach began to roil, Lady Hungate said, “Eleanor, really! Have some respect for the dead.”
“Don’t be such a prig,” Lady Jenner snapped. “You must admit it’s an amusing coincidence. The Burning of Mrs. Byrne—why, it could easily be the title of some farce—”
“Excuse me,” Christabel murmured as she jerked to her feet. She’d had enough of Lady Jenner’s disgusting jokes and unfeeling manner. She had to escape the witch before she scratched her eyes out.
“Where are you going?” Lady Jenner demanded. “Planning to join the men at shooting? I understand you’re quite the good shot. But then, shooting at people is easier than shooting at birds, isn’t it? People provide bigger targets.”
Christabel froze. So Lord Stokely had told everyone about that, had he? Beast. She faced Lady Jenner with a brittle smile. “Whenever you wish, Lady Jenner, I’ll happily demonstrate my prowess withboth sorts of target.”
Mrs. Talbot tittered behind her hand, and Lady Hungate laughed outright. But the countess’s eyes narrowed as she rose. “Now is as good a time as any. Not for shooting at people, of course, but birds will do. And I’ve been known to fire a weapon a time or two myself. Why don’t we all go?” She tossed down her book. “There’s nothing very entertaining to do here, anyway.”
“The men won’t like it,” Mrs. Talbot interjected.
“Nonsense,” Lady Hungate said, with a surreptitious wink at Christabel. “Except for Lord Jenner, our fellows aren’t the sporting sort. Mostly they wager on who will hit which partridge when, and how many bushes Mr. Talbot will fell with his flintlock. Might as well liven the afternoon for them, I say. Why not?”
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlWhy not, indeed? Once the ladies were out there, the shooting party was sure to degenerate into another sort of outdoor entertainment, especially on this fine, dry autumn afternoon when an erotic interlude in a meadow would appeal to the decadent tastes of this crowd. Then she and Byrne could sneak off from the rest and come back to the house to search Lord Stokely’s room.
“Just to make it interesting,” Lady Jenner said, “I’ll wager a hundred pounds against that silver fan Byrne gave you that you can’t fell three birds before I do.”
Christabel clutched her fan. “What makes you think Byrne gave this to me?”
“It’s the sort of gift he gives—flashy and vulgar and entirely frivolous.”
Little did the woman know. “If you find it so flashy and vulgar,” Christabel countered, “why would you wish to gain it in a wager?”
“It obviously has some value, or you wouldn’t carry it everywhere.”
And Lady Jenner was exactly the sort to want to win a fan from a rival just for spite. Did she really want to risk her only weapon in a silly wager? Absolutely. It was high time the woman was taken down a peg. Besides, she could use the money—and it would make her feel less indebted to Byrne.
“Fine,” Christabel retorted with a lift of her chin. “I accept your wager.”
Chapter Seventeen
It never hurts to shake up your lover with a
surprise appearance.
—Anonymous,Memoirs of a Mistress
Out in Stokely’s park, Gavin stood propped against a tree, vainly attempting to doze while his idiot companions placed bets on which partridge would alight first on an oak farther along the path. He was half-tempted to grab a rifle and scatter the whole damned flock just to end the silly wagering. What fueled this English obsession with frivolous bets? He preferred something more challenging for his wagers, like cards. Something that actually required forethought and skill. He sighed. It used to amuse him that members of his club would wager on who would come in wearing a red waistcoat or which dog in a pack would be the first to piss on the nearest parked carriage. Lately, however, it had begun to irritate him. He’d spent years clawing his way up to where he was comfortable with this “esteemed” society, and for what? So he could stand around while they wagered on the flight habits of partridges? He’d rather be at his club settling accounts…or at his estate talking to the steward about what winter crop to plant in the east fields.
