Page 76 of One Night with a Prince
And that scared him. Perhaps his half brothers were right—perhaps hewas headed into his dotage. Why else had he begun to find Stokely’s games so tiresome? Why else had he so viciously divested Markham of his rig last night, simply because the man had earlier referred to Christabel’s diddies?Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlIt wasn’t old age setting in—it washer, his impudent new mistress. Clearly the woman addled his brain. He craved her constantly, thought of her even when she wasn’t near. Having her in his bed should have sated his need or at least lowered it to normal levels. Instead it had honed it to a sharp, persistent ache. Damn the woman.
As if his thoughts had drawn her, he glanced over to see the women heading up the hill toward them with some mission in mind, Christabel at the fore. Look at her—the bloody chit stalked into battle like a Joan of Arc, only with lusher curves and prettier hair.
His blood quickened. He could easily get used to wrapping himself in that wealth of raven locks every night, to falling asleep with his hand on her hip, to waking with her snuggled close in his arms and making love to her while—
Damn, he’d grown aroused by the mere sight of her coming up a hill. What was next, maudlin spoutings of romantic verse and useless sentiment?
“Have a care, gentlemen,” he said to his companions, who hadn’t noticed what was going on behind them. “The hen brigade is approaching.”
“What?” Stokely turned and spotted the women coming, then laughed. “Notice anything interesting about this particular group of women, Byrne?”
With a snort, Gavin pushed away from the tree. Stokely and his bloody sense of humor—one of these days, someone would pin his ears back for his idiocy. “You mean, other than the fact that they look rather determined? If I were you, Stokely, I’d be worried. Whenever women get together and start talking, it usually means trouble for the host.”
“Ah, but that’syour mistress heading up the pack,” Stokely said dryly. “If anyone’s in trouble, it’s probably you.”
Gavin scowled. Stokely might be right. It couldn’t be good that every woman in the group had once been connected to him. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he called down the hill. “Missed us, did you?”
Lady Hungate laughed. “Hardly, you rascal. We’ve come to join the shooting. Lady Jenner has challenged Lady Haversham to a match. They’ve even laid a wager on it.”
The other men erupted into laughter, probably because they thought the woman was joking. Gavin knew better. Eleanor’s husband might be a fool and entirely incapable of pleasing his wife in bed, but he was a true sportsman, and early in their marriage, he’d foolishly taught his wife how to shoot. Gavin knew for a fact that Eleanor had taken to it like a cat to cream. And Christabel—
“What are the terms of the wager?” Gavin asked, as the women reached the top of the hill and milled around Eleanor and Christabel.
Christabel met his gaze coolly. “A hundred pounds against my fan that she can fell three birds before I can.”
That was all it took to have the other gentlemen placing their own side bets and the servants scrambling down the hill to fetch more rifles. Gavin shot Christabel a questioning glance, but nothing in her expression indicated the reason for this sudden wager. He’d thought she was searching the mansion all this time. Not that he’d expected her to find the letters, but he’d hoped that searching would keep her outGenerated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlof trouble while he went shooting with the gentlemen.
Yet here she was, surrounded by a bevy of his former mistresses, preparing for a shooting match. Even when Christabel tried to stay out of trouble, trouble found her.
“Byrne? Are you going to wager?” Stokely called out.
“Certainly. Put me down for twenty pounds on Lady Haversham to win.”
Talbot duly noted that in the book he kept for these impulsive wagers.
“The same for me,” Stokely said with a smirk. “I dare-say any woman who can put a hole in a man’s hat at fifty yards can shoot a partridge.”
The men snickered.
“How do you know she was aiming for his hat?” Eleanor said with a sniff. “I’d have aimed lower.”
“Could we not discuss the many areas of my person that women wish to shoot?” Gavin drawled. “It makes me nervous with so many loaded rifles lying about.”
“If you weren’t such a stickler for settling gambling debts at once,” Talbot pointed out, “no one would ever want to shoot you.”
Gavin knew the man was alluding to Markham, but he didn’t care. “If I weren’t such a stickler for settling gambling debts, I’d be poor. And the rest of you would have to go to White’s and put up with bad food and even worse liquor.”
Talbot chuckled. “True, true. But perhaps we should follow Lord Haversham’s example and have our wives greet you with a flintlock when you come calling for your money.”
“It was a repeater rifle,” Christabel said grimly, “and my husband eventually paid his debt. As well he should have.”
Gavin raised an eyebrow at her, but Lady Jenner snorted. “Perhaps if you had come to London with your husband from time to time, he wouldn’t have been so free with his funds at the gaming tables in the first place.”
As Christabel paled, Gavin prepared to retort, but Stokely beat him to it. “Haversham didn’t want his wife in town. He told me that himself. He was a very jealous man—he feared she might fall under the influence of gentlemen like myself. And Byrne there.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Christabel snapped. “He didn’t want me in town because he didn’t want me interfering with his visits to his mistress.”
Stokely eyed her askance. “Mistress? He didn’t have one. He certainly would have said something if he had. If anything, he was pathetically besotted with you. Couldn’t stop boasting about his beautiful, clever wife whom none of us would ever get to meet because we weren’t good enough for her.”
