Page 97 of One Night with a Prince
“What about our children? What abouttheir future? Do you really want them to grow up hearing slurs against their father, the man who caused the greatest scandal in royal history? And their grandfather, the disgraced general? You, of all people, should know how sensitive children are to criticism of their families.”
Judging from his stunned look, he hadn’t thought about children at all.
“N-Not that I’m even sure I can have children,” she stammered, disconcerted by his expression, “but I would like to try. I-I would hope that if we married…” When he continued to stare at her without speaking, her heart sank. “You probably don’t even want chi—”
The door swung open behind them to admit Mr. Talbot and Colonel Bradley, clearly in an already inebriated state. “Byrne!” the colonel cried. “You should try some of Stokely’s—Oh, Lady Haversham. Didn’t mean to interrupt. We thought we’d see if Byrne would join us in a drink.”
“It’s all right,” she murmured, grateful for the reprieve. At least she wouldn’t have to hear Gavin admit that he never wanted children, an admission that would shatter her in her already fragile state. “I was just heading off to bed.”
Before they could say anything else, she fled.
Gavin watched her leave, too stunned to do more than stare after her. Children. With Christabel. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it beyond his efforts to prevent it by using French letters.
“Come on, Byrne,” Talbot said, weaving on his feet. “The lady is gone, so come have some brandy with us. Stokely’s broken out the best stuff.”
Gavin whirled on them, his frustration with Christabel twisting into fury at them. “Of course he has. He’s hoping that if you drink enough tonight, you’ll be too bloody cropsick tomorrow to play decently, and then his team will win the pot. He does it every year, and you fools fall for it every time. Why do you think he and I always win?”
He surveyed them with a sudden surge of disgust. “I don’t know why I even bother with the lot of you. You’re idiots, every last one. You deserve to have Stokely fleece you. Good night, gentlemen. Enjoy your drink while you can. Because after tomorrow, you won’t be able to afford brandy for some time.”
“Now see here, no need to be an ass—” Talbot began, but Gavin was already out the door and in the corridor, looking to see if he could catch Christabel.
But no, she’d disappeared. He would think that she was searching, except that she preferred to sleep a few hours first and do her work after there was little chance of running into Stokely. Unlike Gavin, sheGenerated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlwasn’t used to late nights. Which meant she was presently in her room, where between Rosa and the chair she kept propped against the handle, she might as well be behind a castle moat. So there was no chance of trying to change her mind by kissing her and making love to her and talking of marriage and the future.
And children.
A groan escaped him as he stared up the staircase that led to the family wing.He could have a family wing—the house at Bath was large enough for it. And if he had his barony, he could pass the title on to his son—
Damn it, he wasn’t going to get the barony, not if he followed his plan for vengeance. Gritting his teeth, he strode off toward the other part of the house, trying to blot Christabel’s words from his head.What about our children?
He’d never wanted children before. Why should he want them now? An image rose unbidden, of her nursing a babe at her breast, of a little lass with red curls perched on his knee or a dark-haired boy calling him Papa—
Damn her! Christabel was driving him insane with her talk of their future. Raucous laughter assaulted his ears, and he gave a wide berth to the drawing room from whence it came. Stokely was in there filling the men’s bellies with drink. Then he would send them to bed stinking drunk, where they’d get into rows with their wives or mistresses. And no one would awaken in any condition to focus on a card game. Except Stokely, of course. For the first time, he felt sickened by the scheming and manipulation and outright chicanery involved in the man’s little games. And his disgust stretched beyond the baron to the women who’d been making advances to Gavin ever since they’d heard that Christabel wasn’t sharing his bed. To the supposed
“gentlemen” of his club, who scoffed at him behind his back for being in “trade” even while they drank his liquor and ate his food and took advantage of all the amenities of his club as if it were their due. Damn them all. Once he had his barony, he’d tell them to go to hell. No,he reminded himself again, he wasn’t going to have a barony. Instead, he was going to heap calumny on his own head by unseating Prinny from the throne. And for what? Don’t lie to yourself that you’re doing it for her.
Of course he was doing it for her.
All right, so his mother had never asked for vengeance, had never prodded him to seek it. Although she’d cursed the prince in her early days, she’d changed after the fire. She’d said that having her life spared had made her realize that life was too precious to spend it hating. And why should she? He’d done all the hating for her—hating those who’d unjustly called her a whore, hating Prinny…hating himself.
He walked up the stairs to his room in a daze. Yes, hating himself. For sleeping through the fire, for notGenerated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlbeing able to protect his mother, for being born. Christabel wasn’t far wrong—part of the reason he wanted this so badly was to quell the guilt he’d felt ever since he’d been old enough to know he was a bastard, to know that his very existence had altered his mother’s future. Yet she was right about something else, too. His motherdid want him to have a happy life. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have made such sacrifices for him.
Now he meant to reward her sacrifice by destroying any possibility of a happy life for himself. Because if he couldn’t have Christabel, he couldn’t be happy.
He stopped outside his bedchamber as a hollow pain settled in his gut. He couldn’t take this anymore—being without Christabel, going off to his empty bed alone every night, not having her to tease and provoke and hold. Only two women had ever looked at him with true love in their eyes. Only two women had ever looked beneath his defenses to see a man of worth, a man capable of more than he’d shown the world heretofore.
And he would disappoint them both, destroy his future and theirs—and the future of his children—just for the chance to thumb his nose at a man who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as they. He must be insane.
Abruptly, he turned on his heel and headed back down the stairs. No more—it was time to put an end to the nonsense. He’d find those letters if he had to spend all night searching. And if that didn’t work, he’d bargain with Stokely.
No matter what he had to do, he would get the letters back for Christabel. And only for Christabel. Chapter Twenty-Two
If you find a lover who can be faithful to
you, hold on to him with all your might.
—Anonymous,Memoirs of a Mistress
The next day, Christabel slipped into the main drawing room as the clock struck one. Except for the two teams who’d won early and were probably still abed, the other players would be at the tables. Lord Stokely would be overseeing his guests, even though he was done with this round. And she’d seen Gavin dozing in the music room.
