One Night With A Prince (12 page)

She nodded. He finished dealing them each thirteen cards, then set the other half of the deck aside and turned up the top card.

“Now, the thing about two-handed whist is…”

For the next hour, Byrne’s entire attention was on the cards. And on beating her. She caught on to the rules fairly quickly, but couldn’t figure out how to beat him. Every time she thought she had him, he tossed onto the table a card she’d forgotten to account for. Nor did it help that he could predict, almost to a card, which cardsshe held. It was uncanny.

It was infuriating. Losing to Lady Jenner had been bad enough; losing to him was maddening. And she couldn’t even claim that her surroundings distracted her. Byrne allowed no jokes, no pointed questions, nothing but his matter-of-fact explanations of where she’d gone wrong in her play. After losing four rounds to him, she was eager to wipe that calm expression off his face. Well into the fifth round, she examined her cards, then played the ace of spades with a flourish.

“I told you never to lead with the ace,” he said.

She tipped up her chin. “Unless I had the king, too.”

“Are you strong in trumps?”

Blast, she’d forgotten about that rule. “No.”

He trumped her ace with a two and took the trick. “How you handle your trumps is everything in whist, Christabel. Tell me how many trumps you think I have left in my hand.”

“Two,” she snapped, without stopping to think.

He raised that maddening eyebrow of his. “You’re angry.”

“Of course I’m angry. I’m losing. Again.”

“You can’t let losing make you angry.”

“Why not?” she said belligerently.

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“Because anger impairs judgment, and impaired judgment makes one play badly. Whether ten pounds or ten thousand ride on your hand, you must leave emotion out of it. Take no greater risks if you’re losing than if you’re winning. Play to the cards you have. Always. The only thing that matters is the cards.”

How could he be so blasted sensible about all this? It was unnerving. “You should write a book,” she complained. “Rules of Card Play According to Mr. Byrne.No drinking, no emotion…no fun.”

“I didn’t get where I am by playing for fun.” He rearranged his cards. “Nor did any of Stokely’s set. They’re very serious about their whist. So you must be serious, too, especially if you mean to take on Lady Jenner.”

Suitably chastened, she mumbled, “All right.”

“I find that taking deep breaths helps to calm violent emotions. Try it.”

Feeling rather silly, she took one breath, then another and another, surprised to find that it did banish any lingering vestiges of bad temper.

“Good,” he said. “Now concentrate. Think about the cards that have been played and the ones you saw me take from the pile.”

“Very well.” She forced herself to work back through the hand.

“How many trumps do I have left?”

She hesitated, then said, “Five?”

“Six. But that’s good.” He held up his eight remaining cards, then took one and threw it on the table. It wasn’t a trump. “I gained three from the stock in the first half, one of which I played earlier, which leaves two that you know about—”

“Enough.” She reexamined her cards in light of his comments and the card he’d played. “How in blazes do you remember every card?”

“One must if one is to win at whist.”

“No doubt you also excelled at mathematics in school,” she muttered. He kept his gaze fixed on his cards. “I’ve never been to school.”

The edge of bitterness in his tone tugged at her heart. “Never? Not even before your mother—”

“Lost the annuity Prinny gave her? Not even then.”

“What annuity?”

He stiffened. “I thought Regina and Katherine had told—” He broke off. “Clearly not. Never mind.”

“Tell me. I want to know. I thought your mother was just the prince’s—”

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“Whore?” he snapped.

“No, of course not.” He wasn’t so calm now, was he? “But…well…from the gossip I heard, they had a brief affair, and that’s all. She wasn’t even really his mistress.”

“That’s whathe says. It makes it easier for him to justify his treatment of her. She’s just a whoring actress, right? A little tart he can take at his leisure, then discard without a thought. At least I don’t leave my mistresses destitute.”

She played a card. “Because you only choose married women as mistresses,” she said dryly.

“Exactly. Their husbands will support them and claim any children I inadvertently sire. But I’m not leaving some bastard of mine to struggle and starve and—” Breaking off with a curse, he tossed a card down. “Play.”

She didn’t. “Tell me about the annuity, Byrne.”

“Fine.” He lifted his glittering gaze to her. “You want to know the truth about your friend, the prince? Prinny promised my mother an annuity if she would publicly declare that I wasn’t his son. She agreed, poor naïve fool, thinking that the money would do me more good than any claim to royalty.”

He laughed bitterly. “The money didn’t last, of course. Once Prinny decided to ‘marry’ Mrs. Fitzherbert illegally, she demanded he put his mistresses aside.”

“You can’t blame her,” Christabel said stoutly. She’d met Mrs. Fitzherbert only once as a child, but that meeting remained branded in her memory. The woman was the noblest she’d ever known.

“I don’t blame her—I blamehim . Putting his mistresses aside did not mean he had to leave them destitute. Yet he conveniently waited until Mother’s claim that I wasn’t his had spread, then cut off her annuity.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “After that, it was just a matter of a word here and a nasty statement there, until he had everyone believing I was some product of my mother’s many supposed customers. She lost her job as an actress, and he didn’t even care. Bastard.”

She said nothing, her heart in her throat. No wonder he’d had to run with the blacklegs at eight. Was that why the prince had suggested that she turn to Byrne, of all people, for help? Did His Highness now feel guilty for what he’d done? Perhaps he’d thought to make amends by offering Byrne an easy chance at a barony.

But that was also why the prince had made it clear that Byrne should only be asked to get her the invitation, nothing more. Because involving him further in her mission was dangerous.He was dangerous. Panic gripped her. She’d brought him into the thick of it by suggesting she pretend to be his mistress and even his partner! Yes, she’d had no choice, but still…Oh Lord, what had she done? If Byrne found out what was in the letters, he wouldn’t hesitate to use them against His Highness. Never mind that he would cost the prince his throne in the process. And destroy her and her family. Well then, she must never let him know what was in them. Never.
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“So that’s why I never went to school,” he went on. “We couldn’t afford it. I’m what is popularly termedself-taught . Although Mother taught me to read, I learned the rest on my own.” He flashed her a ghost of a smile. “And luckily I inherited my actress mother’s gift for mimicry. It has served me well.”

Of course. That’s why he used such overly precise and formal language. He’d had to work at it, had to learn proper speech and manners and behavior by watching his betters, so he was more conscious of it than those born to it.

Hiding the pity that she knew he’d loathe, she said lightly, “Consider yourself fortunate to miss school. I hated it, particularly mathematics.”

“I’m surprised you were even taught it.” He eyed her over his hand. “Isn’t that unusual for a woman?”

She shrugged. “Papa wanted a son. Mama died before he could have one, so he pinned his hopes on me. He taught me how to shoot and ride and hunt…and solve equations. That’s why I’m completely inept in the feminine arts.”

“Not completely inept,” he said with a faint smile. “You kiss very well.”

Absurdly, that pleased her. “Do I?”

He chuckled. “Play, damn you, play.”

She sloughed off a low card in another suit to save her trumps, knowing it would lose her the trick but hoping it might win her the next few.

“You should have trumped while you had the opportunity,” he murmured, then proceeded to lead her out of her trumps, thus winning the rest of the tricks.

As he gathered up the cards, she fidgeted in her chair. “Give me another chance. I’ll try harder this time.”

“Bloody right you will.” He shuffled the cards. “This time we’re playing a real game. With real stakes. You’re never going to make an effort unless you have something tangible to lose.”

She scowled. “Like what? You know I have little money.”

“I’m not talking about money.”

When her gaze shot to him, he wore that hooded look that would turn any woman’s heart to mush. Even hers. Her pulse began to race. “Then what are you talking about?”

He rose and went to the door, which he closed and locked, sending a frisson of alarm down her spine.

“Risking the clothes on your back.” Coming up behind her, he bent to set the deck on the table before her. Then he pressed his mouth to her ear, and added in a heated whisper, “I’m talking about Whist for the Wicked.” Her heart thundered madly when he sat down, his eyes gleaming. “I can’t think of a better way to motivate you to improve your playing.”

“I am not going to—I would never—”

“Why? Afraid you’ll lose?”

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“Absolutely! You’re a seasoned gambler, and I’ve only begun to learn. Of course I’ll lose.”

Reaching across the table, he took the deck and shuffled the cards, slowly, methodically. “There’s no ‘of course’ about it. If you concentrate on remembering the cards, you’ll have a fighting chance. And I suspect you’ll be far more likely to concentrate if the consequence of not doing so is that I see you naked.”

Naked. The word perversely sent wanton thrills along her every nerve. This afternoon with the dressmaker had been bad enough, when his thorough examination of her half-clothed form had made her blush like a silly schoolgirl. But if she were forced to bare her breasts and her belly and…and…

“No,” she said firmly. “You’re trying to seduce me.”

A rakish smile touched his lips. “That would be a fitting end to the evening, but you’ve already said that sharing my bed doesn’t interest you. So I hardly see how one of us being naked will change that.”

She eyed him askance. “Really, Byrne, I’m not a fool.”

“No, but you claim to find me unappealing. Are you saying you’ve changed your mind? That you consider one of us being naked too great a temptation for your virtue?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” But the idea of Byrne sitting naked in her parlor lodged in her brain. If she happened to win—which was unlikely—she would get her revenge upon him for his high-handed behavior earlier, when he’d made her strip down to her corset and chemise in front of him.

“You already have the advantage,” he said. “You females wear more clothes than we males. And if you lose, you need only sneak upstairs. While I’ll have to drive home in my open cabriolet, wearing nothing but my overcoat and hat.”

The ludicrous image swayed her further. “That does sound appealing.”

“I’ll make it even easier for you.” His continued card shuffling sounded as loud as carriage wheels on cobblestone. “I’ll give you four items of clothing before we start. You’ll begin the game with a substantial lead. You’ll have all my clothes in no time.If you play well enough.”

“You’ll cheat,” she persisted.

“I don’t cheat.” He lifted one maddening brow. “I wouldn’t have to cheat to win anyway, not when you’re playing without a care for strategy.”

Blast him. He knew it stuck in her craw that she couldn’t best him. But could she really do any better if she concentrated? “What if I refuse your stakes?”

“That’s your choice, of course.” He leaned forward to set the shuffled deck before her. “But consider this—the more clothes you take off, the more distracted I’ll become. You might actually win.” His smooth smile taunted her. “And you know you want to win.”

She weighed her options. She didn’t want to stop the lessons until she’d proved she wasn’t a complete ninny at whist. But to encourage his wicked games was sheer madness. Look how disastrous Philip’s gambling with Byrne’s fast set had proved to be.

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Still, wouldn’t that make besting him even more satisfying? To march out of the parlor with his clothes in her hand? To watch him drive home through the streets of London wearing only his overcoat and hat? What a delicious thought.

“Cut the cards, Christabel,” he said in a low murmur.

He thought he would win. Ha! She would show him.

She cut the cards and handed them back. “You said you’d give me four items of clothing to start. So take them off.”

“Certainly.” He stood and rounded the table. Reaching inside his coat, he withdrew her pistol. “I believe this is yours, madam.”

She seized on it eagerly. “Now I have something else to remove if I lose.”

“No weapons, remember?”

“Oh, right.” She set the pistol on a nearby chair.

Removing his watch, he handed it to her, followed by his coat and waistcoat. She draped the items over her pistol. But when he unbuttoned his shirt, alarm swelled in her chest. “Aren’t you going to take off your cravat first?”

“I can remove my clothes in any order I please. Those are the rules.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t thought about what effecthis nakedness might have onher . She tried not to stare as he worked the collar of his shirt out from beneath his tight cravat. “Are there other…rules to this ridiculous game that I should know about before we start?”

“Any item of clothing or adornment counts—my watch, for example, or your earbobs.” He smiled. “If you were wearing any.”

Blast it all. Next time she was with him, she would definitely wear jewelry. He unfastened his cuffs. “We’ll score the thirteen tricks that count by using regular whist rules—whoever wins the hand gains one point for each trick won beyond six.” Dragging his shirt free of his trousers, he raked her with a devilish gaze. “And for every point, the winner gets a piece of the loser’s attire.”