One Night With A Prince (22 page)

“Yes.” Byrne had apparently regained his composure. “Stokely likes to surprise people.” He glanced beyond the Kingsleys. “And speak of the devil, here’s our host now.”

Lord Stokely approached, his face wreathed in smiles as he slid between the couples. “Ah, Byrne, I see you’ve already met the Viscount Kingsley and his wife.”

“Yes,” Lady Kingsley said, casting Christabel a searching glance, “but we have not yet been introduced to Mr. Byrne’s friend.”

Lord Stokely performed the introductions as Christabel tried not to notice Byrne’s stiff reactions. Or Lady Kingsley’s stunning beauty. And elegant manners. And polished replies. The viscountess was everything that Christabel was not and could never be.

Indeed, it was all she could do not to laugh madly when Lord Kingsley turned into a fawning old fool the instant he heard Christabel was a marchioness. As he babbled his honor at meeting her and gushed compliments over her gown, Christabel fought to smile. His wife looked on with a pained expression, and Byrne stood there woodenly.

Their host seemed to find the whole thing vastly amusing. He clapped his hand on Lord Kingsley’s shoulder. “Capital fellow, isn’t he? We ran into each other last year at a card party in York. Lady Kingsley is an avid whist player, so I couldn’t resist inviting her and Kingsley to my affair. We can use some new blood among our players, eh, Byrne?”

“That depends on how much of that new blood you’re hoping to spill,” Byrne quipped.

“Byrne, you wound me!” Lord Stokely exclaimed in mock reproach. “Lady Kingsley can hold her own at the tables, I assure you. And she’ll prove a fine addition to our group.” A calculating smile touched his lips. “She’s full of fascinating tales about her coming out in London.”

The sudden tension in Byrne was palpable. “Is she? Then she’ll have to entertain us with them some night, won’t she?”

“Indeed, she will,” Lord Stokely said, with a smirk.

When Lady Kingsley looked ashen, Christabel wanted to scream. Who was she to Byrne, blast it? Then Lord Stokely left the Kingsleys to offer Christabel his arm. “Shall we go in to dinner, Lady Haversham?”

She stiffened, but couldn’t refuse. As Marchioness of Haversham she was the highest-ranking female currently present, so the host would naturally take her in to dinner. Which meant Byrne would have to take in one of the lower-ranking guests—like Lady Kingsley, perhaps. Christabel couldn’t prevent her surge of jealousy at even the possibility. She let Lord Stokely lead her off, feeling Lady Kingsley’s eyes on her the whole way. It was slim comfort to know she wasn’t the only one wondering about Byrne and his women.

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Dinner was a lavish affair, which meant lots of French dishes, of course, so Christabel spent the early part trying to figure out what was what, without making a fool of herself. Even the lowly Talbots seemed at ease with the dizzying array of exotic dishes. Unsurprisingly, considering this company, it included not only oysters but pomegranates. And probably some Spanish fly—whatever that actually was—sprinkled among the dishes, too.

Thankfully, the woman to Lord Stokely’s left kept him occupied, and although the man to Christabel’s right should have been talking to her, he was too busy indulging in expensive delicacies to bother, so at least she didn’t have to manage polite conversation.

Not that anyone else’s conversation was terribly polite. Despite the presence of ladies, several rather bawdy jokes were told, only about half of which she understood. And no one protested them, not even Lord Kingsley, who looked the prudish sort. He was too engrossed in flattering Lady Jenner, who sat beside him.

Then there were some soldiers who actually took snuff at the table. She began to wonder why she’d worried about her manners, Lord Stokely’s friends seemed rather ill behaved. Except for Lady Kingsley, of course, who sat swanlike amidst the ducks, with back straight and lips pursed, taking tiny bites as she periodically cast longing glances down the table at Byrne. Christabel wanted to slap her. Her only consolation was that Byrne didn’t seem to notice Lady Kingsley’s looks, or if he did, he hid it well. Indeed, he was one of the men telling the bawdy jokes. Lord Stokely leaned over to Christabel just as the dessert was brought round. “They’d make an interesting couple, don’t you think?”

She feigned ignorance. “Who?”

“Byrne and Lady Kingsley.”

She stared him down. “Rather mismatched, I’d say.”

“And what would you say if I told you Byrne once asked her to marry him?”

Struggling to hide her shock, she reminded herself that Lord Stokely was no more trustworthy than anyone else at this scandalous party. “I’d say you don’t know Byrne very well.”

“It surprised me, too, but I heard the story from Lady Kingsley herself. We had a…er…brief encounter in Dublin, and you know how women get when they’re in the throes of such. Very confessional.”

But that didn’t mean the confessions were true. How could cynical, feckless Byrne have proposed marriage to anyone? If not for his intense reaction to Lady Kingsley, Christabel wouldn’t believe a word. Suddenly Lord Stokely glanced down the table, then smiled. She followed his gaze to find Byrne staring at them with an odd fury in his face.

Had he guessed what Lord Stokely was saying? Or was something else making him regard their host with such venom?

“What happened between them?” she whispered, determined to find out what she could about Lord
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Stokely’s claims. “I take it she refused him?”

“Of course she refused him.” His eyes gleamed with delight at sharing a choice bit of gossip. “Lady Kingsley was a wealthy merchant’s daughter. At the time of her come-out, Byrne had just opened his gentlemen’s club. And though his contacts were solid enough to get him invited to the sorts of balls she attended, her family couldn’t possibly countenance him as a son-in-law.”

“How did Lady Kingsley herself feel about it?”

“If not for his situation, she might have accepted him, I suppose. Byrne can be charming when he wants. But heis a natural child, after all, with no relations that will admit to him. And her fortune was probably what attracted him, a fact that she and her family had to know.”

Christabel couldn’t see Byrne marrying to gain a fortune, for all his talk of having no soul. “Did she say that?”

“Not in so many words, but it’s obvious. She was toying with a dangerous connection, so when Kingsley came along and took a fancy to her, her family aggressively pressed the match. In the end she did what any woman of sense would do—she married Kingsley.”

Christabel repressed a snort. Woman of sense, indeed. Any woman of sense would have followed her heart. And clearly, the woman had once been in love with Byrne, perhaps still was. Was that why Lady Kingsley had allowed Lord Stokely to bed her? In personality he was something like Byrne, albeit a pale imitation.

Had he been in love with Lady Kingsley? Was he still?

As that question plagued her, she glanced over at Lord Stokely’s gloating face, and another sickening realization struck her. “That’s why you invited her, isn’t it? To torment Byrne.”

“I invited her for the same reason I invitedyou, my dear. Because you’re both excellent whist players.” A mocking smile touched his lips. “Or, in your case, I can only assume so from the fact that Byrne chose you as his partner.”

If ever she’d needed a motivation for playing well, this was it. “You assumed correctly, sir. I mean to win the pot, if I can.”

He leaned closer to press his mouth to her ear. “And if you don’t, you can always try winning your host instead.”

A chill swept down her spine, but before she could react to that disgusting statement, Byrne’s voice boomed down the table. “What’s all this about new rules for the games, Stokely? You’ve kept us in suspense long enough.”

With a smile meant just for her, Lord Stokely rose and turned his attention to his guests. “Thank you, Byrne, for reminding me.”

In a matter-of-fact tone, he explained that partners would be randomly chosen. The chorus of groans that followed did not deter him from moving on to the next change in the rules.

“Once we start the eliminations,” he said, “the losers will be asked to leave the estate.” His gaze settled
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briefly on Christabel. “At my discretion, of course.”

Christabel fought to hide her panic. What if she hadn’t found the letters by then? What if she didn’t make it to the eliminations?

And what exactly did Lord Stokely mean by “at my discretion”? Other people were furiously muttering complaints. Apparently, they’d all assumed they would be enjoying his hospitality to the end.

“Why the change?” Byrne’s voice rose above the others’ to pose the question no one else would ask. Lord Stokely shrugged. “So that we don’t have a lot of hangers-on milling about during the final games. There’s too much potential for cheating.”

Lady Jenner snorted. “Be honest, Lord Stokely. You’re only doing this because Byrne changed partners. And the rest of us are being punished for his roving eye.”

All eyes, roving and otherwise, turned to Christabel, who couldn’t prevent a blush from rising in her cheeks.

Lord Stokely’s demeanor changed suddenly, becoming icy cold. “I am doing this because last year there were complaints about Byrne and me always winning the pot. I will not have anyone accuse me or my friends of cheating. This merely makes everything more fair. And it is my house, after all. My house, my rules.”

No one could argue with that, but it didn’t stop people from grumbling as they rose and headed off to the evening’s entertainment.

When they reached the ballroom, which had been turned into a massive card room for the week, Christabel was relieved to find herself partnered with Lady Hungate. Lady Hungate didn’t look quite so pleased. “I do hope you intend to show your true mettletonight, ” the older woman remarked.

“I won’t disappoint you,” Christabel replied, remembering that afternoon at Lady Jenner’s. No, indeed. She wasn’t about to risk being evicted from the estate as one of the losers. Even if it meant flirting with Lord Stokely.

Damn Stokely and his manipulations. After five hours of card play, Gavin still couldn’t figure out what the man was up to.

First, the changes in the rules, then his cursed interest in Christabel. And the man had brought Anna here. Anna, of all people. Gavin had hoped never to see her again. That she was here now turned what was already sure to be a difficult week into a potential nightmare. Especially since Stokely clearly knew what she’d once been to Gavin. Was that what he’d been whispering to Christabel at dinner? The last thing Gavin needed was the inquisitive little widow plaguing
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him with questions about Anna. She already knew too many of his secrets for his comfort. Gathering up the trick he’d just won, he glanced over to the next table, where Anna partnered Stokely against Lady Jenner and Lady Hungate. What in God’s name had Stokely hoped to accomplish by inviting her? Did he hope Anna would put Gavin off his game, now that Gavin had chosen to partner someone else? If so, it wouldn’t work.

Anna caught Gavin staring and shot him a brilliant smile.

He tensed. Tearing his gaze from her, Gavin led a card. In his youth, he would have fought a regiment of Cossacks for one of those smiles from her, but she was thirteen years too late. After his initial shock at seeing her, he’d realized that she no longer had the power to move him. Or if she did, she moved him to sadness. Because years of marriage to the toad-eating Viscount Kingsley didn’t sit well on her. Yes, she was still beautiful, and yes, she still possessed a musical laugh that would melt most men’s hearts. But it held a brittle edge now, as if tears always lay just beneath the surface. She’d thrown him over for Kingsley, and look what it had brought her—a dull marriage to a pompous fellow whose only advantage lay in his title, since it had taken her own family’s wealth to fill the man’s coffers. So why couldn’t he exult over her misery?

Because it seemed like such a waste of a fine woman. Suddenly he was tired of the waste, tired of watching women suffer from their husbands’ neglect. He was tired of seeing once-hopeful young females turned into coldhearted, dissipated bitches whose only choices were to pine away at home or live the same reckless lives as their husbands.

He was tired of watching good women forced to extreme behavior because of their gambling husbands’

foolish actions. Women like Christabel.

As a magnet follows iron, his gaze swung to where she sat halfway across the spacious card room. Not once all night had he and Christabel been paired as partners, yet every moment he’d been aware of her. Where she sat. Whom she played. How often she laughed at a joke or responded to some idiot’s flirtations.

He wondered how she fared. Was she winning? Losing? Panicking over losing? That very real possibility squeezed his chest in a vise. He should never have brought her here. She didn’t belong—seeing her with the others made that easily apparent. She could soak in a pool of debauchery for hours and still have none cling to her skin. And the truth was, he would hate to see her besmirched by it.

Why was that? Wouldn’t it be easier to get what he wanted from her if she’d just slide down the slippery slope into sin?

Yes, but at what cost? Bloody hell, Christabel had said that very thing to him once—but at what cost to his soul?Now he was even starting to think like her. And that wouldn’t do. As if she felt his eyes on her, she met his gaze from across the room, and the vise around his chest tightened unbearably. Until she smiled, telling him that everything was all right.

“Byrne?” Talbot asked. “For God’s sake, stop ogling your mistress and play your card. You’ll have
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plenty of time for ogling later.”