One Night With A Prince (24 page)

“Well then,” Lord Stokely said snidely, “I wish you joy of her. The bitch must have a gold-plated honeypot to have you wanting to keep her to yourself.”

Byrne snapped, “You’ll never get the chance to find out. I promise you that.” And slipping his arm about her waist, he practically dragged her from the room.

As he hurried her away from the study, she marveled at the sudden fury that had seized him. If this wasn’t jealousy, then she didn’t know what it was.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, encouraging that arse?” he hissed at her, as they headed up the staircase. “Just because I wagered on you to end up in the final four doesn’t mean you’ll win, for God’s sake. Do youwant to share Stokely’s bed?”

That was definitely jealousy in his voice. Her spirits lifting, she cast him an airy smile. “No, but if I happen not to make it to the eliminations, I’ll have to leave the estate, and this way I could stay until the end no matter how badly I play.”

He glared at her. “Stay. With him. As his bed partner.”

“It would certainly help me in my efforts to find the letters,” she said blithely. “I would have the run of the house.”

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With a curse, he dragged her into an alcove, where he pressed her against the wall. Bracketing her body between his arms, he growled, “You won’t share my bed, but you’d share his? For the sake of those bloody letters?”

She met his gaze steadily. “Those ‘bloody letters’ are gaining you a barony. Why do you care what methods I use as long as you get what you want?”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “There are better ways.”

“Oh?” She pressed the issue, determined to make him admit his true feelings. “It would be simpler if I seduced Lord Stokely into—”

“No,” he said flatly.

She bit back a smile. “I could just—”

“No.” He leaned in close, eyes glittering. “I won’t let you whore for the letters.”

“Why not? You’ve always claimed you don’t mind if your mistresses are unfaithful, and it’s not as if you care for me. If I were to play up to Lord Stokely—”

“No,” he said stubbornly. “No.” He bent his head to hers. “Never.”

Then his mouth was on hers, and he was kissing her possessively, as he’d never kissed her before. He’d never made her feel as if the world would end if he couldn’t kiss her. She threw her arms about his neck and gave herself up to it. It had been over a week since he’d kissed her, over a week since she’d promised herself not to let him do this to her. How many times had she caught him looking at her with that barely banked fire in his eyes and felt her heart flip over in her chest? How many nights had she lain awake aching for just this taste of his mouth on hers?

“Christabel,” he whispered against her lips, “God, woman, you’re driving me mad.”

At least it was mutual. He seized her mouth again, but this time his hands roamed up her ribs and down to her hips, stroking, seeking, caressing…

Someone passing by called out a coarse comment, and Byrne tore his lips from hers. “Come on,” he growled, then tugged her down the hall.

She struggled to keep up with his furious strides. “Where are we going?”

“My room.”

She dug in her heels. “Now see here, Byrne—”

“It’s high time we discussed tactics for regaining your damned letters,” he muttered. “And we can’t do it in your room, with Stokely right across the hall.”

“Oh.” That made sense. Didn’t it? Or was she merely so eager to plummet to her doom that she would
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do whatever he said?

She let him lead her down a series of halls until he ushered her into a lovely bedchamber where darkly burnished woods and antique brass created a decidedly masculine feel. Clearly he was a popular guest, for the servants had shown him the first attention. A fire blazed high in the hearth, a decanter of whiskey sat on a nearby writing table, and the vases overflowed with fresh flowers. He seemed to notice none of it as he shut the door behind her, his expression grim. “I nearly lost ten years off my life when I saw you closeted in Stokely’s study with him. I was certain he’d caught you going through his papers.”

She sniffed. “I should hope I’m not so obvious as all that. I told him I was looking for a book, and he believed me.”

“Did he?” Byrne edged nearer. “Then why was he so eager to change the wager? He’s playing with you, Christabel—”

“If he is, I can handle him.”

“You can always gut him with that blade I gave you, right?” he snapped, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“If I have to.”

He shoved his fingers through his hair. “Youdon’t have to—that’s the point. Just do your searching during safe hours.”

“And when would those be?”

“After everyone’s asleep, before the maids come round.”

“From 4 to 5A.M .? Don’t be absurd. I’d never find them at that rate.”

“Then at least make sure I’m with you when you go searching. We can always come up with some reason for being together in an odd part of the house.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You sneaky devil, that’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re afraid I’ll find the letters when you’re not around. Then you won’t get your chance at them. So you’re trumping up this nonsense about the dangers—”

“I’m not trumping up anything!” He strode up to her, his eyes alight. “What did Stokely do while you were with him? Did he touch you, kiss you, caress you?”

“He kissed me, that’s all.”

His jaw grew taut. “Next time he finds you alone he’ll expect more, especially now that you implied you might be willing.”

He had a point. She thrust out her chin. “I’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t find me alone.”

“When you’re sleeping across the bloody hall from him?” he shouted. “He can creep into your room at any time of the day or night, for God’s sake!”

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“I’ll lock the door.”

“It’shis bloody house. He has keys to all the rooms, remember?”

“Then I’ll…I’ll put a chair under the door or—”

“You’ll sleep here, that’s what you’ll do,” he ordered. “You’ll sleep here with me, you’ll go out on your little searching exhibitions with me, you’ll—”

“For a man who doesn’t care about the women he beds, you’re beginning to sound very much like a jealous lover,” she said quietly. “Do you hear yourself?”

That brought him up short. “Don’t talk nonsense.” He raked his fingers through his hair again in increased agitation. “I’ve never been jealous of a woman in my life.”

“My mistake,” she bit out. “And now that we’ve settled that, I’ll return to my room.”

She got as far as opening the door before he slammed it shut. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying here where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Why?” she demanded. “Give me one good reason I should stay.”

“Because I want you here.”

“That isn’t—”

He cut her off with a kiss, angling his body in close to trap hers against the door. But this time she didn’t return it. This time she wanted more from him.

He was jealous and possessive of her, no matter what he’d claimed, and that meant he cared for her. But would he ever admit to feeling more for her than just desire? It suddenly seemed very important to make him admit it. To find out if there really was a warm-blooded, feeling creature buried deep inside the cold and calculating debaucher. A man with a soul. As if he sensed her withdrawal, he increased his erotic assault, letting his mouth drift down her jaw to her neck as his hands found the ties of her gown. “Stay with me tonight, my sweet.” His tongue traced the curve of her ear, sending her pulse racing. “Share my bed. Enough of this foolish abstinence.”

His hand slid inside her gown to thumb her nipple, and every muscle in her body came to life, wanting more. She choked down a sigh. “Admit that you were jealous when you saw me with Lord Stokely. Admit it, and I’ll stay.”

He paused in his caresses, then continued. “I won’t admit something that’s not true.” He worked the ties free, and she felt her gown fall off her shoulders.

“Why not? You could lie, and I’d never know the difference. Go ahead, lie.”

“I’m not going to bother lying about something as foolish as that,” he bit out. But he wouldn’t look at her as he shoved her chemise down far enough to bare her breast, then seized it in his mouth, sucking so
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greedily, it sparked her own greed. For him. Inher bed.

“You won’t…lie about it,” she choked out, “because you know it…wouldn’t be a lie.”

“Think what you want.” He swiftly turned her around so he could undo her laces, then strip off her corset. When she faced him once more, his eyes scoured her, hungry, needy…possessive.

“Admit it, Byrne,” she prodded. “Admit that—”

He shut her up with a kiss, probably so he could remove her chemise and drawers without her protesting. Then he shamelessly fondled her breasts and her belly, sliding his clever, seeking hand between her legs…

Wrenching her mouth from his, she caught his hand to stay it. “Say the words. ‘I was jealous.’ Three words.”

His eyes looked almost black in the dimly lit room. “I’ll say it if you promise to spend your nights with me. To do your searching only with me.”

“You know I won’t promise that.”

“Ah, but you will, my sweet,” he rasped. “I’ll make sure of it.” Taking her by surprise, he caught her naked body up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

When he tossed her down atop the coverlet and tore off his coat, she considered whether to run, to escape him while she still could. But she wasn’t ready to give up on him. Tonight she’d seen a glimmer of another Byrne, an uncontrolled one consumed by anger and jealousy. And passion. He stripped quickly, raking her with a gaze so fierce and raw that it made her nipples ache. Yet she didn’t fight the heated wine of desire flooding her senses. She lay there, relishing the sight of him baring his body in great strokes, like a painter working in a frenzy to reveal a corded thigh here, a bent elbow there.

For days, she’d worried that if they made love, he’d gain the power over her that he needed to discover—and exploit—her secrets. But might it not work both ways? If Byrne were capable of true caring, satisfying his desires might give her power as well. Power over him. The power to convince him that helping her was more noble than seeking to use her letters. A power she might already have. “Admit that you were jealous,” she pressed him. “Admit that you hated the sight of me with Lord Stokely.”

“Promise me you’ll never go off alone,” he countered gruffly. Now naked, he joined her in the bed, lying on his side so he could caress her breast. “Promise me, lass.”

“First admit you were jealous.” Turning onto her side, she ran her hand down the line of hair on his belly until she reached the heavy length of him. As she clasped his magnificent erection, she whispered, “Admit it, Byrne.”

Before she could even stroke him once, he caught her hand. “Oh, no, we’re not playingthat game again, you teasing wench.”

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Pressing her back, he used one of his hands to imprison both of hers above her head. Then he bent his mouth to her breasts and began to suck and tongue her nipples while his other hand found the yearning spot between her thighs and tormented it with silken touches and teasing caresses that were never enough to satisfy.

“Promise me,” he tore his lips from her breast to growl. And all the while he roused her to a fever pitch of need, making her squirm and writhe and beg for more with thrusts of her hips against his too-gentle hand.

Yet still she managed to gasp, “Admit it…admit it and…I’ll promise…whatever you wish.”

“Damn you,” he ground out as he hovered over her, inches from her mouth. “Damn you for being a stubborn minx.”

She stretched up to kiss him, and he seized her mouth with a groan, slaking only some of her thirst with bold thrusts of his tongue. He insinuated one knee between her thighs, and she parted her legs to accommodate him.

Still kissing her, he braced himself above her so that his erection lay on her, warm, thick, promising release as he stroked it up and down against that tender little spot that throbbed and ached for him.

“Promise me,” he rasped against her mouth. “Promise me, lass.”

She slid her freed hand down between them to grab his shaft, then gave it a long stroke she knew would drive him mad.

“Stop that,” he hissed.

“Admit it.” She matched his earlier, too-gentle strokes, caressing him as if he were as fragile as glass.

“Admit you were jealous.”

His gaze seared her even as he thrust against her hand. “No.” He tried to pull her hand free, but she had a firm grip and wasn’t letting go this time.

She rubbed her hard-tipped nipples against his chest, then arched up to his ear to whisper, “Admit it, Byrne.” Remembering what he’d done earlier, she laved his ear with her tongue. “Come on, admit it.”

When she capped her sensuous assault with a torturously slow tug on his aroused flesh, he moaned, then said hoarsely, “All right, damn you, I admit it. Now let go.”

She did, but though he probed between her legs with his shaft, she shifted her pelvis away, not quite satisfied with his answer. “Say the whole thing.”

With jaw taut and eyes ablaze, he snapped, “Promise me you won’t go anywhere here without me.”

“I promise.” She should at least give him that much.

Satisfaction filled his face. Reaching down, he found her entrance with his fingers, then drove his aroused flesh deep inside her. A groan of sheer pleasure erupted from his lips. “You’re so tight and hot, my sweet. It feels so damned good to be inside you.”

“Byrne,” she begged, while she could still speak. “Say…the words…”

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He withdrew, then thrust again, hard, furious. “I was jealous,” he bit out. “Iam jealous. Jealous of all those bloody idiots…in the card room. Who leer at you and…watch your arse while you walk—”