Chapter Seventeen

surprise appearance.

—Anonymous,Memoirs of a Mistress

Out in Stokely’s park, Gavin stood propped against a tree, vainly attempting to doze while his idiot companions placed bets on which partridge would alight first on an oak farther along the path. He was half-tempted to grab a rifle and scatter the whole damned flock just to end the silly wagering. What fueled this English obsession with frivolous bets? He preferred something more challenging for his wagers, like cards. Something that actually required forethought and skill. He sighed. It used to amuse him that members of his club would wager on who would come in wearing a red waistcoat or which dog in a pack would be the first to piss on the nearest parked carriage. Lately, however, it had begun to irritate him. He’d spent years clawing his way up to where he was comfortable with this “esteemed” society, and for what? So he could stand around while they wagered on the flight habits of partridges? He’d rather be at his club settling accounts…or at his estate talking to the steward about what winter crop to plant in the east fields.

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 Conv It 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 out Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv of 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.”

Christabel looked thunderstruck. Gavin frowned. Damn it, what idiot had managed to convince her that Haversham possessed a mistress? And what purpose could it possibly have served, except to wound her Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv feelings?

The servants had returned and were loading several rifles for each of the women. Christabel watched them silently, her face now impossible to read.

“Watch it, Byrne,” Talbot said jovially, “Lady Haversham is eyeing those rifles awfully closely. Hope you didn’t do anything last night to set her off, or she might take Lady Jenner’s suggestion to heart and aim a bit lower.” He punctuated his comment with a vulgar thrust of his hips. Gavin glanced at Christabel, who merely rolled her eyes at Talbot. Hard to believe she was the same woman who’d been so shocked by the man in London. She’d adapted remarkably well, and he couldn’t help admiring that.

He glanced over to find Anna watching him watch Christabel, and he gave the woman a cool nod. If Anna had been in Christabel’s place, forced to masquerade for a cause…

He couldn’t even imagine it. The woman hadn’t had the spine to stand up to her own parents; she would hardly have the spine to embark on a scheme to save them from harm. Even now, she looked extremely uncomfortable with this adventure. But then she’d never been adventurous. Indeed, she’d been rather predictable, fond of gifts and outings and as frivolous as any other young woman at her come-out. Her father had spoiled her, and she was comfortable with that.

If they’d succeeded in marrying, she’d undoubtedly have been miserable within a month. Her father would have disowned her, so Gavin’s early years as a gaming club owner would have been spent struggling to keep it afloat while his wife complained of his late hours and plagued him to spend money on lofty furnishings, a better house, and a barouche to impress her friends. Perhaps Anna had unwittingly done him a favor. He would probably not be where he was now if he’d married her. And he couldn’t have given her the title and status that she’d needed to be happy. Whereas Christabel…

He glanced over to where she was examining the rifles. What if he’d met Christabel all those years ago? What if he’d been the one to leap to her rescue in Gibraltar? A nonsensical notion. He’d never leaped to anyone’s rescue in his life. Still, if he’d met her at an assembly and courted her as he’d courted Anna, he suspectedshe would not have hesitated to hie off to Gretna Green with him, family approval or no. Christabel had an intoxicating tendency to throw herself heart and soul into everything she did. As a man who’d regulated all his actions for most of his life, he found that immensely refreshing, so refreshing that he could almost imagine—

An absurd idea. Christabel had told him she had no desire to subject herself to the rule of another man. He certainly had no desire to subject himself to the whims of a wife. Absolutely not. His companions had now grouped themselves on either side of the ladies. Talbot offered to hand Eleanor her rifles, and Kingsley offered to hand Christabel hers. Stokely dictated the rules. “The beaters will flush the partridges, and I will count down to the start. Talbot will keep track of the birds Lady Jenner fells, and Kingsley will keep track of Lady Haversham’s. Once each has felled three, whoever fired last is the loser, and I shall determine who that is. All right?”

Everyone nodded their agreement. After asking the ladies if they were ready, Stokely ordered the Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv beaters out to the fields. As the birds broke into flight, Stokely said, “On the count of three…One, two, three—”

The noise was deafening as each woman fired the one shot from her loaded rifle, tossed it aside, then grabbed another and so on until each had fired three times. Even before the smoke cleared, Gavin could tell that Eleanor had fired the last shot. So why was she beaming with triumph as she set down her rifle?

“Lady Haversham finished shooting first,” Stokely declared. “Talbot and Kingsley, what is the count?”

“Lady Jenner took down three partridges,” Talbot announced, gesturing to different points of the field. Kingsley looked uneasy. “Lady Haversham shot down two partridges.”

“And a blackbird,” Christabel added. “That’s three birds in all.”

The dogs were indeed sniffing something in the grass where she pointed. Kingsley went to investigate, then announced cheerily, “It’s a blackbird all right, neatly taken down with one shot.”

Eleanor’s expression turned thunderous. “Blackbirds don’t count,” she snapped. “Only partridges.”

“I beg your pardon,” Christabel retorted, “but the wager was for the first person to fell three birds.”

“Three partridges,” Eleanor countered.

“Sorry, Eleanor,” Lady Hungate put in, “but you did say birds.”

“The men are out here shooting partridges,” Eleanor complained. “So I assumed that we meant partridges.”

“If the point was to determine who was the better shot,” Gavin said, “the point has been made, whether it’s birds or partridges.”

“But we all understood it to be partridges,” Eleanor spat. “And she knows it.” She stalked up to Christabel with her hand outstretched. “You know you lost, so give me that fan.”

“I will not!” Christabel backed away from the woman. “Andyou owe me a hundred pounds.”

Lady Jenner snatched one of the still-loaded rifles from a nearby servant and leveled it on Christabel.

“Give me the fan, you little bitch.”

Gavin’s heart dropped into his belly. “It was just a bloody wager, Eleanor. If you want, we can do another trial and specify partridges—”

Stokely came up behind Eleanor and grabbed her gun, jerking the barrel up in the air. It went off, the ball hurtling up at the massive oak branch above them.

Seconds later, when Eleanor let out a bloodcurdling scream, Gavin realized that the ball had ricocheted off the branch to hit the trunk, then ricocheted back at Eleanor. The others turned just in time to see her lifting her skirts to reveal her left boot ripped open and blood gushing from her ankle. Eleanor took one look at the blood and fainted. Chaos ensued—ladies rushed to her side or looked Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv faint, while the gentlemen stamped about chastising Stokely for his precipitous action and belatedly ordering the footmen to empty the other loaded rifles.

“Stand aside!” Christabel ordered, striding over to where Lord Jenner sat in the grass, cradling Eleanor’s head in his lap as the other ladies crowded round. The ladies parted to let her approach. Eleanor was just coming to, but as she saw Christabel loom over her, she cried, “Keep the murderous woman away from me! She tried to kill me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Christabel snapped as she knelt beside her. “You shot yourself. Now let me see that ankle.”

Eleanor tugged her leg back from Christabel, then let out a yelp at the pain.

“Oh, for God’s sake, let her look at it,” Gavin seconded, coming up beside the women. “Lady Haversham spent years traveling with the army. I’m sure she’s dressed a wound or two.”

“Indeed I have,” Christabel said. “Come now, it won’t hurt to let me look.”

Though Eleanor’s expression was mutinous, she didn’t resist as Christabel drew her leg out and examined it with surprising gentleness.

“It looks like just a flesh wound, but it will have to be cleaned before I can be sure that the ball didn’t fracture a bone.” Christabel lifted her gaze to Stokely. “You should call for a surgeon. This is beyond my limited skill.”

“It shall be done at once,” Stokely said, looking a bit green about the gills as he called a footman over and ordered him to Salisbury to fetch the surgeon.

“We need to get her inside,” Christabel said, turning her gaze to Gavin. Muttering a curse, he bent and picked Eleanor up, then carried her down the hill toward the house. He could have told one of the footmen to do it, but Eleanor was already accusing Christabel of shooting her—if anything happened to her between Christabel’s brief treatment of her and the surgeon’s arrival, she’d blame that on Christabel, too. He wasn’t about to allow that. Eleanor glared up at him. “Your new friend is a nuisance, Byrne. She doesn’t belong here.”

“No, she doesn’t,” he answered tersely. “She’s too good for the likes of us. But she happens to be excellent at whist, and I happen to be fond of her, so I intend to keep her around. And that means I will be decidedly irritated if something were to happen to her.” He cast her a cold glance. “Understood?”

Eleanor’s face whitened before she glanced away. “Understood.”

Thank God the bitch knew better than to cross him. Because right now, he could easily strangle her for threatening to shoot Christabel.

Once they got her inside, and the surgeon finally arrived, the man’s examination revealed that the ball had only nicked the bone, but her flesh would require stitching. Although the surgeon advised her against participating in outdoor activities for a few weeks, he said that a night’s rest would probably be all it took to get her up and around enough to play cards. He insisted that she not do any card-playing that night, a Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv decree that sent Eleanor into wails of outrage, since the eliminations were to begin then. Only after she’d elicited Stokely’s promise to suspend the eliminations—and all whist games entirely—for one night did she agree to let the surgeon administer laudanum for the pain. Then Gavin and Christabel followed Stokely, Talbot, and the surgeon out of Eleanor’s bedchamber. As the other three men walked ahead of them down the stairs, in deep conversation with the surgeon, Gavin offered Christabel his arm.

“Congratulations,” he quipped. “You managed to eviscerate Eleanor without turning a card.”

She glared at him. “It isn’tmy fault that the woman shot herself. And you know perfectly well I won that match.”

“I’m only teasing you, my sweet. Trust me, no one blames you. If anything, I blame myself. Eleanor isn’t usually that foolish, but she was smarting over how I humiliated her lover. Since she chose to take it out on you, I concede that I probably shouldn’t have pushed Markham so far last night.”

“Or slept with every woman in creation,” Christabel muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. But now that we don’t have to worry about cards tonight, I have the perfect way for us to spend the evening.”

He took one look at the gleam in her eyes and groaned. “Please tell me that what you’re thinking of involves bed-sheets and a chilled bottle of good Madeira.”

She eyed him askance. “I know where the letters are. They’re somewhere in Lord Stokely’s room. I went there to search earlier, but the door was locked. So all we have to do is pick the lock—”

“We? Do you have yet another skill I was unaware of?”

“Well, no, but surely you could—”

“I’ve had a relatively checkered past, I’ll admit, but thievery wasn’t part of it.” That was perfectly true, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t pick a lock. Not that he wantedher to know that. He meant for her to be sound asleep when he searched Stokely’s bedchamber. If Stokely was fool enough to keep the letters there.

“But you said you could get into any safe—” She broke off at the sight of a footman rushing up the stairs toward them.

He held out a sealed note. “An urgent message has come for you, sir.”

His heart thundering in his chest, Gavin murmured a thank-you and took it. He read it quickly, then tucked it in his waistcoat pocket so she couldn’t get a look at it. “I have to go to Bath.”

“Now?” she asked. “But, Byrne, the eliminations—”

“They won’t start until tomorrow. I can be there and back before then.” He chucked her under the chin. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv

“Don’t worry, my sweet, I won’t abandon you to the wolves at the card tables.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And while you’re gone, I can search Lord Stokely’s room. I suppose I could try sneaking in while he’s asleep—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, his heart skipping a beat at the very thought of her in Stokely’s room in the dead of night. “And that won’t be possible anyway. Because you’re going to Bath with me.”