Chapter One
Autumn 1815
When choosing a lover, I made sure we both agreed to the
terms of the liaison, so there would be no recriminations
later. - Anonymous, Memoirs of a Mistress
Sometimes having half brothers was a bloody nuisance.
Gavin Byrne scowled at them both. The youngest - Alexander
Black, the Earl of Iversley - was the only one of them
whose mother had waited until he was full-grown to tell him
that his real father was the Prince of Wales. Next came
Marcus North, the Viscount Draker, whose massive build and
scandalous past still had society calling him the Dragon
Viscount. Draker had known their father most of his life
and did not consider that a good thing.
It was Draker's study that they stood in now. And it was
Draker who was behind this insanity.
"You want me to do what?" Gavin bit out.
Draker exchanged a glance with Iversley. "Perhaps our older
brother is losing his hearing."
Iversley chuckled. "Perhaps so, now that he's in his
dotage."
Gavin rolled his eyes. "I could whip you pups with one hand
tied behind my back. And if you think wounding my vanity
will provoke me into doing this, you've obviously forgotten
whom you're dealing with. I was manipulating men before you
grew hair on your ballocks." Though he should have
suspected something when Draker asked him to arrive early
for dinner. Gavin selected a prime cigar from the oak box
on his brother's desk. "Why in hell would I do a favor for
Prinny anyway?"
"For the reward, of course," Draker said. "Prinny is
offering you a barony."
Ignoring the instant leap in his pulse, Gavin lit his
cigar. A title wouldn't make up for spending the first
twenty years of his life being called Byblow Byrne to his
face, and the last fifteen being called it behind his back.
It couldn't erase the stigma of being Prinny's unclaimed
bastard.
Besides, he already possessed everything he required. His
gentlemen's club had made him wealthy beyond his wildest
expectations, he never lacked for a woman in his bed, and
his friends were all viscounts, earls, and dukes.
All right, so perhaps those friends weren't the enduring
sort, more interested in his wit than his welfare. And
perhaps he was sometimes painfully aware of that invisible
line of illegitimacy that separated him from them, despite
his royal blood. But that was nothing to him. "Why should I
care about a barony?"
"If you don't care for your own sake," Iversley
said, "consider your future children. Your first legitimate
son would inherit the title."
Gavin snorted. "That's no incentive. I don't plan to marry
or sire a 'legitimate son.' With luck, I won't sire any
children at all."
"Then consider this." Draker eyed him closely. "Titles are
bestowed in Parliament by the Regent himself. It's the
closest you'll ever get to having Prinny acknowledge that
you're his son."
Now that gave him pause. The idea of Prinny being forced
publicly to give a title to the bastard he'd denied for
years was enormously tempting. Even if it was only a
fraction of what he wanted from the man. "He agreed to
that?"
"He did," Draker said.
Gavin chomped down on his cigar. "That doesn't mean he
can't renege."
"He won't," Iversley insisted.
"He has before." His brothers knew what Prinny had done to
Gavin's mother.
"I'll make sure he keeps his word," Draker said.
"Ah, yes," Gavin said dryly. "Now that you and our sire are
such fast friends, you think you have some influence over
him."
Draker snorted. "We'll never be fast friends, but to his
credit, he's begun to regret his past actions. So yes, I
have some influence over him."
Gavin shook his head. "I swear, you and Iversley have gone
soft. Ever since you settled down with your pretty wives,
you see the world through a haze of sentimental nonsense."
Hearing envy creep into his voice, Gavin ruthlessly
squelched it. He didn't envy his brothers their contented
marriages. He liked his life - liked being his own man,
liked his easy, nonthreatening liaisons with the married
women who turned to him for a few hours of wickedness here
and there.
He liked being essentially alone and rootless. A scowl knit
his brow. "So what must I do to gain this dubious reward?"
Iversley relaxed. "It's nothing, really. Convince Lord
Stokely to invite a certain widow to the annual house party
he throws for his gambling friends."
"How do you know about that?" Gavin asked.
"Prinny has his spies," Draker put in.
Gavin knocked some ash from his cigar into the tin bowl
Draker kept for that purpose. "I take it that the woman is
one of them? Or one of his mistresses?"
Iversley shook his head. "She's definitely not Prinny's
mistress. And I would guess, having met her, that she's not
a spy either."
"Stokely is very particular about his guests. They have to
be adept at whist and comfortable with wickedness, not to
mention discreet. Is she?"
Draker looked blank. "I'm sure she can be discreet, under
the circumstances. I suppose she could pretend to be
comfortable with wickedness, but I have no clue if Lady
Haversham is any good at -"
"Wait a minute - the Marchioness of Haversham? She's the
one you want Stokely to invite? Are you insane?"
That seemed to catch Draker offguard. "She's not your
average marchioness," he said defensively. "She's General
Lyon's daughter."
"That's probably why the bloody chit nearly blew my head
off a year ago," Gavin said.
Draker blinked. "You've met her?"
"If you could call it that." An image rose instantly in
Gavin's mind, of a small, raven-haired lass with a very
large gun. "I rode out to speak to her husband at his
estate about his mounting debt at the Blue Swan, and she
put a hole in my cabriolet - not to mention my hat."
Iversley smothered a laugh. "You mean, she didn't take a
liking to you at once, like the other ladies in society?"
Gavin arched one eyebrow. "Apparently the good Lady
Haversham didn't approve of her husband's gambling. She was
reloading her repeating rifle when Haversham himself came
out and coaxed her inside. Otherwise, I'd probably be
missing a crucial piece of my anatomy."
He shook his head. "That termagant could never blend in at
Stokely's, even if the man would invite her. She's clearly
opposed to gambling, and probably wickedness, too." Gavin
scowled. "I take it she didn't tell you of our disastrous
first meeting?"
"No," Draker admitted. "And if it was so disastrous, why
did she choose your name from among the list of guests
Prinny procured?"
"She probably wants to get close enough not to miss this
time," Gavin said. "With Haversham dead, she's settling old
scores. How did he die, anyway? Did she shoot at him, too?"
"Nothing like that."
"Well, I didn't kill the man, if that's what this is about.
He paid me in full right before he died, so I had no reason
to wish him dead."
"She knows that. Besides, he died in a fall from a horse."
Draker poured himself some brandy. "And how he died has
nothing to do with it."
"But you don't know what does," Gavin remarked.
"Prinny wouldn't say, so you'll have to ask her yourself."
With a sly glance, he added, "Unless you're too afraid of
the woman to talk to her."
Gavin snorted. Yet another attempt to coerce him by
pricking his pride. Hadn't Draker learned by now that he
could see through such ploys? "I'll let the woman speak her
piece. But she'd better be unarmed for the meeting."
Iversley shot Draker a smile. "What do you say, Draker?
Shall you search Lady Haversham now or shall I?"
"She's here?" Gavin growled. "Have you lost your mind? You
let her in your house, around your wife and son? Did you
lock up your firearms first?"
Draker scowled. "We had to arrange a meeting between you
and her that no one would find suspicious, so you're both
here for dinner. But she can't be as bad as you say. The
woman seems perfectly amiable, if a little ... well -"
"Mad?"
"Forthright."
"If that's what you call it," Gavin muttered. "Fine, go
fetch the wench. After I hear why she wants to drag me into
this, I'll consider your proposal."
Draker nodded and left the room with Iversley. Only a
minute passed before Lady Haversham herself marched in. Up
close, she was prettier than he remembered, despite her
awful widow's weeds and lopsided coiffure. She also looked
quite fierce for a woman who came up only to his chin - a
little spitfire with snapping green eyes and an impudent
nose.
He stubbed out his cigar, though he wasn't sure why he
bothered. Despite her title, Lady Haversham was no lady.
She was a soldier in skirts.
"Good evening, Mr. Byrne." She thrust out her blackgloved
hand as boldly as any man.
Gavin took it in a firm grip, then in one quick motion,
jerked her around so he could clamp an arm about her waist
and hold her still from behind while he smoothed his other
hand down her starched wool gown.
She began to struggle. "What the devil -"
"Be still," he growled. "I'm making sure you didn't pack a
pistol in some pocket."
"Oh, for pity's sake," she muttered, but stopped fighting
him. After a moment of enduring the indignity of having his
hands on her, she snapped, "My pistol is in my reticule,
which is sitting in Lord Draker's drawing room. All right?"
The woman was a walking arsenal. "All right." He released
her, not because of what she'd said, but because running
his hands over her petite but surprisingly womanly figure
had perversely aroused him. He didn't want her to know it,
however - the female was liable to shoot off his cock for
its impertinence.
She faced him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well?
Will you help me?"
Nothing like going to the heart of the matter. "Why me?" he
countered. "The last time we met, you weren't exactly
impressed with my credentials."
A small smile touched her lips. "You mean I nearly put a
hole in your credentials. I suppose I should apologize for
that."
"That would be a good start."
She lifted her chin. "I was only trying to save Philip from
certain ruin."
"Ruin! Your husband paid off his debt easily enough."
A weary sadness passed over her face. "Yes, he did. He
gained the money by selling to Lord Stokely something
belonging to my family."
Suddenly, things began to make more sense. "That's why you
want an invitation to Stokely's. To retrieve your property.
Or more accurately, to steal it."
"If I could buy it back, I would. But Lord Stokely won't
sell."
"You asked him?"
"His Highness asked him." When Gavin's eyes narrowed, she
added hastily, "On behalf of my family, of course."
Not bloody likely. Prinny didn't have a philanthropic bone
in his body. Whatever her property was, Prinny clearly had
a vested interest in it. Otherwise, he would never offer
Gavin a barony to help recover it.
"How can you be sure it's at Stokely's estate? He has a
town house. He might even possess a special vault at a
bank."
"He would never let it that far out of his sight. Besides,
his town house has only a couple of servants in residence;
it would be too easy to break into. He wouldn't take that
chance."
"Yet you think he'd take the chance of inviting you to
attend his party, knowing that he has something you want
that he won't sell to you."
"He doesn't know that I know he has it."
"I beg your pardon?"
"My husband told Lord Stokely that he'd received it from
Papa, when in reality, Papa had given it to me, and Philip
had stolen it without my knowledge. I didn't even realize
it was gone until Lord Stokely wrote to His Highness about
it and the prince summoned me to London."
"Why in God's name would Stokely write His Highness?"
She blinked, as if realizing she'd said too much. "I-I have
no idea."
Liar. For the moment he let it pass. "And how does this
tangled web concern me?"
She arched one eloquent eyebrow.
"Ah, you've decided I should help you steal your property
back because your husband sold it to pay me."
"If he hadn't gambled with you -"
"- he would have gambled with someone else. Your late
husband's weakness for cards isn't my problem, Lady
Haversham."
"I should have known a man like you would have no
conscience."
"Yes, you should have." When she glared at him, he
added, "It's all moot, anyway. There's only a slim chance I
could help you even if I wanted to."
"What do you mean?"
He laughed mercilessly. "Stokely only invites a certain
type of person to his house party, and you're not it."
"Because I'm not a gambler."
"Because you're not a certain sort of gambler." Gavin lit a
new cigar and took a long puff. "However, I might consider
retrieving your property for you -"
"No," she said tersely. "I have to retrieve it myself."
What the bloody hell could this mysterious property of hers
be? "At least tell me what you wish to steal and why."
She stiffened. "I can't do that. And if you insist upon it,
I shall have to ask someone else to help me."
"Fine. If I can't get you into that party, though, no one
else can."
An expression of sheer incredulity spread over her pretty
features. "Didn't they tell you that you'll gain a barony
out of it?"
"I've succeeded very well until now without one, so that's
not much of an inducement."
"What if I said that helping me would be a service to your
country?"
He laughed. "That's even less of an inducement. What has my
country ever done for me that I should put myself out for
it?"
She looked exasperated. "It's not as if it would be much
trouble for you. You merely need to convince Lord Stokely
to invite me to his house party. Just tell him I'm your
whist partner or something."
"Do you play whist with any competence?"
She stuck out her chin. "I can manage well enough."
The chit was lying again. Badly. "Stokely is always my
partner." Gavin dragged hard on his cigar. "Besides, his
house party includes a very scandalous set - his friends
would shock you."
"I'm not that easy to shock. Remember, I spent many years
abroad. I've seen more than the average Englishwoman."
He'd wager she'd never seen anything like Stokely's
party. "All the same, it can't be done. Stokely only
invites longtime gamblers whose playing he knows."
She frowned. "Other people on the guest list don't fit that
description - like Captain Jones."
"True, but his mistress, Lady Hungate, does. That's also
why Lord Hungate and his mistress will be there. You only
get an invitation to Stokely's by being a serious gambler
or a serious gambler's lover, spouse, or mistress."
Her face brightened. "Why didn't you say so? You can get me
invited as your mistress!"
He stared at her. Few people could astonish him; the hot-
headed Lady Haversham had done so twice. This was the most
novel invitation he'd ever received.
And oddly enough, the most intriguing.
He trailed his gaze down her body, lingering over her ample
bosom and the black fabric that hid what he'd discovered
was a trim waist and nicely plump arse.
When she blushed, he nearly laughed aloud. The woman
screamed innocence, so why the devil was she offering him
this?
Dropping her gaze from his blatant one, she said, "You're
not taking a mistress to the affair already, are you? I
know that you and Lady Jenner -"
"Not anymore." He stubbed out his cigar. "I'm between
mistresses at present. But you can't be serious about
this."
"Why not? I realize I'm not the sort of female you
generally prefer -"
"You mean, the sort who don't shoot at me?"
She scowled. "I mean, the statuesque, blond, shameless sort
rumored to hang on your arm at every social event."
"You seem to know a great deal more about me than I know
about you."
"Your preference for a certain type of female is legendary.
I can't alter my height and my coloring - or the fact that
I get what I want using my brain, not my bosom - but I
believe that with some tutoring, I could make a convincing
enough mistress."
"You'd require more than tutoring." Taking her by surprise,
he snatched out the demure black fichu tucked into the
bodice of her gown. "You'd have to shed these abysmal
widow's weeds, for one thing. No one would ever believe I'd
go about with a woman dressed like a crow."
Her gaze locked with his, fiercely defiant. "And I suppose
you'll expect me to cut off my unfashionably long hair and
torture it into silly curls -"
"No, nothing so drastic." He liked long hair and he
couldn't wait to take hers down. "But you could use the
services of a lady's maid to dress it better."
She stiffened. "I have a lady's maid. She's just not that
good with hair."
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