Free One Night With A Prince by Sabrina Jeffries

short, but she wasn’t short on curves. He itched to touch them, to taste every inch of that sweetly abundant flesh.
    A pity she had to don her damned ugly gown again. She seemed to think so, too, for after she was Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html dressed, and he was speaking to Mrs. Watts about a few final matters, he noticed the widow running her hand slowly over the rose satin that was to be made into an evening gown for her. He bent close to Mrs. Watts and lowered his voice. “The rose gown—what would it cost to have it finished in time for her to wear tomorrow evening?”
    The dressmaker followed his gaze, then named some exorbitant sum.
    “Done.” This had nothing to do with any sudden urge to please Christabel, he told himself. It was merely another tactic for keeping her off guard.
    “And your lady will need the matching pelisse and—”
    “The whole ensemble. Whatever it takes.”
    Beaming her approval, Mrs. Watts hurried off to gather up her wares. While she bustled about, Gavin strolled up to Christabel. “Mrs. Watts works with a milliner and a cobbler who will make sure you have bonnets, caps, slippers, and any other matching fripperies. As for reticules—”
    “My present reticules will be sufficient. I don’t need all that.” With a sigh, she turned from the satin as a pilgrim turns from temptation.
    It reminded him of his boyhood, when he’d watched futilely as his mother tore her gaze from the rich gowns in shop windows that she couldn’t afford, thanks to Prinny. And that he couldn’t afford to get for her. “Yes, but you want ‘all that,’ don’t you?”
    She lifted her clear-eyed gaze to him. “It doesn’t matter what I want. You’ve already spent too much as it is.”
    “Let me be the judge of that.”
    Her features hardened. “You’ll expect something in return.”
    “Yes, I’ll expect you to wear the gowns,” he snapped.
    “You know what I mean. And gowns weren’t part of our bargain.”
    He frowned. The idea of her feeling obligated to accept his advances because he’d bought some clothes didn’t sit well. It smacked too much of a whore’s transaction with her customer. And Christabel, like his mother, was no whore. “Think of it as my way of atoning for my part in your current situation.”
    “Is that what it is?”
    “No. But if that makes you feel better—”
    “I would feel better if you wouldn’t spend so much money on me that I can’t repay without…without…”
    “Sharing my bed?”
    Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html She stuck out her chin. “Yes.”
    “One thing has nothing to do with the other. If I’m to convince Stokely to invite you to his party, you have to dress well. My reward has already been established; this is simply part of earning my barony.”
    She eyed him skeptically.
    His exasperation grew. “Consider it this way—if I didn’t spend money on clothes for you, I’d spend it on loose women, wine, and song. By taking the gowns, you’re saving me from other wicked pursuits.”
    He bit back a smile. “And I know how keen respectable women are on saving men from wickedness.”
    “Notthis respectable woman.” A sad little frown marred her smooth brow. “The last time I tried saving a man, I failed spectacularly. I don’t plan to try again.”
    Haversham, no doubt. And why did her cynicism annoy him? He was just as cynical, if not more so. She picked up a monstrous reticule and a shawl she’d draped over a nearby chair. “Are we going for a drive or not?”
    He eyed her reticule suspiciously. “It depends.” Before she could stop him, he snatched it from her and peered inside. Lifting one eyebrow, he dug out her pistol. “I’m not going anywhere with you carting a loaded pistol.”
    “It’s not loaded,” she protested.
    “Then it’s no use to you at present anyway.” He shoved it into his coat pocket, then offered her his