Passion for the Game

Chapter 13

Maria tucked her legs up on the chaise and studied Tim as he drew pictures at the desk. The cottage Welton had secured for her was small but comfortable. Situated near the shore, it was a lovely retreat, the soft crashing of the waves an enchanting accompaniment to lazy activities.

Tim hummed some tune to himself as he worked, and Maria marveled again at how gentle he was in comparison to his massive size. He was kind and deeply loyal to St. John, a loyalty which he extended to her because he believed she was important to the pirate. It was that which most startled her. Yes, St. John had shown great interest in her, but she knew men well. Deep interest did not mean deep affection. She had something he wanted, and she placed no more stock in their relationship than that. Tim, however, seemed to think there was more to it, and something inside her longed to believe that was true.

She missed him, her pirate. How odd it was to care for him so quickly, but she did. At night she lay in her bed and longed for the feel of his muscled arms around her, his furred chest cushioning her cheek, his heated skin warming hers. Sometimes, if she closed her eyes, she imagined that she could smell him, that luscious scent of bergamot and virile, lustful male.

Most of all, she wished for the illusion of safety. Christopher made her feel protected. Simon, bless him, was content to allow her to rule everything. Sometimes, however, she wished to have someone else bear the burdens. Only for a little while. Not enough to make her dependent, but enough to give her a smidgeon of peace.

“Here,” Tim said as he pushed heavily to his feet and lumbered toward her. He handed her the drawing and moved back to the desk to begin another.

Maria set aside the map she studied and the notes she made to Simon of where she wished him to search, and stared down at the sketch with awe.

“You have a gift,” she said, admiring the beautiful lines and shadings that created a picture of an exceptionally handsome adolescent male. Exotic features and dark hair and irises gave him an alluring edge of danger that was obvious even with his youth. Thick hair grew too long and fell over his brow, framing those sensual eyes and a beautifully etched mouth.

“It’s nothing,” Tim dismissed gruffly, causing her to lift her gaze and catch his blush.

“And your memory is nothing short of miraculous. I noted this young man, too, and yet until I saw this likeness, I could not have described him to you. His features are too unique to make common comparisons, yet you captured them perfectly.”

He growled his embarrassment, his gaze narrowing beneath unruly brows. She smiled and then looked at the pile of drawings beside her. Together, they created a tapestry of that night’s events-the carriage, the governess, the groomsman, and the coachman. Next up was Amelia, and Maria was almost frightened to see it, uncertain of how she would react. She had seen her sister only a moment, and over the last three weeks, she’d found that the mental image of her was already dimming.

“You will fetch her back,” Tim rumbled.

Blinking, Maria returned her attention to her guest. The fortnight was nearly over, much to her relief. Her injury had required inactivity to fully heal, but the indolent life was anathema to her. She’d paced the floor enough to circle the globe on foot. Distant command was not her style. She much preferred to be directing the action in the flesh. Thankfully, in two more days she would leave for London. Tim would then be returned to St. John, and she would recommit herself fully to her search. “Beg your pardon?”

“Yer sister,” he elaborated. “You’ll fetch her back.”

Dear God. How did he know?

“Is St. John aware?” she asked softly, her mind racing at the possibilities. Amelia was her one vulnerability. Aside from Simon and Welton, no one else knew that.

“Not yet. You caught me before I had a chance to tell him.”

She sighed with relief, though her heart still raced.

“I cannot take you back now,” she advised.

Of course both of them knew that he could depart at any time he chose. Nothing short of leg irons would hold a man of his size against his will, and even that was uncertain.

“I knew that when I told you,” he retorted simply.

“So why?” Maria frowned.

The giant tugged at his wiry beard and sat back in the chair that was nearly too small to hold him. “I was tasked that night with protecting you. I failed. If I guard you now, perhaps I can right that wrong.”

“You cannot be serious!” But she could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was. “There was no way for us to know what would happen.”

He snorted. “St. John did, or he wouldn’t have sent us. He trusted me to act in his stead, and I wasn’t worthy.”

“Tim-”

Holding up a meaty hand, he cut her off. “There’s no point in arguing. You want to keep me with you, and that’s where I want to be. Nothing to piddle o’er.”

Her mouth snapped closed. There was nothing she could say to that bit of logic.

“Mhuirnín.”

Maria looked over her shoulder to see Simon, who stepped into the room with his usual indolent grace. He was still dressed in his traveling clothes, having only recently returned from his long stay away. Under her detailed written directions, he’d taken a dozen men and swept the length of the southern coast, making the necessary inquiries in their search for Amelia.

“You have a visitor.”

Immediately alert, she swung her legs to the floor and rose. She hurried to him and lowered her voice. “Who is it?”

He caught her elbow and led her out, tossing a guarded glance over his shoulder at Tim. Then he bent low and murmured, “Lord Eddington.”

Her steps faltered and she gazed up at him with wide eyes. He shrugged to answer her unspoken question and continued to escort her to the parlor.

She was not dressed for visitors, but then, this was not a social call. Lifting her chin, she swept into the room with all the charm she possessed. She found she needed it as Eddington turned to her with a fulminating glare.

“You and I have much to discuss,” he said in a clipped, angry tone.

Quite accustomed to overbearing males, Maria offered a brilliant smile and took a seat on the settee. “Lovely to see you, too, my lord.”

“You will not think so in a moment.”

“She walked up to him with a pistol, bold as you please, in the bright light of day.”

Christopher grinned at the image Philip’s words brought to mind of Tim being captured by the tiny Maria. In his chest, warmth spread along with his smile. Damned if he did not like the woman more and more each day. Even absence had not lessened his appreciation and desire for her. Her welfare was the first inquiry he had made that afternoon when Philip arrived at the posting inn. There was much for him to be apprised of, too much to wait until he returned to London.

“It was quite amusing,” Philip said, having taken note of Christopher’s mirth.

“I wish I would have seen it.” He lounged deeper into the squab, his gaze moving to the window where the scenery flew by. Crimson curtains were tied to the side, the deep red a touch of color in the otherwise black interior. “So Tim has remained with her.”

“Yes, which is probably best. The Irishman has been absent since the second day of her holiday.”

“Hmm…” The thought gave Christopher deep pleasure. It was unfamiliar, that writhing feeling of discontent he felt whenever he thought of Maria with Quinn. That she still cared for the Irishman was glaringly obvious. The only comfort Christopher had was her empty bed that she shared only with him.

The last thought heated his blood. There were times when he told himself that the sex could not be as good as he remembered. How could it be? Then there were times-in the evenings while lying abed-where he could almost feel her hands caressing his skin and hear her low voice purring provocative taunts.

“Are we close?” he asked, eager to reach his recuperating lover. If he were gentle, perhaps he could have her today. Lust rode him hard, goaded by his lengthening abstinence, but he could control it. He would not aggravate her healing injury.

“Yes, not much farther.” Philip frowned, but said nothing, merely rubbed his palms against his gray velvet breeches. Christopher knew the boy well enough, however, to know something troubled him.

“What is it?”

Philip removed his spectacles and withdrew a kerchief from his pocket. While he cleaned non-existent smudges he said, “I am concerned about Lord Sedgewick. It has been over a month since he released you. Surely he will grow impatient with the mostly inane morsels we send to him.”

Christopher considered Philip a moment, noting how much he had physically matured, a fact which was hidden behind his glasses. “Until I have that witness in hand, I can only bide my time. There is nothing I could have done differently that would have put me any further ahead than I am today.”

“I agree. But how you proceed from here is what concerns me.”

“Why?”

Philip returned his glasses to the bridge of his nose. “Because you have a tendré for the woman, I can tell.”

“I have a tendré for a large number of women.”

“But none of the others are in danger of losing their lives at your hands.”

Christopher inhaled deeply and turned his gaze to the window again.

“And forgive me if I am wrong,” his protégé continued, shifting nervously on the squab and clearing his throat, “but you appear to care more for Lady Winter than any of the other women you know.”

“What gives you that impression?”

“All of the things you have done that have been out of character-the siege of her home, this trip to Brighton. Her household expects her home two days hence and yet you travel out of your way to be with her, as if you cannot bear to spend any more time apart than is absolutely necessary. How can you turn her over to Sedgewick under these circumstances?”

It was a question Christopher had been considering more and more of late. The woman had done nothing to him. She was simply a temptation he had approached in the theater and had pursued ever since. He knew nothing of her association with Lord Winter, but he knew she had not caused the death of Dayton maliciously. She grieved for the man, said she had loved him.

His throat clenched at the thought of Maria’s affections engaged by another. What was she like when she loved? He had become deeply enamored with the woman who had put a footstool before him and kissed him with passion so hot it branded. Was that the Maria who had been wed to Dayton?

Lifting his hand to his chest, Christopher rubbed ineffectually at the tightness there. The woman had secrets, of that there was no doubt. But she was not evil and she meant him no harm. How, then, could he lead her to the gallows? He was not a good man. Regardless of his feelings for her, it disturbed him to exchange his life for the life of a person who was better than he was.

“Here we are,” Philip murmured, pulling Christopher from his reverie.

He straightened, his sightless gaze focusing on the cottage they approached. They were still some distance away, far enough that the rolling of the carriage wheels could not be heard from the house but close enough for him to see the well-appointed equipage that waited in the drive.

Feeling that now-familiar sense of burning possessiveness, he rapped on the roof with his knuckles and called out to his coachman, “Stop here.”

He descended and finished the journey to the house on foot, the rhythmically lapping waves on the nearby beach inciting an uncommon urgency in his steps. It was dusk, enabling him to hide his movements in the shadows. The low warble of a birdcall alerted him to the men he’d assigned to protecting Maria. He whistled back, but the sound cut off midway as he recognized the crest on the door of the coach.

Eddington.

A hundred thoughts ran through his mind at once. He paused a moment, breathing deeply to settle himself, then he circled the cottage, searching for a way to witness the activities inside.

Luck was with him. As he rounded the corner, light spilled from an open window to illuminate the loam in a slanting pattern. He moved closer and found an unhindered view of Maria and Eddington engaged in what appeared to be a heated debate. Their enmity might have soothed him slightly had Maria been dressed appropriately. But she was not. Her gown was not one a woman would wear to receive a formal caller. And Quinn was not at home.

Christopher ran to the house, pressing his back to the wall and inching closer to the open sash.

“Must I remind you,” Eddington bit out, his angry tones floating on the ocean breeze, “that I am paying you handsomely to provide a service to me. I am not paying you to take a holiday!”

“I have been ill,” she said icily.

“So you cannot perform on your back, there are other ways to meet your obligation.”

Fists and jaw clenched tight, Christopher experienced a raging of his blood such as he had never known. He’d felt murderous before, but never had the feeling been accompanied by pain in his heart and burning in his lungs.

“Don’t be crude!” she snapped.

“I will be whatever I damn well please!” the earl roared. “I pay enough for the right.”

“If it is so painful for you to part with coin, release me and find someone less expensive to see to your needs.”

Despite the sounds of the surf, Christopher thought it might be possible to hear the grinding of his teeth, but he could not stop. It took every ounce of control he had to prevent entering through the window and beating Eddington to a bloody pulp. The only thing restraining him was the knowledge that Maria’s trust could not be taken by force. She had to extend it freely.

He moved away, his mind rapidly disseminating his association with the notorious seductress. She was embroiled in something vastly unpleasant, seemingly against her will, yet she had not sought assistance. He was her lover, a wealthy one at that, and he would help her if she asked, but Maria was too accustomed to dealing with matters on her own.

Hardening his aching heart, Christopher refused to feel discarded or forgotten or to blame her for acting in self-preservation. She was an intelligent woman. She could learn, and he would teach her. Kindness. Tenderness. How much of either had she ever been shown in her life? He, perhaps, was not the best man to approach for such things, but he was capable of learning, too. He would find a way to open himself to her, so that she could feel safe opening herself to him.

So he departed as swiftly as he had come. He returned to his carriage as a different man than the one who had left-somber still, but now leaden with an introspective shroud that Philip was wise enough not to disturb.

Maria paced the length of her room with a swift, agitated stride, her dressing gown swirling around her legs.

“Where are you?” she grumbled, her gaze moving once again to the open window, waiting impatiently for her golden-haired paramour to appear. She had been home for two days now and knew from her spy in the St. John household that Christopher was at home as well, yet he did not come to her. She’d sent him a missive that morning to no avail. He had not replied, nor had he appeared.

Here she had rushed home and hurriedly bathed the dirt of travel away in preparation for his visit, only to cool her heels for days. Deep in her chest an ache blossomed and grew.

Christopher might have lost interest in her while she was away. While she had considered that possibility, the realization wounded her in a way she could not have prepared for.

She paused at the window, looking down, seeing no movement. Her eyes closed on a harshly indrawn breath. He owed her nothing, yet she was angered at the hurt he had inflicted. She was furious that he had not given her the courtesy of a simple farewell. Even one written on paper, rather than spoken in person, would have been preferable to this silent dismissal.

Damned if she would allow him to treat her like this! She had bared herself in that note, made it clear how she wished for his company. It pained her to think of it, how deeply attached to the man she had become. To seek him out, to beg his attentions.

To be discarded without a word.

Seething, Maria disrobed and then called for Sarah to assist her with re-dressing. She donned crimson silk and then took a moment to apply a heart-shaped patch just above the corner of her mouth. Slipping her dagger into the hidden sheath in her gown, she then ordered her carriage brought around. Every moment that passed intensified the burning in her blood. She was spoiling for a row, and by God, the pirate would indulge her whether he wished to or not.

Outriders surrounded her coach as they left the relative safety of Mayfair for the squalor of St. Giles, which served as home to beggars, thieves, prostitutes…and her lover. She sat in the unlit comfort of her carriage and felt her ire simmer dangerously. By the time she arrived at the pirate’s home, she was a menace waiting to be unleashed, a fact that must have been obvious. Her calling card was accepted from her footman, and she was escorted from the carriage into the foyer without delay.

“Where is he?” she asked with ominous softness, ignoring the large group of both men and women who filtered from various rooms to watch her.

The butler swallowed hard. “I will inform him of your arrival, Lady Winter.”

One finely arched brow rose. “I can announce myself, thank you. Tell me where to go.”

The servant opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, then finally said with a sigh, “Follow me, my lady.”

Maria took the staircase like a queen, her head held high, her shoulders squared. She might be a lover scorned, but she refused to act the part.

A moment later she swept into the room opened by the butler and paused inside, her heart in her throat. A jerking wave of her hand to signal for the closing of the door was all she could manage.

Christopher lounged before the fire in a state of semiundress, his feet and throat bare, his torso free of both waistcoat and coat. His head was leaned back, his brilliant blue gaze hidden in repose. Such a beautiful yet deadly creature. Even now, furious as she was, he affected her as no other man ever had.

“Christopher,” Maria called quietly, her throat so tight at the sight of him that her voice came out as barely more than a whisper.

A slow smile curved his lips, but his eyes remained closed. “Maria,” he purred. “You came.”

“And you did not come. Although I asked for you and I waited.”

He finally looked at her, his gaze narrowed and considering. “Is it so terribly wrong for me to wish you to make the effort to reach out to me?”

“I no longer have time for your games, St. John. I came for what you owe me-a clean severance.”

She turned to depart, only to find that she had miscalculated. Christopher moved swiftly, pinning her to the door with his body.

“This is no game,” he rasped with his lips to her ear.

Maria made every attempt to ignore the longed-for feel of his hard, muscled frame. He towered over her, his heated breath gusting intimately against the crown of her head. When he rolled his hips against her, she collected what he was telling her. It was impossible to feel him through the masses of underskirts and skirts, but there was no doubt he was aroused.

She fought off the flare of pleasure the knowledge gave her and said coldly, “Why then did you not come to me?”

Christopher moved, his hands leaving the paneled door to boldly cup the upper swell of her breasts. His powerful legs kept her pressed to the door as he fondled her. “I always come to you, Maria. I needed to know that you would seek me out in return.”

She sucked in a breath as desire, hot and insistent, flared at his words. But he had made a grave error in judgment by freeing her hands and a second later he knew it. She sank the veriest tip of her blade into his upper thigh.

He pushed away from her with a curse, and she spun to face him, her hand reaching behind her and thumbing the lock.

A tiny spot of blood spread around the hole in his breeches. “Do you draw weapons on Eddington, as well?” he asked softly. “Or does his coin spare him?”

Maria paused with her blade held in front of her. “How does Eddington signify?”

“That is my enquiry.” He nonchalantly drew his shirt over his head, revealing the golden expanse of his rippling abdomen. His bare chest had healing cuts and his ribs bore yellowed bruises. Her throat tightened at the sight of his many injuries, her heart pained at her contribution to the marring of such masculine beauty. He tore at the linen, ripping a strip long enough to tie around his muscled leg. “Are we familiar enough yet to share such secrets?”

“Is Eddington the cause of your refusal?” she asked, her stomach churning at the knowledge that he was aware of her continuing association with the earl.

Christopher crossed his arms and shook his head. “No. I speak the truth to you, Maria, because that is what I want from you in return. I want to support you. Help you. If only you will allow me that right.”

His tone was so low, his gaze so earnest that she was arrested by him and the feelings he was engendering. Her dagger fell from nerveless fingers to thud on the floor.

“And what rights will you grant me?” she asked, her chest lifting and falling rapidly.

“What rights would you prefer?” Christopher stepped close again, lowering his head to swipe his tongue across her parted lips. “You could have gone to Quinn or Eddington tonight. Instead you came to me despite your anger. I have something you want, Maria. Tell me what it is, so that I may give it to you.”

The last was said with a distant ache in his tone, which he quickly covered by taking her mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. His hands came up to cup her shoulders, pulling her fractionally closer.

Yet even as Maria realized that she had the power to hurt him, she also understood that he had the power to wound her in return. And he was doing it so well, weakening her with his kindness and seeming lack of guile.

“Perhaps all I want from you is sex,” she said coldly, her lips moving against his. “You have a body built for sin and a mind well-schooled on how to use it.”

His grip tightened, betraying a direct hit. It was deeply unpleasant to know that she had deliberately hurt him in order to protect herself, but she could think of no other way to act. This side of Christopher was far too dangerous. She could manage herself around the coarse pirate. She was not confident in her ability to survive the charms of the impassioned, gentle lover who was appearing more often. The rough seduction of their first sexual encounter had softened to these liaisons of sweet kisses, intimate recollections, and admissions of yearning for the other’s company. If she trusted him, it would be a romance. Since his motives were suspect, it felt like a siege, and she could not afford to be conquered when the safety of Amelia was the prize.

“You want my cock,” he whispered, “so I shall service you with it. You have only to ask for what you need. I am prepared and more than willing to provide it. In bed, or out.”

Her eyes closed, shielding her thoughts. She wished she had the strength to set aside her longing and focus solely on the task at hand, but the quivering in her limbs told her it was best to flee while she was still able. The information Welton and Eddington wanted would have to be gleaned by other means. She would find a way, she always had.

“Undress me,” she whispered, firm in her intent.

“As you wish.” His tongue traced the shell of her ear, making her shiver. “Turn your back to me.”

Maria took a deep breath, and did as he asked.