Passion for the Game

Chapter 2

“There is the possibility that she was sold into slavery.”

Maria paused her pacing before the fire to stare hard at her investigator and former paramour. Simon Quinn wore only a multicolored silk robe, his tanned throat and chest visible in the parted opening. His eyes, a startling blue, stood out in stark contrast to his dark skin and black hair. Irish coloring. The complete opposite of the golden St. John, and younger by several years, but extremely handsome in his own right.

Aside from his innate sexuality, Simon appeared innocuous enough. Only the intense way he studied his surroundings hinted at a livelihood fraught with danger. In the course of their association, he had broken nearly every law there was.

So had she.

“Odd you would say that tonight,” she murmured. “Welton said the same to me earlier.”

“That certainly does not bode well, then, does it?” he asked in his smooth-as-satin voice.

“I can do nothing with conjecture, Simon. Find me the proof of it. Then we can kill Welton and give chase.”

Behind her, the fire in the grate quickly heated her dressing gown and then the backs of her legs to an uncomfortable degree, but inside she was icy with terror. The thoughts that filled her mind made her ill. How would she ever find Amelia if her sister was in the world at large?

Simon’s brows rose. “Taking the search beyond the shores of England would greatly diminish the chances of a successful outcome.”

Raising the cordial in her hand to her lips, Maria drained the contents to bolster her spirits and set the small glass on the mantel. Her gaze moved across the room, once again finding comfort in the stained wood paneling and dark green drapes. It was an extremely masculine study, an effect that served two purposes. One, it established a somber mood that discouraged meaningless discourse. Two, it gave her a sense of control she needed desperately. Often she felt like a puppet on Welton’s strings, but here she was in command.

She shrugged and resumed her pacing, her black dressing gown swirling around her ankles. “You act as if I have something else to live for.”

“Surely there is some goal you wish to accomplish.” He rose to his feet, towering over her as most everyone did. “Something more pleasant than death.”

“I cannot think of the future beyond finding Amelia.”

“You could. It will not make you weak to wish for better things.”

The glance she shot him was narrowed and cool enough to discourage most. Simon, however, simply laughed. He had once shared her bed, and with it, the inevitable domestic discord that came with the role of resident lover.

Maria sighed, her gaze moving to the portrait of her first husband that hung on the wall from a length of thick ribbon. The swirls of paint created an image of a portly man with ruddy cheeks and bright green eyes.

“I miss Dayton,” she confessed, her restless stride slowing, “and the support he provided.”

The Earl of Dayton had saved her from total ruin. Seeing through Welton’s exterior, the kind widower had rescued her, paying a high price to take a girl young enough to be his granddaughter as his second wife. Under his tutelage she learned everything she needed to know to survive. Weaponry and the consummate use of it were only two of the many lessons learned.

“We will see to it that he is avenged,” Simon murmured. “I promise you that.”

Rolling her shoulders in a vain attempt to alleviate the tension there, Maria moved to the desk and sank wearily into the seat. “What about St. John? Can he be of any use to me?”

“Of course. With what the man knows, he could be of use to anyone. But there must be something to be gained for him. He is not a man known for his charitable tendencies.”

She curled her fingers around the carved ends of the chair. “It would not be sex. A man who looks like he does would have women aplenty.”

“Very true. He is a man known for living to excess.”

Moving to the sideboard, Simon poured his own libation and rested a lean hip against the edge. While he managed the appearance of nonchalance, he never lowered his guard for a moment. She knew this and appreciated it.

“I can only assume it is the death of your husbands and their relation to the agency that has sparked his interest.”

She nodded, expecting as much. The only motivation she could find for St. John’s approach was his desire to use her as Welton did-for a distasteful task where feminine wiles were required. But surely he had women closer to him who could do the job with similar efficiency? “How was he caught? After all these years, I cannot help but wonder what error he made.”

“From what I can discern, he made none. An informant was found who was willing to speak out against him.”

“A bona fide informant?” she asked softly, her mind’s eye remembering the brief moments she’d spent with the criminal. He was supremely confident as only a man with no fears could be. He was also a man one would be foolish to cross. “Or simply one who bent to coercion?”

“Most likely the latter. I shall look into it.”

“Yes, do.” Maria fingered the corner of a piece of parchment on her desk. Her gaze rested on the sparkling amber liquid in Simon’s hand and then moved higher, noting his broad shoulders and powerful arms.

“I wish I were of more help to you.” The sincerity in his voice could not be mistaken.

“Do you know of a woman we could trust to align herself with Welton?”

He paused with his snifter lifted halfway to his mouth, a slow smile transforming his features. “By God, you are a wonder. Dayton taught you well.”

“One can hope, yes? Welton has a preference for blondes.”

If only her mother had known that.

“I shall find a suitable female posthaste.”

Maria leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

“Mhuirnín?”

“Yes?” She heard his glass settle on the surface of the sideboard and then the steady sound of Simon’s confident stride. It made her sigh, flooding her with a sense of comfort she struggled to deny herself.

“Time for bed.” His large hand covered hers where it curved around the chair arm, and the rich scent of his skin filled her nostrils. Sandalwood. Pure Simon.

“There is too much to be considered,” she protested, her eyes opening just enough to look up at him.

“Whatever it is, it can wait until morning.” He tugged her up and when she stumbled, he caught her close, embracing her in warmth. “You know I will not be swayed until you do as I say.”

Her body attempted to melt against his, and Maria squeezed her eyes shut to fight off the urge.

She could not help but remember the feel of him moving over and inside her, an association she had put an end to over a year ago. When his touch had come to mean more to her than mere physical comfort, Maria had concluded the affair. She could not afford to become complacent or feel contentment. Still, Simon remained in her household. She refused to love him, but she could not send him away either. She adored him and appreciated his friendship and his knowledge of the underbelly of society.

“I know your rules.” His hands cradled her spine.

He did not like them, she knew. His carnal interest had not waned. She felt it even now, pressing hard against her stomach. A younger man’s appetite.

“If I were a better woman, I would make you go.”

Simon sighed into her hair and pulled her closer. “Have you learned nothing about me in the years we have been together? You could not make me leave. I owe you my life.”

“You exaggerate,” she admonished, recollecting when she first saw him in an alleyway, standing alone against a dozen opponents. He held his own with a ferocity that frightened and aroused her. She almost continued on, her aim that dark night to follow a lead on Amelia that seemed more promising than most. But her conscience would not allow her to ignore the imbalanced battle.

Brandishing sword and pistol, and flanked by several men, she managed to be sufficiently intimidating and the attackers had been frightened away. Left weakened and bloody, Simon had still chastised her roundly. He did not need rescuing, he said.

Then he collapsed at her feet.

Her original intent had been merely to clean him up and ease her conscience. Then he had emerged from a bath, a virile and breathtaking creature. And she had kept him.

Simon stepped back, his mouth curving in a wry smile as if he knew her thoughts. “I would face a dozen men again, hundreds, if it led me back to your bed.”

Maria shook her head. “You are incorrigible, and overly randy.”

“It is impossible to be too randy,” he said with laughter in his voice, leading her toward the door with his hand at the small of her back. “You will not distract me from ushering you into bed. You need rest and sweet dreams.”

“Ah, have you learned nothing about me?” she queried as they stepped out to the hallway and took the stairs. “I prefer not to dream. It makes waking so depressing.”

“One day all will be well,” he promised in a low, assured tone. “I promise you.”

She yawned and then gasped as she was swung up into powerful arms. Within moments she was tucked into bed with a quick good-night kiss pressed to her forehead. As Simon retired, the soft click of the adjoining door made relaxation possible.

But it was a different set of blue eyes that followed her into sleep.

“Good evening, sir.”

Christopher nodded at his butler. From his drawing room on the left, raucous laughter spilled out of the open double doors to fill the entryway where he stood.

“Send Philip to me directly,” he ordered softly, handing over his hat and gloves.

“Yes, sir.”

Crossing to the stairs, he passed the boisterous group of his men and their companions. They called out to him, and he paused a moment on the threshold, his gaze moving over the assembled crowd he considered his family. They were celebrating his release-the luck of the devil, they said-but work awaited him. There was much he needed to ascertain and accomplish if he wished to ensure his present state of freedom.

“Enjoy yourselves,” he urged before taking the stairs with shouted protests following him to the second floor.

He reached his rooms and, with the help of his valet began to undress. He was shrugging free of his waistcoat when the young man he had requested rapped lightly on the door and then entered at his behest.

“What have you learned?” Christopher asked without preliminaries.

“About as much as one could expect to learn in the space of a day.” Philip tugged at his cravat and started pacing, his pale green coat and breeches a stark contrast to the stamped leather that lined the walls.

“How many times must I warn you about your fidgeting?” Christopher admonished. “It betrays a weakness that begs to be exploited.”

“My apologies.” The youth adjusted his spectacles and coughed.

“No need to apologize. Simply correct it. Stand straight, no slouching, and look me in the eye like an equal.”

“But I am not your equal!” Philip protested, pausing midstride, looking for a moment very much like the five-year-old child who had appeared on Christopher’s doorstep orphaned, beaten, and destitute.

“No, you are not,” Christopher agreed, moving as required to facilitate his disrobing, “but you must attempt to face me as one. Respect is earned here and in the world at large. No one will give it to you simply because you are pleasant and thorough. In fact, many an idiot has obtained success merely by acting as if it were his right.”

“Yes, sir.” Philip squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

Christopher smiled. The boy would become a man yet. One who could stand firmly on his own two feet and survive the worst life could throw at him. “Excellent. Now speak.”

“Lady Winter is six and twenty, twice widowed, with neither husband surviving more than two years in her bed.”

Shaking his head, Christopher said, “Can you begin with something I do not know and then continue in that vein?”

Philip flushed.

“Do not become flustered. Simply remember that time is valuable and you want others to consider yours to be of some worth. You should always lead off with the kernel of information most likely to pique interest. Then proceed from there.”

Taking a deep breath, Philip blurted, “She has a resident paramour.”

“Well…” Christopher stilled, awash in visions of a softer Lady Winter, a woman flushed and sated from passionate play. It was his valet’s sharp tug to his waistband that pulled him out of his surprise. Freeing the placket of his breeches, he cleared his throat and said, “That’s more like it.”

“Oh, good! I was unable to gather much aside from his Irish descent, but I can tell you he has been a member of her household since Lord Winter passed on two years ago.”

Two years.

“Also, I find something curious about her relations with her stepfather, Lord Welton.”

“Curious?” Christopher asked.

“Yes, the servant I spoke with mentioned his frequent visits. I find that odd.”

“Perhaps because your relations with your stepfather were less than satisfactory?”

“Perhaps.”

Christopher thrust his arms through the robe his valet held out for him. “Thompson, bring Beth and Angelica to me.”

The valet bowed slightly before doing as he was bid, and Christopher left the dressing room for the sitting area. “What do we know of her finances?” he tossed over his shoulder.

“Not enough at the moment,” Philip answered, following, “but that will be rectified in the morning. She appears flush, so I am curious as to why she feels the need to acquire money in such a gruesome manner.”

“And you reached the conclusion of her guilt with sufficient evidence?”

“Ah…no.”

“I can do nothing with conjecture, Philip. Find proof.”

“Yes, sir.”

Two years. Which proved she was capable of some feeling. A woman did not share the delights of her body with a man for that length of time without caring at least some small measure. “Tell me about Welton.”

“He is a profligate who spends the majority of his waking moments pursing gaming tables and whores.”

“Haunts?”

“White’s and Bernadette’s.”

“Preferences?”

“Hazard and blondes.”

“Well done.” Christopher smiled. “I am pleased with what you accomplished in only a few hours.”

“Your life depends upon it,” Philip said simply. “Were I you, I would have sent someone with more expertise.”

“You were ready.”

“That is debatable, but in any case, I’m grateful.”

Moving to the row of decanters on the nearby walnut table, Christopher waved off the statement before pouring a glass of water. “What use would I have for you if you remain green?”

“Yes, exploitation was your only aim,” Philip said dryly as he leaned against the mantel. “The Lord forbid that my well-being should be the result of a momentary bout of generosity. A recurring bout, I should mention, as all of us under this roof seem to have stumbled upon it at some point.”

Christopher snorted and drained his glass. “Please refrain from casting kind aspersions upon my character. It’s quite rude to malign me so.”

Philip had the temerity to roll his eyes. “Your fearsome reputation has been hard earned and proven many times. Taking in the world’s strays will not raise sunken ships from the ocean’s depths, replace stolen cargos, or revitalize those foolish enough to have crossed you. You’ve no cause to worry. My undying gratitude shan’t diminish your infamy.”

“Cheeky bastard.”

The young man smiled and then the moment was broken by a soft knock at the door.

“Come in,” Christopher called out, bowing his head slightly in greeting as a statuesque blonde and petite but voluptuous brunette joined them. “Ah, lovely. I have need of both of you.”

“We missed you,” Beth said with a seductive flip of her loose blond hair. Angelica simply winked. She was the quieter of the two, unless she was fucking. Then she cursed like the crudest of his sailors.

“Pardon me,” Philip interjected, frowning. “How did you know Welton would not have a preference for red-haired wenches?”

“How do you know they are not here for me?” Christopher countered.

“Because I am here and you are focused. You never mix business with pleasure.”

“Perhaps pleasure is the business, young Philip.”

Philip’s gray eyes narrowed behind his spectacles, a physical sign of his mental exertions. It was that tendency to reason out everything that had first captured Christopher’s attention. A bright mind was not to be wasted.

Setting aside his glass, Christopher then sank into the nearest wingback chair. “Ladies, I have a request of both of you.”

“Whatever you need,” Angelica purred, “you know we will provide.”

“Thank you,” he said graciously, having known they would agree to whatever he required. Loyalty worked both ways in his household. He would fight to the death for any one of the persons under his care, and they offered the same courtesy to him in return.

“The modiste will come by tomorrow and measure you both for new garments.” The rapacious gleam in their eyes made him smile. “Beth, you are about to become Lord Welton’s most intimate confidante.”

The blonde nodded, a movement that caused her large, unfettered breasts to sway within her pale blue gown.

“And me?” Angelica asked, her painted mouth curving with anticipation.

“You, my dark-eyed beauty, will serve as a distraction when required.”

He was uncertain whether it was Lady Winter’s purse that captivated her lover’s attention, her beauty, or both. Taking no chances, Christopher hoped Angelica’s exotic features and a carefully crafted façade of wealth would be enough to lure his rival away. She was not nearly as refined as the Wintry Widow, but she was curvy enough and bore the clear hallmarks of Spanish bloodlines. In a darkened room, she could pass.

Rubbing the slight sting left on his wrist by Lady Winter’s ring, Christopher found himself desirous of the infamous seductress’s company. What a fine piece she was. Fragile in appearance and fierce in temperament. He knew, without question, that his life was about to become far more interesting than it had been of late. It was almost depressing that he had to wait a few days before he could tangle with her again.

In the meantime, his appetites were roused by lack of female companionship. He had been imprisoned for weeks. Surely that was the only reason he was thinking of the Wintry Widow with such fierce carnal interest. She was a task to accomplish, nothing more.

Still, when he lifted his hand and waved his visitors away, he drawled, “Not you, Angelica. I want you to stay.”

She licked her lips.

“Lock the door, love. Then turn down the lamps.”

Christopher sighed as the lights dimmed. Not Lady Winter. But in a darkened room, she could pass.