Read Sylvia Day - [Georgian 02] Online
Authors: Passion for the Game
Sylvia Day - [Georgian 02] (19 page)
Tossing his hat at his butler, he then yanked off his gloves and planned in his mind the best way to receive Maria when she arrived that evening. He would send men to escort her and ensure her safety, but what would he do with her once she was here? He’d stay buried inside her for hours, without question, but he would also like to continue wooing her. He relished the idea of exploring more of the unknown world of intimate relationships.
“Hmm . . .” He wracked his brain in his attempt to plan something neither of them would ever forget. He could ask his cook to prepare a variety of dishes known for their aphrodisiac qualities. And order flowers. Ones with a lush, exotic scent that would set the proper mood.
His lips twisted ruefully. Of course, all of that was directed toward the sexual part of the evening. He obviously knew nothing about romance or how to go about creating it. Rolling his shoulders back, Christopher considered a nap. He needed to think longer on the matter, but that required more energy than he had at the moment.
“St. John.”
Turning his head, Christopher saw Philip filling the door to his study. “What is it?”
“The men you sent to research Amelia returned this afternoon.”
His brows rose, then he nodded and moved into the room, taking a seat behind his desk. Lined up facing him were the four men he’d dispatched. All looked travel dusty and yet they were filled with a palpable excitement. Whatever they’d learned, they thought it was something he would appreciate.
“Go ahead,” he said, his fatigue of a moment ago banished.
The four men looked at each other, and then Walter stepped forward. Two score in age with the gray hair and whiskers to show it, he had been with Christopher since the beginning of his less-than-illustrious career. In fact, Walter had been one of the men to watch him lose his virginity against the alley wall.
“I sent Tim ahead to tell you the news, but I hear he was waylaid.”
Christopher smiled. “The tale is true.”
“Well, I hope the delay isn’t one you’ll regret. Her name is Amelia Benbridge, the Viscount Welton’s daughter.”
Welton’s
daughter
?
daughter
?
“Good God,” Christopher breathed, leaning back heavily into his chair. “She is Lady Winter’s half sister.”
“Aye. Odd thing is, no one in the towns surrounding Welton’s seat knew of her. When asked about the girl, everyone looked at us as if we were daft.”
“How did you find her?”
“The vicar had the birth records.”
“Well done,” Christopher praised, even as he frowned in consternation and tapped his foot upon the Aubusson rug. Maria had been stabbed in an attempt to speak with her sister. They were obviously being kept forcibly apart. “I have to find her.”
“Ah, well, we did.”
Christopher’s wide-eyed gaze shot to Walter’s beaming face. “At one of the posting inns, Peter caught himself a pretty miss. He was talking to her, trying to wiggle under her skirts, and she says she’s been hired as lady’s maid to a viscount’s daughter and the viscount she describes sounds like Welton. So we followed her to Lincolnshire and discovered the girl she tends is named Amelia Benbridge.”
“Bloody hell.”
“A dumb stroke of luck,” Walter said. “But we’ll take it, eh?”
“Yes, we will. Peter is absent,” Christopher noted. “I assume he stayed behind to watch the girl? Excellent.” He glanced at Philip, who waited by the door. “Fetch Sam.”
His fingers drummed against the surface of his desk. “Welton hired this girl?”
“That’s what she said.”
Blowing out his breath, Christopher considered what he knew. Welton had Amelia. Maria wanted Amelia. Welton supported Maria’s household and introduced her to men like Eddington. Christopher still had no notion of what Eddington was paying her for, but he now had no doubt that it was not for sexual favors. A picture was forming, but the image remained too murky to understand.
Sam stepped into the room.
“Tomorrow you are to go with Walter and the others to Lincolnshire,” Christopher said. “There is a girl there. I need to know if she is the same girl Lady Winter sought. If it is, send word to me but remain with her. Follow her if she leaves. I want to know where she is at all times.”
“Of course.” The determined set of Sam’s jaw told Christopher the man would do his best to redeem himself, just as Tim was doing.
“Clean up,” Christopher said to the others. “Relax the rest of the night. Tup a willing maid. You will receive boons for your hard work.”
“Thank you,” they said in near unison, smiling.
He waved them out, then took a moment to collect his thoughts before rising and ascending the stairs to his bedroom.
Maria knew he had the resources to help her. Now that they had breached each other’s outer defenses, would she share this with him? He hoped that she would.
With that goal in mind, he began to make plans for a seduction of a deeper kind. He wanted her heart, every dark corner and crevice of it.
Would she trust him enough to give it to him?
“The Earl of Eddington wishes to know if you are at home.”
Maria looked at her butler through her mirror’s reflection. His face was studiously impassive, as was hers, but inside she was a jumble of hurt and confusion. She nodded.
Bowing, the servant retreated.
Sarah continued to work on Maria’s hair, weaving pearls and flowers into the elaborate arrangement, but when the knock came and Eddington entered, the abigail curtsied quickly and retreated.
“My Lady Winter,” the earl drawled, striding into her boudoir. “You are, as always, an incomparable vision.”
He had never once bothered to mince his steps around her, a comfort in bearing she wasn’t certain she liked. The earl was dressed without fault in a striking burgundy ensemble, his dark hair restrained with the ends curled and hanging midway down his back. Lifting her proffered hand to his lips, Eddington then took a seat on the small stool beside her.
“Tell me something,” he said, his heavy-lidded eyes studying her intently.
“I wish I had something to offer you,” she murmured, unwilling to share news of Sedgewick until she knew for certain whether Christopher cared for her or not.
The earl sighed, as if quite put upon, then he opened his snuff box. He caught her hand, set the pinch atop the fluttering vein in her wrist, and sniffed.
“You are distressed over something,” he noted, staring at the betraying pulsing of that thin blue line.
“My abigail cannot seem to manage the style I desired.”
“Hmm . . .” He rubbed his thumb back and forth across her wrist. “What are your plans for the evening? Are you still on holiday?”
Maria tugged her hand back. “No. I have an assignation with a certain criminal of renown.”
“Lovely.” Eddington smiled with pleasure. Even though she was fairly immune to his lauded charms, she could not fail to note how attractive the man was. And a spy, too. Quite delicious, if one liked a rakish hero.
“Do you plan to ask St. John outright how he secured his release?” he asked conversationally. “Or do you plan to glean the information I need to recapture him in some other fashion?”
“If I tell you my secrets, what value would I have?”
“True.” He stood and lifted the lid to her patch box. Selecting a diamond shape, he prepared it and secured it next to the corner of her eye. “The agency could use a woman of your talents. You should consider it.”
“And you should go, so I can complete the task you set for me.”
The earl stood behind her, setting his hands on her shoulders. “Do not dismiss my offer out of hand. I am sincere.”
Maria met his gaze in the mirror. “I never dismiss anything out of hand, my lord. Most especially attractive offers made by men who stand to gain a great deal from my downfall.”
Eddington grinned. “You don’t trust anyone, do you?” “Sadly”—she looked at herself in the mirror—“I have learned not to.”
Tim pinned Sarah’s delightfully robust figure to the master sitting-room wall, his hand cupping her fleshy buttock and urging her against his erect cock. The lewd embrace had been the sole focus of his interest until he had heard Lady Winter’s discussion with Lord Eddington in the next room.
His eyes closed and his forehead rested against the wall some inches above Sarah’s, who was so much shorter. It pained him greatly to learn of the betrayal. He had come to like and respect Lady Winter and had hoped her association with St. John would continue indefinitely. They both had a certain gleam in their eyes when referencing the other, and St. John had never looked happier than when he was in her ladyship’s company.
“The earl has departed,” Tim rumbled, stepping back. “Lady Winter will be needing you now.”
“Will you come to my room later?” she asked breathlessly.
“I’ll try. Go on now.” He spun her about and urged her toward the nearby door with a pinch of her ass.
He waited until the latch had secured behind her, then he left the room.
Time was of the essence.
If he made haste, he could tell St. John about Lady Winter’s true nature and return before he was missed.
Chapter 19
C
olin whistled softly as he brushed the satiny-smooth coat of one of the carriage bays. His heart was both lighter and heavier, a strange mixture that he did not know how to manage.
olin whistled softly as he brushed the satiny-smooth coat of one of the carriage bays. His heart was both lighter and heavier, a strange mixture that he did not know how to manage.
It was beyond foolhardy, he knew, to seek Amelia out. She was far too young, and many stations above him. They could never be together. Not in any way. Their few stolen kisses were a danger to both, and he felt the cad for even stealing those.
She would be set free one day, exposed to the world at large and men like Lord Ware. She would look back on these days and her fervent girlish infatuation and wonder what she had been thinking to imagine herself in love with a groomsman. He was simply the only dish on the table, so she imagined herself hungry for him. But once she was set before a banquet, his common contribution would be like porridge amongst a multicourse meal.
“Colin.”
He turned at the sound of his uncle’s voice, watching as the rotund man entered the stable. “Yes, uncle?”
Yanking off his hat, Pietro ran a hand through his graying dark hair in a gesture rife with frustration. Aside from the differing widths of their middles, they looked very much alike, their Gypsy heritage unquestionable even though Colin’s was diluted by a non-Gypsy mother.
“I know you’ve been seeing the lass in the woods.”
Colin tensed.
“The guards tell me she’s been meeting the lord from the neighboring property, and now you’ve interfered.”
“I haven’t.” Colin resumed his exertions. “She saw him yesterday.”
“I told you to stay away from her!” Pietro approached, anger evident in the set of his shoulders. “Take your needs to the village wenches and dairymaids.”
“I have. I do.” Breathing deep, Colin fought to control his temper. “You know I do.”
And it ached when he did; every woman he took beneath him was a temporary relief from his raging desires, but nothing more. His heart had belonged to Amelia since he was a boy. His love for her had grown and changed, matured, even as his body did. She was guileless and innocent, her love for him pure and sweet.
He rested his head against the horse’s neck. Amelia was everything to him, had been from the day Viscount Welton had hired his uncle. Pietro had agreed to work for far lower wages than other coachmen. It was the reason he had kept his job all these years rather than being replaced often, as the governesses were.
Colin would never forget the way Amelia had run up to him with that bright, open-hearted smile and placed a dirty hand in his.
“Play with me,” she’d said.
Having come from a large band with many children, he had been afraid of loneliness. But Amelia had been a dozen playmates in one. Blessed with an adventurous spirit, she had been willing to learn all of the games he knew and then she’d set her mind to besting him at every one.
Over the years he’d come to appreciate her with a man’s awareness enhanced by a joyous history of friendship and true companionship. He had grown into love with her, not fallen, his affection rooted deeply in the past. Perhaps Amelia’s was, too, but how could he know for certain? He had experience with other females. Amelia had only him. Her feelings could change as she gained understanding of her choices. His never would. He would love her always.
Colin exhaled wearily. Regardless, even if she felt the same, he could never have her.
“Ah, boy,” his uncle said, placing a large hand on his shoulder. “If you love her, leave her be. She has the world at her feet. Don’t take that from her.”
“I’m trying not to,” he said hoarsely. “I’m trying.”
Christopher sat in a wingback in his sitting room and stared into the glass in his hand. He was not quite certain what it was that he was feeling. It was rather the way he had felt when he’d overheard Eddington and Maria in Brighton, only now the tightening in his chest was nearly unbearable. Inhaling and exhaling was a conscious task.
“You should return,” he said to Tim, his voice so low and raw, it startled him a moment. He scarcely recognized himself. He was not thinking, acting, or speaking like the man he had been before meeting Maria. “We do not want you to be missed.”
He thought wryly about Tim’s position in the Wintry Widow’s household. She was so confident of her inevitable success that she freely allowed a serpent in her midst.
“Aye.” Tim turned to go.
“If Eddington returns, I want to know the details of the exchange.”
“Of course. I won’t disappoint you again.”
Christopher nodded, his gaze still deep in his glass. “Thank you.”
He was vaguely aware of his bedroom door closing, but other than that, he was lost in thought. He prided himself on his ability to judge character and read people. He would not be alive today if he lacked that skill. Why then did he find it nearly impossible to convince himself that Maria felt no tenderness for him? The facts were there, clear and indisputable, yet in his heart he still believed in her.
Snorting, he lifted his glass to his lips and drained it. Therein lay his problem. His heart was directing him, and not his brain. Sadly, he loved her. That traitorous woman. His Jezebel, a seductress whose livelihood was dependent upon how many men she could lead to their rewards.
A knock came to the door, pulling him from his maudlin thoughts. “Come in,” he called out.
Next he knew, he was rising to his feet by sheer habit, his pulse leaping into a passionate, riotous pace at the sight of his lover returning.
How much time had passed? A glance at the mantel clock told him nearly two hours.
Turning his head, he caught her gaze, saw the glimmer of pure pleasure that said she felt similarly, then it was quickly masked by a seductive smile. She was hooded, the black cowl framing her delicately seductive beauty, with those big, dark eyes and pouty red lips.
Christopher took a deep breath, then walked toward her before circling behind her. He set his hands on her cloaked shoulders and breathed her in. Warm, luscious woman. “I missed you,” he murmured, reaching around her to the frogs at her throat.
“Will you always greet me dressed only in breeches?”
Always
, as if there were a possibility of a future between them.
, as if there were a possibility of a future between them.
“Would you like me to?” He unclasped the cloak, gently lifted the hood from her head, and then allowed the entire weighty mass to puddle on the floor at their feet.
“I would prefer you naked,” she said.
“As I would you, a preference I will see to directly.” He began the task of undressing her, appreciating how much easier it was to accomplish when sober. His fingers moved nimbly, quickly freeing buttons and tapes.
“How was your day after I departed?” he asked.
“Lonely. I missed you, too.”
Christopher’s hands paused. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to calm the part of him that flared white hot at her words. In his mind, he relived the afternoon—the way she had loved him, the way she had opened to him. That startled, almost frightened look she’d had when she came for him. The way she shivered when he touched her and melted when he kissed her.
When they were in bed, they were stripped and bared to each other beyond mere clothing.
“I have delicacies to feed you,” he murmured, kissing the angry scar on her shoulder, “and flowers to woo you. I did not intend to start the evening in bed, but I find I cannot wait.”
His hands slipped into the gaping back of her gown and reached around to cup her breasts through her chemise. He found her nipples hard, and he tugged on them with his fingertips in exactly the way she liked.
Maria’s head fell back against his shoulder with a low moan.
“I love your breasts,” he growled, his lips to her ear. “Tonight I intend to suck on them until you come with my cock deep inside you. Remember how that felt? How tight you gripped me?” He rolled his hips. “My cock is hard with the mere remembrance of it.”
“Christopher.” There was something sad and plaintive in the way she said his name, and all around them hung a heavy air of melancholy.
Impatient to reach the heart of the matter, he released her to tear open the back of her gown, which sent tiny, cloth-covered buttons flying out to either side.
“You will leave me with nothing to wear,” she said, her breathlessness betraying her secret desire to be taken. He knew this, of course, and suspected that Quinn’s relatively easy acquiescence to her ending of their sexual relationship was the other man’s downfall. Perhaps if the Irishman had pursued Maria more doggedly, she would not be here in Christopher’s house now.
His impatience grew at the thought and he tore at her tapes and ties with even more ferocity. Her chemise rent with a loud ripping sound, and then Maria turned and was in his arms, her bare breasts pressed to his bare chest. He caught her up, taking the mouth she offered, lifting her feet from the floor.
Her tiny hands cupped his face; her soft, sweet lips worked frantically beneath his. Desperation, he could taste it and felt it in his own blood.
He nearly ran to the bed, so quick was his stride. He tossed her down and tore at his breeches.
“Spread your legs.”
Wariness passed over her features, and Christopher knew why. He was not affording her the chance to hide.
Stepping free of his lone garment, he joined her on the bed, his hands catching her knees and opening her wide. She struggled, but he gave her no quarter, pinning her hips so he could take her cunt with his mouth.
“No,” she cried out, her hands gripping his hair. “Not that way . . .”
Framing the ebony curls with his hands, Christopher parted her, exposing the soft pink skin and the hood that shielded her clitoris. With the pointed tip of his tongue, he rubbed it, teased it, coaxed it to come out and play. The moment it emerged, he wrapped his lips around the surrounding area and sucked gently. Maria moaned and arched upward, all the while begging him to cease, to fuck her with his cock, to give her time to regroup and be less vulnerable. She did not say the last, of course, but he knew it.
He also knew the moment she opened her eyes and saw the mirror above his bed, because she gasped and stiffened.
“Appreciate the view?” he purred before returning to his ministrations.
Maria stared up at the lewd reflection of Christopher’s golden head between her legs and was devastated by what she saw. Glassy eyed and flushed from head to hipbone, she looked nothing like the grim, determined woman she had seen in the mirror at home. The woman she saw now was lost to the pleasures bestowed by a man she craved with a deep-seated, almost innate hunger. A man who had sought her out with the express purpose of leading her to the gallows in his place.
She could forgive that, knowing she had come to him with a nefarious purpose. She understood how many individuals relied on his support for their livelihood and that they were likely his motivation for saving himself. He would not bother for his own sake.
She knew this because she understood
him
, the man she thought he was, the man who once had a brother he loved as much as she loved Amelia. But the fact remained that his motives might not have changed from their original purpose and the man between her legs might be a man who wanted her dead.
him
, the man she thought he was, the man who once had a brother he loved as much as she loved Amelia. But the fact remained that his motives might not have changed from their original purpose and the man between her legs might be a man who wanted her dead.
“Maria.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and felt him move. He pressed a kiss to her clitoris, then moved up to lie beside her.
“You are far from shy,” he murmured, “yet the sight of my making love to you has chilled your desire.” Cupping her hip, he rolled her into him so that the heat and hardness of his erection pressed into her belly. “Is it too intimate?”
Maria opened her eyes and studied him, noting both the soft affection in his deep blue eyes and the intensity of his perusal.
“Is it ‘making love’?” she queried in a small voice. “Or is this sex between two people who fit well together?”
“You tell me.”
They stared at one another, and she felt the questions between them like another body in the bed. “I wish I knew.”
“Let us find out together, then.” Lifting her thigh, he moved into place, the wide, smooth head of his cock slipping through the folds of her sex. “Take me inside you,” he rasped. “Let me in.”
Was it possible to learn a man’s character through sex?
“Tell me what happened to the witness who would have testified against you,” she whispered.
“Who wishes to know?” he rejoined.
Her breath caught, then grew more labored. “Christopher.”
Could he know? Was it possible? Surely, if he knew what she was about, he would not be touching her the way he was now.
“Let me inside you, Maria.” He nudged against her, pressing against the small slitted entrance to her body. “Make love to me, and I will give you the answers you seek.”
As she settled her leg over his hip and reached behind her to position him properly, her hand shook and her indrawn breath shuddered in her tight lungs. She circled his thickness with her fingers and altered the angle of his penetration. He slipped in a fraction, spreading her wide, making her neck arch in pleasure.
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