Passion for the Game

Now, however, he found himself hesitant, less will ing to make the journey to hel . He wanted to see Maria again, to feel her beneath him arching in pleasure, to hear her throaty laughter as she teased him. He wanted her to prick his temper as only she could until he was hard as a rock and hot to ride her all night.

Damn it, base as it was, he wanted to fuck her again and the craving was such that he wished to live long enough to manage to task. A harsh bark of laughter escaped him as he col ected his hat and gloves from his butler and left his house. Primitive animals, indeed.

It was absurd to want a woman this badly. He could have anyone, from a duchess to a fishwife. Women lusted for him, always had. But as he pulled his mount to a halt before Maria’s home and tossed the reins to the waiting groomsman, the anticipation that coursed through him was a unique

product of only one female.

When the butler opened the door to find him on the stoop with call ing card in hand, the servant could not hide his look of dismay.

“Take the card,” Christopher drawled, “and we can avoid a siege.”

Sniffing, the servant did as he suggested and led him to the same parlor where he had previously spoken with Lord Welton. Once he was left alone, Christopher took note of the room in daylight, noting the elaborate gilded moldings that decorated the pale gray wal s. He hated waiting, and he hated the way his impatience made him pace. Some men paced. Christopher was general y not one of them.

Final y the door opened and Maria stepped into the room. He paused midstep, staring, startled by his reaction to her in casual attire. It seemed oddly intimate, reminding him of the night before and the way she had felt in his arms, lush and warm. He could not think of one thing he would rather have done than lie abed with her, feeling her lips wet and soft and clinging to his.

He reached her shortly, his stride swift in his eagerness to take her mouth and relive the delights of the previous evening. Cognizant of her delicate condition, Christopher cupped her spine with great care and tilted his head to kiss her as he wanted. Maria stood rigid for a moment and then yielded sweetly.

He licked, nibbled, and ate at her as if she were a dessert he could not consume enough of. His skin grew hot, then damp with perspiration, every muscle tense with need and desire. From a kiss, and he did not even real y enjoy kissing, considering it a needless distraction from the good part of sex.

But by God…Maria’s kisses were sexual acts in and of themselves. He withdrew only because he needed to breathe. Certainly that was the only reason he felt dizzy.

Maria’s eyes opened, revealing dark and dazed depths. “Hmm…” she murmured, licking her lips. “Delicious.”

The throaty way she said the word aroused him further. He growled his frustration and cupped her face in his hands. “Listen. I must depart today.

There is a matter of some urgency that requires my attention. Tel me now if you are intent on another harebrained scheme so I can assign some men to protect you.”

She smiled. “I am going on holiday, to rest and recuperate.”

“Good.” His fingers tightened their hold and then he released her, backing away quickly. There was something about her bearing that made him suspicious. He would keep additional guards on her anyway. “Where are you going?”

“I have yet to decide.”

“When are you departing?”

“Today.”

“When will you be back?”

She laughed, her dark eyes bright. With her kiss-swol en lips and black-as-pitch hair, she was beyond beautiful. “Will you miss me?”

“I hope not,” he muttered, feeling surly for no reason he could recognize.

“I shal miss you.”

Alert, he studied her. “You will ?”

“No. It seemed like the thing to say.”

“Witch.” He knew she was toying with him, could see it in the way she looked at him, and yet part of him wished she were sincere.

“Christopher?” she prodded, when the silence stretched on. “You do not seem to be yourself today.”

“It is you who is different,” he accused. She seemed…lighter in mood than usual. He wanted to know why. Who had wrought this change in her?

Maria sighed audibly and walked to the settee. “So we part ways here.” She sat and patted the space next to her in silent invitation.

He did not move.

She settled her hands primly in her lap and arched one brow expectantly. Belatedly Christopher understood that she was waiting for him to say something.

“I have to go,” he said. To kil , and perhaps to be kil ed.

She nodded.

“If you have even the slightest desire to kiss me good-bye,” he said gruffly, “you should do so now.”

“I see.” Her lips pursed. “Why do I have the feeling that a flippant remark here would ruin the moment?”

He turned on his heel and walked out.

“Christopher! Wait.”

He paused on the threshold and turned, his mien one of patent boredom.

Maria was standing again and appeared to have taken steps to follow him. “I slept better last night than I have in a long while.”

It was some sort of olive branch, so he stepped back into the room and closed the door. She was either the best trickster in the world or she was growing soft on him. Masculine satisfaction warred with guilt.

Then she crossed the room to him with an enticing sashay and set her hands on his chest. She tilted her head back and looked up at him. He stared down at her, waiting, needing her to be the one who closed the distance between them.

“I should have all owed you to leave,” she complained, shaking her head.

Stepping away to col ect a footstool, Maria then set it down before him. She climbed atop it, which stil left her short of eye level but brought her much closer to his mouth. “Tel me again why I am exerting myself in this manner.”

He smiled, content now to leave and do what he must. “For this.”

And then he kissed her ardently.

Chapter 12

“Feeling better?” Miss Pool asked, glancing aside at Amelia as they walked through the vil age on their return trip home.

Amelia nodded. “I am, yes. Thank you.”

Ever since the night Maria had come for her, she’d grown more and more restless. When it became obvious that she couldn’t concentrate on the day’s lessons, Miss Pool had suggested they set the work aside in favor of a day outdoors. Parasols in hand, they had ventured out with no particular destination in mind but had found themselves drawn to the nearby market town. Amelia enjoyed the afternoon strol , appreciating the opportunity to see others industriously going about their daily business. Other people had ful lives, even if she did not.

“The body needs as much conditioning as the mind,” Miss Pool said in her soft, sweet voice.

“I have always thought so, too.” Of course, she’d grown up alongside a physical y active boy and had learned to relish hard play. She also relished a dimpled smile, but she had not seen that in years.

“I do like your hair worn up.” The governess smiled. “You look every inch the fine lady. I will write your father this evening and suggest the procurement of a proper abigail for you.”

Amelia touched her hair nervously. Braided and then coiled into a bun, it was heavy and her neck ached with the unaccustomed weight. But if this was what was required to be considered a young woman and not a child, she considered the discomfiture worth it.

“Good afternoon, Miss Pool. Miss Benbridge.”

They slowed and smiled at the young cobbler who had stepped outside of his shop to greet them. The handsome blond man smiled shyly through his beard and rubbed his palms nervously against his apron.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Field,” Miss Pool greeted with a soft blush on her cheeks that didn’t escape Amelia’s notice.

The two appeared to like each other, with more than casual interest. Curious, Amelia studied them, wondering if she looked so obviously smitten when she crossed paths with Colin. How dreadful if she did, to wear that glowing look of hope and longing in the face of his curtness and obvious distaste for her.

Feeling both morose and embarrassed that she was intruding on an exchange that seemed intimate, she turned her back to the couple……and spotted a familiar set of broad shoulders and long legs walking away from her. At Colin’s side was a blond girl who Amelia guessed was close to his age, if the ripe womanly curves were any indication. They were laughing, their eyes bright as they looked at each other. His hand was at her lower back, steering her around a corner so that they disappeared from view.

Unable to resist, Amelia moved forward, her movements jerky. Colin and the buxom girl had looked at each other much as Miss Pool and Mr. Field were. A look fil ed with promise.

Amelia rounded the same building, her steps slowing as she heard low murmured voices and subdued giggles. She passed barrels and crates, her focus so narrow that when a stray cat leapt to the ground with a meow it frightened her half to death. She fel back against the brick, her hand sheltering her racing heart, her eyes squeezed shut with dread. It was cooler back here, the pass-through shaded from the sun by the building.

She knew she should turn back. Miss Pool wouldn’t be distracted long and then she would worry about her. But Amelia’s heart ignored reason, to no surprise. If the stubborn thing listened at all, it would have ceased pining for Colin months ago.

Taking a deep breath of courage, she pushed off the wal and turned the corner to reach the back of the shop. There she stil ed, her breath seized in her lungs, her open parasol first fall ing to her side and then fall ing from her fingers to thud on the soft earth.

Colin and his companion were too occupied to note the sound. The pretty blonde was pressed against the rear wal , her head tilted back to invite Colin’s roving mouth, which moved across the swel of flesh exposed by her low bodice. He caged her in, his left arm bearing the weight of his torso, his right hand kneading the ful breast the girl thrust wantonly toward him.

Pain stabbed deep into Amelia’s heart, a wound so brutal she moaned with the agony of it. Colin’s head flew up, his eyes widening as he saw her.