Passion for the Game(11)
Author: Sylvia Day

“I think you must,” she said, wincing as her bedroom door rocked in its hinges.

“Maria!” Simon shouted through the door, followed immediately by a grunt and a thud.

Christopher had to admit, he was impressed at the other man’s ability to persevere.

“They won’t harm him, will they?” she asked with a worried frown. “A little rough play is one thing, but I will not tolerate anything beyond that.”

Her concern for the other man was an irritant.

“Al I ask of you,” he said tightly, “is what I asked before—I want you available for my use. No haring off. I want you when I want you, not a sennight later and too il to take me.”

“Perhaps I prefer to decline and manage my own affairs.”

He snorted. “Perhaps I might have believed you if you had not admitted to thinking of me.”

“I am no man’s mistress.”

“I offer the same level of convenience to you. I will come when you call for me. Does that put the arrangement in a more agreeable light?”

Maria’s fingers stroked across his palm. It was an innocent caress, one given almost without thought. Her gaze was distant, her mind occupied elsewhere, her lower lip worried between her teeth. He lifted his free hand and stroked his thumb across the plump curve.

“When we first met in the theater, you mentioned an agency,” she reminded, her breath hot against his skin.

“The agency.” Christopher fought the urge to tel her to keep her silence, to tel him nothing that he could use against her.

“Is that the true purpose behind this offer?” Her head tilted to the side as she studied him. “Because you have need to use me in some way beyond warming your bed?”

“Partly.” His thumb left her lip to brush along the curve of her cheekbone. “I do want you, Maria. I do want to help you.”

Her eyes closed again on a sigh. “I am weary, Christopher. It was a hard journey in this condition. Later, I will consider your proposal.”

“Why did you risk returning?” He sensed there was more than weariness involved. She seemed disheartened and deeply melancholy.

Her eyes blinked open and the way she clutched at his hand conveyed urgency. “Welton is not aware of my…interests or travels. If you truly wish to help me, I have a task for you.”

“What can I do?”

“Where were you two nights past when I was injured?”

He was at Emaline’s attempting to convince himself that one cunt was as good as another, but damned if he would say so. He scowled at her.

“Are your whereabouts that night well known?” she revised.

Afflicted by guilt—an emotion he so rarely felt that it took him a moment to recognize it—he said hoarsely, “No.”

“Would you say I was with you if asked?”

“Hmm…I might. With the right persuasion.”

“If you were with another woman, I’m not inclined to persuade you about anything. I shal find another alibi.”

“Are you jealous?” He smiled, warmed by the thought.

“Should I be?” Maria shook her head. “Disregard. Men do not tolerate jealous women.”

“True.” Christopher pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, then deepened it when she did not pul away. Instead, she shivered and opened wider. His tongue stroked deep, his blood simmering instantly at her response. Hurt and in pain, she stil accepted his amorous attentions as if unable to resist.

He whispered against her mouth, “But this man likes the thought of a jealous Maria.”

A knock came to the door that led to the gal ery, forcing them apart.

“Rest,” he said when she opened her mouth to reply. “I will make myself useful.”

Rising to his feet, Christopher moved to the door and opened it, finding a sheepish-looking Tom.

“Lord Welton is in the parlor,” Tom said. “Philip has asked for you.”

Christopher was immediately on his guard, his face impassive but his thoughts awhirl with possibilities. He nodded, then retreated back into the room and col ected his coat.

“What is it?” Maria asked, dark eyes wide with concern. “Is Simon well ?”

It took a moment for him to squelch his urge to retort rudely. “I will see to him, but tel me this: would you show such concern if it were I in Quinn’s place?”

“Are you jealous?”

“Should I be?”

“Yes. I hope you squirm with it.”

A bark of laughter escaped—part humor, part disgust with himself for being enamored with a beauty infamous for her history with men. When she offered up another smile, he settled into resignation and nursed a faint hope that his enchantment with her would pass.

“Give me a moment to handle an unexpected matter, my lovely savage,” he murmured, shrugging into his coat. “Then we will speak further on the terms of our association. I will check on Quinn, as Well.”

She nodded and he departed through the sitting-room door, pausing a moment on the threshold to take in the destruction of the furnishings and the struggling, gagged Irishman tied to a gilded chair in the corner. Furious mumbling and violent thrashing accompanied Christopher’s appearance.

Quinn rose to his feet, hunched over by the shape of his chair, and two of Christopher’s battered and rumpled men shoved him back down.

“Gentle with him, lads,” he admonished wryly, noting the half dozen men sprawled about the wreckage in varying degrees of pain. “The lady insists, though it appears her fear is groundless.”

He managed to quel his laughter until he reached the stairs. Then he gave it free rein until he reached the foyer. Thankful y, he discovered the lower floor in much better order than the upper.

Philip met him at the bottom step. “I sent the housekeeper to speak with Lord Welton in the parlor,” the young man explained, leading Christopher to his command position in the lower study. “She told him the lady is indisposed. Apparently, the news was not well received. The housekeeper asked for you.”

Christopher turned to the woman who stood tal and proud by the front window. “What can I do for you, Mrs…?”

“Fitzhugh,” she replied with a lift of her chin. Gray strands of hair curled by the heat and humidity of the kitchen surrounded a face lined with age, but handsome in its features. “’e asked me if she was il or injured. I doona like ’im, Mr. St. John. ’e pries.”

“I see. I take it you would prefer he not learn of your lady’s condition.”

She nodded grimly, reddened hands twisting in her apron. “’er ladyship gave strict orders.”

“Send him away, then.”

“I canna do that. ’e settles the accounts.”

Christopher paused, his niggling sense of suspicion flaring into absolute certainty of something amiss. Maria should be settled in her own right, not dependent upon the largesse of her stepfather. He shot a side glance at Philip, who nodded his silent understanding. The matter would be investigated thoroughly.

“Have you any suggestions?” Christopher asked, returning his attention to Mrs. Fitzhugh and considering her careful y.

“I said you were coming to call . That you were expected and Lady Winter was indisposed.”

“Hmm…I see. So perhaps I should arrive at the scheduled time, yes?”

“You wouldna want to be late,” she agreed.

“Of course not. Step out in the foyer, Mrs. Fitzhugh, if you would please.”

The housekeeper hurried out and Christopher arched a brow at Philip. “Send for Beth. I wish to speak to her this evening.”

“I will see to it.”

Christopher left the room and traversed the short distance to the front parlor, where he entered behind Mrs. Fitzhugh as if he’d only just arrived. He feigned surprise. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

Lord Welton glanced up from the act of pouring a libation and his eyes widened. Satisfaction flared in the emerald depths but was quickly masked.

“Mr. St. John.”

“A lovely afternoon to call , my lord,” Christopher said smoothly while surreptitiously examining the fine quality of the other man’s garments. Despite a mode of living reported to be excessive in all vices, the viscount looked the picture of health and vitality with his raven tresses and cunning green eyes. He bore the appearance of a man who felt so secure of his place in the world, nothing concerned him.

“Yes. I agree.” Welton’s throat worked with a large swal ow, then he said, “Though I had heard that my stepdaughter is il .”

“Oh? She was vibrant when I saw her only two nights past.” He sighed in mock disappointment. “Perhaps she will withdraw from our plans for the afternoon. I’m crushed.”

“Two nights past, you say?” Welton asked, frowning suspiciously.

“Yes. After our fortuitous introduction at a weekend gathering at Lord and Lady Harwick’s, she graciously accepted my invitation to supper.”

Christopher said the last with a hint of male satisfaction in his tone.

The subtle implication was not lost on Lord Welton, who smiled smugly. “Ah Well, sounds as if this rumor is as worthless as most.” He tossed back the contents of his glass and set it on the nearest side table before standing. “Please give her my regards. I’ve no wish to intrude on your appointment.”

“Good day to you, my lord,” Christopher said with a slight bow.

Welton grinned. “It already is.”

Christopher waited until the front door closed behind the departing viscount and then returned to the study. “Have him fol owed,” he said to Philip.

He took the stairs back up to Maria.

Robert Sheffield, Viscount Welton, descended the short steps to the street and paused a moment to look up at the home behind him.

Something was wrong.

Despite the apparent facts to the contrary—the governess’s oath that the attackers were unknown to them and St. John’s assurance that he was with Maria the night of the attack—Robert’s gut told him to be wary. Who else would want Amelia besides Maria? Who else would be so bold? He would not have believed Amelia’s claim that her assailants were unknown to her, but the governess had corroborated the tale and she had no reason to lie to the person who paid for her services.

Robert paused on the threshold of the carriage door and glanced up at his driver. “Take me to White’s.”

Vaulting into the interior, he leaned back against the squab and considered the alternatives. Maria could have sent men in her stead, freeing her to meet with St. John, but where would she gain the coin to finance such a venture?

He rubbed the space between his brows to ward off a headache. So ridiculous, real y, this constant push and pul . The wench should be grateful.

He’d rescued her from certain rotting in the countryside and seen her married to titled and wealthy peers. Her lavish home and envied mode of dress was due entirely to him, and yet had she ever thanked him?

No. Therefore, he would keep her in mind as the prime suspect, but he was no fool. He also had to consider the possibility that someone else had a grievance with him, someone who knew his fortunes rested with Amelia. He hated to expend funds that could be used for his pleasure on a fruitless search, but what choice did he have?

Robert sighed, realizing that he would need more money if he wished to maintain his present style of living. Which meant he needed to search for a generous admirer for Maria.

Chapter 8

“A melia, do not cry any more. I beg you.”

Amelia pulled the damask counterpane farther over her head. “Go away, Miss Pool. Please!”

The bed sagged next to her and a hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Amelia, it breaks my heart to see you so distressed.”

“How else should I feel?” She sniffled, her eyes burning and gritty, her heart broken. “Did you see what she went through? How she fought to come to me? I do not believe my father. Not any longer.”

“Lord Welton has no reason to tel you untruths,” Miss Pool soothed, her hand stroking down her spine. “Lady Winter does have a somewhat… fearsome reputation, and you saw her garments and the men at her service. To me it appears that your father is correct.”

Tossing back the blanket, Amelia sat up and glared at her teacher. “I saw her face. That was not the look of a woman who gleeful y accepts coin to stay away from me. She did not look like a conscienceless monster who wishes to train me into the life of a courtesan or similar such nonsense as my father has accused.”

Miss Pool frowned, her pale blue eyes fil ed with confusion and concern beneath her blond brows. “I would not have stopped you from speaking with her if I had known she was your sister. I saw only a young boy running toward you. I thought it was a lovelorn swain.” She sighed. “Perhaps if you had exchanged words, you would not hold these il usions about her strength of character. Also, I’m not certain lying to Lord Welton was wise.”

“Thank you for saying nothing to my father.” Amelia caught up her teacher’s hand and squeezed. The coachman and footmen had also kept their silence. Having been with her from the beginning, they had a tendré for her, and while they stopped short of all owing her to leave, they did their best to make her as happy as possible. Except for the groomsman Colin, the object of her affection, who spent all of his time either avoiding her or glaring at her.

“You begged me,” Miss Pool said with a sigh, “and I was not strong enough to refuse.”

“No harm was done by keeping the knowledge from him. I am here in Lincolnshire with you.” Deep in her heart, Amelia suspected strongly that if her father learned of Maria’s actions, everything in her life would change. She doubted it would be for the better.

“I read the papers, Amelia. Lady Winter’s mode of living is not one that would be conducive to your instruction in ladylike pursuits. Even if everything else your father said was…embel ished—which I doubt after seeing what I saw—you must agree that the chances of her being a suitable influence are very small .”