Passion for the Game(20)
Author: Sylvia Day

“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 stil 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 physical y 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 tel .”

“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?”

“Al 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 ineffectual y 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 gal ows? 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, pul ing Christopher from his reverie.

He straightened, his sightless gaze focusing on the cottage they approached. They were stil some distance away, far enough that the rol ing 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 call ed out to his coachman, “Stop here.”

He descended and finished the journey to the house on foot, the rhythmical y 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 birdcal 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 spil ed from an open window to il uminate 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 call er. And Quinn was not at home.

Christopher ran to the house, pressing his back to the wal 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 il ,” 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 intel igent 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 stil , 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 all ow 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 call ed 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 call ing 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 swal owed hard. “I will inform him of your arrival, Lady Winter.”

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

The servant opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, then final y 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 bril iant 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 call ed 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 final y 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 h*ps against her, she col ected what he was tel ing 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 swel of her br**sts. 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 yel owed 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 all ow me that right.”