Passion for the Game (Georgian 2)

“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.

Chapter 3

“Can I tell you all the many things I adore about you, mhuirnín?”