Passion for the Game (Georgian 2)

He nodded and rose, pivoting in a soft swirling of his black robe, returning a moment later with a glass of water. Supporting her head, he brought the glass to her lips and watched as she drank greedily. When she finished, he resumed his seat, the empty glass rolling between his moving palms, his legs bared by the parting of his garment.

“What is it?” she asked, noting his agitation.

His lips pursed before he said, “Welton replied.”

As the memory of his request returned to her, Maria winced. “He would not accept no for an answer?”

Simon shook his head grimly. “He prefers that you attend alone.”

In pain, disheartened, and desperate to be left in peace, Maria began to cry. Simon rounded the bed and crawled into place beside her, carefully tucking her against his warm body. She cried until she could not cry any more, and then she sobbed without tears.

All the while Simon murmured to her, held her, put his cheek next to hers and cried with her. Finally there was nothing left, all of her hopes drained away, leaving her empty.

But emptiness held its own comforts.

“I cannot wait for the day Welton meets his reward,” Simon said vehemently. “Killing him will bring me great pleasure.”

“One day at a time. Can you select a gown that hides my shoulder and neck?”

He exhaled harshly, resigned. “I will take care of everything, mhuirnín.”

Maria mentally began the process of filling the depleted stores of hope within her with a sense of renewed purpose.

Welton would not tear her down. She would not afford him the pleasure.

“Do you prefer this one?” Angelica asked, spinning prettily in her silver shot-silk taffeta gown.

“Hold still,” Christopher admonished, studying the gown and her figure in it as the hem and panniers settled into their proper places.

Angelica was slightly taller than Maria and her figure was not as lush, but clever staging could hide those discrepancies. This gown did a better job of that than the others she had tried. The color enhanced the olive skin tone he found so appealing on Maria and the bodice was such that it flattened Angelica’s breasts slightly, making them swell. With the right hair arrangement and a full face mask, they might be able to manage the ruse.

“You mustn’t speak,” he warned. “No matter what is said to you by anyone.” Angelica’s voice would never pass for Maria’s. Neither would her laugh. “And do not laugh. It is a masquerade. Be mysterious.”

She nodded vigorously. “No talking, no laughing.”

“I will reward you well for this, love,” he said gently. “Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.”

“You know I would do anything for you. You gave me a home and a family. I owe you my life.”

With a careless toss of his hand, Christopher waved away her gratitude and his discomfiture with it. He never knew what to say when people thanked him, so he preferred they not do it. “You have been of great help to me. There is nothing to repay me for.”

Angelica smiled and danced closer, lifting his hand to kiss the back. “So is this dress the one?”

He nodded. “Yes. You look stunning.”

Her smile widened, then she retreated to the dressing room.

“I would not have the courage to attempt this deception,” Philip said from his seat by the fire.

“It would not be wise to antagonize Sedgewick now,” Christopher explained, lighting a cheroot off a nearby taper. “Until I know what my next move will be, it’s best to leave him with his illusions of power. It will set him at ease, perhaps make him complacent, freeing me to work on a permanent solution without his interference.”

“I have seen only renderings of Lady Winter, but from the tales I have heard she sounds quite unique. It is hard to imitate the incomparable.”

Christopher nodded, his gaze resting briefly on the reflection of light in Philip’s spectacles. The young man had cut his brown hair short that morning, unfashionable as the style was. It made him look younger than his ten and eight years.

“Very hard, but Maria is too ill to attend, there is no skirting around that fact. The risk to her health outweighs my need at the moment. If Sedgewick were to detect the ruse, I could explain it in some fashion. There is no denying that Maria and I are…” Christopher exhaled, releasing a puff of fragrant smoke. “Whatever in hell we are, she would acknowledge me if I asked.”

“I hope you are correct in assuming that no one will notice the differences between the two women.”

“It is much easier to disclaim a fraud when one compares the original to the fake. In this case, Maria has been out of Town for a fortnight. The guests will have to rely upon their memory of her, as she will be home in bed. Angelica and I will make certain we are seen by Sedgewick posthaste and then we will depart quickly.”

Philip lifted his brandy-filled glass. “May your plan succeed flawlessly.”

Christopher grinned. “They usually do.”

Chapter 9

As they waited in the line of carriages approaching the Campion manse, Maria breathed in and out with a measured rhythm. Every bump in the road brought her such pain she felt nauseous. The constriction of her corset did not help matters and the weight of her elaborate hair arrangement made her neck ache.

Simon sat across from her, his garments far more casual, his gaze glittering in the semidarkness created by the turned-down carriage lamps.

“I will be waiting for you,” he murmured.

“Thank you.”

“Despite the circumstances, you look ravishing.”

She managed a wan smile. “Thankfully, Welton and I never speak for long. I anticipate a half hour, though the actual assignation may take up a bit more time than that.”

“I will send a footman after you if an hour passes. You will be called away. Say it is St. John who seeks your company.”

“Lovely.”

The carriage rattled over the cobblestones of the circular drive and then stopped again. This time the door was pulled open and her footman extended his hand to assist her down. He was careful, but not obviously so. Maria rewarded his concern with a soft smile, then she took the steps and entered the manse.

The subsequent wait in the receiving line was torture, as was managing to sound gay when speaking to the beaming Campions. It was with great relief that she was freed from the formalities, and with a quick adjustment of her feathered half-mask, she entered the crowded ballroom.

Her lovely gown of pale pink with its silver ribbons and lace was hidden beneath her black domino. Nothing she owned was capable of hiding her injury, leaving her no other recourse. Because of her lack of options, Maria wore her garments with aplomb, but kept a discreet profile. She moved carefully around the perimeter of the room, weaving between guests, sending out a silent signal to stay away that, thankfully, was effective.

Her gaze drifted from one side of the vast space to the other, searching for Welton. Overhead, three massive chandeliers were ablaze with countless candles, lighting up the ornate ceiling with its elaborate moldings and colorful murals. The orchestra played and guests spun about on the dance floor in a profusion of lace, impressively styled coiffures, and floral fabrics. Numerous conversations coalesced into a single hum of sound, the noise somewhat soothing because it meant that no one was paying attention to her.

Maria was beginning to think she might survive the excursion when

she was bumped by a careless guest. Pain lanced down her left side and she gasped, her body turning away in self-defense.

“Forgive me,” a low voice said behind her.

Spinning to face the offending person, she found herself standing before a man whose eyes widened as if he knew her.

“Sedgewick!” a portly man called out. Maria knew him to be Lord Pearson, a man who spoke and imbibed far too much. Since she had no wish to speak to him or to be delayed by an introduction to the graceless Sedgewick, she hurried away.

It was then that she saw him, her faithless paramour, his golden hair glinting beneath the candlelight, his powerful form resplendent in cream silk accented by beautiful embroidery. Despite the mask that hid his features, she knew it was Christopher. He was leaning over a dark-haired woman attentively, his pose betraying his affection.

His promise of exclusive use was a lie.

The throbbing in her shoulder faded as a different feeling of hurt took over.

“Ah, there you are.” Welton’s voice behind her made her stiffen. “Must I send the modiste to you again?” he asked as she turned to face him. “Have you nothing more fetching to wear?”

“What do you want?”

“And why are you so bloody pale?”

“New powder. You do not find it attractive?” She batted her lashes at him. “I think it shows my patches and rouge to better advantage.”

He snorted. “No, I do not like it. Throw it out. You look sickly.”

“You wound me.”

Welton’s glare spoke volumes. “Your worth in this world is based entirely upon your appearance. I would not be so quick to devalue it.”

His insult affected her not at all. “What do you want?” she repeated.

“To make an introduction.” His smile made her skin crawl. “Come along.” He collected her right hand and led her away.

After a few moments of silence while traversing through the crush, Maria found the courage to ask, “How is Amelia?”

The examining glance he threw over his shoulder revealed a great deal. He did not discount her as a possible instigator of the recent attack. “Wonderful.”