Passion for the Game (Georgian 2)

e if we cannot discuss the present, that leaves us with only our pasts.”

Maria closed her eyes, her equilibrium unbalanced by the laudanum and Christopher, whom she could not understand. “Why discuss anything? Why not leave it with sex and the bare minimum required to achieve your ends?”

She felt the impact of his head falling back into the pillows. The action was rife with frustration.

“I find myself in bed with an invalid, a woman I cannot trust in any fashion. If I sit here in silence, I shall go mad attempting to reason out why I am here and not elsewhere. Since fucking is out of the question, another activity is required to distract me.”

“Is that all I need to do to extract information from you? Deny you my body? Then you will spout secrets to entertain yourself?”

He growled low, and she shivered. Not with fear, but with a tiny flare of desire. The man had no notion of what to do with her or with himself while he was around her. Since she knew exactly how he felt, she sympathized.

“I loved Dayton,” she offered, her tone so low it was scarcely more than a breath.

Christopher’s large frame stilled beneath her.

“He was a good man, and I made every attempt to be good to him in return. I was so young and untried, and he was accomplished and worldly. He made it possible for me to survive. And I repaid him by costing him his life.” Although she tried to hide it, there was an aching note of loss in her words.

“Maria.” His hand slid into her hair and cupped the back of her head. He said no more than that, but he didn’t have to.

She’d shared very little, but Maria felt as if she had revealed her deepest self. It was not a feeling she welcomed. As if he knew her turmoil, Christopher adjusted her so that her face tilted up to his, enabling him to take her mouth.

It started with a soft swipe of his tongue along the curve of her lower lip. Then a press of his lips, so different from Simon’s—thinner, firmer, more demanding. His head tilted and he fit his mouth over hers, stealing her breath, making it his own. Even as she struggled with the change, she understood it. Physical interaction was something they both felt comfortable with.

She opened to him, their movements controlled and leisurely, every touch of their tongues thought out and considered. It was a calculated encounter, one planned and executed with a purpose. This was not foreplay or a prelude. It was the finale. No more emotion.

Then she ruined everything by reaching for his hand and lacing her fingers with his. Their grips tightened, and an edgy sound filled the shared space of their kiss. Whether it was his or hers, she could not tell. Unnerved by the sudden intimacy, she pulled away, turning to hide her face in the space between his shoulder and throat. He breathed harshly in the silence, his chest rising and falling rapidly against hers, which heaved similarly.

Eddington would come tomorrow with the offer to rid her of Welton and thereby give her Amelia. And all she had to promise was Christopher, served up on a silver salver.

She inhaled his scent, her breath still shaky.

“Maria.”

Her name. Spoken hoarsely. He said no more than that, but again, he didn’t have to.

Amelia exited the small manse in her temporary home of Lincolnshire and sucked fresh air deep into her lungs. Every home they occupied was in some state of disrepair—this one seemed clogged with dust—and each was a distant holding of someone her father knew. How he managed to secure use of the properties was a mystery to her, but then everything about her life was an enigma. No one told her anything, aside from the insistence that her sister Maria was a degenerate.

Pausing on the side of the house, Amelia looked over at the stables, her gaze searching for the tall, lean form of Colin and the reassurance the sight of him would bring. The handsome groomsman was the nephew of her coachman, and he’d been with her since they were children. He was three years older, yet he seemed much older than that. They’d been friends once, playing together in the moments when he was free from work, running through the fields and pretending they were people who lived in far different circumstances.

That seemed so long ago. Colin had matured and grown away from her. His free time was now spent with women his age or older, or with the other servants. He avoided her now and was curt and ill-tempered the rare times he was forced to speak with her. She was an annoying child of ten and six to a young man of nineteen. Despite this, she was quite besotted with him. Always had been. Prayed she would not always be. She had her pride, and being shunned by the object of her affection was so miserable she prayed for the day he affected her not at all.

Silently chastising herself for looking for him, Amelia turned away and found the unkempt pathway that she wandered along daily for exercise.

“You will grow out of it, too,” her last governess had said, when Amelia had cried over a particularly hurtful dismissal from Colin. She hoped that was true, that she would eventually grow out of her childish infatuation.

Soon. Please, God, make it soon.

Swinging her bonnet in her hand, Amelia circumvented the estate, jumping over raised tree roots and piles of fallen leaves with nimble, boot-clad feet.

When she reached the wooden fence that separated her from freedom, Amelia paused and for the first time considered what it would be like to flee. She’d never entertained the thought before, but now her thinking was altered by Maria’s attempt to retrieve her. What was out there? What adventures waited beyond her minute existence that consisted of servants and a governess and a life on the road?

“Ah, the pretty lass strays.”

Startled by the coarse masculine voice behind her, Amelia spun too quickly and nearly fell over.

“Heavens,” she cried breathlessly, her hand placed over her racing heart. She recognized the freckled young man who stood a few feet away as one of her father’s new lackeys. The ones he had hired to replace those lost in the altercation with Maria. “You gave me a fright.”

“Sorry,” he offered, smiling apologetically. Short and sinewy, the brown-haired boy was the youngest of the crew whose livelihood it was to keep her safe. Of course, she was beginning to suspect that they were supposed to keep her in, rather than keep others out.

She noted the long pole in his hand. “What are you doing?”

“Going fishing.” He gestured to the other side of the fence with a jerk of his chin. “There’s a stream over there.”

“Oh.” She didn’t mean to sound disappointed.

“Do you like fishing?” he asked, studying her curiously with pale blue eyes. Dressed in woolen breeches and coat, his overly long locks sticking out from beneath his cap, he didn’t look dressed for fishing, but what did she know?

“I’ve no idea,” she admitted. “I have never been fishing.”

He grinned, looking so boyish that she suspected he was the same age she was, maybe even younger. “Would you like to try it?” he offered. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Amelia frowned, curious but wary.

“The fish might bite, but I won’t,” he teased.

She chewed her lower lip.

“Come on, before Dickie comes around this way and keeps you from leaving.” He walked past her and hopped over the low fence. Then he held his hand out to her. “It’s not far. If you don’t like it, we can come right back.”

Knowing she probably shouldn’t go, Amelia went anyway, enjoying the rush of excitement she felt at doing something so completely out of the ordinary, something new and different.

“What is your name?” she asked, as he helped her over.

“Benedict. But everyone calls me Benny.”

“Hi, Benny.” She smiled shyly. “I’m Amelia.”

He released her, then tipped his hat in a grand bow before collecting his pole from where he’d set it aside to assist her. They walked without speaking for a few moments, moving through the thick grouping of trees until the sound of rushing water could be heard.

“How is it that you came to work for Lord Welton?” she qu

eried, studying him with a sidelong glance.

He shrugged. “I heard there was work to be had and I showed my face at the spot I was told to.”

“What kind of living is this?” she wondered. “What skills will you gain? What will you do when you are no longer needed?”

He smiled, his eyes sparkling from within the shadow cast by the brim of his hat. “I’m earning my way down to London, you see. By the time I make it, I’ll have experience. Then I plan to work for St. John.”

“Who is that? What does he do?”

Benny stumbled to a halt, gaping at her. He blinked and then whistled low. “Yer green as grass,” he murmured, shaking his head, then he continued on.

“What does that mean?” she griped, stumbling after him.

“Never mind.”

They emerged from the coppice and approached a small but rapidly moving stream. The bed was rocky and the water shallow, a lovely place that carried the feeling of innocence, as if the area was rarely breached by anyone. Amelia plopped onto a fallen log and began to untie her boots, impatiently pushing her waist-length hair back over her shoulder. Benny moved to the shore and shrugged out of his coat. While he settled himself comfortably, she shucked her stockings. Then, lifting her skirts, she moved to the water and stepped carefully into it. Her breath caught as the water chilled her feet.

“Yer scaring off all the fish!” Benny complained.

“Oh, this is wonderful!” she cried, filled with memories of hunting tadpoles and sloshing through mud with Colin. “Thank you!”

Benny frowned at her. “For what?”

“For bringing me here. For talking to me.” Laughing, she spun about, then cried out in surprise as she slipped on a smooth river rock and tumbled. Gallant Benny leapt to his feet and tried to catch her, only to land flat on his back, half in and out of the water, with her atop him.

Unable to help it, Amelia laughed out loud, and once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop.

“My sire always said the Quality was daft,” he muttered.

Amelia was in the process of pushing herself up when scuffed boots came into view and she was ignobly hauled up by the scruff of her flowered gown.