Passion for the Game (Georgian 2)

“It will cost you more than the removal of Welton and the agency from my life.”

“Oh?” His gaze narrowed.

“Much more,” she warned.

“How much more?” he demanded gruffly.

She waved her hand carelessly and smiled. “I refuse to discuss monetary matters with anyone other than my solicitor. I find it quite vulgar and oftentimes unpleasant. I will give you his direction and you can settle my accounts with him.”

Eddington set his cup down with undue care. “Coin?” He blew out his breath. He was an intelligent man. He knew she would be expensive. “Perhaps I do not think St. John is worth that much.”

“You have one witness, if he is even still alive. If not, you have nothing. Except for me.”

“You will testify against him?” Eddington asked, his alertness intensifying.

She nodded.

“What about the deaths of Dayton and Winter?”

“What about them?”

“You are the prime suspect.”

Maria smiled. “Perhaps I did murder them, my lord. Perhaps not. I give you leave to prove it, one way or the other.”

“How can I know if you are trustworthy or not?”

“There is no way to know that. Just as I cannot know whether this is merely an elaborate ruse designed to implicate me in the deaths of my husbands.” She shrugged. “You said I was a risk you were willing to take. If you’ve changed your mind, you may leave.”

He considered her for a long moment. “I cannot tell whether you are a demon disguised as a temptress, or a victim of those around you.”

“I ask myself the same every day, my lord. I suspect I am a little of both.” She rose to her feet, forcing him to rise as well. “If you find the answer with any certainty, please let me know.”

The earl rounded the table and came to a halt before her. He stood close, too close. He meant to intimidate her with his greater height and physical strength, but she wasn’t cowed. In their association, she held the power. He had nothing without her. Only conjecture, with no way to penetrate St. John’s defenses.

“Tread lightly,” Eddington warned, his voice low and filled with danger. “I leave Town this evening and will be gone a fortnight, but I will know what you do.”

“Of course.”

A few moments after the earl departed, Maria rose and moved to her study, where she penned a missive to Welton and sent it off. A knock came to the open study door, and she smiled as Simon entered.

“You look like a cat with cream,” he said.

“I have convinced Eddington to fund my search for Amelia.”

He arched a dark brow. “You told him?”

“No.” She grinned.

Walking toward her, Simon sank into one of the two chairs before the large desk. “Eddington wants the same information as Welton. Who do you intend to share it with?”

She blew out her breath. “I haven’t yet decided. If I tell Eddington, he might help me with Welton and then I could find Amelia. But Christopher would hang.”

“Christopher, is it?” he asked tightly.

“If I tell Welton,” she continued as if he had said nothing, “he will attempt to extort either St. John or whoever else may have been involved. I would be no further ahead than I am now, but St. John would live. Of course, St. John might then dispatch Welton and save himself the annoyance. Having become somewhat acquainted with the pirate, I can say for certain that Welton has overstepped himself this time.”

“Or you could tell St. John about Welton and Eddington in return for help with finding Amelia,” Simon suggested. She knew how much it cost him to say such a thing, to admit that St. John could help her in a way that he himself had been unable to. It was a testament of his affection for her that he would set aside his masculine pride to see her happy.

“I thought of that.” Maria stood and went to him, cupping his face in her hands and kissing his forehead in gratitude. “But until I know the reason why he was released and what role he intends for me to play, I cannot trust him.”

Simon tugged her gently into his lap. “So what will we do now?”

“I have sent for Welton. I intend to tell him that I am retreating on holiday. I need to heal, and it’s time to make inquiries outside of London. We have the funds to expand our search. Truly the best course for us would be to find Amelia before I have to make a decision. Having her in my possession will change everything.”

He nodded. “I will see to the necessary preparations.”

“How long has this been going on?” Christopher asked curtly.

“A few weeks,” Philip replied, pushing up his spectacles. “I learned of the situation this afternoon and promptly brought it to your attention.”

Leaning his hip against his study desk, Christopher crossed his arms and inhaled deeply before replying. “Why wasn’t I told about this immediately?”

“The lander felt that he could handle the matter.”

“When a rival gang encroaches on my territory, I will handle it. By God, you give them an inch and they will take the entire length of the shore.”

A knock came to the door and Christopher bade them to enter. When he saw his valet, he said, “We leave in a few hours and will be gone for a fortnight at least.”

“Yes, sir.” The servant bowed and retreated.

“May I accompany you?” Philip asked. He stood a few feet away, his stance tall and proud as Christopher had taught him when he was a boy.

Christopher shook his head. “Gang wars are bloody and not for spectators. Your skill lies with the brain in your skull, not with your sword arm. I will not risk you merely to satisfy your curiosity.”

“You are far cleverer than I, and your loss would be felt more keenly. Why risk yourself when you have men who could see to the matter with similar results?”

“They cannot see to it.” Christopher straightened and retrieved his coat from where it hung over the back of a chair. “This is not simply about prime coastal space. This is about me and mine. They want both. Until I confront them, they will not back down. Why do you think my enemies haven’t shot me dead? Unless they best me face-to-face, they cannot truly take the reins. Their power would always be in question.”

“Damned if that isn’t primitive,” Philip muttered.

Snorting, Christopher shrugged into his coat. “Humans are animals, after all.”

“Do you ever contemplate leaving this life?” the young man asked, his head canted to the side. “You’ve coin aplenty.”

Christopher paused and stared at his protégé. “What would I do with myself?”

“Marry. Raise a family.”

“Never.” He fluffed the lace at his neck and wrists. “The only way out of this livelihood is death. If it wasn’t me they were after, it would be those closest to me. If your end aim is to be a family man, move along now, young Philip. The deeper entrenched you become, the further away that goal will be.”

Philip followed him out to the foyer. “Where are you going now?”

“I must bid Lady Winter farewell.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, they struck Christopher wrong. Always in times like this he acknowledged the possibility of his demise. He had safeguards in place to protect the members of his household, which allowed him to leap into the fray with the gusto of a man who accepted death. Now, however, he found himself hesitant, less willing to make the journey to hell. He wanted to see Maria again, to feel her beneath him arching in pleasure, to hear her throaty laughter as she teased him. He wanted her to prick his temper as only she could until he was hard as a rock and hot to ride her all night.

Damn it, base as it was, he wanted to fuck her again and the craving was such that he wished to live long enough to manage to task. A harsh bark of laughter escaped him as he collected his hat and gloves from his butler and left his house. Primitive animals, indeed.

It was absurd to want a woman this badly. He could have anyone, from a duchess to a fishwife. Women lusted for him, always had. But as he pulled his mount to a halt before Maria’s home and tossed the reins to the waiting groomsman, the anticipation that coursed through him was a unique product of only one female.

When the butler opened the door to find him on the stoop with calling card in hand, the servant could not hide his look of dismay.

“Take the card,” Christopher drawled, “and we can avoid a siege.”

Sniffing, the servant did as he suggested and led him to the same parlor where he had previously spoken with Lord Welton. Once he was left alone, Christopher took note of the room in daylight, noting the elaborate gilded moldings that decorated the pale gray walls. He hated waiting, and he hated the way his impatience made him pace. Some men paced. Christopher was generally not one of them.

Finally the door opened and Maria stepped into the room. He paused midstep, staring, startled by his reaction to her in casual attire. It seemed oddly intimate, reminding him of the night before and the way she had felt in his arms, lush and warm. He could not think of one thing he would rather have done than lie abed with her, feeling her lips wet and soft and clinging to his.