Passion for the Game (Georgian 2)

His jaw tightened.

“I so missed how protective you are,” she said softly, her fingers linking together before her.

“That’s exasperation,” he corrected.

“Well, you would not become exasperated if you weren’t protective.”

Shaking his head, Colin moved away and took a seat on a stump. Around them, birds twittered softly and the discarded leaves on the ground rustled with the occasional breeze. Over the years they’d played in many forests and across many beaches, and run across countless miles of wild grasses. And wherever they were, she had felt safe because Colin was with her.

“Why didn’t you ask me to post it for you, instead of Lord Ware?”

“I hope for a reply and it cannot come here. I needed his assistance both in the sending and receiving.” She stopped dead in her tracks when she noted that he had dropped his head in his hands. “What is it?”

She dropped to her knees before him, uncaring of her white gown. “Tell me,” she urged when he held his silence.

He looked at her. “There will always be things that I can’t give you that men like Ware can.”

“What things?” she asked. “Pretty dresses and hair ribbons?”

“Horses, manors, servants like me,” he bit out.

“None of that has ever made me happy.” Setting her small hands on his broad shoulders, she pressed an ardent kiss to his mouth. “Except for the servant like you, and you know I have never thought of you as inferior to me.”

“Because you live a sheltered life, Amelia. If you were shown the world at large, you would see how things really are.”

“I do not care what other people think, as long as you love me.”

“I can’t love you,” he whispered, his hands lifting to circle her wrists and pull her arms down. “Don’t ask me to.”

“Colin.” Suddenly she felt like the older one, the one whose task it was to comfort and protect. “You break my heart. But even in pieces, it has enough love for both of us.”

Cursing softly, Colin seized her and said with his kisses what he would not say aloud.

Maria relaxed in the tub with her eyes closed, her neck resting against the rounded lip. Tonight she would go to Christopher and tell him about Amelia and Welton. She would tell him about Eddington, too, and together they would find a solution for their problems. Although it had taken her a few days to come to this decision, she knew in her heart it was the right one.

She sighed and slipped deeper into the warm water. Low male voices were heard in the gallery, then the door to the bedroom opened, followed by the door to her bathing chamber.

“You have been gone all day, Simon love,” she murmured.

She heard him pull a chair closer and then he sat heavily. It was that and the deep breath he took, as if fortifying himself for some onerous task, that alerted her. Opening her eyes, she saw his grave features, so different from the merry charm he usually displayed.

“What is it?”

Simon leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his gaze intent. “You remember I told you about Lord Sedgewick’s hidden liquor space? Today he had a visitor who imparted information that sheds light on his activities.”

She sat up, her attention riveted. “Simon, you are a genius!”

But her praise did not earn her the lazy smile she loved.

“Maria…” he began, then he rose to his feet and came to her, lifting her hand from the edge of the tub.

Deep foreboding twisted her stomach into knots. “Tell me.”

“Sedgewick is an agent of the Crown.”

“Heavens, you frightened me with all your drama.” She frowned, her thoughts rushing through all the possibilities. “They will never cease trying to solve the murders of Winter and Dayton. Of course, I am the primary suspect.”

“Yes, the agency wants you.” He exhaled harshly. “Enough that they have released a criminal to catch a criminal.”

“Released a criminal—” She shook her head slowly, as understanding dawned. “No…”

Heedless of his expensive garments, Simon sank to his knees beside her, bringing them eye to eye. “Sedgewick is keeping the witness against St. John at an inn at St. George’s Fields. The viscount has offered an exchange—St. John’s freedom for information that would see you hang in his place. That is why he was not surprised to see St. John at the Campion masquerade and that is why he expected that you were there with the pirate.

Maria stared at Simon, searching his beloved features for any sign of mischief. It would be a dreadfully ill-conceived jest in such a way, but it would be preferable to the alternative; that her lover meant the ultimate betrayal—her death.

“No, Simon. No.”

It was not possible to make love the way Christopher had with her and be lying.

Simon rose in a fluidly graceful movement, pulling her with him. He caught her up and sank to the floor, cradling her in a loving embrace. She clung to him, her wet body ruining his clothes, her tears silent but copious. He rocked her and hummed to her, held her and loved her.

“I think he cares for me,” she said, her tear-stained face in his throat.

“He would be a fool not to, mhuirnín.”

“I find it nearly impossible to believe otherwise.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I had intended to ask for his assistance tonight.”

If everything between them had been an elaborate subterfuge to win her trust, it was nearly a dazzling success. She had been prepared to bare her most precious secret, her one vulnerability, because she believed in him. She had even thought that Christopher deserved to know, because he had forgiven her for Eddington, even though she had given no explanations.

Eddington.

She pulled back, catching Simon’s lapels with desperate urgency. “You know how St. John has been watching me, how he knew of Eddington’s visit to Brighton and sent Tim to learn Amelia’s identity. If he did those things with intent to harm…Dear God, I have been a fool to trust him with so much.”

It was like being stabbed anew, this time in the heart. Would St. John attempt to use Amelia against her, too?

“I have already dispatched men to recover the witness,” Simon soothed. “You will have your own leverage.”

“Oh, Simon.” Maria held him tightly. “What would I do without you?”

“You would rub along fine, mhuirnín. But I am in no hurry to be proven correct about that.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “What will you do?”

“I’m not certain. I suppose I will afford him the opportunity to redeem himself,” she said, her throat tight and dry. “I intend to ask him outright how it was that he came to be released. If he refuses to tell me or evades the question, I will know his loyalty lies with his own interests and not with me.”

“And then?”

She brushed the tears from her cheeks. “And then we do what we must. Amelia comes first, she always has.”

Christopher stepped through the front door of his home with a whistle on his lips and a spring in his step. In all of his life, he could not remember the last time he had ever felt this…happy. He had not even known that he could be happy, for Christ’s sake. He’d thought that feeling was beyond him.

Tossing his hat at his butler, he then yanked off his gloves and planned in his mind the best way to receive Maria when she arrived that evening. He would send men to escort her and ensure her safety, but what would he do with her once she was here? He’d stay buried inside her for hours, without question, but he would also like to continue wooing her. He relished the idea of exploring more of the unknown world of intimate relationships.

“Hmm…” He wracked his brain in his attempt to plan something neither of them would ever forget. He could ask his cook to prepare a variety of dishes known for their aphrodisiac qualities. And order flowers. Ones with a lush, exotic scent that would set the proper mood.

His lips twisted ruefully. Of course, all of that was directed toward the sexual part of the evening. He obviously knew nothing about romance or how to go about creating it. Rolling his shoulders back, Christopher considered a nap. He needed to think longer on the matter, but that required more energy than he had at the moment.

“St. John.”

Turning his head, Christopher saw Philip filling the door to his study. “What is it?”

“The men you sent to research Amelia returned this afternoon.”

His brows rose, then he nodded and moved into the room, taking a seat behind his desk. Lined up facing him were the four men he’d dispatched. All looked travel dusty and yet they were filled with a palpable excitement. Whatever they’d learned, they thought it was something he would appreciate.

“Go ahead,” he said, his fatigue of a moment ago banished.

The four men looked at each other, and then Walter stepped forward. Two score in age with the gray hair and whiskers to show it, he had been with Christopher since the beginning of his less-than-illustrious career. In fact, Walter had been one of the men to watch him lose his virginity against the alley wall.

“I sent Tim ahead to tell you the news, but I hear he was waylaid.”

Christopher smiled. “The tale is true.”

“Well, I hope the delay isn’t one you’ll regret. Her name is Amelia Benbridge, the Viscount Welton’s daughter.”

Welton’s daughter?

“Good God,” Christopher breathed, leaning back heavily into his chair. “She is Lady Winter’s half sister.”