A Passion for Him (Georgian 3)

“I will leave that task to you. I leave for Bristol in the morning. Cartland’s past may be affecting his present. I hope that something can be discovered that might give me some advantage.”

“Good thinking.” Quinn’s lips pursed with thought. “Lysette and I will stay behind and make inquiries here.”

“I am not comfortable allowing him to go off alone,” she said, with an underlying note of steel to her voice.

“You will grow accustomed.” Quinn lounged in his chair with his usual insolent grace—his body canted to the side, his arm slung across the spindle back, his legs spread wide.

“As handsome as you are,” she sniffed, “I sometimes find it difficult to like you.”

Quinn grinned. “So we are in accord. Mitchell will search elsewhere. You and I will work together in Town.”

“Perhaps I wish to go with him instead.” Lysette’s smile did not reach her lovely eyes.

“Oh, would you?!” Quinn’s exaggerated pleasure made Colin laugh again. “How delightful. At least for me, if not for Mitchell. Sorry, chap.” He shrugged one shoulder and set his hand on the table.

Before either of them could anticipate the action, Lysette was on her feet and Quinn’s discarded knife was piercing the table with precision . . . directly between his casually splayed fingers.

He froze and stared at how close he had come to losing a finger or two. “Damnation.”

She leaned over him. “Do not mock or underestimate me, mon amour. It is not wise to prick my temper.”

Colin stood. “Thank you for the kind offer of your companion’s company,” he said hastily, “but I must respectfully decline.”

Lysette looked at him with a narrowed glance.

“You trust me not at all,” he said, “but I promise you this: I have every reason to clear my name and no reason to flee.”

For a moment, she did not move. Then her mouth lifted slightly at the corner. “Your woman is here.”

He said nothing, but an acknowledgment wasn’t necessary.

She waved him off with a graceful toss of her wrist. “You will not stray far. Good luck to you.”

After a quick bow, Colin reached into his pocket and tossed coins on the table. “I will pray for you,” he said to Quinn, squeezing his friend’s shoulder as he passed.

Quinn’s reply was a blistering curse.

Chapter 7

It was a small but fine house in a respectable neighborhood. The Earl of Ware had owned it for three years now, and during that time, it had rarely been unoccupied.

Tonight the lower windows were dark, but candlelight flickered from one upper sash. He pushed his key into the front door lock and allowed himself entry. The home was maintained by two servants, a husband and wife pair who were trustworthy and discreet. They were abed now, and since he did not require their services, Ware did not disturb them.

He set his hat on the hook, followed by his cloak. Beneath that he wore the evening garments he had donned for another night in an endless string of nights spent at balls and routs. Except this evening had been slightly different. Amelia was different. He was different. The awareness between them had changed. She saw him in a new light, as he saw her in altered fashion as well.

Climbing the steps to the upper floor, he paused a moment outside the one door where light peeked out from the gap at the bottom. Ware exhaled, taking a moment to relish the thrumming of blood in his veins and the quickening of his arousal. Then he turned the knob and entered, finding his dark-haired, sloe-eyed mistress reading quietly in bed.

Her gaze lifted to meet his. He watched her breathing quicken and her lips part. The book was shut with a decisive snap, and he kicked the portal closed behind him.

“My lord,” Jane breathed, tossing back the covers, revealing a shapely figure. “I was hoping you would come tonight.”

Ware’s mouth curved. She was hot for it, which meant the first fuck could be hard and swift. Later, they would take their time, but now such dalliance would not be necessary. A circumstance that suited his mood.

From the moment he had first seen the stunning widow, he’d wanted her. When her last arrangement with Lord Riley ended, Ware approached her with haste before anyone else could lure her away. She was flattered and, later, enthusiastic. They suited each other well, and the sex was pleasurable for both.

He shrugged out of his coat; she untied the belt of her robe. Within moments he was deep inside her—her hips on the edge of the mattress, his feet on the floor as he drove powerfully into her writhing body. His frustration and unease were forgotten in the maelstrom of carnal sensation, much to his relief.

But the surcease did not last long.

An hour later he rested on his back with his hand tucked behind his head, his sweat-drenched skin cooling in the evening air.

“That was delicious,” Jane murmured, her voice throaty from passionate cries. “You are always so primitive when aggravated.”

“Aggravated?” He laughed and tucked her closer to his side.

“Yes. I can tell when something is troubling you.” Her hand stroked down the center of his chest.

Ware stared up at the ornate ceiling moldings and thought again of how well the room suited her, with its rose and cream colors and gilded furnishings. He had encouraged her to spare no expense and to think only of her own comfort, having found over the course of several mistresses that a woman’s taste in décor spoke a great deal about her. “Must we talk of things unpleasant?”

“We could work your frustrations into exhaustion,” she teased, lifting her head to reveal laughing dark eyes. “You know I will not complain.”

He brushed back the damp strands of hair that clung to her temple. “I prefer that solution.”

“But it would be only a temporary measure. As a woman, I might be able to assist you with your problem, which I suspect is feminine in nature.”

“You are helping me,” he purred.

Her raised brows spoke of her skepticism, but she did not press him.

Exhaling harshly, he shared his thoughts aloud, trusting Jane as a friend and confidante. She was a sweet woman, one of the sweetest he knew. She was not the kind of soul who sought to hurt others or advance herself at another’s detriment.

“Do you realize that a man of my station is rarely seen as a man?” he asked. “I am lands, money, and prestige, but rarely more than that.”

She listened quietly but alert.

“I spent my youth in Lincolnshire, raised to think of myself only as Ware and never as an individual. I had no interests outside of my duties, no goals beyond that of my title. I was trained so well that it never occurred to me to want something of my own, something that had nothing to do with the marquessate and everything to do with me.”

“That sounds like a very lonely way to live.”

He shrugged and shoved another pillow under his head. “I had no notion of any other way.”

When he held his silence, she prompted, “Until?”

“Until one day I traversed the perimeter of our proper

ty and chanced upon an urchin preparing to fish in my stream.”

Jane smiled and slid from his arms and the bed, donning her discarded robe before moving to the console and pouring a libation. “Who was this urchin?”

“A servant from the neighboring property. He was waiting for the young lady whose father he worked for. They had struck up a friendship of sorts, which intrigued me.”

“As did the young lady.” She warmed the brandy expertly by rolling the glass over the flame of a taper.

“Yes,” he agreed. “She was young, wild, and free. Miss Benbridge showed me how different the world looked through the eyes of one who suffered under no one’s expectations. She also completely disregarded my title and treated me just as she treated the urchin, with playful affection.”

Jane sat on the edge of the bed and drank lightly, then passed the goblet over to him. “I think I would like her.”

“Yes.” He smiled. “I believe she would like you, as well.”

They would never meet, of course, but that was not the point.

“I admire you for marrying her,” she said, “despite the sins of her father.”

“How could I not marry her? She is the person who taught me that I had value in and of myself. My aristocratic arrogance is now tempered with personal arrogance.”

Laughing, Jane curled over his legs. “How fortunate for the rest of us.”

Ware ran a hand through his unbound hair. “I will never forget the afternoon when she said, quite innocently, that I was devilishly handsome, which was why she sometimes halted her speech midsentence. No one had ever said such a thing to me. I doubt anyone had ever felt it. When they stuttered it was because of intimidation, not admiration.”

“I tell you that you are comely, my lord,” she said, the sparkle in her eyes giving proof to her words. “There are few men as handsome as you are.”

“That may be true. I do not compare myself to other men, so I would not know.” He drank in large swallows. “But I suspect my attractiveness has more weight when I believe in it myself.”

“Confidence is a potent lure,” she agreed.

“Because she had no expectations of me, I was able to be myself with her. It was the first time in my life that I spoke without considering the confines of my station. I practiced wooing with her and said things aloud that I had never allowed myself to even consider.” He looked down the foot of the bed and into the fire in the grate. “I suppose I grew into my own by knowing her.”