A Passion for Him (Georgian 3)

Frowning, Maria lifted her head. “How is that possible? We had no notion that we would be staying at this establishment until we chanced upon it.”

“Quinn must have known. His valet and the abigail of his French companion came directly to this place. You did say he insisted.”

“He insisted we stay near the road.” But, now that she thought of it, she remembered that it was Simon who’d begged that they take shelter at the first inn they came to just before Reading. She had protested the sorry appearance of the lodging, but he had complained of a sore arse and growling stomach.

“I do not understand.” She sat up and faced her reclining spouse. “Our meeting in the shop was unplanned, I am certain of it. Even if I were wrong about that, there was no way for Simon to know Amelia would run off as she did.”

“But, if he knew who Amelia was chasing and where the man might be headed . . .” Christopher’s words faded, leaving her to draw her own conclusions.

“He told me they were already intent on a holiday, yet you say his valet and belongings were not yet ready. Why the ruse? Why pretend to help me, when he had his own motives for following?”

“We will have to ask him those questions in a few hours, when we rise.”

“A few hours?!”

He yawned and tugged her back into his arms. “His room is guarded, and the hour is still relatively early. I sent riders ahead to follow the trail. There is nothing pressing that cannot wait the duration of a much-needed nap. I require some sleep this morn or I will be useless the rest of the day. Besides—and you must forgive me for pointing this out—you do not look rested either.”

Maria settled into her husband’s embrace with lingering reluctance. She was a woman who acted swiftly. Doing so had kept her alive. “I cannot sleep well without you near,” she confessed.

He hugged her tighter and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It pleases me to hear that.”

“I must have become accustomed to your snoring.”

His head lifted. “I do not snore!”

“How would you know? You are asleep when you do it.”

“Someone would have mentioned it to me before now,” he argued.

“Perhaps you exhausted them so that they slept right through it.”

Growling, he rolled and pinned her beneath him. She blinked up at him with mock innocence. No one dared to tease the fearsome pirate, except for her. Goading his ire was a delicious temptation she could not resist, because the more she agitated him, the more sexually focused he became.

“If you need exhausting, madam,” he bit out, reaching between them to unfasten his breeches, “I am more than capable of managing that task.”

“You said you were useless and required a nap.”

He shoved up the hem of her chemise and cupped her sex in his hand. Instantly, she was wet for him. Hot and creamy with desire. She moaned as he stroked her, and he smiled arrogantly, pulling away to position his cock.

“Does this feel useless to you?” he purred, pushing the hard length into her.

“Oh, Christopher,” she breathed, awash in heated delight. After nearly six years of marriage, her ardor for him had not lessened one bit. “I love you so. Please don’t fall asleep before I come . . .”

“You will pay for that,” he said in a voice slurred with pleasure.

He made certain she did. And it was wonderful.

Colin was rinsing off his razor when a stray noise caught his attention and arrested his movements. He listened carefully, his nerves already stretched by the upcoming confrontation.

Amelia had returned to her chamber some time ago, but he doubted she slept. She was too curious, too impatient by nature. Knowing her as well as he did, he imagined she paced her room and glanced repeatedly at the clock, counting down the minutes to the time when he would reveal his identity to her.

There. It came again. The perceptible sound of scratching at the door.

Setting his blade on the washstand, he grabbed a cloth and was drying his face when his valet opened the door. Jacques entered bearing a grim expression.

“Miss Benbridge has been found, mon ami.”

Colin stilled. “By whom?”

“Riders this morning. They spoke with the giant who came with her and then turned about.”

Heaving out his breath, Colin nodded. “Did you arrange the private dining room as I requested?”

“Mais oui.”

“Thank you. I will be down in a moment.”

The door shut with a quiet click, and Colin hastened his toilette. He had promised Amelia an explanation, and he intended to give it to her without interruption.

Nodding to his valet, he presented his back and shrugged into the coat he had selected that morning. It was a striking garment, reminiscent of a male peacock’s beautiful plumage. The cost of the intricately embroidered ensemble, which included breeches and silver-threaded waistcoat, was obvious. The Colin Mitchell who Amelia remembered so fondly would never have been able to purchase clothing so expensive. He wore it now as an outward display of his rise in the world. His dream of becoming a man capable of affording her was now a reality, and he wanted her to see that straightaway.

Suitably attired and inwardly certain, Colin left his bedchamber and took the stairs to the main room. It took only a moment to find the large man who had accompanied Amelia. The giant sat with his back to the wall and his eyes trained on his surroundings. As Colin approached him, the man’s gaze sharpened with examining intensity.

“Good morning,” Colin greeted, coming to a halt directly before the table.

“Morning,” came the deep, rumbling reply. “I am Count Montoya.”

“I gathered as much.”

“There is much I need to explain to her. Will you give me the time and opportunity to do so?”

The man pursed his lips and leaned back his chair. “What do you ’ave in mind?”

“I have reserved the private dining room. I will keep the door ajar, but I beg you to remain outside.”

The man pushed to his feet, towering over Colin’s not inconsiderable height. “That will suit both me and my blade.”

Colin nodded and stepped aside, but as the giant moved to pass him, he said, “Please give her this.”

He handed over the items in his hand. After a brief pause, they were taken from him. Colin waited until Amelia’s guard had ascended the stairs; then he moved to the private dining room and mentally prepared for the most difficult conversation of his life.

The moment Maria entered the main room of the inn, Simon knew he was in trouble. She bore the glow of a woman well fucked, but if that had not given away the en

d of his gambit, her change of clothes would have. Confirmation came when Christopher St. John entered the space a few steps behind his wife.

“What a lovely way to begin the day,” Lysette said with laughter in her voice. Much as he usually detested her enjoyment of drama, today it was a relief after her odd behavior the night before.

Simon heaved a resigned sigh and pushed to his feet.

“Good morning,” he greeted, bowing to the striking couple. The combination of St. John’s golden coloring and Maria’s Spanish blood was an attractive one.

“Quinn,” St. John said.

“Simon,” Maria murmured. She lowered into the chair her husband held out for her and linked her hands primly atop the table. “You know the identity of the man behind the mask. Who is he?”

Resuming his seat, Simon said, “He is Count Reynaldo Montoya. He was in my employ for several years.”

“Was?” the pirate asked. “No longer?”

Simon related the events with Cartland.

“Dear God,” Maria breathed, her dark eyes wide with horror. “When Amelia said the man was in danger, I never imagined it would be to this degree. Why did you not tell me? Why the lie?”

“It is complicated, Maria,” he said, hating that he had betrayed the trust she bestowed so rarely. “I am not at liberty to divulge Montoya’s secrets. He has saved my life many times over. I owe him at least my silence.”

“What of my sister?” she cried. “You know how much she means to me. To know that she was at risk and not warn me . . .” Her voice broke. “I believed you and I were closer than that.”

St. John reached over and clasped his wife’s hand. The gesture of comfort pained Simon deeply. Out of all the women in the world, Maria was the dearest to him.

“I wanted to help you find her and then send her to safety with you,” Simon said, “leaving Montoya and I to finish this business.”

Maria’s gaze narrowed in her fury. It radiated from her, belying the girlish image created by her delicate floral gown. “You should have told me, Simon. If I had known, I would have managed the situation far differently.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “You would have tasked dozens of men with the search, which would have alerted Cartland and put her at greater risk.”