A Passion for Him (Georgian 3)

“You do not know that!” she argued.

“I know him. He worked for me. I know all his strengths. Finding lost people and items is his forte. Lackeys scouring the countryside would attract the attention of a simpleton, and Cartland is far from that!”

It was the pirate’s raspy drawl that cut through the building tension. “How do you signify, Mademoiselle Rousseau?”

Lysette waved one delicate hand carelessly. “I am the judge.”

“And the executioner, if need be,” Simon grumbled.

St. John’s brows rose. “Fascinating.”

Maria pushed back from the table and stood. Simon and St. John stood as well.

“I have wasted enough time here,” she snapped. “I must find Amelia before anyone else does.”

“Allow me to come with you,” Simon asked. “I can help.”

“You have helped quite enough, thank you!”

“Lysette witnessed three riders making inquiries in the dead of night.” Simon’s tone was grim. “You need all the assistance you can muster. Amelia’s safety lies within your purview, but Cartland and Montoya lie within mine.”

“And mine,” Lysette interjected. “I do not understand why we do not contact the man you work for here in England. He would seem to be an untapped, valuable resource.”

“St. John likely has a larger, more reliable web of associates,” Simon argued. “One more swiftly galvanized into action.”

“Maria.” St. John set his hand at the small of her back. “Quinn knows the appearances of both men. We do not. We would be blind without him.”

She looked at Simon again. “Why does Montoya wear the mask?”

Careful to keep his face impassive, Simon used the excuse that Colin gave him. “He wore the mask for the masquerade. Later, he wore it to make it more difficult for Miss Benbridge to pursue him. He did not want to jeopardize her. He cares for her.”

Maria lifted her hand to stem anything else he might say.

“We have an added complication,” the pirate said. All eyes turned to him. “Lord Ware may follow.”

“You jest!” Maria cried.

“Who is Lord Ware?” Lysette asked.

“Bloody hell,” Simon muttered. “The last thing we require is the injury of a peer.”

“He asked to accompany me,” St. John said grimly. “But the departure of Quinn’s valet made waiting impossible. Still, he asked for direction, and while I was deliberately vague in hopes that he would reconsider, he may prove more tenacious than other men of his station.”

Maria exhaled sharply. “Even more reason to keep moving, then.”

“I sent the town carriage back to London,” the pirate said. “Pietro is loading the travel coach as we speak. We should make better time.”

Simon, unfortunately, did not have a change of equipage, but his bruised arse would have to make do.

With the sunrise lighting their way, they hastened toward Reading.

The moment the knock came to her bedroom door, Amelia ran to open it.

“Tim!” she cried, startled at the sight of her visitor and not very pleased. Perhaps he intended for them to leave now, which would necessitate her explaining about Montoya and her deception of the night before.

He took one look at her wild hair and disarrayed clothing and cursed with a viciousness that made her wince. “You lied to me last night!” he accused, pushing his way inside.

She blinked. How did he know?

Then she saw the items in his hand, and the answer to the question lost importance. “Let me see,” she said, her heart racing at the possibilities. Tim had the mask. How? Why?

Tim stared at her for a long, taut moment, then offered her the mask and the missive with it.

My love,

You have the mask. When next you see me, I will not be wearing it.

Your servant,

M

The sudden realization that Montoya could have fled after she departed made her feel ill.

“Dear God,” she gasped, clutching the mask to her chest. “Is he gone?”

He shook his head. “’E waits for you downstairs.”

“I must go to him.”

Amelia hurried to the untouched bed where her corset and underskirts awaited donning. Montoya hadn’t the time to dress her completely. His fear for her discovery in his room had driven him to haste. She had hoped to ask a chambermaid for help, but Tim would have to manage the task.

“I think you should wait until St. John comes,” he said. “’E’s on ’is way now.”

“No,” she breathed, pausing in midmovement. Her time with Montoya was too precious. The addition of her sister and brother-in-law would only add to the confusion she felt. “I must speak with him alone.”

“You’ve already been alone with ’im,” he barked, shooting a pointed glance at the untouched bed. “St. John will ’ave my ’ead for that. I don’t need to give ’im any more to be angry o’er.”

“You do not understand. I have yet to see Montoya’s face. You cannot expect me to face such a revelation with witnesses who are in foul temper.” She held a shaking hand out to him.

He stared at it for a long moment with his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched tighter. “A moment ago, I admired ’im for seeking me out. Now I want to rip ’im to pieces. ’E should not have touched you.”

“I wanted him,” she said with tears in her eyes. “I pushed him. I was selfish and cared only about my own desires.”

Just as her father would have done, curse him. And curse his blood which tainted her. Everything around her was in disarray because she could think only of herself.

“Don’t cry!” Tim complained, looking miserable.

His discomfort was her fault. Somehow, she had to make everything right. The starting point was Montoya, as he was the pivotal figure who had begun this descent into madness.

“I have to go to him before they arrive.” She shrugged out of her unfastened gown, wiggled into her corset, and presented her back. “I shall need your assistance to dress.”

Tim muttered something as he stalked toward her, and by the glower he wore, she thought herself fortunate to have missed it.

“I think I’ll wed Sarah after all,” he growled, yanking on her stays so tightly, she lost her ability to breathe. “I’m too old fer this.”

Gasping and lacking the air required to speak, she swatted at him to fix it. He scowled, then appeared to notice that she was about to faint, and why. He grumbled an apology and loosened the tapes.

“I ’ope yer ’appy,” he snapped. “You’ve driven me to the altar!”

Amelia pulled on her underskirts. After Tim tied them to her, she caught up her dress from where it pooled on the floor and thrust her arms into the sleeves.

Tim’s thick fingers fumbled with the tiny buttons that secured the gown.

“I love you.” She looked over her shoulder. “I do not know if I have ever told you that, but it’s true. You are a good man.”

The flush of his skin spoke volumes.

“’E’d best marry you, if that’s what you want,” he said gruffly, his gaze on his task. “Otherwise, I’ll string ’im up and gut ’im like a fish.”

It was some sort of peace offering, and she accepted it gratefully. “I would help you, if it came to that.”

He snorted, but a quick glance over her shoulder revealed a wry curve to his lips. “’E doesn’t know what trouble ’e’s got ’imself into with you.”

Amelia shifted impatiently. “I pray we can keep the man alive long enough to show him.”

The moment Tim announced he was done, she pulled on stockings and shoes, and rushed toward the door. As she took the stairs with all the decorum she could muster, her breath shortened until she felt dizzy.

The next moments of her life would alter the future forever; she felt it in her bones. The feeling of portent was so strong, she was almost inclined to flee, but could not. She needed Montoya with a depth and strength she had thoug

ht she would never feel again. Part of her heart screamed silently at the betrayal of her first, dear love for Colin. The other half was older, wiser and understood that affection for one did not negate the affection she felt for the other.

Her hand shook as she reached for the doorknob of the private dining room. In the best of circumstances she would be nervous. She was about to face the man who had seen her and touched her in ways no one else ever had. The added tension brought on by the revealing of his face only deepened her disquiet and concern.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Amelia knocked.

“Come in.”

Before she lost her courage, she entered with as confident a stride as she could affect. She paused just inside, taking in the lay of the room with its cheerily blazing fire, large circular table draped in cloth, and walls covered in paintings of the countryside. He faced away from her before a window, his hands clasped at the small of his back, his broad shoulders covered in exquisite colorful silk, his silky black locks restrained in a queue that ended just between his shoulder blades.

The sight of his richly clad form in the simple country room was glaring. Then he turned, and her body froze in shock.

It cannot be him, she thought with something akin to panic. It is impossible.

Her heart ceased beating, her breath seized in her lungs, and her thoughts stuttered as if she had taken a blow to the brain.

Colin.