Passion for the Game (Georgian 2)

Maria set aside the map she studied and the notes she made to Simon of where she wished him to search, and stared down at the sketch with awe.

“You have a gift,” she said, admiring the beautiful lines and shadings that created a picture of an exceptionally handsome adolescent male. Exotic features and dark hair and irises gave him an alluring edge of danger that was obvious even with his youth. Thick hair grew too long and fell over his brow, framing those sensual eyes and a beautifully etched mouth.

“It’s nothing,” Tim dismissed gruffly, causing her to lift her gaze and catch his blush.

“And your memory is nothing short of miraculous. I noted this young man, too, and yet until I saw this likeness, I could not have described him to you. His features are too unique to make common comparisons, yet you captured them perfectly.”

He growled his embarrassment, his gaze narrowing beneath unruly brows. She smiled and then looked at the pile of drawings beside her. Together, they created a tapestry of that night’s events—the carriage, the governess, the groomsman, and the coachman. Next up was Amelia, and Maria was almost frightened to see it, uncertain of how she would react. She had seen her sister only a moment, and over the last three weeks, she’d found that the mental image of her was already dimming.

“You will fetch her back,” Tim rumbled.

Blinking, Maria returned her attention to her guest. The fortnight was nearly over, much to her relief. Her injury had required inactivity to fully heal, but the indolent life was anathema to her. She’d paced the floor enough to circle the globe on foot. Distant command was not her style. She much preferred to be directing the action in the flesh. Thankfully, in two more days she would leave for London. Tim would then be returned to St. John, and she would recommit herself fully to her search. “Beg your pardon?”

“Yer sister,” he elaborated. “You’ll fetch her back.”

Dear God. How did he know?

“Is St. John aware?” she asked softly, her mind racing at the possibilities. Amelia was her one vulnerability. Aside from Simon and Welton, no one else knew that.

“Not yet. You caught me before I had a chance to tell him.”

She sighed with relief, though her heart still raced.

“I cannot take you back now,” she advised.

Of course both of them knew that he could depart at any time he chose. Nothing short of leg irons would hold a man of his size against his will, and even that was uncertain.

“I knew that when I told you,” he retorted simply.

“So why?” Maria frowned.

The giant tugged at his wiry beard and sat back in the chair that was nearly too small to hold him. “I was tasked that night with protecting you. I failed. If I guard you now, perhaps I can right that wrong.”

“You cannot be serious!” But she could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was. “There was no way for us to know what would happen.”

He snorted. “St. John did, or he wouldn’t have sent us. He trusted me to act in his stead, and I wasn’t worthy.”

“Tim—”

Holding up a meaty hand, he cut her off. “There’s no point in arguing. You want to keep me with you, and that’s where I want to be. Nothing to piddle o’er.”

Her mouth snapped closed. There was nothing she could say to that bit of logic.

“Mhuirnín.”

Maria looked over her shoulder to see Simon, who stepped into the room with his usual indolent grace. He was still dressed in his traveling clothes, having only recently returned from his long stay away. Under her detailed written directions, he’d taken a dozen men and swept the length of the southern coast, making the necessary inquiries in their search for Amelia.

“You have a visitor.”

Immediately alert, she swung her legs to the floor and rose. She hurried to him and lowered her voice. “Who is it?”

He caught her elbow and led her out, tossing a guarded glance over his shoulder at Tim. Then he bent low and murmured, “Lord Eddington.”

Her steps faltered and she gazed up at him with wide eyes. He shrugged to answer her unspoken question and continued to escort her to the parlor.

She was not dressed for visitors, but then, this was not a social call. Lifting her chin, she swept into the room with all the charm she possessed. She found she needed it as Eddington turned to her with a fulminating glare.

“You and I have much to discuss,” he said in a clipped, angry tone.

Quite accustomed to overbearing males, Maria offered a brilliant smile and took a seat on the settee. “Lovely to see you, too, my lord.”

“You will not think so in a moment.”

“She walked up to him with a pistol, bold as you please, in the bright light of day.”

Christopher grinned at the image Philip’s words brought to mind of Tim being captured by the tiny Maria. In his chest, warmth spread along with his smile. Damned if he did not like the woman more and more each day. Even absence had not lessened his appreciation and desire for her. Her welfare was the first inquiry he had made that afternoon when Philip arrived at the posting inn. There was much for him to be apprised of, too much to wait until he returned to London.

“It was quite amusing,” Philip said, having taken note of Christopher’s mirth.

“I wish I would have seen it.” He lounged deeper into the squab, his gaze moving to the window where the scenery flew by. Crimson curtains were tied to the side, the deep red a touch of color in the otherwise black interior. “So Tim has remained with her.”

“Yes, which is probably best. The Irishman has been absent since the second day of her holiday.”

“Hmm…” The thought gave Christopher deep pleasure. It was unfamiliar, that writhing feeling of discontent he felt whenever he thought of Maria with Quinn. That she still cared for the Irishman was glaringly obvious. The only comfort Christopher had was her empty bed that she shared only with him.

The last thought heated his blood. There were times when he told himself that the sex could not be as good as he remembered. How could it be? Then there were times—in the evenings while lying abed—where he could almost feel her hands caressing his skin and hear her low voice purring provocative taunts.

“Are we close?” he asked, eager to reach his recuperating lover. If he were gentle, perhaps he could have her today. Lust rode him hard, goaded by his lengthening abstinence, but he could control it. He would not aggravate her healing injury.

“Yes, not much farther.” Philip frowned, but said nothing, merely rubbed his palms against his gray velvet breeches. Christopher knew the boy well enough, however, to know something troubled him.

“What is it?”

Philip removed his spectacles and withdrew a kerchief from his pocket. While he cleaned non-existent smudges he said, “I am concerned about Lord Sedgewick. It has been over a month since he released you. Surely he will grow impatient with the mostly inane morsels we send to him.”

Christopher considered Philip a moment, noting how much he had physically matured, a fact which was hidden behind his glasses. “Until I have that witness in hand, I can only bide my time. There is nothing I could have done differently that would have put me any further ahead than I am today.”

“I agree. But how you proceed from here is what concerns me.”

“Why?”

Philip returned his glasses to the bridge of his nose. “Because you have a tendré for the woman, I can tell.”

“I have a tendré for a large number of women.”

“But none of the others are in danger of losing their lives at your hands.”

Christopher inhaled deeply and turned his gaze to the window again.

“And forgive me if I am wrong,” his protégé continued, shifting nervously on the squab and clearing his throat, “but you appear to care more for Lady Winter than any of the other women you know.”

“What gives you that impression?”

“All of the things you have done that have been out of character—the siege of her home, this trip to Brighton. Her household expects her home two days hence and yet you travel out of your way to be with her, as if you cannot bear to spend any more time apart than is absolutely necessary. How can you turn her over to Sedgewick under these circumstances?”

It was a question Christopher had been considering more and more of late. The woman had done nothing to him. She was simply a temptation he had approached in the theater and had pursued ever since. He knew nothing of her association with Lord Winter, but he knew she had not caused the death of Dayton maliciously. She grieved for the man, said she had loved him.

His throat clenched at the thought of Maria’s affections engaged by another. What was she like when she loved? He had become deeply enamored with the woman who had put a footstool before him and kissed him with passion so hot it branded. Was that the Maria who had been wed to Dayton?

Lifting his hand to his chest, Christopher rubbed ineffectually at the tightness there. The woman had secrets, of that there was no doubt. But she was not evil and she meant him no harm. How, then, could he lead her to the gallows? He was not a good man. Regardless of his feelings for her, it disturbed him to exchange his life for the life of a person who was better than he was.