Passion for the Game (Georgian 2)

Maria smiled. “May God have no mercy on your soul, my lord.”

Eddington watched as Welton was clapped in irons by a Runner and Sedgewick was led away by two agents. As the wharf cleared, leaving only his carriage and St. John’s, he set his hands at the small of his back and heaved out a deep sigh of satisfaction. After this night, he would assuredly be granted the recently opened position of commander that Sedgewick had sought with such reckless determination.

Lost in plans for his use of his new power, he failed to register the patter of footsteps behind him until the sharp tip of a blade pierced through his clothing and poked at his flesh.

He stilled. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You will be my guest, my lord,” Lady Winter murmured, “until my sister is returned to me.”

“You must be jesting.”

“I caution you against underestimating her,” St. John said. “I have felt her blade more times than I care to admit.”

“I could call out for help,” Eddington said.

“How unsporting of you,” Lady Winter said.

A grunt of pain was heard, quickly followed by several more. Eddington turned his head and found his coachman, footmen, and outriders engaging in fisticuffs with what appeared to be a lone man of Irish descent. That the Irishman was winning was in no doubt.

“Good God!” Eddington cried, watching with pure awe. “I have never seen such a show of pugilistic expertise in my life.”

He was so engaged by the spectacle that he offered no protest when his hands were bound behind him.

“Come along now,” Lady Winter said when he was secured. She poked him with her knife again for good measure.

“Who is that man?” he inquired as St. John’s lackeys restrained those who groaned in surrender on the ground. But no one replied.

Later, he was pleased to see the Irishman again when the man entered Eddington’s guarded room with a decanter of brandy and two glasses. Truly, as far as prisons went, Lady Winter’s opulent home was the finest of them. His “cell” was decorated in shades of ivory and gold, with brown leather wingbacks before a marble-framed grate and a canopied bed covered in a golden floral embroidered silk counterpane.

“It is almost morning, my lord,” the Irishman said, “but I hoped you would share a nightcap with me.” His mouth curved wryly. “Lady Winter and St. John have already retired.”

“Of course.” Eddington studied the other man as he accepted the proffered glass from him. “You are the kept paramour I have heard whispered about.”

“Simon Quinn, at your service.”

Quinn settled into a wingback before the grate and held his glass in two hands, seeming not at all injured by his earlier activities. He glanced aside with a look that would chill boiling water. “Lest you think this is merely a social visit, my lord, I feel I should tell you bluntly that if Lady Winter’s sibling arrives with any injury at all, I will beat you to a bloody pulp.”

“Christ.” Eddington blinked. “You’ve put the fear of God into me.”

“Excellent.”

Eddington tossed back his drink. “Listen, Quinn. It appears your present occupation will be…eliminated.”

“Yes, it does appear so.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

Quinn’s brow raised.

“Hear me out,” Eddington said. “Once this matter with the sister is resolved, I will assume a position of some power. I could use a man of your talents, and working on this side of the law does have decided benefits.” He studied the Irishman to see how his proposal was being accepted.

“How are the wages?”

“Name your price.”

“Hmm…I’m listening.”

“Excellent. Now here are my thoughts…”

Chapter 23

“Once again, I find myself amazed with you,” Christopher murmured, his lips to Maria’s forehead as they reclined in her bed.

She snuggled closer, her nose pressed to his bare chest so she could breathe in the delicious scent of him. “I am amazing.”

He laughed. “How you managed after the deaths of your parents…All those years under Welton’s thumb…” His arms tightened. “We will go away after the wedding. Anywhere you like. Everywhere you like. We shall leave those memories behind and make new ones. Happy ones. All three of us, my love.”

“After the wedding?” She tilted her head back to look up at him. “A bit presumptuous, I would say.”

“Presumptuous?” Both of his brows rose up to his hairline. “You love me. I love you. We marry. That is not presumptive, it’s expected.”

“Oh? And when did you begin to do the expected?”

“When I unexpectedly fell in love with you.”

“Hmm.”

“What does that signify? That noise you made.” Christopher scowled. “That was not an affirmation.”

“And what is it that I am supposed to be affirming?” Maria hid her smile by looking away. The next she knew, she was flat on her back with an ardently piqued pirate and smuggler of renown looming over her.

“My marriage proposal.”

“I was not aware you made one. It was more of a declaration.”

“Maria.” He heaved an exasperated sigh. “Don’t you wish to wed me?”

Her hands came up to cup his face. To his credit, he was only distracted a moment by her bare breasts. “I adore you, as you well know. But I have been married twice. I think that is plenty enough for any woman.”

“How can you compare a union with me to what you experienced with them? A man who cared for you like a dear friend, and a man who used you merely for his own gratification?”

“Would you be happy in the wedded state, Christopher?” she asked, discarding pretense.

He stilled, his gaze intent. “You doubt it?”

“Did you not say that the only way out of your livelihood is death? Either yours or of those you love?”

“When did I—” His eyes widened. “By God, have you a spy in my midst?”

Maria smiled.

“Vixen,” he muttered, kneeing her legs open and settling his hips between them. “Yes, I said that. Perhaps it is selfish of me to ask you under those very real circumstances, but I have no choice. I cannot live without you.”

He reached between them, cupping her sex in his hand and stroking her. “Neither of us has made any effort to prevent conception,” he said softly, “and I am glad of that. The thought of you increasing with my child fills me with awe. Imagine how clever and industrious our issue will be.”

“Christopher…” Her eyes stung and her vision grew blurry, even as her body awakened to his touch, growing liquid with desire. “How would we ever manage such a mischievous lot?”

“Just the way we managed the lot last night.” Gripping his cock, he teased her creamy opening with the wide tip and then began to slip inside her. “Together.”

Her eyes slid closed as he filled her, her head falling to the side to expose her throat to his mouth. “And if something were to happen to me or our children,” she asked, “would you promise to hold yourself blameless? Or would you damn yourself forever?”

Christopher stilled, his cock a thick, throbbing presence within her. Something dark passed over his features, remembered pain and thoughts of more, perhaps.

“You could have left your life of crime long ago,” she murmured, her arms clasped around his back. “The life you embraced to save your brother, and in the end it was the death of him, yes?”

The shudder that moved through him shook her, too.

“And yet you stay,” she whispered, “caring for those who are loyal to you, seeing to their families when they pass on, providing a home and food on the table for many.”

“I am not a saint, Maria.”

“No. You are a fallen angel.” The comparison seemed even more apropos now, with his handsomeness offset by the blue satin lining of her canopy.

He growled. “There is nothing angelic about me.”

“My darling.” She lifted her head to press a kiss to his shoulder. “If we stay unwed, you will know that I stay with you because I wish to. Because I make that same wish every day, and you are not responsible for binding me to you.”

“Could you not make the wish to wed me and be done with it?”

She laughed and tugged him closer. He held back a moment, an immovable object unless he wished to be moved. Then he sighed and rolled over, taking her with him, keeping them joined. He reclined his golden head into the mass of pillows and gazed up at her.