A Passion for Him (Georgian 3)

“Regardless, that does not sound appealing to me.”

“Perhaps life as a mistress would suit you better?”

“I do not like men very much,” she pronounced, startling him. “Why are you asking me such questions?”

Simon shrugged. “Why not? There is nothing else for me to do.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Do you prefer the company of women?”

She stared at him a moment. Then her eyes widened. “No! Mon Dieu. I prefer the company of books, but in lieu of that, men are my second choice. Most especially in the manner to which you are referring.”

He smiled at her horror.

“Why don’t you think about Cartland?” she suggested, “And leave me in peace.”

His humor fled. “You think he will find Mitchell?”

“I think it would be impossible for him not to with this large a number of pursuers. He was given a sizeable contingent of men. I would be surprised if he was not watching all the major roads in and out of London.” Her beautiful features lost all traces of humanity. “I would not have come with you if I thought of this as merely a family affair.”

“Of course not,” he murmured, the tiny flare of warmth he’d felt for her fading as rapidly as it had come. Such was the way of their relations—one minute he found her marginally attractive, the next he could not abide her. “And what of this man who rides with Cartland? Depardue? Do you think about him?”

“As little as possible.”

There was something more there; he could tell by the edge that had entered her voice. “He is your rival, is he not?”

Her lips whitened, then, “No. He is not. If he succeeds, it does not reflect negatively on me.”

“So why not allow him to proceed and spare yourself the blight on your soul?”

“I do what I must,” she said with a trace of defensiveness. “You do not like that I can set aside my emotions to accomplish the tasks set before me, but the ability keeps me alive.”

Heaving out his breath, Simon slid down to lie on his back. “Surviving in the manner that you and I do does not mean we have to be heartless. What would be the point of living if we have no heart?”

He heard the book slam shut. “Do not seek to lecture me!” she snapped. “You have no notion of what my life has been like.”

“So tell me,” he said easily.

“Why do you care?”

“I told you, there is nothing else to do.”

“Do you want to have sex?”

His head shot up in surprise. She stared back with both brows raised.

“With you?” he asked, incredulous.

“Who else is here?” she retorted.

To his chagrin, Simon realized that as much as he enjoyed a quick, meaningless tumble, he had no real desire to tumble Lysette. However, damned if he wouldn’t rise to the occasion. “I suppose we could . . .”

Her eyes widened at his obvious reluctance. Then she laughed, a sweet, lilting sound that he found enchanting. Who knew such a cold creature could have such a warm laugh? “You don’t want to sleep with me?” she asked, grinning.

Simon scowled. “I can manage the task,” he bit out.

Lysette looked pointedly at the general area of his cock. “It does not look that way to me.”

“Never cast aspersions on a man’s virility. You force him to prove it by fucking you raw.”

A shadow passed over her features. She swallowed hard and looked away.

His irritation fled. Sitting up, he said, “I was jesting.”

“Of course.”

Scrubbing a hand over his jaw, Simon cursed inwardly. He did not understand the woman at all. She was too mutable. “Perhaps we should restrain our conversations to safer subjects?”

She looked at him. “Yes, I think you are right.”

He waited for her to say something; then finally he took the lead. “I intend to capture Cartland and bring him together with Mitchell. Then you can see for yourself the differences between the two. If I know Cartland at all, he hopes to eliminate Mitchell before his secret is revealed.”

“If there is such a secret to tell.”

“Why do you not believe us?”

“Do not take offense,” she said easily. “I do not believe Cartland either.”

“Who do you believe, then?” he snapped.

“No one.” Her chin lifted. “Tell me you would do differently in my place.”

“You met Mitchell. He is an earnest young man with a good heart.”

Her gaze hardened. “I am certain there are those who would laud Monsieur Cartland as well.”

“Cartland is a lying murderer!”

“So you say. But did he not once work for you? Do you not have a grievance against him for revealing your traitorous activities in France? You have motive to want him dead, which leaves anything you say against him suspect.”

Cursing under his breath, Simon plopped back onto the pillow and yanked up the counterpane.

“Are you going to sleep now?” she asked.

“Yes!”

“Bonne nuit. ”

His response was a frust

rated growl.

Chapter 10

A melia shivered as her bare back touched the cool counterpane and Montoya’s warmth left her. If she kept her gaze trained downward, she could see a tiny sliver of the room and the glow of the fire in the grate. But she did not want to see, so she squeezed her lids shut.

In her mind’s eye, she pictured Montoya as a rather exotic-looking man. Strong, handsome, and rather severe. The desire she felt to lighten his burdens and bring him some comfort was a goading force. She wanted to hear him laugh and press kisses to the dimples she saw far too rarely.

Suddenly, an image of Colin burst forth in all its glory, vivid and powerful. She stiffened in surprise.

“What is it?” Montoya murmured, the cessation of sound telling her that he had stopped undressing.

Inhaling sharply, Amelia brought her thoughts back to the present. Perhaps it was to be expected that she would think fondly of her first love at this moment, the one where she embarked on a similar journey with another. She lacked the experience to know.

“I am cold without you,” she lied, holding her arms out to him.

“In a moment, you will be hot and damp,” he purred, the bed dipping as he joined her atop it.

She felt the warmth of him along her side and then the gentle press of his firm lips to her shoulder. His hand drifted along the length of her, following the slight curves and valleys of her figure.

“I fear I am dreaming,” he said softly. “I am afraid to blink in case I open my eyes and find you gone.”

Amelia’s hand came to rest on the flat plane of her belly just below her navel. “I feel flutters here,” she confessed.

His hand covered hers and squeezed gently. “I will be there soon. Deep inside you.” His fingertips tiptoed across her skin and touched the curls between her legs.

It tickled, making her laugh. When he pressed his lips to hers, she felt his returning smile. “I love you,” he breathed before taking her mouth.

Her heart stopped, delaying her reaction to the deepening intrusion of his fingers. A callused fingertip parted her and her thighs squeezed together instinctively.