Sylvia Day - [Georgian 02]

by Passion for the Game

  “Like what?”

  He pointed a finger at her. “Like that!”

  “I love you,” she explained with all the girlish adoration she held for him in her heart. “It’s the only way I know how to look at you.”

  His jaw tightened.

  “I so missed how protective you are,” she said softly, her fingers linking together before her.

  “That’s exasperation,” he corrected.

  “Well, you would not become exasperated if you weren’t protective.”

  Shaking his head, Colin moved away and took a seat on a stump. Around them, birds twittered softly and the discarded leaves on the ground rustled with the occasional breeze. Over the years they’d played in many forests and across many beaches, and run across countless miles of wild grasses. And wherever they were, she had felt safe because Colin was with her.

  “Why didn’t you ask me to post it for you, instead of Lord Ware?”

  “I hope for a reply and it cannot come here. I needed his assistance both in the sending and receiving.” She stopped dead in her tracks when she noted that he had dropped his head in his hands. “What is it?”

  She dropped to her knees before him, uncaring of her white gown. “Tell me,” she urged when he held his silence.

  He looked at her. “There will always be things that I can’t give you that men like Ware can.”

  “What things?” she asked. “Pretty dresses and hair ribbons?”

  “Horses, manors, servants like me,” he bit out.

  “None of that has ever made me happy.” Setting her small hands on his broad shoulders, she pressed an ardent kiss to his mouth. “Except for the servant like you, and you know I have never thought of you as inferior to me.”

  “Because you live a sheltered life, Amelia. If you were shown the world at large, you would see how things really are.”

  “I do not care what other people think, as long as you love me.”

  “I can’t love you,” he whispered, his hands lifting to circle her wrists and pull her arms down. “Don’t ask me to.”

  “Colin.” Suddenly she felt like the older one, the one whose task it was to comfort and protect. “You break my heart. But even in pieces, it has enough love for both of us.”

  Cursing softly, Colin seized her and said with his kisses what he would not say aloud.

  Maria relaxed in the tub with her eyes closed, her neck resting against the rounded lip. Tonight she would go to Christopher and tell him about Amelia and Welton. She would tell him about Eddington, too, and together they would find a solution for their problems. Although it had taken her a few days to come to this decision, she knew in her heart it was the right one.

  She sighed and slipped deeper into the warm water. Low male voices were heard in the gallery, then the door to the bedroom opened, followed by the door to her bathing chamber.

  “You have been gone all day, Simon love,” she murmured.

  She heard him pull a chair closer and then he sat heavily. It was that and the deep breath he took, as if fortifying himself for some onerous task, that alerted her. Opening her eyes, she saw his grave features, so different from the merry charm he usually displayed.

  “What is it?”

  Simon leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his gaze intent. “You remember I told you about Lord Sedgewick’s hidden liquor space? Today he had a visitor who imparted information that sheds light on his activities.”

  She sat up, her attention riveted. “Simon, you are a genius!”

  But her praise did not earn her the lazy smile she loved.

  “Maria . . .” he began, then he rose to his feet and came to her, lifting her hand from the edge of the tub.

  Deep foreboding twisted her stomach into knots. “Tell me.”

  “Sedgewick is an agent of the Crown.”

  “Heavens, you frightened me with all your drama.” She frowned, her thoughts rushing through all the possibilities. “They will never cease trying to solve the murders of Winter and Dayton. Of course, I am the primary suspect.”

  “Yes, the agency wants you.” He exhaled harshly. “Enough that they have released a criminal to catch a criminal.”

  “Released a criminal—” She shook her head slowly, as understanding dawned. “No . . .”

  Heedless of his expensive garments, Simon sank to his knees beside her, bringing them eye to eye. “Sedgewick is keeping the witness against St. John at an inn at St. George’s Fields. The viscount has offered an exchange—St. John’s freedom for information that would see you hang in his place. That is why he was not surprised to see St. John at the Campion masquerade and that is why he expected that you were there with the pirate.

  Maria stared at Simon, searching his beloved features for any sign of mischief. It would be a dreadfully ill-conceived jest in such a way, but it would be preferable to the alternative; that her lover meant the ultimate betrayal—her death.

  “No, Simon. No.”

  It was not possible to make love the way Christopher had with her and be lying.

  Simon rose in a fluidly graceful movement, pulling her with him. He caught her up and sank to the floor, cradling her in a loving embrace. She clung to him, her wet body ruining his clothes, her tears silent but copious. He rocked her and hummed to her, held her and loved her.

  “I think he cares for me,” she said, her tear-stained face in his throat.

  “He would be a fool not to, mhuirnín.”

  “I find it nearly impossible to believe otherwise.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I had intended to ask for his assistance tonight.”

  If everything between them had been an elaborate subterfuge to win her trust, it was nearly a dazzling success. She had been prepared to bare her most precious secret, her one vulnerability, because she believed in him. She had even thought that Christopher deserved to know, because he had forgiven her for Eddington, even though she had given no explanations.

  Eddington.

  She pulled back, catching Simon’s lapels with desperate urgency. “You know how St. John has been watching me, how he knew of Eddington’s visit to Brighton and sent Tim to learn Amelia’s identity. If he did those things with intent to harm . . . Dear God, I have been a fool to trust him with so much.”

  It was like being stabbed anew, this time in the heart. Would St. John attempt to use Amelia against her, too?

  “I have already dispatched men to recover the witness,” Simon soothed. “You will have your own leverage.”

  “Oh, Simon.” Maria held him tightly. “What would I do without you?”

  “You would rub along fine, mhuirnín. But I am in no hurry to be proven correct about that.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “What will you do?”

  “I’m not certain. I suppose I will afford him the opportunity to redeem himself,” she said, her throat tight and dry. “I intend to ask him outright how it was that he came to be released. If he refuses to tell me or evades the question, I will know his loyalty lies with his own interests and not with me.”

  “And then?”

  She brushed the tears from her cheeks. “And then we do what we must. Amelia comes first, she always has.”

  Christopher stepped through the front door of his home with a whistle on his lips and a spring in his step. In all of his life, he could not remember the last time he had ever felt this . . . happy. He had not even known that he could be happy, for Christ’s sake. He’d thought that feeling was beyond him.

  Tossing his hat at his butler, he then yanked off his gloves and planned in his mind the best way to receive Maria when she arrived that evening. He would send men to escort her and ensure her safety, but what would he do with her once she was here? He’d stay buried inside her for hours, without question, but he would also like to continue wooing her. He relished the idea of exploring more of the unknown world of intimate relationships.

  “Hmm . . .” He wracked his brain in his attempt to plan something neither of them would ever forget. He
could ask his cook to prepare a variety of dishes known for their aphrodisiac qualities. And order flowers. Ones with a lush, exotic scent that would set the proper mood.

  His lips twisted ruefully. Of course, all of that was directed toward the sexual part of the evening. He obviously knew nothing about romance or how to go about creating it. Rolling his shoulders back, Christopher considered a nap. He needed to think longer on the matter, but that required more energy than he had at the moment.

  “St. John.”

  Turning his head, Christopher saw Philip filling the door to his study. “What is it?”

  “The men you sent to research Amelia returned this afternoon.”

  His brows rose, then he nodded and moved into the room, taking a seat behind his desk. Lined up facing him were the four men he’d dispatched. All looked travel dusty and yet they were filled with a palpable excitement. Whatever they’d learned, they thought it was something he would appreciate.

  “Go ahead,” he said, his fatigue of a moment ago banished.

  The four men looked at each other, and then Walter stepped forward. Two score in age with the gray hair and whiskers to show it, he had been with Christopher since the beginning of his less-than-illustrious career. In fact, Walter had been one of the men to watch him lose his virginity against the alley wall.

  “I sent Tim ahead to tell you the news, but I hear he was waylaid.”

  Christopher smiled. “The tale is true.”

  “Well, I hope the delay isn’t one you’ll regret. Her name is Amelia Benbridge, the Viscount Welton’s daughter.”

  Welton’s daughter?

  “Good God,” Christopher breathed, leaning back heavily into his chair. “She is Lady Winter’s half sister.”

  “Aye. Odd thing is, no one in the towns surrounding Welton’s seat knew of her. When asked about the girl, everyone looked at us as if we were daft.”

  “How did you find her?”

  “The vicar had the birth records.”

  “Well done,” Christopher praised, even as he frowned in consternation and tapped his foot upon the Aubusson rug. Maria had been stabbed in an attempt to speak with her sister. They were obviously being kept forcibly apart. “I have to find her.”

  “Ah, well, we did.”

  Christopher’s wide-eyed gaze shot to Walter’s beaming face. “At one of the posting inns, Peter caught himself a pretty miss. He was talking to her, trying to wiggle under her skirts, and she says she’s been hired as lady’s maid to a viscount’s daughter and the viscount she describes sounds like Welton. So we followed her to Lincolnshire and discovered the girl she tends is named Amelia Benbridge.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “A dumb stroke of luck,” Walter said. “But we’ll take it, eh?”

  “Yes, we will. Peter is absent,” Christopher noted. “I assume he stayed behind to watch the girl? Excellent.” He glanced at Philip, who waited by the door. “Fetch Sam.”

  His fingers drummed against the surface of his desk. “Welton hired this girl?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  Blowing out his breath, Christopher considered what he knew. Welton had Amelia. Maria wanted Amelia. Welton supported Maria’s household and introduced her to men like Eddington. Christopher still had no notion of what Eddington was paying her for, but he now had no doubt that it was not for sexual favors. A picture was forming, but the image remained too murky to understand.

  Sam stepped into the room.

  “Tomorrow you are to go with Walter and the others to Lincolnshire,” Christopher said. “There is a girl there. I need to know if she is the same girl Lady Winter sought. If it is, send word to me but remain with her. Follow her if she leaves. I want to know where she is at all times.”

  “Of course.” The determined set of Sam’s jaw told Christopher the man would do his best to redeem himself, just as Tim was doing.

  “Clean up,” Christopher said to the others. “Relax the rest of the night. Tup a willing maid. You will receive boons for your hard work.”

  “Thank you,” they said in near unison, smiling.

  He waved them out, then took a moment to collect his thoughts before rising and ascending the stairs to his bedroom.

  Maria knew he had the resources to help her. Now that they had breached each other’s outer defenses, would she share this with him? He hoped that she would.

  With that goal in mind, he began to make plans for a seduction of a deeper kind. He wanted her heart, every dark corner and crevice of it.

  Would she trust him enough to give it to him?

  “The Earl of Eddington wishes to know if you are at home.”

  Maria looked at her butler through her mirror’s reflection. His face was studiously impassive, as was hers, but inside she was a jumble of hurt and confusion. She nodded.

  Bowing, the servant retreated.

  Sarah continued to work on Maria’s hair, weaving pearls and flowers into the elaborate arrangement, but when the knock came and Eddington entered, the abigail curtsied quickly and retreated.

  “My Lady Winter,” the earl drawled, striding into her boudoir. “You are, as always, an incomparable vision.”

  He had never once bothered to mince his steps around her, a comfort in bearing she wasn’t certain she liked. The earl was dressed without fault in a striking burgundy ensemble, his dark hair restrained with the ends curled and hanging midway down his back. Lifting her proffered hand to his lips, Eddington then took a seat on the small stool beside her.

  “Tell me something,” he said, his heavy-lidded eyes studying her intently.

  “I wish I had something to offer you,” she murmured, unwilling to share news of Sedgewick until she knew for certain whether Christopher cared for her or not.

  The earl sighed, as if quite put upon, then he opened his snuff box. He caught her hand, set the pinch atop the fluttering vein in her wrist, and sniffed.

  “You are distressed over something,” he noted, staring at the betraying pulsing of that thin blue line.

  “My abigail cannot seem to manage the style I desired.”

  “Hmm . . .” He rubbed his thumb back and forth across her wrist. “What are your plans for the evening? Are you still on holiday?”

  Maria tugged her hand back. “No. I have an assignation with a certain criminal of renown.”

  “Lovely.” Eddington smiled with pleasure. Even though she was fairly immune to his lauded charms, she could not fail to note how attractive the man was. And a spy, too. Quite delicious, if one liked a rakish hero.

  “Do you plan to ask St. John outright how he secured his release?” he asked conversationally. “Or do you plan to glean the information I need to recapture him in some other fashion?”

  “If I tell you my secrets, what value would I have?”

  “True.” He stood and lifted the lid to her patch box. Selecting a diamond shape, he prepared it and secured it next to the corner of her eye. “The agency could use a woman of your talents. You should consider it.”

  “And you should go, so I can complete the task you set for me.”

  The earl stood behind her, setting his hands on her shoulders. “Do not dismiss my offer out of hand. I am sincere.”

  Maria met his gaze in the mirror. “I never dismiss anything out of hand, my lord. Most especially attractive offers made by men who stand to gain a great deal from my downfall.”

  Eddington grinned. “You don’t trust anyone, do you?” “Sadly”—she looked at herself in the mirror—“I have learned not to.”

  Tim pinned Sarah’s delightfully robust figure to the master sitting-room wall, his hand cupping her fleshy buttock and urging her against his erect cock. The lewd embrace had been the sole focus of his interest until he had heard Lady Winter’s discussion with Lord Eddington in the next room.

  His eyes closed and his forehead rested against the wall some inches above Sarah’s, who was so much shorter. It pained him greatly to learn of the betrayal. He had come to like and respec
t Lady Winter and had hoped her association with St. John would continue indefinitely. They both had a certain gleam in their eyes when referencing the other, and St. John had never looked happier than when he was in her ladyship’s company.

  “The earl has departed,” Tim rumbled, stepping back. “Lady Winter will be needing you now.”

  “Will you come to my room later?” she asked breathlessly.

  “I’ll try. Go on now.” He spun her about and urged her toward the nearby door with a pinch of her ass.

  He waited until the latch had secured behind her, then he left the room.

  Time was of the essence.

  If he made haste, he could tell St. John about Lady Winter’s true nature and return before he was missed.

  Chapter 19

  Colin whistled softly as he brushed the satiny-smooth coat of one of the carriage bays. His heart was both lighter and heavier, a strange mixture that he did not know how to manage.

  It was beyond foolhardy, he knew, to seek Amelia out. She was far too young, and many stations above him. They could never be together. Not in any way. Their few stolen kisses were a danger to both, and he felt the cad for even stealing those.

  She would be set free one day, exposed to the world at large and men like Lord Ware. She would look back on these days and her fervent girlish infatuation and wonder what she had been thinking to imagine herself in love with a groomsman. He was simply the only dish on the table, so she imagined herself hungry for him. But once she was set before a banquet, his common contribution would be like porridge amongst a multicourse meal.

  “Colin.”

  He turned at the sound of his uncle’s voice, watching as the rotund man entered the stable. “Yes, uncle?”

  Yanking off his hat, Pietro ran a hand through his graying dark hair in a gesture rife with frustration. Aside from the differing widths of their middles, they looked very much alike, their Gypsy heritage unquestionable even though Colin’s was diluted by a non-Gypsy mother.

  “I know you’ve been seeing the lass in the woods.”