Sylvia Day - [Georgian 02]

by Passion for the Game

  “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.

  “I am the bastard son of a nobleman,” he said with the uninflected tone she had come to realize meant that he was discussing something that disturbed him. “My mother was the unfortunate recipient of her employer’s lust until she had the temerity to start increasing. Then she was discharged from her position as scullery maid and sent back to the village in shame.”

  “Your brother . . . ?”

  “Was legitimate. But I had the better circumstances. I was happy in the village. He was miserable in the manse. Our pater was half mad and viciously tempered. I think he raped my mother for the power of the act, not so much the physical release. Still, she loved me. The only affection Nigel ever knew was mine and his wife’s.”

  “I am sorry.” Maria brushed the hair back from his forehead and then kissed him in the space between his brows.

  “So you see, my love”—he caught up her hand and set it over his heart—“I wish to have children within wedlock. I wish to share a home and a life with you. I wish to share a façade of normalcy with you.”

  “A façade?” She smiled.

  “Will we ever be normal?”

  “God forbid,” she said with mock graveness.

  “You wound me,” he retorted. “Jesting at a time like this. I am laying my heart at your feet and you tease me.”

  Maria lifted their joined hands and set them over her own heart. “Your heart is not at my feet, it is here, beating within my breast.”

  Christopher kissed her fingertips, his dark blue eyes alight with love. “We can manage, I promise you that. My steward and Philip are capable of seeing to my affairs while we are away. Philip is the most recent addition to my lieutenants. There are several, and together they can effectively rub along without me.”

  “Good heavens,” she breathed, blinking down at him. “Whatever will you do with yourself surrounded by an increasing wife and her soon-to-be-marriageable sister?”

  “An increasing wife . . .” His voice was even raspier than usual. His hand cupped her nape and pulled her down, his lips pressing hard to hers. “I want that, damn it. I want it now. With you. I never thought I would. But I do, and I need you to give it to me. No other woman would be able to tame me. After all, how many notorious suspected murderesses are there?”

  “I am not certain. I could investigate—”

  He rolled again, pinning her beneath him and thrusting deep. She gasped in surprise, and he reared back and thrust harder.

  “Have I mentioned lately,” she said with laughter in her voice and heart, “that aggressive behavior only makes me more obstinate?”

  “Maddening, contrary wench!” he growled, punctuating each word with a lunge of his hips. Reaching down, he anchored her leg on his hip and fucked her with passionate, fervent abandon.

  He moved with the precision of a man who not only knew how to give a woman pleasure, but who wanted to especially. Who made it the goal of the entire sexual encounter to please his partner. To please her. He watched her closely, picking up on all the ways she responded to him, and adjusted his exertions accordingly.

  “You like that?” he murmured when she whimpered in pleasure. He repeated the movement exactly. “You know as well as I that you crave me. Crave the feel of me inside you, stretching that tight, delicious cunt. Imagine days and nights spent like this, your ripe little body fucked so well it is nearly too much to bear.”

  “Ha! I can wear you into exhaustion.” She meant to scoff, but her voice sounded slurred by lust instead.

  “Prove it,” he whispered darkly, pumping deep and true, filling the room with the liquid sounds of their sexual congress. “Marry me.”

  Lost to the feel of him inside her, Maria writhed and whispered hot sex words in his ear, her nails digging into his clenching buttocks. He was wild, untamed despite his claims to the contrary, his desperation for her evident in the way he made love to her, as if he would never have enough. Would never get deep enough.

  “Are you certain you wish to experience this level of agitation every day of your life?” she whispered before she bit his earlobe.

  In retaliation, he plunged balls-deep into her and circled his hips, rubbing her clitoris with his pelvic bone, throwing her headlong into a pulsating climax.

  “Christopher!” She shivered violently, her cunt milking his cock until he groaned and came, spurting inside her.

  “I love you,” he gasped, clutching her so tightly she found it hard to breathe. “I love you.”

  Maria wrapped him with her body, her heart pounding with her returning depth of affection for him. “I suppose I should marry you,” she breathed. “Who else would drive you insane?”

  “No one else would dare. You are the only one.”

  “And certainly no one could love you as much as I do.”

  “Certainly not.” He nuzzled his damp head into her cheek, imprinting her with his scent. “I used to wonder why my pater had to be who he was, why my brother had to inherit destitution, why the only recourse I knew of led me to this life.”

  “My love . . .” She knew well how he felt. Had she not asked herself similar questions every day?

  “I knew the moment I held you in the theater, that you were the reason for everything. Every single turn my life has made led me to you. Were I not the man I am, the agency would never have approached me and I would not have found you, my soul mate. In fact, you are so like me, it is nearly frightening, yet you continue to surprise and astound me.”

  “As you continue to surprise and astound me.” She walked her fingers up his spine and laughed when he squirmed. “I never thought you would wish to be married. I cannot picture it.”

  “Then we will commission a portrait,” he said dryly. “Say yes, my darling Maria. Say yes.”

  “Yes.”

  He lifted his head and arched a brow. “Why do I feel as if that was too easily won?”

  “Oh?” Maria batted her eyelashes at him. “I recant, then, and will proceed to resist you further.”

  Christopher rumbled a warning and twitched inside her.

  She grinned. “Do you collect that the more I frustrate you, the more sexually focused you become? It is quite delicious.”

  “You will be the death of me.”

  “I warned you.”

  “You will pay.”

  “Ooh . . . When do you intend to collect?”

  “As soon as we can procure a wedding license and a priest.”

  “I await your pleasure,” she purred.

  As he deliberately flexed inside her, his smile was pure wickedness. “Well, then. You shan’t be waiting long.”

  “Simon love.” Maria rose to her feet from her perch on the parlor settee and held out her hands.

  Simon approached her with his slow, sultry stride, his smile deeply affectionate. Dressed in soft gray, he was understated, as usual, but dramatically attractive all the same. He caught up her hands and bent to kiss her cheek. “How are you faring?”

  “Not so well,” she admitted, resuming her seat with him beside her. Christopher had returned to his home to change his garments and make arrangements for the advent of any news of Amelia. Maria waited at her residence, unwilling to leave in case she missed word sent to her here. She’d wanted to gather a team and venture out in search, but Christopher had begged her to allow him to manage that part of the affair and offered several excellent reasons why. In the end, she had relented, albeit reluctantly. “I cannot help but worry.”

  “I know,” he soothed, stroking the back of her hand. “I wish I could be of more help.”

  “Your presence alone is of great comfort to me.”

  “Ah, but I am slightly de trop, yes?”

&nbs
p; “Never. You will always have a place of prominence in my life.” Maria took a deep breath. “St. John has asked me to wed him.”

  “Wise man.” Simon smiled. “I wish you great happiness. I know of no one who deserves it more than you.”

  “You, too, deserve to be happy.”

  “I am content, mhuirnín. Truly. At the present moment, my life is perfect.” Simon grinned and settled more comfortably in the brocade-covered seat. “So, tell me, how much time do I have before I must leave you?”

  “You are not going anywhere. I want you to keep this house. You have happy memories here, yes?”

  “The happiest of my life.”

  Maria’s eyes stung, and she swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Once I have Amelia, we plan to go away. Travel. See all the places that were kept from me while I was in service to Welton. I hope the adventure will help rebuild the bond Amelia and I once shared.”

  “I think that is a fine idea.”

  “I will miss you terribly,” she lamented, her lower lip quivering.

  Simon lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back. “I will be here for you always, for whatever you may need. This is not the end. For you and me, there will never be an end.”

  “And I will always be here for you,” she whispered.

  “I know.”

  She blew out her breath. “So you will take the house?”

  “No. I will maintain it for you. Fortuitously,” he continued, smiling, “this is the perfect location for my new appointment under Lord Eddington.”

  Maria’s mouth fell open. “He lured you into the agency?”

  “Not quite. He anticipates some matters of delicacy that would best be handled by someone with less scruples than most.”

  “Dear God.” Her hand lifted to brush along his cheek. “Be careful, please. You are a member of my family. I could not bear it if something untoward were to befall you.”

  “I request the same level of care from you. Take no risks.”

  She held out her hand. “We have an agreement, then.”

  He tilted his head in a slight bow, captured her proffered hand, and held it to his heart. “A lifetime pact.”

  “So tell me,” her lips curved, “what does Eddington have in mind for you?”

  “Well, here are his thoughts . . .”

  Maria paced the length of her lower parlor and cursed under her breath. Unable to resist, she stared at the weary and travel-dusty man in the corner and felt almost as if she would faint.

  “Excellent work,” Christopher was telling him, once again praising the man for saving Amelia from those who sought to take her.

  The next Maria knew, her lover’s hands were on her shoulders. “Maria? Are you ready?”

  Her gaze lifted to his.

  Christopher smiled down at her, his eyes soft and adoring. “Sam rode ahead once they reached the outskirts of London. The party with Amelia will be arriving shortly.”

  She managed a jerky nod.

  “You are so pale.”

  Her hand went to her throat. “I am afraid.”

  “Of what?” He pulled her closer to him.

  “Of believing that she is coming, of believing this is the end.” Tears welled, then flowed freely.

  “I understand.” Christopher stroked the length of her spine soothingly. Simon approached from his position at the window and offered both a handkerchief and a comforting smile.

  “What if she does not like me? What if she resents me?”

  “Maria, she will love you,” Christopher soothed. “There is no help for it.”

  Simon nodded. “No help for it at all. She will adore you, mhuirnín.”

  They all heard the rap of the door knocker. Maria tensed. Christopher released her and moved to a position at her side, his hand offering support at the small of her back. Simon moved to the door.

  It took forever, it seemed, before another travel-stained lackey entered. Maria held her breath. A moment later a smaller body appeared. Dressed in a gown far too large for her young frame, Amelia paused hesitantly inside the threshold. Her green eyes, so like Welton’s but filled with innocence, took in everything around her with rapt attention. Her gaze locked on Maria and roamed the length of her, so curious and wary. Maria did the same, noting all of the differences time had wrought in the many years they had been apart.

  How tall Amelia had grown! Her piquant face was surrounded by a curtain of long, black hair so like their mother’s. But Amelia’s eyes retained the child’s innocence Maria remembered from their past, and the gratitude she felt for that was nearly overwhelming.

  A sob broke the silence. Maria realized it was hers and covered her mouth with the kerchief. Her free hand lifted of its own accord, reaching out. It shook violently, as did her entire frame.

  “Maria,” Amelia said, taking a tentative step forward, a lone tear slipping free and sliding down her cheek.

  Maria, too, took one tiny step, but it was enough of a welcome. Amelia ran the short distance between them. She threw herself into Maria’s arms with enough force that Christopher caught Maria’s back and saved them both from a tumble.

  “I love you,” Maria whispered, her face buried in Amelia’s hair, dampening the raven locks with her tears.

  Together, they sank to the blue and green Aubusson rug in a puddle of floral skirts and lacy underskirts.

  “Maria! It was so awful!”

  Her sister wailed loudly, making it difficult to understand everything she said, the words pouring out of her mouth in a jumbled deluge. Horses and fighting and someone named Colin . . . Something about Colin being killed . . . and Lord Ware and a letter . . .

  “Hush,” Maria soothed, rocking Amelia. “Hush.”

  “I have so much to tell you,” Amelia cried.

  “I know, my darling. I know.” Maria glanced up at Christopher and saw his tears. Simon, too, stood with reddened eyes and a hand over his heart.

  Maria rested her cheek on the top of Amelia’s head and hugged her tightly. “But you will have the rest of our lives to tell me everything. The rest of our lives . . .”

  Epilogue

  The slight scratching on the open door drew Simon’s attention from the maps spread out across his desk. He looked up at the butler with both brows raised. “Yes?”

  “There is a young man at the door asking for Lady Winter, sir. I did tell him that neither she nor you were at home, but he refuses to leave.”

  Simon straightened. “Oh? Who is it?”

  The servant cleared his throat. “He appears to be a Gypsy.”

  Surprise held his tongue for the length of a heartbeat, then Simon said, “Show him in.”

  He took a moment to clear the sensitive documents on his desk, then he sat and waited for the dark-haired youth who entered his study a moment later.

  “Where is Lady Winter?” the boy asked, the set of his shoulders and jaw betraying his mulish determination to get whatever it was he came for.

  Simon leaned back in his chair. “She is traveling the Continent, last I heard.”

  The boy frowned. “Is Miss Benbridge with her? How can I find them? Do you have their direction?”

  “Tell me your name.”

  “Colin Mitchell.”

  “Well, Mr. Mitchell, would you care for a drink?” Simon stood and moved to the row of decanters that lined the table in front of the window.

  “No.”

  Hiding a smile, Simon poured two fingers of brandy into a glass and then turned around, leaning his hip against the console with one heel crossed over the other. Mitchell stood in the same spot, his gaze searching the room, pausing occasionally on various objects with narrowed eyes. Hunting for clues to the answers he sought. He was a finely built young man, and attractive in an exotic way that Simon imagined the ladies found most appealing.

  “What will you do if you find the fair Amelia?” Simon asked. “Work in the stables? Care for her horses?”

  Mitchell’s eyes widened.

  “Ye
s, I know who you are, though I was told you were dead.” Simon lifted his glass and tossed back the contents. His belly warmed, making him smile. “So do you intend to work as her underling, pining for her from afar? Or perhaps you hope to tumble her in the hay as often as possible until she either marries or grows fat with your child.”

  Simon straightened and set down his glass, bracing himself for the expected—yet surprisingly impressive—tackle that knocked him to the floor. He and the boy rolled, locked in combat, knocking over a small table and shattering the porcelain figurines that had graced its top.

  It took only a few moments for Simon to claim the upper hand. The time would have been shorter had he not been so concerned about hurting the lad.

  “Cease,” he ordered, “and listen to me.” He no longer drawled; his tone was now deadly earnest.

  Mitchell stilled, but his features remained stamped with fury. “Don’t ever speak of Amelia in that way!”

  Pushing to his feet, Simon extended his hand to assist the young man up. “I am only pointing out the obvious. You have nothing. Nothing to offer, nothing with which to support her, no title to give her prestige.”

  The clenching of the young man’s jaw and fists betrayed his hatred for the truth. “I know all of that.”

  “Good. Now”—Simon righted his clothing and resumed his seat behind the desk—“What if I offered to help you acquire what you need to make you worthy—coin, a fitting home, perhaps even a title from some distant land that would suit the physical features provided by your heritage?”

  Mitchell stilled, his gaze narrowing with avid interest. “How?”

  “I am engaged in certain . . . activities that could be facilitated by a youth with your potential. I heard of your dashing near rescue of Miss Benbridge. With the right molding, you could be quite an asset to me.” Simon smiled. “I would not make this offer to anyone else. So consider yourself fortunate.”

  “Why me?” Mitchell asked suspiciously, and not without a little scorn. He was slightly cynical, which Simon thought was excellent. A purely green boy would be of no use at all. “You don’t know me, or what I’m capable of.”