Perhaps it was her inability to breathe properly that prevented clear thought, but no matter how she looked at their situation, she could not comprehend why he affected her the way he did.
“The woman you arrived with can relieve that for you,” she reminded.
She had her pick of handsome lovers, like Simon. Dark-haired men were her preference. She disliked scoundrels and rogues and consummately arrogant men. There was absolutely no reason for her to be so aroused by the criminal before her.
“I attempted that substitution the other night.” His laugh was a joy to hear. Unlike hers, it sounded as if he gave it freedom often. “I adore Angelica, but sadly, she is not you.”
The image that came to mind of the brunette writhing beneath the golden god before her made Maria’s teeth clench. A silly, stupid, sentimental response she had no desire to feel. “You have one moment to tell me how I fit into your plans for revenge,” she warned.
“I’ll tell you in bed.”
Her brows lifted. “You think to extort sex from me? When it is you who needs help, and not the reverse?”
“You must need me for something,” Christopher drawled, “or you would not have come this weekend or sought me out now.”
“Perhaps it was curiosity,” she argued.
“You have investigators to handle that.”
Maria took a deep breath and slipped her blade back into its sheath in a hidden pocket. “We are at an impasse.”
“No, you are at an impasse. I am ready to move on to the sex.”
One corner of her mouth tilted in a wry smile. “You do realize that the sex is supposed to come after we settle what we can do for one another. If it comes at all.”
Christopher stilled, finding his unwanted fascination for the Wintry Widow sharpening to near painful acuity. Physically, he was staring at the exact opposite of himself. Where he was fair, she was dark. Where he was tall, she was petite. Where he was hard, she was luscious softness. But the brain inside her head was so similar to his, he could scarcely credit it. He had known she would circle the pantheon like a huntress seeking prey, because it was exactly what he would do. And the knife . . .
. . . well, he would have been prepared for that if she had not melted in his arms.
What he had not known was that he would reach for her. Until she had tossed her lover in his face, a man he knew was not warming her bed any longer simply by watching their posture together. Christopher had planned to keep things light. Draw her closer. Not frighten her.
But obviously she was not a woman who was easily frightened. She was presently returning his stare with one finely arched dark brow raised in silent query. “Your time is up.”
Then she collected her parasol, moved to the pathway, and headed back toward the manse.
He stared after her, debating whether to stop her or not and then deciding that her egress was so magnificently affected it was too much of a joy to end. So he leaned against a tree and watched her until the flashes of ice blue could no longer be seen. The mere thought of the entertainment ahead made the wait for her almost bearable.
Almost.
Maria took her time in rejoining the rest of the guests. When St. John made no effort to continue their conversation, she knew he would not follow her.
He had approached her in the theater. She had approached him here. The next move was his. She wondered what it would be. Perhaps he meant to wait until curiosity bested her strength of will. If so, he would be waiting a long time.
When she emerged from around the corner, Simon’s gaze found her, and he came to her with rapid strides, claiming her elbow before heading toward the lake.
“Well?” he asked.
“He wants sex. That is all I know.”
He snorted. “We knew that before you met with him.”
“We did not!”
“Very well, then. I knew that before you met with him.” Simon blew out his breath and came to a halt. “We shall hope the man I sent to join St. John’s household succeeds and brings us more to work with.”
“That would be excellent,” she agreed.
“I’d say the pirate is daft, but that would not be true. He is wily and creative, and damned if he did not take me into consideration.”
“What are you talking about?” Tilting her head and parasol back, Maria looked at him, noting his dark scowl and the agitated cant of his torso.
“The female who accompanied him is for my use, not his. She made that quite clear while you were absent.”
“Oh.” Odd how that bit of news made her grin.
“You like him!” he accused.
“I like the way he thinks, Simon love.” Tugging on their linked arms, she drew him along the shore of the lake.
Maria’s gaze drifted to the waterfowl that floated serenely beneath the arched walking bridge. “He is also very observant. He knows we no longer share a bed.”
“We can change that quite easily,” he murmured in a low tone.
Through a lump in her throat, she swallowed hard and said, “Or you can accept the woman’s offer and see what more she’ll tell you.”
He stopped again and glared at her indignantly. “Are you a cock purveyor now?”
“You like her,” she argued. “I can tell.”
“I like parts of her,” he corrected. “Damn it all, do you feel nothing for me? How can you suggest such a thing without batting an eyelash?”
“Are you unaware that I would keep you to myself if I could? If I were a different woman, Simon Quinn, I would lock you away and keep you all to myself. But I am not that woman, and you are not chaste, so do not play the role of wounded lover while making me the villainess. That is a title I earn on my own. It does not need embellishing by you.”
Maria stalked away.
“Mhuirnín . . .” he called after her.
She ignored him.
“You are creating a spectacle,” he said directly behind her.
Spinning about in a wave of wide skirts, Maria forced him to jump back. “That is what I am here for—scandal and entertainment.”
“He has you flustered,” he breathed with wide blue eyes. “By God, look at you.”
“What does this have to do with St. John?”
“I wish I knew. I would have done it long ago, before you pushed me away.”
She heaved out her breath. “You do not love me in that way, do you?”
“I do love you, mhuirnín.” Simon’s mouth lifted in a rueful curve. “But no, not in that way. I was close once, the closest I have ever been, perhaps will ever be.”
The lone tear that hung on her lashes was her reply. She considered the promise that had once hovered between them to be another casualty of Welton’s machinations. Another death that he would pay for. “I should not have suggested you bed that woman. I do not know what goaded me to say it.”
“I’ve no notion either,” he drawled, capturing her arm again. “You should know me well enough to anticipate the arrangement I made with her for later this evening.”
“Later this . . . Oooh!” Maria stepped on his foot and he cursed. “Why did you torment me, then?”
“I am a man, with a man’s ego. I wanted to know that it stung, at least in small measure, to think of me with someone else. It pains me to contemplate the same with you.”
She might have believed him if he had refrained from laughing.
This time when she pulled away, she did not stop. “I am not in charity with you at the moment.”
“You adore me,” he called after her. “As I adore you.”
If a glance could kill, the one she tossed over her shoulder would have done the deed.
Replete from supper, Christopher stood with his back to the wall next to the parlor window that overlooked the front drive. He could not remove his gaze from the petite but voluptuous form encased in a shimmering fabric that was the exact shade of a ripe peach. The evening candlelight caressed the curve of her bosom, making his cock ache. Lady Winter stared righ
t back at him, bold as you please.
His blood thrummed with the heated awareness that he would have her soon. He had given up trying to reason out why he was suddenly in full rut to have her. He simply was, and he needed to relieve himself of the itch so that he could consider his options properly.
He was well aware that sex with her would not reveal the answers he needed about Welton and her husbands’ affiliation with the agency. She was too much like him. A series of orgasms would not suddenly engender in her the desire to share her secrets with him. And he wanted her secrets. Needed them.
The agents who worked under the auspices of His Majesty’s Royal Navy were a thorn in his side. They followed him ceaselessly, spied on him regularly, and reclaimed pirated cargo often enough to be annoying. The reason Maria married two of them could be simply that both men had been wealthy peers, but it could also be related to the agency itself, and if it was, he wanted to know why.
The setting of the Harwick country house was perfect in a way few places could be. First of all, he was welcome here. Second, they were forced to share a roof. And lastly, but most importantly, her home was vacant aside from the servants. With careful staging, one of his people would manage to join her household. She would not be able to sneeze without him knowing of it.
Christopher lifted his glass to her in a silent toast and she smiled a woman’s smile, one filled with mystery.
To the winner, the spoils.
Chapter 4
“I received word from Templeton,” Simon murmured, his hand at the small of Maria’s back. “He will be waiting in the pantheon after the clock strikes two. I cannot go to him, mhuirnín. I will be occupied.”
“I shall go, of course. What do you expect him to say?”
He gave an elegant shrug for appearance’s sake, but his gaze was sharp as flint. “I anticipate he has some pressing news about your sibling. He would not risk coming here without just cause.”
“You expanded the search of the coastlines?” Beneath lowered lashes, she studied the many occupants of the parlor. St. John was presently charming Lady Harwick, but Maria had no doubt where his attention truly was.
She could feel it—hot and intense.
“Yes. Because of this, the men are spread thin.”
“What else can I do?”
He sighed and his fingers stroked over her back. The touch was barely discernable through the layers of her garments, but she knew it was there all the same. “Be on your guard. Templeton is a man for hire. He cares nothing for you or your sister, he cares only for coin.”
“I am ever careful, Simon.”
She turned slightly and stared up at him. He was a stunning man. Dressed in gray silk with a quilted silk satin waistcoat, there were no distracting colors to compete with his masculine appeal. Unwigged, with his dark hair restrained in a queue, his long-lashed blue eyes riveted her attention. Their half-lidded state gave the appearance of boredom, but as she watched him, his gaze darkened.
“I will turn her away, mhuirnín, if you would like to follow through with the promises your scrutiny is making.”
“Every woman here is admiring you. Am I to be denied that pleasure?”
His mouth curved dangerously. Simon was rough around the edges, untamed. She had literally plucked him from the gutter, and the sense that he could kill or fuck with equal expertise held a potent allure for most women. “I have never denied you anything.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “And I never will.”
She shook her head with a soft laugh. “You take care, as well, Simon love.”
Bowing, he said, “I am, as always, your servant.”
In a few moments, he was gone, and a short time after that St. John’s dark-haired companion made her excuses as well, her anticipation palpable. Maria knew firsthand that the woman would not be disappointed.
Turning her head, she saw St. John approaching. Whatever remnant of disquiet she felt over Simon fled in an instant, her senses fully focused on the man whose interest caused butterflies to take flight in her stomach. He towered over her, golden hair and skin burnished by the candlelight. Chain-stitched embroidery accented his cream-colored waistcoat, which in turn accented the lush deep green of his coat. Unlike Simon’s, his garments were designed to draw attention, bringing his coloring into stark relief. Once again she felt the weight of female gazes directed to where she stood.
He caught her hand, much as Simon had, and kissed the back, but her reaction to the gesture was entirely different. She was not touched by sorrow. Not by any means.
“I will make you forget him,” he rasped softly, his gaze piercing. He was every bit as rough as Simon, and there could be no doubt that this man had no qualms about anything—killing included.
However, his bearing was not lazily seductive, as Simon’s was. It was brazenly sexual. She knew, as only a woman could, that St. John was not a man prone to rolling about a bed with laughter and playfulness. St. John was too raw for that.
She was deeply astonished to realize that she was attracted to that primitive quality in the pirate, especially after suffering through Lord Winter’s treatment. And not merely attracted, but filled with base cravings.
“Hmm . . .” She tugged her hand free and looked away, feigning a nonchalance she did not feel.
He moved, stirring the scent of his skin in the air. She felt a feather-light touch drift across her throat. “My beautiful deceiver. Your heart races. I can see it here.”
Suddenly, in that brief contact, she became fully aroused. Eyes wide, she looked back at him.
His gaze was dark and hungry. Territorial. “A chaste touch, yet it makes you want me. Imagine how much greater the effect will be when I am inside you.”
She sucked in a breath. “That is all you will be doing—imagining.” That her voice remained strong and slightly dismissive amazed her.
He smiled a purely male smile. “Tell me you will not end up in my bed.” St. John’s voice lowered, his fingertips again brushing across her fluttering pulse. “Say it, Maria. I do so love a challenge.”
“I will not end up in your bed.” Her lips curved. “I much prefer to have sex in mine.”
She could see that she surprised him, then delighted him. His eyes sparkled and the rumble of laughter that came from him was genuine. “I can live with that arrangement.”
“But not tonight,” she equivocated. Then she leaned closer and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Lady Smythe-Gleason has been coveting your form all evening. You might try her. Good evening, Mr. St. John.”
The thought of St. John with another woman affected her in a similar manner to such thoughts of Simon. However, it was not as easy to push them aside . . .
St. John caught her arm when she attempted to move away. The heat that flared from where he touched her was undeniable. It was also reflected in the look he gave her. “As part of our inevitable business association, I want the private use of your body. In return, I will offer the same courtesy to you.”
Maria blinked. “Beg your pardon?”
Christopher’s thumb stroked intimately within the crook of her elbow, hidden from view by the froth of white lace. The caress sent tingles up her arm to her breasts, making her nipples ache. She was grateful for the prison of her corset, which hid her state from him.
“You heard me,” he said.
“Why would I agree to such an arrangement? Better yet, why would you?” She arched a brow.
He returned the gesture.
She gave a shaky laugh and attempted to conceal how fascinated she was by the idea of claiming him. He was wild, untamed, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “You amuse me, Christopher.”
“That is not what you are feeling.” He stepped closer, entering her personal space. “I arouse you and intrigue you and even frighten you. My repertoire of carnal amusements is nearly endless, as you shall soon see. But I am not amusing. That requires a level of frivolity I will never achieve.”
Her lips parted with softly panting breaths.
“Come to my room when you change your mind,” he murmured, stepping back.
Maria managed a mocking smile and then made her excuses so she could retire. She felt him watching her as she left the room, and his words followed her long after they parted.
Leaving the manse without being seen was both simpler and more difficult than Maria expected.
On one hand, it was as easy as tossing her leg over her balcony railing. On the other, it required her to descend using a vine-covered trellis. With custom-made black breeches, it was more of an inconvenience than a true trial. Regardless, the method was not the most desirable means of traversing the distance from her room to the ground level. Especially with a rapier attached to her waist.
She dropped to her feet with enough noise to make her cautious. She looked around, clung to the shadows, and waited the space of several breaths. Once she was certain no one was peering out their windows for trespassers, she pushed away from the bricks and set off toward the pantheon.
The night was still and quiet, the breeze cool but not cold. It was a perfect setting for a moonlit meeting of two lovers. That she was dressed as a man and rushing to meet an unsavory denizen of the streets was simply a fact of her life. There was no room for wasted moments of happiness and comfort. She could not enjoy them in any case, knowing that Amelia was at large, perhaps scared and alone.
As she had earlier in the day, Maria moved from tree to tree, circling the pantheon, her eyes straining to see in the darkness. The canopy above filtered the moonlight enough to make the interior of the structure black as pitch. She paused, her breath held. The hair on her nape stood on end, warning her.
She spun about before a twig snapped to her rear, her blade singing as she yanked it free of its scabbard. A man stood a few feet away, watching her with a cold intensity that put her further on her guard. In the darkness, there wasn’t much she could see of him, but he was shorter in stature than Simon or Christopher, and so thin he looked emaciated.
“Where’s Quinn?” he asked.
“You will be speaking with me this evening.” There was as much steel in her voice as in her blade.
Sylvia Day - [Georgian 02] Page 4