Lifting his hand to his chest, Christopher rubbed ineffectually at the tightness there. The woman had secrets, of that there was no doubt. But she was not evil and she meant him no harm. How, then, could he lead her to the gallows? He was not a good man. Regardless of his feelings for her, it disturbed him to exchange his life for the life of a person who was better than he was.
“Here we are,” Philip murmured, pulling Christopher from his reverie.
He straightened, his sightless gaze focusing on the cottage they approached. They were still some distance away, far enough that the rolling of the carriage wheels could not be heard from the house but close enough for him to see the well-appointed equipage that waited in the drive.
Feeling that now-familiar sense of burning possessiveness, he rapped on the roof with his knuckles and called out to his coachman, “Stop here.”
He descended and finished the journey to the house on foot, the rhythmically lapping waves on the nearby beach inciting an uncommon urgency in his steps. It was dusk, enabling him to hide his movements in the shadows. The low warble of a birdcall alerted him to the men he’d assigned to protecting Maria. He whistled back, but the sound cut off midway as he recognized the crest on the door of the coach.
Eddington.
A hundred thoughts ran through his mind at once. He paused a moment, breathing deeply to settle himself, then he circled the cottage, searching for a way to witness the activities inside.
Luck was with him. As he rounded the corner, light spilled from an open window to illuminate the loam in a slanting pattern. He moved closer and found an unhindered view of Maria and Eddington engaged in what appeared to be a heated debate. Their enmity might have soothed him slightly had Maria been dressed appropriately. But she was not. Her gown was not one a woman would wear to receive a formal caller. And Quinn was not at home.
Christopher ran to the house, pressing his back to the wall and inching closer to the open sash.
“Must I remind you,” Eddington bit out, his angry tones floating on the ocean breeze, “that I am paying you handsomely to provide a service to me. I am not paying you to take a holiday!”
“I have been ill,” she said icily.
“So you cannot perform on your back, there are other ways to meet your obligation.”
Fists and jaw clenched tight, Christopher experienced a raging of his blood such as he had never known. He’d felt murderous before, but never had the feeling been accompanied by pain in his heart and burning in his lungs.
“Don’t be crude!” she snapped.
“I will be whatever I damn well please!” the earl roared. “I pay enough for the right.”
“If it is so painful for you to part with coin, release me and find someone less expensive to see to your needs.”
Despite the sounds of the surf, Christopher thought it might be possible to hear the grinding of his teeth, but he could not stop. It took every ounce of control he had to prevent entering through the window and beating Eddington to a bloody pulp. The only thing restraining him was the knowledge that Maria’s trust could not be taken by force. She had to extend it freely.
He moved away, his mind rapidly disseminating his association with the notorious seductress. She was embroiled in something vastly unpleasant, seemingly against her will, yet she had not sought assistance. He was her lover, a wealthy one at that, and he would help her if she asked, but Maria was too accustomed to dealing with matters on her own.
Hardening his aching heart, Christopher refused to feel discarded or forgotten or to blame her for acting in self-preservation. She was an intelligent woman. She could learn, and he would teach her. Kindness. Tenderness. How much of either had she ever been shown in her life? He, perhaps, was not the best man to approach for such things, but he was capable of learning, too. He would find a way to open himself to her, so that she could feel safe opening herself to him.
So he departed as swiftly as he had come. He returned to his carriage as a different man than the one who had left—somber still, but now leaden with an introspective shroud that Philip was wise enough not to disturb.
Maria paced the length of her room with a swift, agitated stride, her dressing gown swirling around her legs.
“Where are you?” she grumbled, her gaze moving once again to the open window, waiting impatiently for her golden-haired paramour to appear. She had been home for two days now and knew from her spy in the St. John household that Christopher was at home as well, yet he did not come to her. She’d sent him a missive that morning to no avail. He had not replied, nor had he appeared.
Here she had rushed home and hurriedly bathed the dirt of travel away in preparation for his visit, only to cool her heels for days. Deep in her chest an ache blossomed and grew.
Christopher might have lost interest in her while she was away. While she had considered that possibility, the realization wounded her in a way she could not have prepared for.
She paused at the window, looking down, seeing no movement. Her eyes closed on a harshly indrawn breath. He owed her nothing, yet she was angered at the hurt he had inflicted. She was furious that he had not given her the courtesy of a simple farewell. Even one written on paper, rather than spoken in person, would have been preferable to this silent dismissal.
Damned if she would allow him to treat her like this! She had bared herself in that note, made it clear how she wished for his company. It pained her to think of it, how deeply attached to the man she had become. To seek him out, to beg his attentions.
To be discarded without a word.
Seething, Maria disrobed and then called for Sarah to assist her with re-dressing. She donned crimson silk and then took a moment to apply a heart-shaped patch just above the corner of her mouth. Slipping her dagger into the hidden sheath in her gown, she then ordered her carriage brought around. Every moment that passed intensified the burning in her blood. She was spoiling for a row, and by God, the pirate would indulge her whether he wished to or not.
Outriders surrounded her coach as they left the relative safety of Mayfair for the squalor of St. Giles, which served as home to beggars, thieves, prostitutes . . . and her lover. She sat in the unlit comfort of her carriage and felt her ire simmer dangerously. By the time she arrived at the pirate’s home, she was a menace waiting to be unleashed, a fact that must have been obvious. Her calling card was accepted from her footman, and she was escorted from the carriage into the foyer without delay.
“Where is he?” she asked with ominous softness, ignoring the large group of both men and women who filtered from various rooms to watch her.
The butler swallowed hard. “I will inform him of your arrival, Lady Winter.”
One finely arched brow rose. “I can announce myself, thank you. Tell me where to go.”
The servant opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, then finally said with a sigh, “Follow me, my lady.”
Maria took the staircase like a queen, her head held high, her shoulders squared. She might be a lover scorned, but she refused to act the part.
A moment later she swept into the room opened by the butler and paused inside, her heart in her throat. A jerking wave of her hand to signal for the closing of the door was all she could manage.
Christopher lounged before the fire in a state of semiun-dress, his feet and throat bare, his torso free of both waistcoat and coat. His head was leaned back, his brilliant blue gaze hidden in repose. Such a beautiful yet deadly creature. Even now, furious as she was, he affected her as no other man ever had.
“Christopher,” Maria called quietly, her throat so tight at the sight of him that her voice came out as barely more than a whisper.
A slow smile curved his lips, but his eyes remained closed. “Maria,” he purred. “You came.”
“And you did not come. Although I asked for you and I waited.”
He finally looked at her, his gaze narrowed and considering. “Is it so terribly wrong for me to wish you to make the effort to reach out to me?”
“I no longer have time for your games, St. John. I came for what you owe me—a clean severance.”
She turned to depart, only to find that she had miscalculated. Christopher moved swiftly, pinning her to the door with his body.
“This is no game,” he rasped with his lips to her ear.
Maria made every attempt to ignore the longed-for feel of his hard, muscled frame. He towered over her, his heated breath gusting intimately against the crown of her head. When he rolled his hips against her, she collected what he was telling her. It was impossible to feel him through the masses of underskirts and skirts, but there was no doubt he was aroused.
She fought off the flare of pleasure the knowledge gave her and said coldly, “Why then did you not come to me?”
Christopher moved, his hands leaving the paneled door to boldly cup the upper swell of her breasts. His powerful legs kept her pressed to the door as he fondled her. “I always come to you, Maria. I needed to know that you would seek me out in return.”
She sucked in a breath as desire, hot and insistent, flared at his words. But he had made a grave error in judgment by freeing her hands and a second later he knew it. She sank the veriest tip of her blade into his upper thigh.
He pushed away from her with a curse, and she spun to face him, her hand reaching behind her and thumbing the lock.
A tiny spot of blood spread around the hole in his breeches. “Do you draw weapons on Eddington, as well?” he asked softly. “Or does his coin spare him?”
Maria paused with her blade held in front of her. “How does Eddington signify?”
“That is my enquiry.” He nonchalantly drew his shirt over his head, revealing the golden expanse of his rippling abdomen. His bare chest had healing cuts and his ribs bore yellowed bruises. Her throat tightened at the sight of his many injuries, her heart pained at her contribution to the marring of such masculine beauty. He tore at the linen, ripping a strip long enough to tie around his muscled leg. “Are we familiar enough yet to share such secrets?”
“Is Eddington the cause of your refusal?” she asked, her stomach churning at the knowledge that he was aware of her continuing association with the earl.
Christopher crossed his arms and shook his head. “No. I speak the truth to you, Maria, because that is what I want from you in return. I want to support you. Help you. If only you will allow me that right.”
His tone was so low, his gaze so earnest that she was arrested by him and the feelings he was engendering. Her dagger fell from nerveless fingers to thud on the floor.
“And what rights will you grant me?” she asked, her chest lifting and falling rapidly.
“What rights would you prefer?” Christopher stepped close again, lowering his head to swipe his tongue across her parted lips. “You could have gone to Quinn or Eddington tonight. Instead you came to me despite your anger. I have something you want, Maria. Tell me what it is, so that I may give it to you.”
The last was said with a distant ache in his tone, which he quickly covered by taking her mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. His hands came up to cup her shoulders, pulling her fractionally closer.
Yet even as Maria realized that she had the power to hurt him, she also understood that he had the power to wound her in return. And he was doing it so well, weakening her with his kindness and seeming lack of guile.
“Perhaps all I want from you is sex,” she said coldly, her lips moving against his. “You have a body built for sin and a mind well-schooled on how to use it.”
His grip tightened, betraying a direct hit. It was deeply unpleasant to know that she had deliberately hurt him in order to protect herself, but she could think of no other way to act. This side of Christopher was far too dangerous. She could manage herself around the coarse pirate. She was not confident in her ability to survive the charms of the impassioned, gentle lover who was appearing more often. The rough seduction of their first sexual encounter had softened to these liaisons of sweet kisses, intimate recollections, and admissions of yearning for the other’s company. If she trusted him, it would be a romance. Since his motives were suspect, it felt like a siege, and she could not afford to be conquered when the safety of Amelia was the prize.
“You want my cock,” he whispered, “so I shall service you with it. You have only to ask for what you need. I am prepared and more than willing to provide it. In bed, or out.”
Her eyes closed, shielding her thoughts. She wished she had the strength to set aside her longing and focus solely on the task at hand, but the quivering in her limbs told her it was best to flee while she was still able. The information Welton and Eddington wanted would have to be gleaned by other means. She would find a way, she always had.
“Undress me,” she whispered, firm in her intent.
“As you wish.” His tongue traced the shell of her ear, making her shiver. “Turn your back to me.”
Maria took a deep breath, and did as he asked.
Chapter 14
Christopher’s fists clenched tightly as Maria presented the row of tiny buttons that coursed down her spine. He fought with his hands, ordering them to cease their trembling. He ached for her tenderness, some sign that she cared for him beyond his sexual prowess.
Why had she come? Why send him that note, so sweetly worded? Perhaps he was indeed a pleasure to her. He hated the part of him that said, That is enough. Take what she will give you. Because it was not enough. It could no longer be merely sex between them. He could not share her bed knowing that he was excluded from sharing the rest of her life.
“Have you changed your mind?” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder when he hesitated too long.
He stared at the heart-shaped patch near her mouth and longed to kiss it. The scent of her filled his nostrils, more heady than liquor. “No.”
Christopher began the difficult task of unveiling her lush body, peeling back the yards of material that separated them. He was accomplished in the art of undressing a woman, but never had his hands shaken during the task.
Slowly, he managed, and the back of the crimson gown gaped open, the rich color a stunning contrast to her olive skin. His head lowered, his tongue traveling along the top of her shoulder. He felt her shiver and knew he would perform the same service to the rest of her. He would tug on her nipples with the hot suction of his mouth, then spread her legs wide and lick inside her. She would beg for surcease, arching and writhing beneath him. By the time he was done with her, no other man would satisfy and she would know what he had felt these last days—starved before a banquet and yet unable to eat.
He pushed aside the left flap of the red garment, his gaze arrested by the puckered pink scar left by the knife wound. His eyes closed against the emotions that moved through him. Then he felt the raised line of flesh beneath his fingertips, his hand having lifted without conscious direction. Maria gasped at the touch.
“Does it still pain you?” he asked, opening his eyes to watch his movements.
For a long moment she said nothing, then she nodded.
“I will be gentle,” he promised.
“No,” she argued breathlessly, “you will be on your back.”
The memories her words envoked were so powerful, he shuddered. How many times had he relived their one night together, her above him, her nipple in his mouth, her cunt sucking his cock until he came in a pulsating rush that left him gasping and drained. That he was moments away from experiencing the same ecstasy made his balls draw up tight and ache to be emptied. He was desperate to be one with her. In body, in passion. To fuck her harder, faster, and deeper than she had ever been fucked before and to have her pay him in kind. Have her respond with a similar wildness of need and hunger. For him.
Only him.
“Hurry,” she urged, her body rigid.
Christopher paused, understanding that she felt vulnerable, knowing that the change in the rules of the game had her wary and slightly frightened. He was uncertain as well, taking tentative steps as he trod
new ground, never having bared himself in such a manner before.
So he deviated slightly, gripping the back of her gown and rending it open with a quick, hard tear. She stepped out of the remnants and faced him, her waist hugged by a corset, her legs lost in her skirts.
“Discard your breeches,” she ordered, “and lie on the bed.”
He studied her as his hands moved leisurely to do as she bade. She wanted control. He would give it to her, showing her by example that he was willing to put himself in her hands, if she would do the same for him. “I want you naked, as well.”
“Later.”
Nodding, Christopher freed his cock and shoved his breeches down. Maria’s gaze dropped to his erection, goading him to take it in hand and pump it, bringing his seed to slip out over the head.
“See what you do to me?” he asked, holding his cock out to her like an offering.
What looked like sadness drifted across her delicate features. A low moan escaped him as he continued to masturbate for her view. Pleasure coiled around his spine and made his cock swell further.
“I have been too long without you, Maria. Did you miss me the same?”
“I wrote to you.”
“Will you punish me for desiring some sign of your affection? For wanting you to visit me in my bed, rather than the reverse?”
“Stop,” she said hoarsely, her gaze riveted to his industrious hands. “I want you hard and thick inside me, not spent.”
Christopher dropped his hands to his sides, leaving his cock reddened, weeping seed, and curving upward. This was entirely new to him, this forfeit of power. He doubted he could do this for anyone else. A lesser woman would not have the deep-rooted command required to take the control from him. Even Emaline, with all of her vast experience, hadn’t been able to master him in the bedroom. It was why she sometimes serviced him herself instead of granting him the use of one—or more—of her girls. She occasionally needed the luxury of simply being fucked rather than being the one to do all the work.
Sylvia Day - [Georgian 02] Page 16