Sylvia Day - Passion for the Game

Simon tugged her gently into his lap. “So what will we do now?”

“I have sent for Welton. I intend to tell him that I am retreating on holiday. I need to heal, and it’s time to make inquiries outside of London. We have the funds to expand our search. Truly the best course for us would be to find Amelia before I have to make a decision. Having her in my possession will change everything.”

He nodded. “I will see to the necessary preparations.”

“How long has this been going on?” Christopher asked curtly.

“A few weeks,” Philip replied, pushing up his spectacles. “I learned of the situation this afternoon and promptly brought it to your attention.”

Leaning his hip against his study desk, Christopher crossed his arms and inhaled deeply before replying. “Why wasn’t I told about this immediately?”

“The lander felt that he could handle the matter.”

“When a rival gang encroaches on my territory, I will handle it. By God, you give them an inch and they will take the entire length of the shore.”

A knock came to the door and Christopher bade them to enter. When he saw his valet, he said, “We leave in a few hours and will be gone for a fortnight at least.”

“Yes, sir.” The servant bowed and retreated.

“May I accompany you?” Philip asked. He stood a few feet away, his stance tall and proud as Christopher had taught him when he was a boy.

Christopher shook his head. “Gang wars are bloody and not for spectators. Your skill lies with the brain in your skull, not with your sword arm. I will not risk you merely to satisfy your curiosity.”

“You are far cleverer than I, and your loss would be felt more keenly. Why risk yourself when you have men who could see to the matter with similar results?”

“They cannot see to it.” Christopher straightened and retrieved his coat from where it hung over the back of a chair. “This is not simply about prime coastal space. This is about me and mine. They want both. Until I confront them, they will not back down. Why do you think my enemies haven’t shot me dead? Unless they best me face-to-face, they cannot truly take the reins. Their power would always be in question.”

“Damned if that isn’t primitive,” Philip muttered.

Snorting, Christopher shrugged into his coat. “Humans are animals, after all.”

“Do you ever contemplate leaving this life?” the young man asked, his head canted to the side. “You’ve coin aplenty.”

Christopher paused and stared at his protégé. “What would I do with myself?”

“Marry. Raise a family.”

“Never.” He fluffed the lace at his neck and wrists. “The only way out of this livelihood is death. If it wasn’t me they were after, it would be those closest to me. If your end aim is to be a family man, move along now, young Philip. The deeper entrenched you become, the further away that goal will be.”

Philip followed him out to the foyer. “Where are you going now?”

“I must bid Lady Winter farewell.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, they struck Christopher wrong. Always in times like this he acknowledged the possibility of his demise. He had safeguards in place to protect the members of his household, which allowed him to leap into the fray with the gusto of a man who accepted death. Now, however, he found himself hesitant, less willing to make the journey to hell. He wanted to see Maria again, to feel her beneath him arching in pleasure, to hear her throaty laughter as she teased him. He wanted her to prick his temper as only she could until he was hard as a rock and hot to ride her all night.

Damn it, base as it was, he wanted to fuck her again and the craving was such that he wished to live long enough to manage to task. A harsh bark of laughter escaped him as he collected his hat and gloves from his butler and left his house. Primitive animals, indeed.

It was absurd to want a woman this badly. He could have anyone, from a duchess to a fishwife. Women lusted for him, always had. But as he pulled his mount to a halt before Maria’s home and tossed the reins to the waiting groomsman, the anticipation that coursed through him was a unique product of only one female.

When the butler opened the door to find him on the stoop with calling card in hand, the servant could not hide his look of dismay.

“Take the card,” Christopher drawled, “and we can avoid a siege.”

Sniffing, the servant did as he suggested and led him to the same parlor where he had previously spoken with Lord Welton. Once he was left alone, Christopher took note of the room in daylight, noting the elaborate gilded moldings that decorated the pale gray walls. He hated waiting, and he hated the way his impatience made him pace. Some men paced. Christopher was generally not one of them.

Finally the door opened and Maria stepped into the room. He paused midstep, staring, startled by his reaction to her in casual attire. It seemed oddly intimate, reminding him of the night before and the way she had felt in his arms, lush and warm. He could not think of one thing he would rather have done than lie abed with her, feeling her lips wet and soft and clinging to his.

He reached her shortly, his stride swift in his eagerness to take her mouth and relive the delights of the previous evening. Cognizant of her delicate condition, Christopher cupped her spine with great care and tilted his head to kiss her as he wanted. Maria stood rigid for a moment and then yielded sweetly.

He licked, nibbled, and ate at her as if she were a dessert he could not consume enough of. His skin grew hot, then damp with perspiration, every muscle tense with need and desire. From a kiss, and he did not even really enjoy kissing, considering it a needless distraction from the good part of sex.

But by God…Maria’s kisses were sexual acts in and of themselves. He withdrew only because he needed to breathe. Certainly that was the only reason he felt dizzy.

Maria’s eyes opened, revealing dark and dazed depths. “Hmm…” she murmured, licking her lips. “Delicious.”

The throaty way she said the word aroused him further. He growled his frustration and cupped her face in his hands. “Listen. I must depart today. There is a matter of some urgency that requires my attention. Tell me now if you are intent on another harebrained scheme so I can assign some men to protect you.”

She smiled. “I am going on holiday, to rest and recuperate.”

“Good.” His fingers tightened their hold and then he released her, backing away quickly. There was something about her bearing that made him suspicious. He would keep additional guards on her anyway. “Where are you going?”

“I have yet to decide.”

“When are you departing?”

“Today.”

“When will you be back?”

She laughed, her dark eyes bright. With her kiss-swollen lips and black-as-pitch hair, she was beyond beautiful. “Will you miss me?”

“I hope not,” he muttered, feeling surly for no reason he could recognize.

“I shall miss you.”

Alert, he studied her. “You will?”

“No. It seemed like the thing to say.”

“Witch.” He knew she was toying with him, could see it in the way she looked at him, and yet part of him wished she were sincere.

“Christopher?” she prodded, when the silence stretched on. “You do not seem to be yourself today.”

“It is you who is different,” he accused. She seemed…lighter in mood than usual. He wanted to know why. Who had wrought this change in her?

Maria sighed audibly and walked to the settee. “So we part ways here.” She sat and patted the space next to her in silent invitation.

He did not move.

She settled her hands primly in her lap and arched one brow expectantly. Belatedly Christopher understood that she was waiting for him to say something.

“I have to go,” he said. To kill, and perhaps to be killed.

She nodded.

“If you have even the slightest desire to kiss me good-bye,” he said gruffly, “you should do so now.”

“I see.” Her lips pursed. “Why do I have the feeling that a flippant remark here would ruin the moment?”

He turned on his heel and walked out.

“Christopher! Wait.”

He paused on the threshold and turned, his mien one of patent boredom.

Maria was standing again and appeared to have taken steps to follow him. “I slept better last night than I have in a long while.”

It was some sort of olive branch, so he stepped back into the room and closed the door. She was either the best trickster in the world or she was growing soft on him. Masculine satisfaction warred with guilt.

Then she crossed the room to him with an enticing sashay and set her hands on his chest. She tilted her head back and looked up at him. He stared down at her, waiting, needing her to be the one who closed the distance between them.

“I should have allowed you to leave,” she complained, shaking her head.

Stepping away to collect a footstool, Maria then set it down before him. She climbed atop it, which still left her short of eye level but brought her much closer to his mouth. “Tell me again why I am exerting myself in this manner.”

He smiled, content now to leave and do what he must. “For this.”

And then he kissed her ardently.

“Feeling better?” Miss Pool asked, glancing aside at Amelia as they walked through the village on their return trip home.

Amelia nodded. “I am, yes. Thank you.”

Ever since the night Maria had come for her, she’d grown more and more restless. When it became obvious that she couldn’t concentrate on the day’s lessons, Miss Pool had suggested they set the work aside in favor of a day outdoors. Parasols in hand, they had ventured out with no particular destination in mind but had found themselves drawn to the nearby market town. Amelia enjoyed the afternoon stroll, appreciating the opportunity to see others industriously going about their daily business. Other people had full lives, even if she did not.

“The body needs as much conditioning as the mind,” Miss Pool said in her soft, sweet voice.

“I have always thought so, too.” Of course, she’d grown up alongside a physically active boy and had learned to relish hard play. She also relished a dimpled smile, but she had not seen that in years.

“I do like your hair worn up.” The governess smiled. “You look every inch the fine lady. I will write your father this evening and suggest the procurement of a proper abigail for you.”

Amelia touched her hair nervously. Braided and then coiled into a bun, it was heavy and her neck ached with the unaccustomed weight. But if this was what was required to be considered a young woman and not a child, she considered the discomfiture worth it.

“Good afternoon, Miss Pool. Miss Benbridge.”

They slowed and smiled at the young cobbler who had stepped outside of his shop to greet them. The handsome blond man smiled shyly through his beard and rubbed his palms nervously against his apron.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Field,” Miss Pool greeted with a soft blush on her cheeks that didn’t escape Amelia’s notice.

The two appeared to like each other, with more than casual interest. Curious, Amelia studied them, wondering if she looked so obviously smitten when she crossed paths with Colin. How dreadful if she did, to wear that glowing look of hope and longing in the face of his curtness and obvious distaste for her.

Feeling both morose and embarrassed that she was intruding on an exchange that seemed intimate, she turned her back to the couple…

…and spotted a familiar set of broad shoulders and long legs walking away from her. At Colin’s side was a blond girl who Amelia guessed was close to his age, if the ripe womanly curves were any indication. They were laughing, their eyes bright as they looked at each other. His hand was at her lower back, steering her around a corner so that they disappeared from view.

Unable to resist, Amelia moved forward, her movements jerky. Colin and the buxom girl had looked at each other much as Miss Pool and Mr. Field were. A look filled with promise.

Amelia rounded the same building, her steps slowing as she heard low murmured voices and subdued giggles. She passed barrels and crates, her focus so narrow that when a stray cat leapt to the ground with a meow it frightened her half to death. She fell back against the brick, her hand sheltering her racing heart, her eyes squeezed shut with dread. It was cooler back here, the pass-through shaded from the sun by the building.

She knew she should turn back. Miss Pool wouldn’t be distracted long and then she would worry about her. But Amelia’s heart ignored reason, to no surprise. If the stubborn thing listened at all, it would have ceased pining for Colin months ago.