Passion for the Game

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.

He snorted and turned away.

“Who do you think pays your coin?” she murmured.

Templeton paused midstride. A long moment passed where she could almost hear him considering, then he turned about. He whistled softly, then leaned against a nearby tree and thrust his hands against his pockets.

Maria opened her mouth to speak and then she noted his eyes were shifting, as if he espied something beyond her that she had no view of. His preoccupation alerted her to a rushing movement passing through the periphery of her vision. Suddenly on guard, she leapt back from a lunging foil wielded by a second man.

She recovered instantly and parried the next thrust, the two rapiers meeting in a clash of steel. Her jaw hardened at the sight of the burly man who faced her. She was an expert swordsman, a hard-earned accomplishment made possible by Dayton’s largesse. Still, her heart raced.

Sadly, my darling Maria, you are one who will live by the sword, he once said. Therefore, we must be certain your skill with a blade is unequaled.

How she missed him!

As always, the memory of his loss sharpened her focus and she began to fight with such fervor her opponent, large as he was, cursed and was pushed back. Her arm lifted, thrust, and moved lightning quick. She kept to a position that allowed her to keep sight of Templeton, who watched avidly, even as she remained engaged by his associate. She was small and fast, but that did not prevent the toe of her boot from catching on a tree root. Maria stumbled with a cry of alarm, the gleam of victory in her opponent’s eye undeniable as his foil aimed to take the advantage.

“Easy now, ’arry!” Templeton cried.

She hit the ground and rolled, Harry’s downward-plunging blade piercing the dirt, her upward-thrusting blade piercing his thigh. He bellowed in rage, like a wounded bear, then a bright flare of muted white hit the man full bore in the chest and took him to the ground with a brutal thud. The two bodies rolled briefly, a pained groan was heard, and then both men went still.

In the end, it was the figure in the billowing linen shirt who rose, yanking free the dagger that had found its home in the larger man’s chest.

Moonlight revealed pale hair and a quick turn of his head in her direction revealed fathomless eyes. Then Christopher St. John moved toward Templeton, who stood frozen nearby.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked in a deceptively quiet voice.

“Aye. St. John.” Templeton backed up cautiously. “The leddy’s none the worse, you see.”

“No thanks to you.” Moving as quickly as he had before, with a speed so startling it would be missed if one blinked, St. John had Templeton pinned to the tree with his dagger embedded in a bony shoulder.

What followed was agonizing to watch. St. John spoke in a low, almost soothing tone while twisting the blade into torn flesh, and the frieze-clad man writhed while gasping and sobbing out his replies. Against her will, Maria’s gaze moved back and forth between Christopher’s broad shoulders and the dead man a few feet away. She fought nausea, repeating a familiar litany in her head, one that absolved her of guilt because the end had been necessary to preserve herself. And Amelia.

His life or mine. His life or mine. His life or mine.

It never quite succeeded, but what more could she do? If she took too long considering how far in the mire she had fallen, she would sink into a melancholia that took weeks to run its course. She knew this from experience.

“Restore the area to its previous appearance,” St. John said, pulling away and watching as the man fell to his knees before him. “When the sun rises, this spot should be pristine and undisturbed, do you understand?”

“When I works, I’m careful,” Templeton said, his voice strained.

Christopher turned his full attention to her then, striding to her side and catching her elbow before dragging her away.

“I must speak with him,” she protested.

“A governess was hired and sent to Dover.”

Maria tensed, and perceptive as he was, he did not fail to notice.

“He said no more than that,” he assured. Despite the controlled quality of his voice, there was a dangerous undercurrent beneath the façade. “Trust that your need for such information is a secret saved. Wise of you to keep the reason for your inquiries a mystery. He has nothing with which to leverage extortion.”

“I am not a fool.” She shot him a sidelong glance, and the tiny hairs on her nape stood on end. He was leashed for the moment, but barely. “I also had the situation firmly in hand.”

“I will debate the use of the word ‘firmly,’ but I agree, you were doing well enough without my intervention. Blame my intrusion on a heretofore unknown speck of chivalry.”

Although she said nothing aloud, Maria had felt relief at his appearance and a softening she had not expected. At first, her examination of this new regard for him yielded no answers. Then she realized, with great surprise, that it was the first time since Dayton that someone had saved her.

“Why were you there?” she asked, noting as they left the cover of trees that he was nearly undressed, wearing only shirtsleeves, breeches, stockings, and heels. There was blood on his shirt and hands, an outward sign of his proclivity toward savagery.

“I followed you.”

She blinked. “How did you know?”

“I watched your abigail leave you. When I entered your rooms in her stead, you were not there. It was easy to deduce how you made your egress since I’d had the door in sight. A quick glance from your balcony revealed your direction.”

Maria halted so quickly, she stirred up the gravel. “You entered my rooms? Half dressed?”

He faced her, his gaze moving over her slowly and with rapidly building heat. As if nothing untoward had happened, he withdrew a kerchief from his pocket and rubbed the blood from his hands. “Oddly, I am more aroused by your masculine attire then I was when I pictured you naked in bed.”

When their eyes met, she saw a darkness within that even the questionable light of the moon could not hide. There was a betraying tightening to his lips and fierceness to his stance that made her shiver. Her nostrils flared and her heart rate picked up once again as her sense of preservation asserted itself. Her instincts urged her to flee from the predator that stood before her.

Run. He hunts you.

“I told you I was unavailable,” she said, her hand curling around the hilt of her weapon. “I am not known for tolerating those who meddle in my affairs.”

“Do you refer to your unfortunate spouses?”

Maria moved on, walking with quick strides toward the manse.

“You should not have been out alone, Maria, and you should not have scheduled such a meeting here.”

“And you should not seek to chastise me.”

He caught her arm and pulled her to him. His hand stayed hers when she moved to withdraw her sword, catching it and settling it over his heart. It beat as fast as hers, and the gesture was telling, revealing that he was not made of stone as most believed him to be. Her other arm was rendered harmless, held to the small of her back by his grip around her wrist.

The result was highly intimate, her chest pressed to his, her nose in his throat. She briefly considered struggling, and then decided she would not give him the satisfaction. Besides, it was wonderful to be held after the events of only moments ago. A tiny bit of comfort she never allowed herself to seek.

“I intend to kiss you,” he murmured. “Restraining you was necessary since you are once again armed and I’ve no wish to be run through. The weapons you carry grow larger with every encounter.”

“If you think the only weapons I have are ones I carry upon my person,” she countered, her voice soft, “you are sadly mistaken.”

“Fight me,” he urged in a husky whisper, staring down into her upturned face with tangible, unadulterated aggression. “Make me take you kicking and scratching.”

Christopher St. John was ruthless, determined. She could feel the simmering hunger and need within him. It encircled her as surely as his arms did.

He had killed a man for her.

And it obviously brought out the devil in him to have done so.

She stared up into his hard, savagely beautiful face and realized what was happening. He had fought for her, therefore she was his prize. A shiver moved through her and his mouth curved in a purely sexual smile.

Heat flared across her skin and then sank into her blood. Blood that had been chilled from the moment her mother had taken her last breath.

Was she mad to want him for having killed on her behalf? Had Welton made her some aberration that she would find his protection arousing?

Christopher wrapped his much larger body around hers, surrounding her in the rich, spicy scent of his skin. “Private use,” he warned again, then he took her mouth. Hard and deep. Blatantly possessive and demanding. Forcing her head back so that she had no balance, no way to refuse.

Save for one.

She bit his lower lip. He growled, then cursed into her mouth. “I would not have thought,” he rumbled, “that I would find a woman so skilled in masculine pursuits so bloody desirable, but it is undeniable that I want you more than any other female in my recent memory.”

“You cannot have me tonight. I am not in a mood to indulge you.”

“I can put you in the mood.”

Christopher swiveled his hips against her, making the rigid length of his impressive erection abundantly clear. The tightening of her sex deepened into an almost unbearable ache.

“Do it,” she challenged, knowing he would not force her even if he could make her enjoy it, which she had no doubt he could. The need in him was for her capitulation, her surrender. She knew this as only an intuitive woman would. Or perhaps only a woman who thought like him would.

His jaw clenched tight. Then he altered his hold, pulling the hand set over his heart to join its sister behind her back, freeing one of his hands to yank the scarf from her head and then pull on her hair.

She gasped at the pain, and he took advantage, pushing into her mouth with a sensual grace he had not bothered with a moment ago. Long, deep licks. Not thrusting, stroking. Rhythmically. Mimicking the sexual act, fucking her mouth with his tongue. Her knees weakened, making her sag into him until only his strength supported her. He urged her against him in strong nudges, rubbing his hard cock into the soft give of her belly. She grew damp between her legs, and then slick. Ready.

She whimpered, finding it impossible to stand firm against both his skill and his uncommon handsomeness.

He reacted to the sound in a way she did not expect, hitching her up, lengthening her legs to a standing position, so he could drag her back to the trellis. He left her there with an angry snort.

Maria bent over, hands on her knees, breathing hard. Her eyes squeezed shut as she collected herself. Every part of her body hummed with sensual energy, a vibrating coil of longing and loneliness that urged her to cast aside her pride and go after him. There were a multitude of reasons why she wanted him, not the least of which was Welton’s edict, but she also knew that sometimes denying a man what he wanted was more effective than giving it to him outright.

Blowing out her breath, she climbed the trellis and jumped to the balcony as quietly as possible. She began to disrobe, her thoughts leaping from why she should not accept St. John to why she should. A knock came to the door and she tensed until she realized it did not originate from the gallery.

She called out, and her abigail entered with her customary efficiency, collecting the discarded garments. Dayton had engaged the maid’s services, and Sarah had proven to be the soul of discretion, dealing with bloodstains as well as she dealt with wine stains.

“We leave for Dover in the morning,” Maria said, her thoughts turning to the journey ahead. Though St. John had told her little, she understood the message.

Sarah nodded, accustomed to hasty departures. She assisted Maria with the donning of her night rail, then she departed.

Moving toward the bed, Maria paused, staring at the turned-down sheets. In her mind’s eye, she pictured Simon as he would be at this moment-laughing, rolling about a bed in all his glorious nakedness, easily obtaining all the information he desired without his partner suspecting his perfidy.

She sighed, envying him that closeness. Though it was only physical, it was more than she’d had in over a year. The search for Amelia competed with the need to be available for Welton, leaving her no time to see to her own needs.

Welton. Damn him. He wished for her to do as Simon was doing, growing close to St. John, earning his trust, discovering his secrets. She had no notion how long she would be in Dover. No more than a sennight or Welton would grow suspicious. But with a man like St. John, a week apart might be too long. He might very well find his fancy caught by some other female, and she would have to wait for that to run its course. Even then, she knew from her own experience that once interest was lost, it was rarely regained. Somehow, she had to take him from raging desire to true bewitchment, and she had only hours in which to do it.

Assuring herself that it was only necessity that forced her hand, Maria opened the hall door, looked both ways, and moved stealthily down the gallery until she reached the suite of rooms she had previously ascertained were being used by St. John. She paused there on the threshold, dressed scandalously in only her gossamer-sheer night rail, her hand lifted to knock but arrested in the air. That damned sense of walking into a lion’s lair was back.

Suddenly the door swung open and she found herself confronted by a completely, wonderfully, sinfully nude pirate of infamy. Golden skin and hair were seductively backlit by candlelight, bringing the hard lengths of beautifully delineated muscle into splendid relief. He filled the doorway with his size and strength; he filled her senses with awe and pulsing desire.

He scowled. “I will fuck you in the hall, if you wish, but you will be more comfortable in my bed.”

Maria blinked, her gaze dropping and finding even more to covet. She struggled to find something witty to say, but her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She wanted him, all of him, everything she could see and the backside as well.

Christopher raked her from head to toe in a similarly thorough perusal. His gaze heated, became dark, and a low rumble that sounded deliciously like a purr rose up from his powerful chest.

Before she could find her wits, he caught her hand still held in midair and yanked her in.