Sylvia Day - [Georgian 02] (15 page)

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Authors: Passion for the Game

BOOK: Sylvia Day - [Georgian 02]
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“Maria,” he breathed, his hands on her thighs, his eyes staring up into hers. “Take me.”
Dazed by his generosity, Maria moved as if in a dream. She lifted, relishing the feel of the heavy length of his cock slipping wetly from her and the hiss of his breath between clenched teeth as she lowered again. Christopher remained still, as he had promised, giving her the lead. The only movement he made was the ticcing of a muscle in his jaw.
She watched him as she rode him, enamoured with the sight of him. How beautiful he was! Even bruised and battered, he was a woman’s deepest, most wicked fantasy. His face—so angelic in its golden coloring and unrivaled perfection—looked enticingly devilish when unkempt. His body— long and heavily muscled—looked no less appealing when leaner. His eyes—those deep blue pools—were irresistible when filled with sexual promises and heated affection.
Her fingertips drifted across his brows, then brushed lightly along the lines of cynicism that fanned out from the corners of his eyes and mouth.
“Yes,” he crooned, holding her waist lightly to balance her. “Love me as you will.”
Maria bent and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips, soaking up the low groan he gave. This was the last time she would have him like this. The last time she would touch him in this manner and admire him naked. Even as her heart ached at the loss of what she wished they could have, she felt warmth blossom in her chest at the opportunity to say good-bye to him properly. When she left here tonight, she would have closure. It was why she had come, and she was grateful to leave with it.
So she took her time, her lips following her fingertips as they brushed over every flaw. Every cut, scratch, and bruise. His big body twisted beneath her, the muscles in his arms bulging as his hands fisted in the counterpane, helpless to their passion. Just as she was.
“Maria!” he gasped as her tongue played with his nipple. “I must come, love. Come with me.”
She nipped him with her teeth and he cursed.
“Please!”
Her mouth covered his, her lips wet and soft against the firm line of his. Christopher groaned and thrashed more, twisting.
“I want this to last,” she breathed, never wanted to stop, never wanting to lose the feeling of him stroking inside her, plunging deep and hard.
“Take it,” he urged, the crests of his cheekbones flagged with high color. “Take me.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded.
Her eyes slid closed as she pumped faster and stronger, plunging her cunt up and down his thick cock.
Christopher’s powerful body arched, his neck corded with strain, his hands steadied her as she fucked him frantically, his golden head tossing from side to side as she rode him to the finish.
“Maria,” he moaned. “Maria.”
Bending at the waist, she took his mouth again, kissing him ravenously, her eyes stinging with the fervor with which he kissed her back. Her skin was so hot, feverish, covered in a fine film of perspiration. She ached to climax, to hear his cries, to feel him explode inside her.
Settling her hands on his chest for leverage, Maria lifted and fell in measured rhythm, feeling his great size stretching her, forcing her slick tissues to part and accept him. Her passion rose, her climax primed from his mouth and his blatant expertise. She was so wet with pleasure and desire that soft sucking noises filled the air.
Christopher moved with her in perfect timing, his hips rising to meet her every descent, falling on every ascent.
“Yes . . . Maria . . . dear God . . .
yes!
”
He thrust upward hard, his pelvic bone hitting her swollen clitoris, and she cried out in orgasm, unable to stop it, her body quaking around his wildly pumping cock.
He growled his triumph, and the sound flowed through her, making her come harder, her cunt spasming desperately as he joined her, spurting his seed deep inside her in hot, hard bursts.
She fell over him in a tangle of sated limbs, whimpering as he held her hips slightly aloft and continued to stroke his cock inside her until he was emptied.
Finally, gasping, he released her waist to clutch her tightly to his sweat-slick chest.
Maria pressed her fist to her mouth and stifled the sob that fought to leave her. She feared her feelings had already progressed too far. She wanted to remain like this forever, warm and safe in Christopher’s embrace. But how much of this was real? How much of this was simply an effort to achieve his goal? Was Christopher truly the haven he presented himself as? Or was he the means of her destruction?
There were too many questions and no definitive answers. With Amelia’s life in the balance, Maria could not take the risk.
And so she waited until his breathing was deep and even beneath her cheek, betraying his slumber. Then she extricated herself from his embrace and left the bed.
“Farewell,” she whispered, her gaze raking the naked, magnificent length of his frame before she turned her back to him and made her egress. The bedchamber door shut behind her with a soft click of the latch.
Stepping into her ruined gown in the sitting room with shaking legs, she collected her blade and donned Christopher’s coat, refusing to breathe through her nose for fear of smelling him. She would cry if she did, and there was still some distance to be crossed.
She remembered nothing of her journey down the stairs and out the front door. Was she watched? Had she garnered an audience? Did Christopher’s lackeys witness her dishabille? She did not know, and she did not care. She knew only that she maintained her pride.
Until she was safely ensconced in her carriage. Then she allowed her tears to fall.
 
The silence of the night was broken by the approaching clatter of horses’ hooves and the rhythmic sound of carriage wheels across cobblestones. Mist hung low to the ground, chilling the feet and legs of the man who hunched his shoulders and held his threadbare jacket close to his neck for warmth.
As the equipage rolled to a stop, the man stepped forward and peered inside. The interior of the unmarked coach was darker than the outside, effectively hiding the occupants.
“Two daughters,” he whispered. “St. John’s coves found the one. Young gel in Lincolnshire.”
“I require the direction.”
“When I works wiv a flash, I get paid.”
The barrel of a pistol appeared.
“Right, then.” He dug in his pocket and withdrew a grimy, folded sheet, which he held out. “If you read it, I’ll tell yer if ’e got the way of it.”
A moment later, he nodded. “That’s it. Bobby is a peevy cull.”
A bag of coin was thrust out and grabbed with similar swiftness. “God love yer!” he mumbled with a tip of his hat, then he melded into the shadows and was gone.
The coachman urged the carriage on.
In the darkness of the interior, Eddington settled pensively into the squabs. “Bring me that girl before St. John takes her.”
“Yes, my lord. I will see to it.”
Chapter 15
A
melia peeked around the corner of the house, her lower lip worried between her teeth. She searched for Colin in the stable yard, then heaved a sigh of relief when she found the area empty. Male voices drifted on the wind, laughter and singing spilling out from the stables. From this she knew Colin was hard at work with his uncle, which meant that she could safely leave the manse and head into the woods.
She was becoming quite good at subterfuge, she thought as she moved deftly through the trees, hiding from the occasional guard in her journey toward the fence. A fortnight had passed since that fateful afternoon when she had caught Colin behind the shop with that girl. Amelia had avoided him since, refusing to speak with him when he asked the cook to fetch her.
Perhaps it was foolish to hope that she would never see him again, given how closely their lives were entwined. If so, she was a fool. There was not an hour of the day that passed without her thinking of him, but she managed the pain of her grief as long as he stayed away from her. She saw no reason for them to meet, to talk, to acknowledge one another. She only traveled by carriage when moving to a new home, and even then, she could associate exclusively with Pietro, the coachman.
Espying the waited-for opening, Amelia hopped deftly over the fence and ran to the stream, where she found Ware coatless and wigless with his shirtsleeves pushed up. The young earl had caught some color to his skin these last weeks, setting aside his life of bookwork in favor of hard outdoor play. With his dark brown locks tied in a queue and his cornflower-colored eyes smiling, he was quite handsome, his aquiline features boasting centuries of pure blue blood.
He did not set her heart to racing or make her ache in unfamiliar places as Colin did, but Ware was charming and polite and attractive. She supposed that was a sufficient combination of qualities to make him the recipient of her first kiss. Miss Pool told her to wait until the right young man came along, but Colin already had, and had turned to another instead.
“Good afternoon, Miss Benbridge,” the earl greeted with a perfect bow.
“My lord,” she replied, lifting the sides of her rose-hued gown before curtsying.
“I have a treat for you today.”
“Oh?” Her eyes widened in anticipation. She loved gifts and surprises because she rarely received them. Her father simply could not be bothered to consider such things as birthdays or other gift-giving occasions.
Ware’s smile was indulgent. “Yes, princess.” He offered his arm to her. “Come with me.”
Amelia set her fingers lightly atop his forearm, enjoying the opportunity to practice her social graces with someone. The earl was kind and patient, pointing out any errors and correcting her. It gave her a higher polish and a deeper confidence. She no longer felt like a girl pretending to be a lady. Instead she felt like a lady who chose to enjoy her youth.
Together they left their meeting place by the stream and wended their way along the shore until they reached a larger clearing. There Amelia was delighted to find a blanket stretched out on the ground, the corner of which was held down by a basket filled with delicious-smelling tarts and various cuts of meat and cheeses.
“How did you manage this?” she breathed, filled with pleasure by his thoughtfulness.
“Dear Amelia,” he drawled, his eyes twinkling. “You know who I am now, and who I will be. I can manage anything.”
She knew the rudiments of the peerage and saw the power wielded by her father, a viscount. How many more times the magnitude was the power wielded by Ware, whose future held a marquessate?
Her eyes widened at the thought.
“Come now,” he urged, “have a seat, enjoy a peach tart, and tell me about your day.”
“My life is dreadfully boring,” she said, dropping to the ground with a sigh.
“Then tell me a tale. Surely you daydream about something.”
She dreamt about kisses given passionately by a dark-eyed Gypsy lover, but she would never say such a thing aloud. She rose to her knees and dug into the basket to hide her blush. “I lack imagination,” she muttered.
“Very well, then.” Ware situated himself on his back with his hands clasped at his neck and stared up at the sky. He looked as at ease as she had ever seen him. Despite the rather formal attire he wore—including pristine white stockings and polished heels—he was still a far more relaxed person than the one she met weeks ago. Amelia found that she rather liked the new earl and felt a touch of pleasure that she had wrought what she considered to be a positive change in him.
“It appears I must regale you with a story,” he said.
“Lovely.” She settled back to a seated position and took a bite of her treat.
“Once upon a time—”
Amelia watched Ware’s lips move as he spoke and imagined kissing them. A now-familiar sense of sadness shivered through her, an effect of leaving her beloved romantic notions behind and embracing unfamiliar new ones, but the sensation lessened as she thought of Colin and what he had done. He certainly did not feel any sadness about leaving her behind.
“Would you kiss me?” she blurted, her fingertips brushing tart crumbs from the corners of her lips.
The earl paused midsentence and turned his head to look at her. His eyes were wide with surprise, but he appeared more intrigued than dismayed. “Beg your pardon. Did I hear you correctly?”
“Have you kissed a girl before?” she asked, curious. He was two years older than she was, only one year younger than Colin. It was quite possible that he had experience.
Colin had an edgy, dark restlessness about him that was seductive even to her naïve senses. Ware, on the other hand, was far more leisurely, his attractiveness stemming from innate command and the comfort of knowing the world was his for the taking. Still, despite her high regard for Colin, she could see how Ware’s lazy charm appealed.
His eyebrows rose. “A gentleman does not speak of such things.”
“How wonderful! Somehow, I knew you would be discreet.” She smiled.
“Repeat the request again,” he murmured, watching her carefully.
“Would you kiss me?”
“Is this a hypothetical question, or a call to action?”
Suddenly shy and unsure, Amelia looked away.
“Amelia,” he said softly, bringing her gaze back to his. There was deep kindness there on his handsome patrician features, and she was grateful for it. He rolled to his side and then pushed up to a seated position.
“Not hypothetical,” she whispered.
“Why do you wish to be kissed?”
She shrugged. “Because.”
“I see.” His lips pursed a moment. “Would Benny suffice? Or a footman?”
“No!”
His mouth curved in a slow smile that made something flutter in her belly. It was not an outright flip, as was caused by Colin’s dimples, but it was certainly a herald of her new awareness of her friend.
“I will not kiss you today,” he said. “I want you to think upon it further. If you feel the same when next we meet, I will kiss you then.”
Amelia wrinkled her nose. “If you have no taste for me, simply say so.”
“Ah, my hotheaded princess,” he soothed, his hand catching hers, his thumb stroking the back. “You jump to conclusions just as you jump into trouble—with both feet. I will catch you, fair Amelia. I look forward to catching you.”
“Oh,” she breathed, blinking at the suggestive undertone to his words.
“Oh,” he agreed.
By the time she headed for home, her belly delectably full of delicacies, she was confident in her decision to kiss the charming earl. He had agreed to meet her the next day, and she made mental preparations for the repeating of her bold request and then the result of it. If it went well, she intended to ask for another favor—the posting of a note.
To Maria.
“What mischief are you planning now?” Cook asked as Amelia snuck in through the service door in her continuing effort to hide from Colin.
“I never plan mischief,” Amelia cried, settling her hands on her hips in a great show of affront. Why did everyone think she sought trouble?
Cook snorted and narrowed her wizened gaze. “Yer too old for troublemaking.”
Amelia broke out in a wide grin. That was the first time anyone had told her she was too old to do something, rather than too young.
“Thank you!” she cried before kissing the servant’s cheek and running up the stairs.
As far as days went, this one had been nearly perfect.
 
Christopher’s fingers drummed a rapid staccato against the desktop. He stared out his study window, his mind in as much turmoil as his body.
Maria had left him. Although she was gone when he awoke and therefore said nothing of her intent to him, he knew she meant for their affair to be over.
He’d nearly gone after her immediately, but in the end he held back, knowing that he required a plan to proceed. He could not charge ahead and risk damaging their relations further.
Now, hours after waking, he was relieved when a knock came to his study door, grateful for a brief respite. Calling out for the person to enter, he watched as the portal swung open and Philip stepped into the room.
“Good afternoon,” the young man greeted.
Christopher smiled wryly. “Is it?”
“I think so. You might agree, after you hear what I have to relay.”
“Oh?”
Philip took a seat across from him. “Lady Winter was not intimate with Lord Eddington in Brighton, or at any other time.”
Curious, Christopher asked, “Why tell me this?”
“Because I thought you would wish to know.” Philip frowned. “If you had known before she sought you out, the evening might have progressed differently.”
“Would I have wanted it to progress in another way?”
Philip began to squirm slightly as he became more confused. “I thought you might. You have been rather brooding since she left, and while I was asleep at the time, I have heard from others that Lady Winter did not look well when she departed.”
“What purpose does it serve for me to know that she was not intimate with Eddington in Brighton?” Christopher leaned back in his chair.
“I’ve no notion,” Philip muttered. “If you see no use for the information, there is nothing further to discuss.”
“Very well,” Christopher said dryly. “Allow me to rephrase. What would
you
do with the information, were you in my place?”
“But I am not in your place.”
“Humor me.”
Taking a shaky breath, Philip said, “I am not certain if Eddington’s association with Lady Winter is the cause of your recent bout of melancholia, but—”
“I do
not
have melancholia,” Christopher bit out.
“Um . . . Yes. Wrong word. ‘Decline’ might be better?” Philip risked a glance at Christopher’s face and winced. “In any case, if Lady Winter and Lord Eddington were the cause, and I were to learn that they spent very little time together, I would conclude that perhaps they are not engaged in any lascivious activities.”
“A reasonable conclusion.”
“Yes, well . . .” Philip cleared his throat. “Therefore, since the events would make little sense to me, I would go to Lady Winter and ask her to clarify.”
“She has never once told me a secret of hers,” Christopher said. “That is our primary point of contention.”
“Well . . . she did write to you. She came to you. I would consider that a positive sign.”
Christopher snorted. “If only that were true. She came to say good-bye.”
“But you do not have to say it in reply, do you?” Philip asked.
“No. However, it would be best if I did. For both of us.”
Philip shrugged.
You know better than I.
That was his protégé’s message. But it was tempered by an unspoken admonishment. His lieutenant did not believe he had exhausted all of his options, and Christopher supposed he was correct about that.
“Thank you, Philip,” he dismissed. “I appreciate your concern and candor.”
Philip made his egress with obvious relief.
Christopher rose and stretched, his body aching from muscles strained by Maria’s passion. By God, the woman had ridden him to the best orgasm of his life, but the climax had been bittersweet. He had felt her withdrawal even as she opened herself as she never had before.
“Maria,” he breathed, moving to the window where he could look out at the street below. She had come here to this cesspool in search of him. Christopher’s forehead pressed against the glass, the heat of his skin misting the pane, the unanswered queries in his mind tormenting him.
There was no real need for the answers. Their relationship, such as it was, had nowhere to go. It was best that it end so miserably. Their estrangement should make it easier to do what he must—wrap her up in a pretty bow and deliver her to Sedgewick.

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