entered the sitting room from his own suite.
“By God!” the Irishman roared. “Step one foot in there and I shall kill you with my bare hands.”
Christopher waved his hand carelessly at the men who followed at his heels. “Take care of that,” he drawled, shutting out the scuffle that ensued with a firm click of the latch.
Breathing deeply, he pulled the scent of Maria deep into his nostrils and thumbed the lock, surprised to find himself somewhat hesitant to turn about and face her. The thought of her wounded did odd things to his equanimity.
“Be grateful I am too weary to give you your due, Mr. St. John.”
He smiled at the breathy sound of her voice. It was weak, yes, but it challenged him just the same. Turning, he found her lost in her large bed, her olive skin pale and her brows furrowed with pain. Dressed in a thin cotton night rail with lace at the throat and wrists, the infamous Lady Winter looked as innocent as a schoolgirl.
His gut clenched.
“Christopher,” he corrected hoarsely, the betraying rasp forcing him to clear his throat. Shrugging out of his coat, he took a moment to collect himself.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she whispered, watching him.
“Thank you.” He draped the garment over the back of a slipper chair and moved to her side, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Her head turned to keep their gazes locked together. “You do not look well.”
“Oh?” Both brows rose. “I think I look better than you.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Nonsense. You are pretty, but I am far prettier.”
He smiled and caught up her tiny hand within his own. “I will not argue with that.”
A loud crash in the next room followed by a curse made her wince. “I hope you have enough men out there. Simon is in a mood, and I have seen him dispatch a small army by himself.”
“Forget about him,” he said curtly. “I am here. Think about me.”
Her eyes slid closed, revealing delicate lids darkened by tiny purple veins. “I have done nothing else for a few days now.”
He was startled by the statement, and confused as to whether he could believe it or not. Which led him to wonder about how he would feel if it were true. He frowned down at her. “You have been thinking of me?”
Without thought, he lifted his hand and brushed loose tendrils of her unbound hair behind her ears. His fingertips returned to her cheek, caressing feather light over the satin-smooth skin. The tenderness he felt took him aback. It made him wish to stand up and back out of the room, return to his home, where everything was familiar and ran like clockwork.
“Did I say that aloud?” she murmured, slightly slurred of speech. “How silly of me. Pay me no mind. It is the laudanum, I’m sure.”
The withdrawal of her admission pulled him forward, urging him to lean closer. He paused with his lips a breath away from hers, the scent of her skin so strong it made his loins tighten.
“Do it,” she breathed, goading him even in her vulnerable state.
The way she pushed him made him smile, and his smile set off hers. Satisfaction flared that he could lift the weight of pain that shrouded her.
“I am waiting for you,” he murmured.
There was a slight, telltale moment of hesitation. Then Maria’s head moved slightly, closing the tiny distance between them until her lips pressed gently to his. The soft, innocent kiss arrested him, froze him in place, his heart lurching from its normal steady beat into a breakneck race.
Unable to resist, he licked along the seam of her mouth, collecting the flavor of opium, brandy, and pure delicious Maria. She gasped, opening the sweet depths to his tentative thrust, her hand clutching at his. When the tip of her tongue ventured in return, Christopher groaned.
Even helpless, she undid him.
Then her free hand moved between his legs, slender fingers stroking the rigid length of his cock. He jerked back violently from the caress, a curse gritted out between clenched teeth.
She cried out softly in pain as the force of his movement rocked her.
“Maria. Forgive me.” Contrite, he lifted her hand to his lips. “Why touch me in that manner when you haven’t the wherewithal to follow through?”
It took her a moment to reply, her eyes squeezed shut as she appeared to recover from the hurt he’d unwittingly caused. “You did not say you thought of me during our separation. I wished to know.”
Some object made of glass broke in the room next door, and then something heavy thumped against the wall. Quinn yelled and someone retorted.
Christopher growled low. “My siege today is insufficient proof of my desire to be with you?”
Her lids lifted, revealing fathomless dark eyes that seemed so desolate to him, far beyond what he would expect from a battle wound. The hopelessness he saw was soul deep and bleak.
“Sieges are a way to defeat an enemy,” she said simply. “Though your haste
“And the kiss?” he asked. “What was that?”
“You tell me.”
He stared at her, his chest lifting and falling. Frustrated with his lack of control, Christopher pushed to his feet and began to pace, something he never did.
“Would you like some water?” he asked a moment later.
“No. Go away.”
He paused midstride. “Beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.” Turning her head, Maria rested her cheek against her pillow. “Go. Away.”
Giving in to his desire to depart, Christopher moved toward his coat. He did not need this aggravation, and he was not the type of man to woo women. They either wanted him or they didn’t.
“I am not sure how I feel about your men following me,” she murmured.
His hand stilled atop his garment. “Grateful?” he suggested.
She waved him away.
The dismissive gesture rankled. Here he’d waited impatiently for her to return and then, because he did not give her the platitudes she desired, she sent him away.
“I thought of you,” he grumbled.
Her eyes did not open, but one dark brow rose. Only Maria could make that tiny movement convey icy disdain.
Because he felt as if he’d revealed something he should not have, he said, “I was hoping we would stay a day or two in bed when you returned; however, I had envisioned the time spent more strenuously than merely lying about as you are doing.”
Her returning smile was knowing, as if she collected his need to reduce his statement to physical hunger and nothing more. “How often?”
“The sex? As often as I recovered.”
She laughed softly. “How often did you think of me?”
He growled. “Too often.”
“Was I unclothed?”
“Most of the time.”
“Ah, well.”
“How often was I unclothed?” he asked hoarsely, thoughts of her possible musings renewing his hunger.
“All of the time. It seems I am more lecherous than you.”
“I think it’s far more likely that you and I are evenly matched.”
Opening one eye, Maria glanced at him. “Hmm…”
Leaving his coat, he returned to her. “Who is this governess whom you seek at such cost?” He resumed both his seat on her velvet-draped bed and his possession of her hand. It was then he noted how short her nails were, nails that had once been long enough to do damage to his back. His thumb rubbed over the tips.
“She is not the one I want.”
“Oh?” Christopher lifted his gaze to search her pale features. Even with her unhealthy pallor, he found her
