beautiful. Certainly he knew many lovely women, but there were none he could imagine who had the strength to bear the pain Maria had to be in. “Who, then?”
“Did you not question your men?”
“There was no time.”
“Now I am truly flattered,” she drawled, smiling in a way that hit him with the force of a blow. Had he ever seen her smile before today? He could not recall.
“I am questioning
“You look dashing in that shade of brown.” Once again she touched his thigh, caressing his breeches. The muscle tensed beneath her fingertips. “You dress beautifully.”
“I look better naked,” he said.
“I wish I could say the same. Sadly, I bear a few holes.”
“Maria.” He spoke low and earnestly, his grip on her hand tightening. “Allow me to assist you in your endeavors.”
She gave him her full attention. “Why?”
“Why do you want to help me, Christopher? What do you gain?”
“Must I benefit in some way?”
“I think you must,” she said, wincing as her bedroom door rocked in its hinges.
“Maria!” Simon shouted through the door, followed immediately by a grunt and a thud.
Christopher had to admit, he was impressed at the other man’s ability to persevere.
“They won’t harm him, will they?” she asked with a worried frown. “A little rough play is one thing, but I will not tolerate anything beyond that.”
Her concern for the other man was an irritant.
“All I ask of you,” he said tightly, “is what I asked before-I want you available for my use. No haring off. I want you when I want you, not a sennight later and too ill to take me.”
“Perhaps I prefer to decline and manage my own affairs.”
He snorted. “Perhaps I might have believed you if you had not admitted to thinking of me.”
“I am no man’s mistress.”
“I offer the same level of convenience to you. I will come when you call for me. Does that put the arrangement in a more agreeable light?”
Maria’s fingers stroked across his palm. It was an innocent caress, one given almost without thought. Her gaze was distant, her mind occupied elsewhere, her lower lip worried between her teeth. He lifted his free hand and stroked his thumb across the plump curve.
“When we first met in the theater, you mentioned an agency,” she reminded, her breath hot against his skin.
“
“Is that the true purpose behind this offer?” Her head tilted to the side as she studied him. “Because you have need to use me in some way beyond warming your bed?”
“Partly.” His thumb left her lip to brush along the curve of her cheekbone. “I do want you, Maria. I do want to help you.”
Her eyes closed again on a sigh. “I am weary, Christopher. It was a hard journey in this condition. Later, I will consider your proposal.”
“Why did you risk returning?” He sensed there was more than weariness involved. She seemed disheartened and deeply melancholy.
Her eyes blinked open and the way she clutched at his hand conveyed urgency. “Welton is not aware of my… interests or travels. If you truly wish to help me, I have a task for you.”
“What can I do?”
“Where were you two nights past when I was injured?”
He was at Emaline’s attempting to convince himself that one cunt was as good as another, but damned if he would say so. He scowled at her.
“Are your whereabouts that night well known?” she revised.
Afflicted by guilt-an emotion he so rarely felt that it took him a moment to recognize it-he said hoarsely, “No.”
“Would you say I was with you if asked?”
“Hmm…I might. With the right persuasion.”
“If you were with another woman, I’m not inclined to persuade you about anything. I shall find another alibi.”
“Are you jealous?” He smiled, warmed by the thought.
“Should I be?” Maria shook her head. “Disregard. Men do not tolerate jealous women.”
“True.” Christopher pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, then deepened it when she did not pull away. Instead, she shivered and opened wider. His tongue stroked deep, his blood simmering instantly at her response. Hurt and in pain, she still accepted his amorous attentions as if unable to resist.
He whispered against her mouth, “But
A knock came to the door that led to the gallery, forcing them apart.
“Rest,” he said when she opened her mouth to reply. “I will make myself useful.”
Rising to his feet, Christopher moved to the door and opened it, finding a sheepish-looking Tom.
“Lord Welton is in the parlor,” Tom said. “Philip has asked for you.”
Christopher was immediately on his guard, his face impassive but his thoughts awhirl with possibilities. He nodded, then retreated back into the room and collected his coat.
“What is it?” Maria asked, dark eyes wide with concern. “Is Simon well?”
It took a moment for him to squelch his urge to retort rudely. “I will see to him, but tell me this: would you show such concern if it were I in Quinn’s place?”
“Are
“Should I be?”
“Yes. I hope you squirm with it.”
A bark of laughter escaped-part humor, part disgust with himself for being enamored with a beauty infamous for her history with men. When she offered up another smile, he settled into resignation and nursed a faint hope that his enchantment with her would pass.
“Give me a moment to handle an unexpected matter, my lovely savage,” he murmured, shrugging into his coat. “Then we will speak further on the terms of our association. I will check on Quinn, as well.”
She nodded and he departed through the sitting-room door, pausing a moment on the threshold to take in the destruction of the furnishings and the struggling, gagged Irishman tied to a gilded chair in the corner. Furious mumbling and violent thrashing accompanied Christopher’s appearance. Quinn rose to his feet, hunched over by the shape of his chair, and two of Christopher’s battered and rumpled men shoved him back down.
“Gentle with him, lads,” he admonished wryly, noting the half dozen men sprawled about the wreckage in varying degrees of pain. “The lady insists, though it appears her fear is groundless.”
He managed to quell his laughter until he reached the stairs. Then he gave it free rein until he reached the foyer. Thankfully, he discovered the lower floor in much better order than the upper.
Philip met him at the bottom step. “I sent the housekeeper to speak with Lord Welton in the parlor,” the young man explained, leading Christopher to his command position in the lower study. “She told him the lady is indisposed. Apparently, the news was not well received. The housekeeper asked for you.”
Christopher turned to the woman who stood tall and proud by the front window. “What can I do for you, Mrs…?”
“Fitzhugh,” she replied with a lift of her chin. Gray strands of hair curled by the heat and humidity of the kitchen surrounded a face lined with age, but handsome in its features. “’e asked me if she was ill or injured. I doona like ’im, Mr. St. John. ’e pries.”
