Blowing out his breath, Christopher inwardly acknowledged that he wanted her again. He liked the woman in all the ways men liked most women, but then he also liked her in ways he rarely liked anyone-he admired her, respected her, and saw her as a kindred spirit. Because of this, he could not trust her. Survival was his goal and he knew it must be hers as well.
Then there was the small matter of his need to sacrifice her for his freedom. Wanting her was damned inconvenient and in direct opposition to the agency’s aim.
But there were other considerations beyond his lust and the agency. Quinn was not taking care of Maria properly. Sending her alone to meet with Templeton and leaving her available for Christopher’s use were perilous risks.
As he contemplated what manner of mischief she was set upon now, his fingers curled around the arms of his chair.
He remained seated by dint of will alone, the urge to take off after her nearly too much to resist. Maria lived a dangerous life, a fact that bothered him like a sore tooth.
His eyes slid closed as Thompson plied the blade against his cheek. Sadly, despite his desire to keep her safe, the truth was that the greatest danger to her at the moment was him.
Maria leaned against the slatted back of her wooden chair and glanced around the intimate private dining room she occupied. Across from her, Simon watched the flirtatious serving wench with a lascivious gaze. The inn they chose to spend the previous few nights in was comfortable and warm for a variety of reasons beyond the merry fire and worn English rugs.
“She returns your interest,” Maria noted with a smile as the servant departed.
“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “Under the circumstances, however, I cannot indulge. We are close, mhuirnín. I can feel it.”
After four days of searching and querying, he had located a merchant who knew of a governess recently come to town. Just that afternoon they had discovered her place of employment. No one knew anything about the young girl the woman had been hired to instruct, but Maria hoped desperately that it was Amelia. Information gathered over the last few weeks suggested it was.
“You have worked tirelessly these last days, Simon love. You deserve a respite.”
“And when will you rest?” he asked. “When will you have a respite?”
She sighed. “You have given enough-your time, your energy, your support. You do not need to deny yourself what pleasure you can find for my sake. That will not give me comfort. That will distress me further. I am happy knowing you are happy.”
“My happiness is inextricably bound to yours.”
“Then you must be miserable. Cease. Enjoy yourself.”
Simon laughed and reached across the table to set his hand atop hers. “You asked me the other day if you tell me often enough how much you appreciate me. I must ask the same of you. Do you know how desperately I welcome your affection? In all of my life, you are the only person-female or otherwise-who wishes unselfishly for my happiness. I do the things I do for you out of gratitude and a reciprocal desire to see you happy.”
“Thank you.” Simon was fiercely loyal and direct, two traits she admired and needed desperately. She understood how he felt. Simon fulfilled a similar role in her life. He was the only person who cared for her at all.
He patted her hand and settled back in his chair. “The men who arrived from London this afternoon are watching the house now. Tomorrow, we will utilize the daylight and go ourselves.”
“I agree, the morning is soon enough.” She smiled wide. “Which means the night is yours to do with as you will.”
At that moment, the serving girl returned bearing a fresh pitcher. Maria winked at Simon, who then tossed his head back and laughed.
Affecting an exaggerated yawn, she said, “Forgive me. I believe I should retire. I am overly fatigued.”
Simon stood and rounded the table, pulling the chair out for her and lifting her hand to his lips. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he wished her good night. Content in the knowledge that he would enjoy the rest of his evening, Maria departed to her room, where Sarah waited to assist her disrobing.
Pleased as she was for Simon, there was an unfortunate aspect to being without his company: she no longer had a distraction from memories of a raspy voice and hard body that had wrested pleasure from her against her will.
And made her love it.
It was becoming ridiculous how often she thought of St. John. She told herself it was simply due to her prior long abstinence. She was thinking of the sexual act itself, not her partner.
“Thank you, Sarah,” Maria murmured as the maid finished brushing out her hair.
After a quick curtsy, the abigail prepared to depart, but a sudden knock on the chamber door arrested her egress. Maria dissuaded her from answering with a raised hand and collected her dagger from the table by the bed. Then she took a position to the side of the door and nodded her permission for Sarah to proceed.
“Yes?” Sarah called out.
When the visitor spoke, Maria recognized the voice as belonging to one of her outriders. Instantly relaxing, she dropped her arm to her side. “See what he wants.”
Sarah stepped out into the hall and a few moments later returned.
“That was John, my lady. He says you and Mr. Quinn might wish to go with him now. There is activity at the house, and he fears they are readying to flee.”
“Dear God.” Her heartbeat faltered. “Go below and see if you can find Mr. Quinn. I doubt it, but try.”
After Sarah left, Maria moved to her trunk at the foot of the bed and began to change garments again. Her thoughts raced ahead of her, considering various scenarios and how best to manage them should they arise. She had only a dozen men with her and she would need to assign the majority of them to guarding the perimeter. At most, she could keep two outriders with her to see to her safety.
A soft knock was immediately followed by the opening of the door. Sarah entered shaking her head. “Mr. Quinn is no longer downstairs. Should I go to his room?”
“No.” Maria belted her scabbard to her hips. “But after I depart, you may inform his valet.”
Once again dressed in breeches and boots with her hair hidden beneath both scarf and hat, she was passable as a young boy at far distance, a ruse that would waylay any talk of suspicious women riding at night.
With a reassuring smile at the clearly worried abigail, Maria stepped out into the hall where John waited. Together they descended the rear steps to the waiting horses outside.
The delivery door of Maria’s London townhouse opened, and Christopher stepped silently into the kitchen. His man stood there waiting, having established residence inside the Winter household a few days before in the guise of a footman. If Maria were home, he would not have been selected, but she had been gone for nearly a fortnight. Christopher lured away three of her previous footmen with better-paying positions elsewhere, and desperation had forced her housekeeper to act without guidance.
With a slight nod, Christopher acknowledged a job well done. He collected the single taper his man held aloft, and then took the winding servants’ staircase to the upper floors. The gallery was well appointed, the runners thick and beautifully colored, the alcoves decorated with presently unlit gilded sconces.
Wealth. The home reeked of it. Two noble husbands dead, leaving behind settlements that afforded Maria the means to maintain an affluent existence.
He’d investigated her marriages because the men she had chosen were a source of great interest to him. The elderly Lord Dayton had retired with her to the country, where they stayed the entirety of their short marriage. The younger Lord Winter had kept her in Town and flaunted her shamelessly. It was Winter’s demise that first fueled speculation of Dayton’s. Winter had been a man in his prime, a burly sportsman with hearty appetites all around. Death by malady had been inconceivable for so bold a man.