“One can hope, yes? Welton has a preference for blondes.”
If only her mother had known that.
“I shall find a suitable female posthaste.”
Maria leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
“Mhuirnín?”
“Yes?” She heard his glass settle on the surface of the sideboard and then the steady sound of Simon’s confident stride. It made her sigh, flooding her with a sense of comfort she struggled to deny herself.
“Time for bed.” His large hand covered hers where it curved around the chair arm, and the rich scent of his skin filled her nostrils. Sandalwood. Pure Simon.
“There is too much to be considered,” she protested, her eyes opening just enough to look up at him.
“Whatever it is, it can wait until morning.” He tugged her up and when she stumbled, he caught her close, embracing her in warmth. “You know I will not be swayed until you do as I say.”
Her body attempted to melt against his, and Maria squeezed her eyes shut to fight off the urge.
She could not help but remember the feel of him moving over and inside her, an association she had put an end to over a year ago. When his touch had come to mean more to her than mere physical comfort, Maria had concluded the affair. She could not afford to become complacent or feel contentment. Still, Simon remained in her household. She refused to love him, but she could not send him away either. She adored him and appreciated his friendship and his knowledge of the underbelly of society.
“I know your rules.” His hands cradled her spine.
He did not like them, she knew. His carnal interest had not waned. She felt it even now, pressing hard against her stomach. A younger man’s appetite.
“If I were a better woman, I would make you go.”
Simon sighed into her hair and pulled her closer. “Have you learned nothing about me in the years we have been together? You could not make me leave. I owe you my life.”
“You exaggerate,” she admonished, recollecting when she first saw him in an alleyway, standing alone against a dozen opponents. He held his own with a ferocity that frightened and aroused her. She almost continued on, her aim that dark night to follow a lead on Amelia that seemed more promising than most. But her conscience would not allow her to ignore the imbalanced battle.
Brandishing sword and pistol, and flanked by several men, she managed to be sufficiently intimidating and the attackers had been frightened away. Left weakened and bloody, Simon had still chastised her roundly. He did not need rescuing, he said.
Then he collapsed at her feet.
Her original intent had been merely to clean him up and ease her conscience. Then he had emerged from a bath, a virile and breathtaking creature. And she had kept him.
Simon stepped back, his mouth curving in a wry smile as if he knew her thoughts. “I would face a dozen men again, hundreds, if it led me back to your bed.”
Maria shook her head. “You are incorrigible, and overly randy.”
“It is impossible to be too randy,” he said with laughter in his voice, leading her toward the door with his hand at the small of her back. “You will not distract me from ushering you into bed. You need rest and sweet dreams.”
“Ah, have you learned nothing about me?” she queried as they stepped out to the hallway and took the stairs. “I prefer not to dream. It makes waking so depressing.”
“One day all will be well,” he promised in a low, assured tone. “I promise you.”
She yawned and then gasped as she was swung up into powerful arms. Within moments she was tucked into bed with a quick good-night kiss pressed to her forehead. As Simon retired, the soft click of the adjoining door made relaxation possible.
But it was a different set of blue eyes that followed her into sleep.
“Good evening, sir.”
Christopher nodded at his butler. From his drawing room on the left, raucous laughter spilled out of the open double doors to fill the entryway where he stood.
“Send Philip to me directly,” he ordered softly, handing over his hat and gloves.
“Yes, sir.”
Crossing to the stairs, he passed the boisterous group of his men and their companions. They called out to him, and he paused a moment on the threshold, his gaze moving over the assembled crowd he considered his family. They were celebrating his release—the luck of the devil, they said—but work awaited him. There was much he needed to ascertain and accomplish if he wished to ensure his present state of freedom.
“Enjoy yourselves,” he urged before taking the stairs with shouted protests following him to the second floor.
He reached his rooms and, with the help of his valet began to undress. He was shrugging free of his waistcoat when the young man he had requested rapped lightly on the door and then entered at his behest.