Passion for the Game(90)
“Good God!” Eddington cried, watching with pure awe. “I have never seen such a show of pugilistic expertise in my life.”
He was so engaged by the spectacle that he offered no protest when his hands were bound behind him.
“Come along now,” Lady Winter said when he was secured. She poked him with her knife again for good measure.
“Who is that man?” he inquired as St. John’s lackeys restrained those who groaned in surrender on the ground. But no one replied.
Later, he was pleased to see the Irishman again when the man entered Eddington’s guarded room with a decanter of brandy and two glasses. Truly, as far as prisons went, Lady Winter’s opulent home was the finest of them. His “cell” was decorated in shades of ivory and gold, with brown leather wingbacks before a marble-framed grate and a canopied bed covered in a golden floral embroidered silk counterpane.
“It is almost morning, my lord,” the Irishman said, “but I hoped you would share a nightcap with me.” His mouth curved wryly. “Lady Winter and St. John have already retired.”
“Of course.” Eddington studied the other man as he accepted the proffered glass from him. “You are the kept paramour I have heard whispered about.”
“Simon Quinn, at your service.”
Quinn settled into a wingback before the grate and held his glass in two hands, seeming not at all injured by his earlier activities. He glanced aside with a look that would chill boiling water. “Lest you think this is merely a social visit, my lord, I feel I should tell you bluntly that if Lady Winter’s sibling arrives with any injury at all, I will beat you to a bloody pulp.”
“Christ.” Eddington blinked. “You’ve put the fear of God into me.”
“Excellent.”
Eddington tossed back his drink. “Listen, Quinn. It appears your present occupation will be . . . eliminated.”
“Yes, it does appear so.”
“I have a proposition for you.”
Quinn’s brow raised.
“Hear me out,” Eddington said. “Once this matter with the sister is resolved, I will assume a position of some power. I could use a man of your talents, and working on this side of the law does have decided benefits.” He studied the Irishman to see how his proposal was being accepted.
“How are the wages?”
“Name your price.”
“Hmm . . . I’m listening.”
“Excellent. Now here are my thoughts . . .”
Chapter 23
“Once again, I find myself amazed with you,” Christopher murmured, his lips to Maria’s forehead as they reclined in her bed.
She snuggled closer, her nose pressed to his bare chest so she could breathe in the delicious scent of him. “I am amazing.”
He laughed. “How you managed after the deaths of your parents . . . All those years under Welton’s thumb . . .” His arms tightened. “We will go away after the wedding. Anywhere you like. Everywhere you like. We shall leave those memories behind and make new ones. Happy ones. All three of us, my love.”
“After the wedding?” She tilted her head back to look up at him. “A bit presumptuous, I would say.”
“Presumptuous?” Both of his brows rose up to his hairline. “You love me. I love you. We marry. That is not presumptive, it’s expected.”
“Oh? And when did you begin to do the expected?”
“When I unexpectedly fell in love with you.”
“Hmm.”
“What does that signify? That noise you made.” Christopher scowled. “That was not an affirmation.”
“And what is it that I am supposed to be affirming?” Maria hid her smile by looking away. The next she knew, she was flat on her back with an ardently piqued pirate and smuggler of renown looming over her.
“My marriage proposal.”
“I was not aware you made one. It was more of a declaration.”
“Maria.” He heaved an exasperated sigh. “Don’t you wish to wed me?”
Her hands came up to cup his face. To his credit, he was only distracted a moment by her bare breasts. “I adore you, as you well know. But I have been married twice. I think that is plenty enough for any woman.”
“How can you compare a union with me to what you experienced with them? A man who cared for you like a dear friend, and a man who used you merely for his own gratification?”
“Would you be happy in the wedded state, Christopher?” she asked, discarding pretense.
He stilled, his gaze intent. “You doubt it?”
“Did you not say that the only way out of your livelihood is death? Either yours or of those you love?”