The Georgian Romance Collection by Sylvia Day

Author:Sylvia Day [Day, Sylvia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780718178499
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2013-02-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

The ride to the St. John residence felt as Maria imagined a ride to Tyburn would feel.

Somewhere behind her, Eddington and other agents followed.

The knowledge ate at her with a viciousness that caused her physical pain. She wanted Amelia back more than anything in the world, but her heart told her the price she would pay was too great.

There was no escaping how deeply attached she was to St. John. Despite all of the things she had discovered about him over the length of their liaison, she could only seem to dwell on his kindnesses—his handling of Templeton, his concern over her injury, the way he made love to her.

As she exited the carriage and stared up at Christopher’s house with its empty planters and burly guards, the minute details of their association filled her mind. Heated moments and tender ones. Moments of comfortable silences and moments of verbal sparring. They shared a startling affinity and similar pasts.

Lifting her skirts, Maria ascended the short steps without haste and swept through the waiting open door. Many of those who lived under his protection lined the downstairs, watching her gravely, their eyes dipping to the foil in her hand. Her gaze met each and every one of theirs, challenging them to interfere.

None did.

She climbed the main staircase to reach Christopher’s bedroom and knocked on the door. When she heard his voice call out to her, she entered.

Christopher stood before the mirror, shrugging into a beautifully embroidered waistcoat that was held out by his valet. The colorful floral pattern was a lovely accent to his butter yellow breeches and the matching jacket that hung on the nearby rack. The entire ensemble reminded her of their first meeting in the theater, and her chin lifted.

“I have something to tell you.”

Christopher’s gaze met hers in the reflection, then he caught sight of her weapon. With a low murmur, he dismissed the servant and faced her. “Why, Lady Winter, had I known my lover would send you in her stead, I would have dressed warmer.”

“Your garments are perfect.” Her mouth curved. “Less material between the tip of my blade and your skin.”

“Do you mean to run me through?”

“I might.”

He raked her with a skeptical glance.

“I urge you not to think of my skirts as an advantage in your favor. I have trained as much in gowns as I have breeches.”

His hands came up in a signal of surrender. “Pray tell, fair lady, what service can I provide that would spare me from certain death?”

Maria set the tip in the Aubusson rug and rested her hand casually atop the hilt. “Do you love me?”

Christopher’s brow arched. “Gads. How unsporting of you to solicit a declaration of love under duress.”

Her foot tapped impatiently.

He smiled and stopped her heart. “I adore you, my love. I worship you. I would kiss your feet and supplicate myself for your favors. I offer you all that I have—my vast riches, my many ships, my cock, which weeps for your attentions—”

“Enough.” She shook her head.

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