Free Sylvia Day - [Georgian 02] by Passion for the Game Page B

canted to allow his arm to drape along the top. He was bereft of waistcoat and coat, and yet he was still overly warm. His body longed to be in motion, to chase after the woman who left him without so much as a fare-thee-well, and the effort he exerted to remain seated was not insignificant.
    His valet moved with quiet purpose, preparing the items needed to shave his master’s morning whiskers. “The knowledge of the men you set to follow her coach does not alleviate your concern?”
    Christopher snorted. Concern. Was that what this feeling was? Why did he feel it, when he knew Maria was capable of caring for herself?
    Perhaps it was because Quinn was with her.
    His teeth clenched.
    Quinn.
    “Angelica, love.” His voice was low and direct, his head turning to find her finishing her morning tea by the window. “You learned nothing?”
    She shook her head, her mouth curved downward. “I did try, but he has a way with . . . distractions.”
    He arched a brow. “How much did you tell him?” He knew little of Quinn, but he recognized the man as one who lived by his wits.
    The blush that spread across her cheekbones made Christopher curse under his breath. “Not so much,” she said hastily. “He was mostly curious as to your interest in Lady Winter.”
    “And how did you answer?”
    “I said you kept your business to yourself, but if you had your eye on her, you would have her.” She blew out her breath and leaned backward, the dark circles under her eyes betraying a night spent much like his.
    The memory of Maria, soft and open to his desire, made his blood heat. Scratches marred his back and arms, teeth marks decorated the tops of his shoulders. He had shared his bed with a delectable hellion and he was marked by the encounter. In more ways than one.
    “Quinn’s reply?” he asked softly.
    Angelica winced. “He said possession is nine points of the law.”
    Christopher showed no outward sign of the effect of that statement, but it prodded him with the same intensity as a blow from a horsewhip. Quinn was correct. It was he who shared Maria’s home, her life, her confidence, and Christopher had nothing of her but a few hours of pleasure.
    “Go pack,” he said, watching as the former light o’ love rose and did as he bid.
    “Will you seek her out?” Thompson asked, straightening from his task and stepping back so that Christopher could take his seat in the appropriate chair.
    “No. The men I assigned to watch her will handle the matter. What I need to learn of her will be found in London, and the sooner I return, the swifter that is accomplished.”
    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