Maria stalked away.

“Mhuirnín…” he called after her.

She ignored him.

“You are creating a spectacle,” he said directly behind her.

Spinning about in a wave of wide skirts, Maria forced him to jump back. “That is what I am here for-scandal and entertainment.”

“He has you flustered,” he breathed with wide blue eyes. “By God, look at you.”

“What does this have to do with St. John?”

“I wish I knew. I would have done it long ago, before you pushed me away.”

She heaved out her breath. “You do not love me in that way, do you?”

“I do love you, mhuirnín.” Simon’s mouth lifted in a rueful curve. “But no, not in that way. I was close once, the closest I have ever been, perhaps will ever be.”

The lone tear that hung on her lashes was her reply. She considered the promise that had once hovered between them to be another casualty of Welton’s machinations. Another death that he would pay for. “I should not have suggested you bed that woman. I do not know what goaded me to say it.”

“I’ve no notion either,” he drawled, capturing her arm again. “You should know me well enough to anticipate the arrangement I made with her for later this evening.”

“Later this…Oooh!” Maria stepped on his foot and he cursed. “Why did you torment me, then?”

“I am a man, with a man’s ego. I wanted to know that it stung, at least in small measure, to think of me with someone else. It pains me to contemplate the same with you.”

She might have believed him if he had refrained from laughing.

This time when she pulled away, she did not stop. “I am not in charity with you at the moment.”

“You adore me,” he called after her. “As I adore you.”

If a glance could kill, the one she tossed over her shoulder would have done the deed.

Replete from supper, Christopher stood with his back to the wall next to the parlor window that overlooked the front drive. He could not remove his gaze from the petite but voluptuous form encased in a shimmering fabric that was the exact shade of a ripe peach. The evening candlelight caressed the curve of her bosom, making his cock ache. Lady Winter stared right back at him, bold as you please.

His blood thrummed with the heated awareness that he would have her soon. He had given up trying to reason out why he was suddenly in full rut to have her. He simply was, and he needed to relieve himself of the itch so that he could consider his options properly.

He was well aware that sex with her would not reveal the answers he needed about Welton and her husbands’ affiliation with the agency. She was too much like him. A series of orgasms would not suddenly engender in her the desire to share her secrets with him. And he wanted her secrets. Needed them.

The agents who worked under the auspices of His Majesty’s Royal Navy were a thorn in his side. They followed him ceaselessly, spied on him regularly, and reclaimed pirated cargo often enough to be annoying. The reason Maria married two of them could be simply that both men had been wealthy peers, but it could also be related to the agency itself, and if it was, he wanted to know why.

The setting of the Harwick country house was perfect in a way few places could be. First of all, he was welcome here. Second, they were forced to share a roof. And lastly, but most importantly, her home was vacant aside from the servants. With careful staging, one of his people would manage to join her household. She would not be able to sneeze without him knowing of it.

Christopher lifted his glass to her in a silent toast and she smiled a woman’s smile, one filled with mystery.

To the winner, the spoils.

Chapter 4

“I received word from Templeton,” Simon murmured, his hand at the small of Maria’s back. “He will be waiting in the pantheon after the clock strikes two. I cannot go to him, mhuirnín. I will be occupied.”

“I shall go, of course. What do you expect him to say?”

He gave an elegant shrug for appearance’s sake, but his gaze was sharp as flint. “I anticipate he has some pressing news about your sibling. He would not risk coming here without just cause.”

“You expanded the search of the coastlines?” Beneath lowered lashes, she studied the many occupants of the parlor. St. John was presently charming Lady Harwick, but Maria had no doubt where his attention truly was.

She could feel it-hot and intense.

“Yes. Because of this, the men are spread thin.”

“What else can I do?”

He sighed and his fingers stroked over her back. The touch was barely discernable through the layers of her garments, but she knew it was there all the same. “Be on your guard. Templeton is a man for hire. He cares nothing for you or your sister, he cares only for coin.”

“I am ever careful, Simon.”

She turned slightly and stared up at him. He was a stunning man. Dressed in gray silk with a quilted silk satin waistcoat, there were no distracting colors to compete with his masculine appeal. Unwigged, with his dark hair restrained in a queue, his long-lashed blue eyes riveted her attention. Their half-lidded state gave the appearance of boredom, but as she watched him, his gaze darkened.

“I will turn her away, mhuirnín, if you would like to follow through with the promises your scrutiny is making.”

“Every woman here is admiring you. Am I to be denied that pleasure?”

His mouth curved dangerously. Simon was rough around the edges, untamed. She had literally plucked him from the gutter, and the sense that he could kill or fuck with equal expertise held a potent allure for most women. “I have never denied you anything.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “And I never will.”

She shook her head with a soft laugh. “You take care, as well, Simon love.”

Bowing, he said, “I am, as always, your servant.”

In a few moments, he was gone, and a short time after that St. John’s dark-haired companion made her excuses as well, her anticipation palpable. Maria knew firsthand that the woman would not be disappointed.

Turning her head, she saw St. John approaching. Whatever remnant of disquiet she felt over Simon fled in an instant, her senses fully focused on the man whose interest caused butterflies to take flight in her stomach. He towered over her, golden hair and skin burnished by the candlelight. Chain-stitched embroidery accented his cream-colored waistcoat, which in turn accented the lush deep green of his coat. Unlike Simon’s, his garments were designed to draw attention, bringing his coloring into stark relief. Once again she felt the weight of female gazes directed to where she stood.

He caught her hand, much as Simon had, and kissed the back, but her reaction to the gesture was entirely different. She was not touched by sorrow. Not by any means.

“I will make you forget him,” he rasped softly, his gaze piercing. He was every bit as rough as Simon, and there could be no doubt that this man had no qualms about anything-killing included.

However, his bearing was not lazily seductive, as Simon’s was. It was brazenly sexual. She knew, as only a woman could, that St. John was not a man prone to rolling about a bed with laughter and playfulness. St. John was too raw for that.

She was deeply astonished to realize that she was attracted to that primitive quality in the pirate, especially after suffering through Lord Winter’s treatment. And not merely attracted, but filled with base cravings.

“Hmm…” She tugged her hand free and looked away, feigning a nonchalance she did not feel.

He moved, stirring the scent of his skin in the air. She felt a feather-light touch drift across her throat. “My beautiful deceiver. Your heart races. I can see it here.”

Suddenly, in that brief contact, she became fully aroused. Eyes wide, she looked back at him.

His gaze was dark and hungry. Territorial. “A chaste touch, yet it makes you want me. Imagine how much greater the effect will be when I am inside you.”

She sucked in a breath. “That is all you will be doing-imagining.” That her voice remained strong and slightly dismissive amazed her.

He smiled a purely male smile. “Tell me you will not end up in my bed.” St. John’s voice lowered, his fingertips again brushing across her fluttering pulse. “Say it, Maria. I do so love a challenge.”

“I will not end up in your bed.” Her lips curved. “I much prefer to have sex in mine.”

She could see that she surprised him, then delighted him. His eyes sparkled and the rumble of laughter that came from him was genuine. “I can live with that arrangement.”

“But not tonight,” she equivocated. Then she leaned closer and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Lady Smythe-Gleason has been coveting your form all evening. You might try her. Good evening, Mr. St. John.”

The thought of St. John with another woman affected her in a similar manner to such thoughts of Simon. However, it was not as easy to push them aside…

St. John caught her arm when she attempted to move away. The heat that flared from where he touched her was undeniable. It was also reflected in the look he gave her. “As part of our inevitable business association, I want the private use of your body. In return, I will offer the same courtesy to you.”

Maria blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

Christopher’s thumb stroked intimately within the crook of her elbow, hidden from view by the froth of white lace. The caress sent tingles up her arm to her breasts, making her nipples ache. She was grateful for the prison of her corset, which hid her state from him.

“You heard me,” he said.

“Why would I agree to such an arrangement? Better yet, why would you?” She arched a brow.