Sylvia Day - [Georgian 02] Read Online Free Page A

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.
    “What have you learned?” Christopher asked without preliminaries.
    “About as much as one could expect to learn in the space of a day.” Philip tugged at his cravat and started pacing, his pale green coat and breeches a stark contrast to the stamped leather that lined the walls.
    “How many times must I warn you about your fidgeting?” Christopher admonished. “It betrays a weakness that begs to be exploited.”
    “My apologies.” The youth adjusted his spectacles and coughed.
    “No need to apologize. Simply correct it. Stand straight, no slouching, and look me in the eye like an equal.”
    “But I am not your equal!” Philip protested, pausing midstride, looking for a moment very much like the five-year-old child who had appeared on Christopher’s doorstep orphaned, beaten, and destitute.
    “No, you are not,” Christopher agreed, moving as required to facilitate his disrobing, “but you must attempt to face me as one. Respect is earned here and in the world at large. No one will give it to you simply because you are pleasant and thorough. In fact, many an idiot has obtained success merely by acting as if it were his right.”
    “Yes, sir.” Philip squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.
    Christopher smiled. The boy would become a man yet. One who could stand firmly on his own two feet and survive the worst life could throw at him. “Excellent. Now speak.”
    “Lady Winter is six and twenty, twice widowed, with neither husband surviving more than two years in her bed.”
    Shaking his head, Christopher said, “Can you begin with something I do not know and then continue in that vein?”
    Philip flushed.
    “Do not become flustered. Simply remember that time is valuable and you want others to consider yours to be of some worth. You should always lead off with the kernel of information most likely to pique interest. Then proceed from there.”
    Taking a deep breath, Philip blurted, “She has a resident paramour.”
    “Well . . .” Christopher stilled, awash in visions of a softer Lady Winter, a woman flushed and sated from passionate play. It was his valet’s sharp tug to his waistband that pulled him out