“Most likely the latter. I shall look into it.”

“Yes, do.” Maria fingered the corner of a piece of parchment on her desk. Her gaze rested on the sparkling amber liquid in Simon’s hand and then moved higher, noting his broad shoulders and powerful arms.

“I wish I were of more help to you.” The sincerity in his voice could not be mistaken.

“Do you know of a woman we could trust to align herself with Welton?”

He paused with his snifter lifted halfway to his mouth, a slow smile transforming his features. “By God, you are a wonder. Dayton taught you well.”

“One can hope, yes? Welton has a preference for blondes.”

If only her mother had known that.

“I shall find a suitable female posthaste.”

Maria leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

“Mhuirnín?”

“Yes?” She heard his glass settle on the surface of the sideboard and then the steady sound of Simon’s confident stride. It made her sigh, flooding her with a sense of comfort she struggled to deny herself.

“Time for bed.” His large hand covered hers where it curved around the chair arm, and the rich scent of his skin filled her nostrils. Sandalwood. Pure Simon.

“There is too much to be considered,” she protested, her eyes opening just enough to look up at him.

“Whatever it is, it can wait until morning.” He tugged her up and when she stumbled, he caught her close, embracing her in warmth. “You know I will not be swayed until you do as I say.”

Her body attempted to melt against his, and Maria squeezed her eyes shut to fight off the urge.

She could not help but remember the feel of him moving over and inside her, an association she had put an end to over a year ago. When his touch had come to mean more to her than mere physical comfort, Maria had concluded the affair. She could not afford to become complacent or feel contentment. Still, Simon remained in her household. She refused to love him, but she could not send him away either. She adored him and appreciated his friendship and his knowledge of the underbelly of society.