Ask for It Part 13

"You think I don't know her?" William asked, shaking his head. "Have a care with her affections," he warned as he stood and moved toward the door. He paused on the threshold and looked back. "I f you hurt her, Westfield, I 'll see you on a field at dawn."

Marcus tilted his head in acknowledgment.

"In the meantime, come early this evening. We can await the women together. Father still has a fine collection of brandy."

"An irresistible invitation. I will be there."

Somewhat mollified, William made his egress. He also made a mental reminder to clean his pistols.

Just in case.

The ball was a ma.s.sive success, as witnessed by the overflowing ballroom and the beaming face of the hostess, Lady Marks-Darby.

Elizabeth wove her way through the crush, escaping onto a deserted balcony. From her vantage point, she could see couples wandering through the intricate maze of hedges in the garden below. She closed her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath.

The last week had been both heaven and h.e.l.l. She went to Marcus every night in the guesthouse and while he'd never promised anything in return, she'd had her own expectations.

When she suggested the affair, she a.s.sumed he would pounce on her immediately upon her arrival, carry her off to bed, and when finished with her body take his leave. Instead, he drew her into conversation or fed her sumptuous cold suppers he brought with him. He encouraged discourse on a variety of topics and appeared genuinely interested in her opinions. He asked her about her favorite books and purchased the ones she mentioned that he had not yet read. I t was all so very strange. She was completely unaccustomed to such intimacy, which seemed much more pervasive than their physical connection. Not that Marcus ever allowed her to forget that.He held her in a constant state of physical turmoil. An erotic master, Marcus used the entirety of his formidable skill to make certain he never left her mind for even a moment. He found ways to surrept.i.tiously brush against her shoulder or slip his hand down the curve of her spine. He bent far too close when speaking, breathing in her ear in a way that made her quiver with longing.

Laughter from the maze below brought a thankful respite from her thoughts. Two women came to a halt directly beneath the balcony, their melodious voices floating up to be heard clearly.

"The marriageable men are slim in number this Season," said one to the other.

"That is unfortunately true. And it's hideous luck that Lord Westfield should be so determined to win that wager. He practically hovers over Hawthorne's widow."

"She seems not to care much for him."

"Fool is unaware of what she is missing. He is glorious. His entire body is a work of art. I must confess, I am completely besotted."

Elizabeth gripped the railing with white-knuckled force as one of the women giggled.

"Lure him back, if you miss him so keenly."

"Oh, I shall," came the smug reply. "Lady Hawthorne may be beautiful, but she's a cold one. He's merely in it for the sport. Once he has redeemed himself, he'll want a little more fire in his bed. And I 'll be waiting."

Suddenly, the women gasped in surprise.

"Excuse me, ladies," interrupted a masculine voice. The two women continued further into the maze, leaving Elizabeth to fume on the balcony.

The unmitigated gall! She grit her teeth until her jaw ached. The d.a.m.ned wager. How could she have forgotten?

"Lady Hawthorne?"

She turned at the sound of her name murmured in a deep, pleasantly raspy voice behind her. She eyed the gentleman who approached, taking in his appearance in an effort to identify him. "Yes?"

The man was tall and elegantly dressed. She could not know his hair color, covered as it was by a wig that was long in the back and tied at his nape. He wore a mask that wrapped around his eyes, but the brilliant blue color of his irises refused to be contained by it. Something about him arrested her gaze, tugging at her memory in a vaguely familiar way, and yet she was certain she had never met him before.

"Are we acquainted?" she asked.

He shook his head and she straightened, studying him closely as he emerged from the shadows of the overhang. What she could see of his face was well deserving of such beautiful eyes. He was, quite frankly, beyond handsome.

His lips, though thin, were curved in a way that could only be described as carnal, but his gaze...his gaze was coldly intent. She sensed he was the type of man who trusted no one and nothing. But that observation was not what caused her shiver of apprehension. Her misgiving was due entirely to the way he approached her. The subtle cant of his body toward hers was decidedly proprietary.

The raspy voice came again. "I regret I must be importunate, Lady Hawthorne, but we have an urgent matter to discuss."

Elizabeth shielded herself in her iciest social deportment. "I t is the rare occasion, sir, when I find myself discussing urgent matters with complete strangers."

He showed a leg in a courtly bow. "Forgive me," he replied, his voice deliberately low and soothing. "Christopher St. John, my lady."

Elizabeth's breath halted in her throat. Her pulse racing, she took a preservative step backward. "What is it you wish to discuss with me, Mr.

St. John?"

He took the position next to her, resting his hands on the wrought iron railing as he looked out over the maze. His casual stance was deceptive. Much like Marcus, he used an overtly friendly demeanor to rea.s.sure those around him, subtly urging others to lower their guard. The tactic had the opposite effect on Elizabeth. She tried not to tense visibly as her insides twisted.

"You received a journal that belonged to your late husband, did you not?" he asked smoothly.

The color drained from her face.

"How do you know of it?" Her eyes widened as her gaze swept over him. "Are you the man who attacked me in the park?" He did not appear to be suffering from any injury.

"You are in grave danger, Lady Hawthorne, as long as that book remains in your possession. Turn it over to me, and I will see to it you are not disturbed again."

Fear and anger blended inside her. "Are you threatening me?" Her chin lifted. "I take leave to tell you, sir, I am not without protection.""I am well aware of your prowess with a pistol, but that skill is no proof against the type of danger you find yourself facing now. The fact that you have involved Lord Eldridge only complicates matters further." He looked at her and the barrenness in the depths of his eyes chilled her to the bone. "I t is in your best interests to give me that book."

St. John's voice was laced with soft menace, his eyes piercing from behind the mask. His casual pose was unable to hide the vibrant energy that distinguished him as a dangerous man.

Elizabeth couldn't stop her shudder of fear and revulsion. He cursed under his breath.

"Here," he murmured gruffly, reaching into a small pocket that graced his white satin waistcoat. He withdrew a small object, and held it out to her. "This belongs to you, I believe."

Refusing to take her eyes from his face, she closed her hand around it.

"You must-" He stopped and swiveled quickly. She followed his gaze and relief flooded her to find Marcus standing in the doorway.

Pure ferocious rage radiated from him in waves. The lines of his face were harsh, reflecting murderous intent. "Back away from her," he ordered. His tension was palpable, coiled like a tight spring, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation.

St. John faced her unperturbed, and bowed again. His casual deportment fooled no one. A profusion of ill will and resentment poisoned the air around the two men. "We will continue our conversation some other time, Lady Hawthorne. In the meantime, I urge you to consider my request.

For your own safety." He walked past Marcus with a taunting smile. "Westfield. Always a pleasure."

Marcus sidestepped, halting St. John's escape to the ballroom. "Approach her again, and I 'll kill you."

St. John grinned. "You've been threatening me with death for years, Westfield."

Marcus bared his teeth in a feral smile. "I was merely biding my time until the proper excuse presented itself. I have it now. Soon I shall have what I need to see you hanged. You cannot evade justice forever."

"No? Ah, well...I await your convenience." St. John glanced at Elizabeth one more time before circ.u.mventing Marcus and melting into the crowded ballroom beyond.

She looked down at the object in her hand and the shock of recognition forced her to grip the railing for support. Marcus was beside her instantly.

"What is it?"

She held out her open palm. "I t's my cameo brooch, given to me by Hawthorne as a wedding gift. I broke the clasp. See? I t is still broken. He offered to return it to the jeweler's for repair the morning of his death."

Marcus plucked the pin from her hand, and examined it. "St. John returned it? What did he say? Tell me everything."

"He wants the journal." She stared up at his grim features. "And he knew of the attack in the park."

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l," Marcus growled under his breath, pocketing the brooch. "I knew it." Wrapping her hand around his arm, he led her from the balcony.

Within moments, Marcus had retrieved their cloaks and called for his carriage, a.s.sisting her inside as soon as it rolled to a halt. Ordering the outriders to guard her, he turned back toward the manse, his stride lengthening with purpose.

Leaning out the window, Elizabeth called after him. "Where are you going?"

"After St. John."

"No, Marcus," she begged, her fingers gripping the sill, her heart racing madly. "You said yourself he's dangerous."

"Don't worry, love," he called over his shoulder. "So am I ."

Elizabeth waited endlessly, devastated to her very soul. For the first time since starting the affair, she acknowledged how little control she had. Marcus cared nothing for her worry or her distress. Knowing how she must feel, he'd left anyway, deliberately courting danger. And now she waited. He'd been gone so long. Too long. What was happening? Had he found the pirate? Had they exchanged words? Or fought? Perhaps Marcus was hurt...

She gazed sightlessly out the window as her stomach roiled. Certain she was about to cast up her accounts, Elizabeth thrust open the door and stumbled down. The outriders moved to her side just as Marcus appeared.

"Sweet." He pulled her close. The heavy silk of his coat was cold from the night air, but inside she was far more chilled. "Don't be frightened.

I will protect you."

Elizabeth gave a choked, half-mad laugh. The most pressing peril came from Marcus himself. He was a man who thrived on reckless behavior and lived for the thrill of the chase. He would forever be placing himself in jeopardy, because taking risks was ingrained in his nature.The agency...St. John...Marcus...

She had to get away from them all.

Far, far away.

Chapter 10

Marcus paused in his prowling of the guesthouse foyer to stare at the Persian rug beneath his feet. He searched for signs of wear caused by his relentless tread.

This d.a.m.ned affair was beyond frustrating. His desire for Elizabeth showed no signs of waning, his body constantly hard and aching for her touch. His physical reaction alone was irritating, but even more troubling was her ceaseless occupation of his every thought.

In all of his other affairs, he'd never spent the night with his paramours. He never brought women to his home, never shared his bed, never gave more than a brief use of his body. He'd never wanted to.

The situation with Elizabeth was entirely different. He had to tear himself away from her, waiting until the cursed rising of the sun forced him to leave. He returned to his home with her scent on his skin, to lie in the bed she had once occupied and relive the memories of her, naked and begging beneath him. I t was torture of the most delicious kind.

And it was not just when he was alone that he was maddened by his need. When he'd stepped onto the balcony and recognized the man with whom she conversed, his heart had stopped beating altogether. Then it had raced with the primitive instinct to protect what was his.

He wanted to be closer, d.a.m.n it all. Elizabeth wanted distance. She was perfectly happy to keep things simple and uncomplicated by feelings or emotions. In past entanglements, he would have been pleased. This time, this affair, he was not.

Elizabeth was not immune. Her gaze lingered when she thought he was not aware, and when he held her in his arms, he could feel the racing of her heart against his chest. She curled around him when she slept and sometimes murmured his name, telling him he invaded her dreams as surely as she invaded his.

As the door opened and Elizabeth entered, Marcus spun about quickly. She offered a half-hearted smile, and then glanced away.

Evasion, facades, shields-he despised all of the tools she used to keep him at bay. Anger quickened his blood.

"h.e.l.lo, my love," he muttered.

She frowned at his tone.

His eyes raked her from head to toe. When his gaze returned to hers, she was blushing.

Good. Better than indifferent.

"Come closer," he ordered arrogantly. There were some barriers between them he could remove, her clothing being one of them.

"No." Her voice was threaded with steel.

"No?" He arched a brow. There was something different about her, a stiffness to her demeanor that caused his stomach to tighten.

Her eyes softened. Wondering what she saw, Marcus glanced over her head to the mirror that hung on the wall behind her and was startled by the fierce longing that was reflected in his face. His hands clenched into fists.

"Marcus. I will not be staying tonight. I 've come only to tell you that our affair is over."

He felt as though all of the oxygen had been sucked from the room. To be so easily discarded...Again.

"Why?" was all he could manage to say.

"There is no need for us to continue seeing each other."

"What about the pa.s.sion between us?"

"I t will fade," she said with a careless shrug.

"Then remain my lover until it does," he challenged.

Elizabeth shook her head.