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“You say that so smugly.” Glancing briefly into fire, her fingers picked restlessly at the eyelet work bordering the sheets. “No doubt you are pleased with your easy conquest of me.”
“Easy?” he scoffed, flopping backward into the pillows and tossing his arms wide. “Was bloody damn difficult.” Turning his head to look at her, he frowned and his voice lost its teasing edge. Rolling to his side, Marcus propped his head in his hand. “Tell me about your marriage.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
She shrugged, wishing she could find the control she’d felt earlier. “There’s nothing of note to relay. Hawthorne was an exemplary spouse.”
Pursing his lips, Marcus stared pensively into the fire. Before she could resist the impulse, she reached over and brushed a tumbled lock from his forehead.
He turned to press a kiss into her palm. “You had an accord then?”
“We enjoyed similar activities and he was content to allow me my freedom. He was so preoccupied with his agency work, I rarely saw him, but the distance suited us both.”
He nodded, appearing deep in thought. “You didn’t mind the agency so much then?”
“No. I hated it even then, but I was naïve and had no notion that anyone would be killed.”
When he said nothing, Elizabeth looked at him under her lashes, wondering what he was thinking and why she was staying. She should go.
Then he said, “I believe some of what is written in that journal is about Christopher St. John, but until I have an opportunity to peruse the volume at leisure, I won’t be certain.”
“Oh.” She twisted the edge of the sheet around her finger. Here was her opportunity to depart without awkwardness. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” Sliding her legs to the edge of the mattress, she attempted to leave the bed and was stopped by his hand at her elbow. She glanced over her shoulder.
Emerald eyes filled with banked fire met hers. “You are a distraction I welcome,” he murmured in the deeply sexual voice she’d come to anticipate.
Marcus pulled her back, crawling over her, pressing her down, his mouth nuzzling her stomach through the bedclothes. “You have no notion of how it affects me to be in your company like this, to work in the moments when you are otherwise occupied.”
Gasping as his mouth surrounded her nipple through the sheet, Elizabeth’s hand drifted to the warm skin of his shoulders and arms, feeling the power within them as they held his weight from her. With rhythmic laps of his tongue, he abraded the stiff peak, intuitively knowing how to make her mad for him.
“Marcus . . .” She struggled, knowing it was wrong to give in, fighting to regain control.
With a low growl, he released her breast and yanked the sheet out of the way. He covered her body with his, his mouth claiming hers, the heat and hardness of his frame causing her to melt into him helplessly. His hands moved with tender skill, knowing her so well, ravishing her senses, coaxing away her tension.
Until she dissolved in pleasure, falling from grace with a cry of surrender, knowing even as she did so that the climb back up grew longer by the moment . . .
Chapter 9
Elizabeth entered the main house through the study’s garden doors. Although not yet dawn, the kitchen staff would already be preparing for the day’s meals and she didn’t want to chance crossing paths with one of them. Not with her hair a fright and her skin so flushed.
“Elizabeth.”
Startled, she jumped. Finding William in the open doorway, her stomach tightened.
“Yes, William?”
“A moment, if you please.”
Sighing, she waited as he stepped into the room and closed them inside. She braced herself.
“What in hell are you doing with Westfield? In our guesthouse? Have you lost your wits?”
“Yes.” There was no point in denying it.
“Why?” he asked, clearly confused and hurt.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll kill him,” he growled. “To treat you like this, to use you so callously. I told you to stay away from him, that his intentions were dishonorable.”
“I tried, truly I did.” Turning away, Elizabeth sank into a nearby chair.
Muttering an oath, William began to pace in front of her. “You could have had anyone. If you were so set against marriage, you could have chosen a more suitable companion.”
“William, I love you for your concern, but I am a grown woman and I can make my own decisions, especially about something as personal as taking a lover.”
“Good God,” he bit out. “To have to speak of such matters with you—”
“You don’t, you know,” she said dryly.
“Oh yes, I do.” He rounded on her. “After suffering through your endless lectures about my licentious behavior—”
“Yes, you see, I learned from the best.”
William stilled. “You’ve no notion. You are in over your head.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it is Westfield who is out of his depth.” If not, he soon would be.
He snorted. “Elizabeth—”
“Enough, William, I’m tired.” She stood and moved toward the hallway. “Westfield will call this evening to escort me to the Fairchilds’ dinner.” She’d tried to argue, but Marcus insisted her safety was in question. It was either with his escort or she couldn’t attend. He’d been adamant, in his charming, drawling way.
“Fine,” William snapped. “I’ll have a word with him when he arrives.”
She waved her hand nonchalantly over her shoulder. “Be my guest. Send for me when you’re done.”
“This is odious.”
“I gathered you think so.”
“An abomination.”
“Yes, yes.” She moved out into the hallway.
“I will thrash him if he hurts you,” William called after her.
Elizabeth stopped and turned to face him. As meddling as he was, he was acting out of love, and she adored him for it. With a tender smile, she returned to him and hugged his waist. He crushed her close.
“You are the most vexing sibling,” he said into her hair. “Why could you not be more pliable and even-tempered?”
“Because I would bore you to tears and drive you insane.”
He sighed. “Yes, I supposed you would at that.” He pulled back. “Be careful, please. I couldn’t bear to see you hurt again.”
The sadness evident on his handsome features tugged at her heart, and reminded her of the precariousness of her situation. Playing with Marcus was playing with fire.
“Don’t worry so much, William.” Linking her arm with his, Elizabeth tugged him toward the staircase. “Trust me to take care of myself.”
“I’m trying, but it’s damned difficult when you engage in stupidity.”
Laughing, Elizabeth released his arm and ran up the stairs. “First one to the vase at the end of the gallery wins.”
Easily reaching the vase first, William escorted Elizabeth to her bed chamber. Then he returned to his own room and wasted no time changing. He left a bewildered Margaret still abed and traveled into town to the Westfield townhouse. Taking the steps two at a time, he pounded the brass knocker that graced the door.
The portal opened, revealing a butler dripping in chilly hauteur as he gazed down the length of his nose.
Handing over his card, William barreled his way through the doorway and entered the foyer. “You may announce me to Lord Westfield,” he said curtly.
The butler glanced at the card. “Lord Westfield is from home, Lord Barclay.”
“Lord Westfield is abed,” William snapped. “And you will rouse him and bring him to me or I will seek him out myself.”
With a disdainful arch of his brow, the servant led him to the study, and then retreated.
When the door opened again, Marcus entered. William lunged at his old friend without a word.
“Bloody hell,” Marcus cursed as he was tackled to the rug. He cursed ag
ain when William’s fist connected with his ribcage.
William continued to rain blows as they rolled across the study floor, bumping into the chaise and knocking over a chair. Marcus made every effort to deflect the attack, but not once did he fight back.
“Son of a bitch,” William growled, made more furious by being denied the fight he’d come for. “I’ll kill you!”
“Damned if you’re not doing an admirable job of it,” Marcus grunted.
