“Sleep well, Marcus.”
As he strode from the room, he doubted he was going to sleep at all. She was going to haunt his dreams, driving him mad with desire.
Chapter 12
By the time the sun chased away the fog, Laddie was his usual perky self, so Esme dispensed with the notion of fetching a physician. After breakfast, she and Marcus scanned the gardens, searching for any clues that might assist in discovering the identity of the men or what they’d been seeking. They found only trampled flowers and foliage. And one large rock near where Laddie had lay crumpled. She assumed it to be the weapon used to silence him or get him to stop attacking. She’d never known the cocker to be so fierce, but then until last night, he’d never had reason to be.
“You should probably continue to have someone keep watch through the night,” Marcus suggested as they strolled back toward the residence.
“They could have just been burglars,” she said.
“You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
“I wish Laddie had bitten that one fellow hard enough that he’d not been able to run. Then we could have gotten some answers.” They were sorely lacking of late.
In her library, she removed from her desk drawer the photographs of the document. Before handing a set over to O, she’d printed a set for herself. Marcus sat with one butt cheek on the edge of the desk. She refused to acknowledge how much she liked the way the fabric of his trousers hugged that firm backside and the thigh nearest to her. She wondered if he’d always been so perfectly sculpted or if his recent endeavors had shaped his muscles to a mouthwatering firmness.
“Do you think those are suddenly going to reveal information they hadn’t before?” he asked.
“I like having them as a reference, in case something might jump out at us.” Crossing her arms beneath her breasts to ensure her hands didn’t reach out to stroke that beguiling thigh, she turned slightly and pressed her hip against her desk. “If I were going to plot to assassinate a queen, I would want at my side someone I trusted implicitly. Your father might have felt the same and the culprits are closer to home than we realize.”
“Such as myself?”
“I thought we’d established that I don’t believe you were involved, and you don’t believe I was.”
“Brewster thinks I am.”
“He doesn’t like that you’re young and handsome. He thinks you might turn my head, cause me to lose focus.”
He grinned. “Could I turn your head?”
With one more kiss, with a stroke of that large hand along her back, with an endearment whispered in her ear. “I’m not so foolish as all that. I’m well aware that men prefer their women to be younger than they themselves are.”
“You’re three years older than I. That hardly makes you an ancient crone. Besides, I prefer my women seasoned.”
“Hmm.” She arched a brow. “With salt or pepper?”
“A little of both. I’ve never favored the innocent. I can’t believe you have either.”
She doubted she’d ever been with anyone who had traveled the dark paths he had. He was the very opposite of innocent, and she found it incredibly appealing. He was probably more her equal than anyone she’d ever been with. Oh, she was tempted, so very tempted. But if they got involved, would it cloud their judgment? She couldn’t quite dismiss Brewster’s concerns, even though she didn’t harbor them. But had she already been blinded by what Marcus had suffered? Was she seeing him as clearly as she ought?
“I believe we’ve strayed from my original train of thought.” One corner of his mouth hitched up, and she was rather certain that he was fully aware that she was striving to distract herself from images of him in her bed. “He was closest to the Marquessof Fotheringham. Or Hammy, as he called him.” Reaching down, she picked up one of the photographs. “There’s a Piggy listed here. Scratched through. I wonder if that was the marquess.”
Taking the photograph from her, Marcus studied it as though it might reveal more to his eye than hers. “He died a little over a month before Father was arrested.”
“Yes, I’m aware. A riding accident at his estate, apparently. Fell and broke his neck, although no one witnessed it.”
“I thought nothing of it at the time. It wasn’t unusual for him to start his day with a solitary ride. But now... after Podmore...” His voice trailed off as he seemed to drift into speculation. He shook the photo as though by doing so he might cause something hidden to shoot to the fore and become visible.
“I made discreet inquiries of his heir,” she confided.
His hand went still, and he arched a brow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “How did that go?”
She offered him a wry grin. “Not so well. I managed to cross paths with him at a museum, a lady lost looking for a particular exhibit, which he offered to help me find. From there, we spent about an hour together.”
“As I recall Walter was all of sixteen at the time his father died. I imagine the lad became immediately lovestruck with the attentions of a much older woman directed his way.”
“He did seem to appreciate having a sympatheticear as we strolled through the exhibits. But he provided no useful information.”
