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Curious, and with some trepidation, Portia followed him into the great hall and up the stairs to the first landing. Marcus’s surprises were not always nice.
It was dark apart from a wavering candle or two—no gaslights here at Duval Hall. When they reached the huge glass window, Marcus halted and held up the lantern he’d brought with him from the hall table, so they could see.
There were angels and animals cavorting, and a garden full of flowers and fruit. The colors were not so bright without the sun coming through from the other side, but it was still impressive.
“This is the section I had replaced,” he said.
Mesmerized, she looked at where he was pointing.
A star in a midnight blue sky and a woman gazing up at it. She was wearing a scarlet dress and her long fair hair was loose, tendrils of it twining about her lovingly. It took her a moment to realize who the woman was meant to be.
“Oh.”
Marcus laughed softly, wickedly. “So you do recognize her? I wondered if you would.”
She turned to look at him, her eyes wide with amazement. “You put me in your window.”
“I did.” He set down the lantern and slipped his arms about her, holding her against him, his lips close to hers. “I’d rather have you in my bed, though.”
She leaned into him with a sigh.
His hand slid up from her waist, cupping her breast with a familiarity that should have made her cross but instead made her want to giggle. He kissed her, his mouth warm and tasting of the wine he’d drunk at dinner.
Her resistance, what there was left of it, crumbled.
“Come on,” he murmured, “it’s time I showed you my bedchamber. Just so you know the way if you ever get lost,” he added, and taking her hand, began to lead her up the stairs.
She went willingly. He might be arrogant and manipulative, but he was a god in bed. Her god.
At the door he kissed her again, and she forgot about the past and the future. He had put her in his window, in his home, and his gift to her touched her almost beyond bearing.
He kissed her cheeks, tasting her tears, but when he was about to speak, she pressed her mouth to his, wildly, passionately. “Make love to me,” she whispered. “Make me forget.”
And, being the well-mannered gentleman he was—on the surface anyway—he obeyed.
In London there was hysteria. Newspaper sellers shouted out the dreadful news from street corners, politicians demanded action in Parliament, and the queen wrote letter after letter to her police constabulary. The question was the same wherever you turned.
Where is Lady Ellerslie?
Was her disappearance a plot to disrupt the queen and her government? Was there to be a ransom for her return? Already several prominent people had suggested a collection be taken up to cover such a possibility, so that Lady Ellerslie could be saved. But of course there was always the concern that some wretched fellow with designs upon the beautiful widow had decided to kidnap her. Take her away to some secret hideaway and wreak his terrible will upon her.
The public shuddered, some with horror, some titillated, and some with a combination of both. Speculation was rife, and no more so than in the household of Sebastian, the Earl of Worthorne.
“I’d be much happier if I knew exactly where Marcus was,” Sebastian said grimly. “I have a feeling he’s involved in this.”
“Surely not,” Francesca soothed, but her expression was apprehensive.
“He’s obsessed with the woman. Remember that madness when she fainted in Green Park? Marcus isn’t one to display caution when it comes to something he wants. He goes after it.”
“What will you do if he has her?”
“Strangle him?”
They were distracted by raised voices outside in the entrance hall, and both turned as the door was flung wide open. Aunt Minnie, in her traveling clothes and wearing an Indian turban, made a dramatic entrance.
“It’s all my fault!” she bu
rst out.
