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CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE
Rhys used his influence to begin an investigation all across England by employing several private eyes. It would have been easier for him to tackle this matter if he were in London, but he could not allow Elizabeth to go there. Foolish men were still looking to reveal Johnathan Myers, and he did not want that added to their problems.
He was glad that telling her a part of the story instead of everything was enough. He knew what the emotions he had been denying and fighting were, and that gave him a larger incentive to keep his family’s past buried. He could not lose grace in Elizabeth’s eyes. Never.
“I think your plan is good.” Her voice drew his attention back to what they were discussing in the library two days after William was wounded. “But I have a better plan.”
Rhys’ brows rose. “Are we in competition, Liza?”
She smiled. “No, but I think my plan is better.”
“Do tell, then.” He folded his arms across his chest to provoke her, and her frown confirmed that he had succeeded.
“Staying in the Castle like prisoners might keep me safe, but I think we should live as a Marquess and Marchioness should. We can walk by the sea, visit the children in Cullfield, attend the Spring’s End Festival…we cannot allow them to win by sequestering ourselves. Just give me a pistol.”
Rhys chuckled. She was right. He could not keep them in the Castle as though they were prisoners. “Are you a good shot?”
She nodded with a grin. “My father’s butler in Gloucestershire taught me how to shoot when I was two-and-ten.”
“I learn something new from you every day.” He stood from the sofa they shared and walked to a bookshelf in a corner. He opened the drawer at the bottom and removed a box then he walked back to her with it and set it down on the table in front of her. “Help yourself.”
Elizabeth opened the box and smiled when she saw the two pistols inside. She picked one up and examined it, murmuring, “Very good,” when she was satisfied.
“Where are you going to keep that?” Rhys asked, intrigued.
“This will not be in my reticule,” she replied.
“That is what I thought.” He studied her, his pulse quickening when she slipped her foot out of her shoe and placed it on the table. She hiked up her skirt and pushed the handle of the pistol under her the ribbon garter holding her stocking up.
She looked up at him with a sultry smile, and he groaned. She knew just what to do to unleash the animal inside him. She picked up the other pistol. “Now, this one will go into my reticule.”
“You are carrying two pistols?”
“I always carry two pistols when I’m moving around London by myself,” she said proudly. “The only time I forgot was when I went to watch the fight in Old Ford, and my injured foot made me forget.”
Rhys knelt in front of her and removed the pistol from her garter then loosened the ivory satin ribbon before rolling the stocking down her leg, following every patch of skin he was exposing with a kiss. He heard her breathing quicken and smiled.
“What other weapons do you need?” he asked. He trusted her to be able to protect herself. After all, she had been doing it for years, but he could not help the fear he felt.
“Your strong arms,” she murmured.
Rhys came up after removing the stocking and circled her waist with his arms. “These?” he nuzzled her neck.
“Yes, those,” she giggled.
“Liza, you are a wonder.” He scattered kisses all over her neck.
“So are you, Rhys, and I am happy you are sharing this burden with me.” That was all the burden he could let her carry, and he was doing that because she gave him no choice. She was the most stubborn and intelligent woman he had ever met.
“Imagine me working for the War Office,” she said suddenly, and he raised his head to stare at her.
“Are you in earnest?”
She laughed. “Of course not. I wanted to see how you would react.”
He chuckled and let his head rest on her shoulder. “You will be the death of me. My grandmother said it would be my pride, but I think it will be you.”
“Did I worry you?”
