His voice came low and angry. “You entrusted me with your safety and I am seeing to it.”
“You don’t care about me,” she argued. “If you did, you would not have done something guaranteed to hurt me. They are all I have, to risk them this way—”
“They are not all that you have! You have me.”
She shook her head rapidly. “No. You belong to the agency. Everything you do is for them.”
“That’s not true, and well you know it.”
“I know I was wrong about you, wrong to trust you.” She brushed aside a tear with the back of her hand. “You deliberately said nothing to me.”
“Because I knew it would upset you. I knew you would not understand at first.”
“You lie. You failed to tell me because you knew it was wrong. And I will never understand. Never.”
Elizabeth swept around the settee toward the door.
“I am not done speaking, madam.”
“Then continue, my lord,” she threw over her shoulder, nearly running to her room to hide the tears that flowed freely. “I no longer wish to listen.”
William paced the length of his sitting room.
Margaret sighed, squirming into the pillows on the chaise, trying to find comfort for her aching back. “You knew nothing of this journal?”
“No.” He scowled. “But Hawthorne was an odd fellow. I’m not surprised to learn his father was mad. I’m certain Hawthorne was a bit touched as well.”
“How does that pertain?”
“There is something odd about this. I’ve gone over Westfield’s notes. He has already dedicated a great deal of his time to the study of the journal and all we’ve learned is some spotty descriptions of remote locations with no explanation. I cannot understand the purpose.”
Margaret rested her hands on her protruding stomach and smiled at the feel of her child moving in response to her touch. “So let’s set aside the contents of the book for the moment and concentrate on Hawthorne himself. How did he come to be your partner?”
“He was assigned to me by Eldridge.”
“Did he ask for you in particular?”
“I don’t believe so. If I recall correctly, he gave some tale about a grievance against St. John.”
“So he could just as easily have been assigned to Westfield, who was also investigating St. John.”
William plunged both hands into his golden hair. “Perhaps, but Westfield was frequently paired with Mr. James. I had not yet built a strong rapport with any other agents.”
“And you and Westfield never knew of one another’s activities, even though you were fast friends?”
“Eldridge does not—”
“—share such information, in case you are captured or tortured for information.” Margaret shuddered. “I thank God you no longer amuse yourself in that manner. Heaven only knows how Elizabeth manages. But then she’s far stronger than I. Is it possible Hawthorne married Elizabeth in the hopes he would learn something of Westfield’s activities?”
“No.” William sat next to her and placed his hand over hers. “He would not have known about Westfield. Just as I did not. I believe he married her to ensure he would remain my partner.”
“Ah, yes, that would have been wise. So we have Hawthorne, working with you to investigate St. John, but all the while his aim is to thwart you. He is married to Elizabeth and keeping a journal of cryptic text that so far has been revealed to be nothing of import. But in fact, it must be important enough to kill for.”
“Yes.”
“I’d say the best option would be to capture St. John and pair him with the journal, make him tell you what it says.”
His mouth curved ruefully. “According to Elizabeth, St. John claims only Hawthorne can decode it. But obviously that cannot be true, so Avery is tracking the pirate, who most inconveniently has fled London again. He is the key.”
“I worry for Elizabeth, you know I do, but I cannot help but wish Westfield had taken the journal elsewhere.”
“I know, love. If there had been another choice, I would have suggested it. But truly, despite his long-standing association with James and Eldridge, I am the only man he knows who can be trusted to care more for Elizabeth than the agency. And you and I have been cautious for so long. I couldn’t bear for our children to live in fear. We must end this.” His gaze pled for her understanding.
She cupped his cheek with her hand. “I’m glad you now know the truth about Hawthorne and St. John, to ease the guilt you’ve felt all these years. Perhaps Hawthorne’s death was inevitable, with his life so deeply entrenched in the criminal.” She moved her hand to place his against her belly and smiled as his blue eyes widened with awed pleasure at the feeling of a strong kick against his palm.
“Can you forgive me for accepting this task while you carry my child?” he asked hoarsely, bending to press an ardent kiss to her powdered forehead.
“Of course, my love,” she soothed. “You could not have done otherwise. And truly, in light of your lost friendship, I think it is a hopeful sign that Westfield came to you for help. We shall solve this puzzle together. Maybe then we can all find some peace.”
“Pray, tell me what is the matter, Elizabeth,” Elaine asked with concern. “It pains me to see you so distressed.”
“I should be in London now, not here.”
Elizabeth moaned as they sat in the family parlor, her thoughts filled with worry for William and Margaret. Marcus may have done what he thought was best, but he should have discussed it with her, allowed her to come to terms with it. He should have given her the opportunity to speak to William and thank him for his assistance. Her chest tightened as she thought of her brother, who loved her so much.
“I’m so sorry you are not happy here—”
“No, it’s not that,” she assured quickly. “I love it here. But there are . . . things that require my attention.”
Frowning, Elaine said, “I don’t understand.”
“I asked Westfield to do something important for me and he disregarded my wishes.”
“He must have had good reason,” Elaine soothed. “He adores you.”
Paul entered the parlor. “Why so glum?” he asked. Taking one look at Elizabeth’s tear-streaked face, he scowled. “Is it Marcus? Has he yelled at you again, Beth?”
Despite her misery, Paul’s use of a pet name brought a reluctant smile to her face. No one had ever called her anything besides Elizabeth.
“No. I almost wish he would,” she admitted. “He’s been so civil toward me this last week I can barely stand it. A good row would do much to improve my spirits.”
Paul laughed. “Well, reserved civility is what Marcus does b
est. I take it you’ve had a lovers’ quarrel?”
“That’s a rather tame description, but I suppose it is something similar.”
His brown eyes lit with mischief. “I happen to be somewhat of an expert on lovers’ quarrels. The best way to recover is not to mope. You’ll find greater satisfaction in exacting a little revenge.”
Elizabeth shook her head. She’d already denied Marcus her bed for the last six nights. Every night he tested the locked door to her chamber. Every night he turned away without a word. During the day, he was his customary charming self, polite and solicitous.
What was lacking were the heated looks and the familiar stolen caresses that told her he wanted her. The message was clear. He would not be the only one denied.
“I think I’ve gone as far as I dare to incite a response,” she said.
“Cheer up then, Beth. Lovers’ quarrels never last long.”
But Elizabeth couldn’t agree with that. She’d hold her own until Marcus apologized. He couldn’t just run roughshod over her. Decisions of this magnitude had to be discussed.
And quite frankly, she could be as stubborn as he.
The coals in the hearth shifted and Elizabeth jumped, every muscle in her body tense with expectation. She waited almost breathlessly for Marcus to test the brass knob. Once he did so, she could relax and attempt sleep.
If he kept to his routine, she’d have only a few more moments to wait. Sitting upright in bed, she clutched the edges of the sheet in her lap with nervous fingers. The lace throat of her night rail seemed too tight, making it difficult to swallow.
Then the knob began a slow turn to the right.
She couldn’t take her eyes from it, couldn’t even blink.
It made a soft click as it reached the barrier of the lock.
Her jaw clenched until it ached.
The knob released, turning rapidly back to its previous position.