Elizabeth stood and began to pace, her hands clenching rhythmically in the folds of her gown. “I suppose I have always known.”
A humorless laugh broke from his throat. Marcus waited for her to say something further, wondering at his sanity in wanting her still. He’d long suspected his imagined infidelity was merely the excuse she’d sought to sever their ties. To his mind, this afternoon only proved that to be true. She did not run into his arms and beg his forgiveness. She did not ask for a second chance or make any attempt to reconcile, and her silence infuriated him to the point where he wished to do violence.
His hands clenched into fists as he fought the urge to grab her and tear her clothes from her skin, to press her to the floor and plunge his cock into her, making it impossible for her to disregard him. It was the one and only way he knew he could penetrate her protective shell.
But his pride would not allow him to reveal his pain. He would, however, effect some change in her, a tiny crack in her reserve at least.
“I was as stunned as you when she entered, Elizabeth. She assumed you were the woman assigned to care for her. There was no way for her to know that my betrothed would visit at such an hour.”
“Her dishabille . . .”
“Her garments were soaked. She had nothing aside from the robe lent to her by my housekeeper.”
“You should have followed me,” she said in a low, angry tone.
“I attempted to. It took me a moment, I admit, to recover from your slap to my face. You were too quick. By the time the widow was settled and I was free to come for you, you had departed with Hawthorne.”
Elizabeth stopped her fevered pacing, her skirts settling slowly as she stilled. Her head turned, revealing eyes that hid far too much from him. “Do you hate me?”
“Occasionally.” He shrugged to hide the true depth of his bitterness, a bitterness that gnawed at him from the inside and tainted everything in his life.
“You want revenge,” she stated without inflection.
“That is the least of it. I want answers. Why the elopement with Hawthorne? Do the feelings you have for me scare you that much?”
“Perhaps he was always an option.”
“I refuse to believe that.”
Her lush mouth curved grimly. “Does the possibility prick your ego?”
He snorted. “Play whatever game you like. You may hate wanting me, but you do want me.”
Moving toward her, Marcus was stopped by her outstretched hand. She appeared calm, but her fingers shook badly. Her arm dropped.
There was far more to their differences than he’d yet discerned. They were strangers, bound by an attraction that defied all reason. But he would learn the truth. Despite his fear that she would elude him again, his need for her outweighed his instinct for self-preservation.
She’d asked if he hated her. At moments like this, he did. He hated her for making him care, hated her for remaining so beautiful and desirable, hated her for being the only woman he had ever wanted in this manner.
“Do you remember your first Season?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
“Of course.”
He walked to the intricately carved sideboard and poured a small libation. It was too early for alcohol, but at the moment, he didn’t care. He felt cold inside and as the fiery beverage splashed down his throat he relished the warmth it brought.
Finding a bride had not been his aim that year or any year thereafter. He’d made it a point to avoid debutantes and their marriage machinations, but one look at Elizabeth and his intentions had changed.
He’d arranged an introduction and she’d impressed him with a confidence that belied her age. Securing permission to dance with her, he’d been delighted when she accepted despite his reputation. The simple contact of her gloved hand on his elicited a powerful sexual awareness, one he had never experienced before or since.
“You impressed me from the first, Elizabeth.” Staring at his empty glass, he rolled it back and forth restlessly between his palms. “You didn’t stammer or look faint when I was overbold with you. Rather you teased me and had the temerity to scold me as well. You shocked me so deeply the first time you swore at me I missed a step. Do you remember?”
Her voice was soft as it floated across the room. “How could I forget?”
“You scandalized every matron there by making me laugh aloud.”
After that memorable first dance, he’d made it a point to attend the same events she did, which sometimes necessitated stopping at several houses before finding her. Society dictated that he could claim only one dance per evening and every moment spent with her had to be chaperoned, but despite these restrictions they’d discovered a mutual affinity. He was never bored with her, was instead endlessly fascinated.
Elizabeth was genuinely kind but had a quick temper that rose in an instant and dissipated as rapidly. She had in abundance all of the things that made a girl a woman but retained a childishness that could be at once endearing and frustrating. He admired her strength, but it was the fleeting glimpses of vulnerability that pushed him far past infatuation. He longed to protect her from the world at large, to shelter her and keep her all to himself.
And despite the years and the misunderstandings between them he still felt that way.
Marcus cursed under his breath and then jumped as her hand touched his shoulder.
“I know your thoughts,” she whispered. “But it can never be that way again.”
His laugh was harsh. “I’ve no desire to have it that way a second time. I want simply to be rid of the craving I have for you. You won’t suffer in the slaking, I can promise you that.”
Turning, he stared into her upturned face, seeing the violet eyes so unfathomable and sad. Her lower lip quivered and he stilled the betraying movement with a soft stroke of his thumb.
“I must go and make preparations for the meeting tomorrow.” He cupped her flushed cheek and then lowered his hand to her breast. “I will speak with the outriders Avery assigned to you. They’ll follow at a discreet distance. Wear neutral colors. No jewelry. Sturdy shoes.”
Elizabeth nodded and held still as a statue as he lowered his head and brushed his lips across hers. Only the racing of her heart beneath his palm told him how he affected her. He closed his eyes at the painful tightening of his loins and chest. He’d give up his fortune to be rid of this longing.
Sick with self-disgust he stepped past her and departed, hating the hours between now and the moment when he could see her again.
Chapter 5
Marcus stared through the cover of bushes, his jaw clenching as a droplet of sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. Elizabeth stood a few feet away in the clearing with her husband’s journal clutched tightly in her tiny hands. The grass beneath her feet was trampled by her pacing, releasing the scent of spring into the air, but it didn’t soothe him as it normally would.
He hated this. Hated leaving her out there,
exposed to whoever it was that wanted Hawthorne’s book. She shifted nervously from one foot to the other and he longed to go to her, longed to soothe her and take the burden of waiting from her slight shoulders onto his own.
He’d had precious little time to prepare. Surrounded by trees, the specified location made surveillance frustratingly difficult. There were too many places to hide. Avery and the outriders, who stood nearby watching the worn paths that led to the meeting place, were completely undetectable to him. He couldn’t signal them, nor they him, and he felt helpless. Waiting patiently was not in his nature and he gripped the hilt of his small sword with barely restrained ferocity. What in hell was taking so damn long?
This mission was the most important of any he’d previously been assigned to; it required the presence of mind and unflappable calm that marked all of his dealings. But to his dismay, he was as far from level-headedness as he’d ever been in his life. Failure was never an option, but this . . . this was Elizabeth.
As if she sensed his turmoil, she glanced around furtively, searching for him. She chewed her bottom lip between her teeth and his breath caught in his throat as he watched her. It had been so long since he’d had the opportunity to study her at his leisure. He drank her in, every detail, from the uplifted chin that defied the world, to the restless way she shifted the journal. A slight breeze ruffled the curls at her nape, revealing the slender white column of her throat. Distracted momentarily by her courage and the fierce protectiveness it engendered, Marcus failed to see the dark-clad body dropping from the tree until it was too late. He leapt to his feet as the realization hit, his blood roaring so loudly he could scarcely hear past it.
Elizabeth was knocked to the ground, the book flying from her hands to land a few feet away. She cried out, the startled sound cut short by the crushing weight of the man atop her.
With a low growl of fury, Marcus lunged over the bushes and tackled the assailant away from her, his fists striking before they rolled to a halt. A quick blow to the man’s masked face subdued him and Marcus continued pummeling him with punishing blows, his rage such that he couldn’t think beyond the instinct to kill anyone who threatened Elizabeth. He fought like a man possessed, snarling with the need to ease the fear that gripped him.