Ask For It (Georgian #1)

Ask For It (Georgian #1) Page 21

With her brain still sleep muddled, Elizabeth slipped out of bed, shivering as her bare feet hit the cold floor. “I often tell myself that William cannot possibly become more outrageous and yet somehow he manages it.”

“Elizabeth.”

She ignored the soft query in Marcus’s tone and moved swiftly to her discarded night rail at the foot of the bed. It was awkward, this moment, recalling the intimacy of the night before and the brazen way she’d elicited his promise. To wake to the sight of a blade in his hand was sobering. She’d agreed to marry this man, for no other reason than sexual affinity and misplaced possessiveness. She was daft.

“You can stay abed, love,” he murmured. “I can speak with your brother.”

Straightening with her garment in hand, Elizabeth paused at the sight him pulling on breeches. As he moved, the ripple of honed muscle along his arms, chest, and abdomen arrested her gaze.

He glanced up, caught her staring, and smiled. “You are a fetching sight, all sleep mussed and ravished.”

“I’m certain I look a fright,” she said.

“Impossible. I’ve yet to see you look anything but delectable.”

He rounded the bed, took the night rail from her hands, and dropped it over her head. Then he kissed the tip of her nose. “Nowise did I plan for us to be rushed this morning.” Shaking his head, he moved to the armoire and finished dressing. “Keep the bed warm and wait for me.”

“It would be best if you learned now that I won’t be ordered about. William is my brother. I will speak to him.”

Marcus sighed internally at Elizabeth’s stubbornness, acknowledging to himself that he would have to grow accustomed to it, and went to the door. “As you wish, love.”

He raked her barely clad body with an affectionate glance before closing the portal behind him and traversing the length of the hall. He really shouldn’t be surprised they’d been discovered, but he was, and disappointed. Their agreement was too new, the tie too tentative to set his mind at ease.

The first time he’d proposed he’d sat in the study of Chesterfield Hall and discussed the marital disbursements in cold, hard facts with her father. The banns had been read, and the papers notified. Teas and dinners had been held. He could not have expected she would bolt. He could not have anticipated she would marry another man. And at this moment he had far less than he’d had then. At this moment he had only her promise and she had proven that was not to be trusted.

Years of frustration and anger rose like bile in his throat. Until she made restitution for what she’d done to him he would never find peace.

He entered the parlor. “Barclay, your timing leaves much to be desired. You are—quite lamentably—de trop.”

William paced before the fireplace, his hands clasped at his back. “I am scarred for life,” he muttered.

“A knock would have been wise.”

“The door was open.”

“Well it’s moot in any case; you shouldn’t have come.”

“Elizabeth had run off.” William stopped and glared.

“After the tantrum in her room, I had to find her and see if she was well.”

Marcus ran his hands through his tumbled locks. He couldn’t fault the man for caring. “She sent word. I suppose I should have as well.”

“At the very least. Debauching someone else’s sister would also be preferable.”

“I am not debauching her. I’m marrying her.”

William gaped. “Again?”

“We never quite finished the business the last time, if you recall.”

“Damn you, Westfield.” William’s fists clenched until the knuckles were white. “If this has anything to do with that idiotic wager, I will call you out.”

Rounding the settee, Marcus sat and bit back the harsh words that longed to be freed. “Your sterling estimation of my character is most uplifting.”

“Why in hell would you want to wed Elizabeth after what transpired before?”

“We have an affinity,” Elizabeth said from the doorway, studying the two men who held such important places in her life—both of them so obviously restless. “Or so he attests.”

“An affinity?” William pierced her with a narrowed gaze. “What the devil does that have to do with anything?”

Then he paled and held up his hands. “On further consideration, I don’t wish to hear the answer to that.”

She didn’t move, simply stood in the doorway trying to decide whether to enter or not. The tension in the room was as thick as fog. “Where is Margaret?”

“At home. The journey wouldn’t be wise for her now. She becomes ill easily.”

“You should be with her,” she admonished.

“I was worried about you,” he said defensively. “Especially when Westfield conveniently disappeared at the same time. Your missive told me nothing of your mind-set or your location. You are both damned fortunate that Lady Westfield saw fit to give me direction.” He crossed the room to her and gripped her elbow. “Come outside with me.”

“It’s too cold,” she protested.

William shrugged out of his coat and tossed it about her shoulders. Then he dragged her outside.

“Are you daft?” he growled when they were alone. The chilly bite of the coastal morning was rivaled by the chill of her brother’s tone.

“I thought so earlier,” she said dryly.

“I understand. You’ve had a taste of …” he choked, “carnal pleasure, one denied you before. It can be heady and unduly influencing for women.”

“William—”

“It’s hopeless to deny it. A man can discern these things. Women look different when they are content with their lovers. You lacked that appearance with Hawthorne.”

“This is a very uncomfortable conversation,” she muttered.

“I am enjoying this as much as I would a visit to the tooth drawers. But I must beg you to consider this engagement further. There was a reason why you didn’t proceed with the marriage before.”

Elizabeth looked at the sky, seeing soft blue peeking from the heavy morning clouds. She wondered if she could learn to look for brightness in a marriage that would be rife with cloudy issues.

“You could refuse,” he suggested, softening his tone to match her mood.

“Even I am not that cruel.” She sighed and leaned into him, accepting the strength he’d always provided.

“You don’t wed to alleviate guilt. And I’m not so certain his intentions are honorable. He has much to hold against you. Once you wed him, I would have very little recourse should things deteriorate.”

“You know Westfield better than to attribute such thoughts to him.” She returned his scowl. “Honestly, there are many times I cannot abide the man. He’s arrogant to a fault, stubborn, argumentive—”

“Yes, I agree, he has his faults, all of which I know well.”

“If he recovers some of his lost dignity by wedding me, I won’t hold it against him. At worst, should he lose interest, he’ll simply treat me with the faultless, albeit distant charm for which he’s known. He would never physically hurt me.”

William blew out a frustrated breath and tilted his head back to look at the sky. “I still cannot find comfort in this. I wanted you to find love the second time. You are free to choose whomever you like. Why settle for ‘affinity’ when you can have true happiness?”

“You are becoming as much of a romantic as Margaret.” Elizabeth shook her head and laughed. “There are times when Westfield’s company is quite pleasant.”

“So, enjoy a liaison,” William suggested. “Much less messy all around.”

Her smile was bittersweet. The fact was, Marcus was one of the very few individuals strong enough to stand up to William. She needed to show her brother she was in safekeeping with a man he could trust to be capable. Then perhaps he would worry about her less. Margaret needed him now, as would their child. If there had been any doubt about her forthcoming marriage, it was dispelled by her brother’s presence here. He could not continue to leave his wife to care for his sister.

“I want to marry him, William. I don’t think I’ll be unhappy.”

“You are using him to hide. If you choose a man who dislikes you, you have no worries about something more coming of the relationship. Our father has done you a grave injustice with his decline. You are still afraid.”

She lifted her chin. “I understand you don’t approve of my choice, but that’s no reason to malign me.”

“I’m speaking the truth, something perhaps it would have been best to do long before now.”

“No one knows what the future will bring,” she argued. “But Westfield and I are of like station and pedigree. He is wealthy and solicitous of my needs. When this affinity fades, we will still have that foundation. It is no less than any other marriage.”

William’s gaze narrowed. “You are set in this course.”

“Yes.” She was glad he’d come after her now. Secure in the knowledge that she was benefiting someone other than herself gave her a peace of mind she’d lacked upon waking. Whether William would admit it or not, this would be good for him, too.

“No elopement,” he warned, his frown unabated but unable to diminish the beauty of his features.

“No elopement,” she agreed.

“Am I allowed no say in the matter?” Marcus asked, coming up behind them.

“I think you’ve said quite enough,” William retorted. “And I’m famished. I spoke to His Grace when I arrived and he said to drag you both up to the manse. He hasn’t seen enough of you since you arrived.”

“That was by design,” Marcus said dryly. He held out his hand to her, an affectionate gesture they’d never shared in front of others. Sans gloves it was undeniably intimate. The look in his eyes dared her to refuse.

He was always daring her to refuse.

And just as she’d always done, she met the dare and placed her hand in his.

Chapter 14

By any estimation, their betrothal ball was a smashing success. The ballroom of Chesterfield Hall was filled to overflowing, as were the card and billiards rooms. Overwhelmed and overheated, Elizabeth was grateful when Marcus led her out to the garden to enjoy the cool night air.

Realizing the importance of the occasion, she had chosen a burgundy shot silk taffeta gown. Panniers widened the skirt, which was split in the front revealing an underskirt of white lace. Matching lace frothed from the elbows and surrounded the low square neckline. The gown had given her a surface shell of composure, but inside, her stomach was knotted.

She was an expert at the common social pleasantries, but tonight had been so different from the interactions she was accustomed to. The men had been dealt with easily. It was the women and their often catty, spiteful natures that caught her by surprise. After an hour, she’d resorted to smiling while relying on Marcus to carry them through the prying questions and snide comments disguised as congratulations. His skilful handling of women set her on edge, making her jaw ache from the unnaturalness of her outward mien. Not for the first time, she lamented the loss of the quiet she’d enjoyed on the coast.

After William departed Essex for London, Marcus had insisted they remain another three days in the guesthouse. They had lived those days in a state of deep intimacy. He had assisted her with her bath, and demanded she do the same for him. He had helped her to dress, and showed her how to undress him, patiently showing her where every button was and how best to free it until she was as skilled as any valet. He had reinforced those skills at every opportunity—on the beach, in the garden, in almost every room of the guesthouse. With every touch, every glance, every moment, Marcus had weakened her resolve until she had accepted without reservation that she no longer wanted to be free of him.

Resigned to their joined future, she made the effort to learn more about the issues that were important to him. She asked questions about his views of the Townsend Act repeal, and was secretly relieved when he showed no hesitation in sharing them with her. Discussing weighty topics with women was heavily discouraged, but then Marcus was not a man to follow convention.

Pleased with her interest, he debated a variety of topics with her, challenging and pushing her to explore all sides of a subject, then smiling with pride when she reached her own conclusions, even if they were in opposition to his own.

Elizabeth sighed. The simple fact was, she enjoyed his company and the times when business or Parliament kept him away, she found she missed him.

“That was a melancholy sigh if I ever heard one,” he murmured.

Lifting her chin, she met his gaze, made more brilliant in contrast to the pure white of his wig. In a pale gold ensemble, Marcus outshone every other gentleman present.

“You look beautiful,” she said.

His mouth tilted upward on one side. “I believe I am supposed to say that to you.” The heat in his eyes left her no doubt as to what he was thinking.

William had forbade any further meetings in the guesthouse. She suspected Marcus had so readily agreed to that demand to ensure her continued cooperation. Achey and restless, her body craved his and the constant reminder of her need negated changing her mind about their approaching nuptials.

“You’re flushed,” he said. “And not for the reason I’d prefer.”

“I’m thirsty,” she admitted.

“We must find a drink for you then.” With his hand over hers where it rested on his sleeve, he turned her back toward the manse.

She resisted. “I would rather await you out here.” The thought of returning to the crush after so recently escaping was vastly unappealing.

Marcus began to protest. Then he spotted William and Margaret descending the stairs and led her to them. “I shall leave you in capable hands,” he said with a kiss to the back of her hand. Moving away, he ascended the steps to the house with a grace she found hard to look away from.