Read Sylvia Day - [Georgian 01] Online
Authors: Ask For It
Sylvia Day - [Georgian 01] (16 page)
“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?”
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
B
y 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.
y 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.
Margaret linked arms with her and said, “The ball is an unequivocal triumph, as we all expected. Much more entertaining to gossip about you than any other topic.”
William looked over their heads. “Where is Westfield going?”
Elizabeth hid a smile at his curt tone. “To the drink tables.”
He frowned. “Wish he would have said something before he went in. I could use some libation myself. If you will excuse me, ladies, I believe I’ll join him.”
As William moved away, Margaret gestured toward the garden and they set off at a sedate stroll.
“You look well,” Elizabeth said.
“Regardless, a clever modiste cannot hide this belly any longer, so this ball will be my last social event of the Season.” Margaret smiled. “Lord Westfield seems quite taken with you. With luck, you will be having children of your own soon.” Leaning closer, she asked, “Is he as skilled a lover as they say?”
Elizabeth blushed.
“Good for you.” Margaret laughed, and then winced. “My back aches.”
“You have been on your feet all day,” Elizabeth scolded.
“A respite in the retiring room is long overdue,” Margaret agreed.
“Then we must hasten to get you there.”
Turning around, they headed away from the garden.
As they neared the house, they saw more guests filtering out into the cool night air. Elizabeth took a deep breath, and prayed for the patience she’d require to endure ’til morning.
“Yours will not be an easy pairing, you are aware of that?”
Marcus glanced at William as they descended the garden steps, drinks in hand. “Truly?” he drawled. “And here I’d been led to believe marriage was a tranquil institution.”
William snorted. “Elizabeth is by nature quite feisty and downright argumentative, but around you, she is not herself. She’s almost withdrawn. Lord only knows how you convinced her to accept your addresses, but I’ve taken note of her marked reticence around you.”
“How obliging of you.” Marcus clenched his jaw. He was a proud man. It did not sit well with him that Elizabeth appeared less than enthusiastic to wed him.
Margaret approached, her arched brows drawn tight with discomfort.
William rushed to her. “What pains you?” he asked gruffly.
She waved his concern away with a lift of her hand. “My back and feet ache is all. Nothing to worry yourself over.”
“Where is Lady Hawthorne?” Marcus asked, searching the winding path behind her.
“Lady Grayton had an unfortunate mishap with an unruly climbing rose and needed more assistance than I.” She wrinkled her nose. “Frankly, I think Elizabeth simply didn’t want to return to the house yet.”
Marcus opened his mouth to reply, but was silenced by a distant female scream.
William frowned. Marcus, however, was almost crippled with fear, his entire body tensing to the point of pain.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered starkly, his well-trained senses telling him the danger that stalked her was right there in the garden. He dropped the glasses he held in his hands, paying no mind to the delicate flutes shattering on the stone pathway. With William fast on his heels, Marcus ran in the direction of the disturbing sound, his stomach clenched and frozen with dread.
He’d left her with family when he should never have left her at all. He knew his job, knew the rules, knew she was not safe anywhere after the ransacking of her room and he’d ignored all of it simply because she asked him to. He’d been a fool and now he could only hope fright from an overactive imagination would be the extent of his punishment.
Perhaps it was not Elizabeth. Perhaps it was a minor incident of a stolen kiss and a woman with a flair for dramatic outcries . . .
Just as panic began to overwhelm him, he saw her up ahead, sprawled on the pathway next to a rose-covered arbor in a flood of displaced panniers and endless skirts.
He dropped to his knees beside her, damning himself for lowering his guard. Lifting his head, he searched for her attacker, but the night was still and quiet except for her labored breathing.
William crouched on her other side. “Christ.” His hands trembled as he reached for her.
Because the darkness made sight difficult, Marcus felt along her torso, searching for injury. Elizabeth groaned as his fingers lightly skimmed across her ribs, finding an object protruding from her hip. Moving her arm aside carefully, he exposed a small dagger.
“She’s been stabbed,” Marcus said gruffly, his throat tight.
Elizabeth opened her eyes at the sound of his voice. Her skin was pale beneath her powder, the rouge she wore unnatural in comparison. “Marcus.” Her voice was a gasped whisper as her fingers curled weakly over the hand that touched the hilt. He gripped them tightly, willing some of his vitality into her, willing her to be strong.
This was his fault. And Elizabeth had paid the price. The extent of his failure was crushing, a brutal fall from the heights of satisfaction he’d felt when the evening started.
William stood, his body tense as he searched their surroundings much as Marcus had done a moment earlier. “We need to move her to the house.”
Marcus lifted her, careful to avoid unduly jarring the knife. She cried out, then lost consciousness, her breathing slipping into a rapid but measured rhythm. “Where can I go?” he asked in near desperation. Through the ballroom was obviously not an option.
“Follow me.”
Moving like shadows through the garden, they entered through the bustling kitchen. Then they took the cramped servants’ staircase, which caused a laborious ascent hampered by Elizabeth’s panniers.
Once safely in her room, Marcus shrugged out of his coat and reached into an inner pocket, withdrawing a small dagger not unlike the one lodged in Elizabeth’s side. “Send for a doctor,” Marcus ordered. “And ring for towels and heated water.”
“I will instruct a servant on my departure. It will be faster if I collect the doctor myself.” William left with reassuring haste.
With careful, tentative movements, Marcus used his knife to cut through the endless material that made up her dress, stays, and underskirts. The task was torturous, this sight of his blade next to precious ivory skin a nightmare, and he was drenched with sweat before she was free of the pile.
A steady steam of blood leaked from around the dagger. She was still unconscious, but he whispered soothingly as he worked, trying to calm himself as well as her.
The door opened behind him, and he cast a quick glance over his shoulder to see the entry of Lord Langston and Lady Barclay. A maid entered directly behind, carrying a tray weighted with hot water and cloths.
The earl took one look at his daughter and shuddered violently. “Oh God,” he breathed. He swayed unsteadily, his face a stark mask. “I cannot go through this again.”
Marcus felt his stomach knot. The pain he witnessed on her father’s face was what tormented Elizabeth so. That same pain had pushed Elizabeth away and every other woman who’d had the misfortune to care for the dashing, but endlessly grieving widower.
“Come. Let’s get you settled somewhere quiet to wait, my lord,” Margaret said softly.
Langston did not hesitate to agree, fleeing the room as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. Marcus cursed under his breath, fighting the urge to chase him and thrash some sense into him, to make the man care for his daughter.
Lady Barclay returned a quarter hour later. “I must apologize for Lord Langston.”
“No need, Lady Barclay. It’s long overdue that he answer for his own actions.” He released a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Tell me what to do,” she said softly.
With silent efficiency, Margaret helped him clean the blood from Elizabeth’s skin. As they were finishing, William returned with the doctor who removed the blade, examined the puncture, and announced the fine boning of her stays had deflected the dagger away from any vital organs, and into the fleshy part of her hip. Stitches and bed rest would be all that was required.
Nearly dizzy with relief, Marcus steadied himself against the post of the bed and tugged off his wig. Had Elizabeth been uncorseted, the wound might have been fatal, and his destruction assured.
He glanced at William and his wife. “I will remain with her, you both should return to the guests below. It’s bad enough Elizabeth and I will be absent from our own betrothal celebration. Your absence will only worsen the situation.”
“You should go below, Lord Westfield,” Margaret said gently. “It would be less awkward if at least one of you were in attendance.”
“No. Let them think what they like, I won’t leave her.”
Margaret nodded though her eyes were still troubled. “What tale should I relate to your family?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “Anything aside from the truth.”
William turned to the maid. “Say nothing of this to anyone if you wish to remain employed.”
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