The Artist and the Rake (The Merry Misfits of Bath 4)

“Yes.” Lizbeth smoothed out her skirt. “I felt uncomfortable taking her gowns and other things, but she assured me they would no longer fit after the babe is born.”

Marcus nodded. “Addie was never on the slender side, so I think she will probably have a bit of a time shedding the extra pounds that are bound to stick to her after the babe comes.” He hurried on, “Of course, there is no need for you to pass that information along.”

Lizbeth laughed. “I promise. It will be our secret.”

Our secret. That sat well with him.

Lizbeth sighed and smoothed out her skirts. “Will you promise not to feel badly about me if I tell you all of this makes me uncomfortable?”

He frowned. “All of what.”

“All the help you and your sister, and Lord Berkshire are giving me. I learned the hard way that not everything that seems like good intentions are really that.” She turned her head to look out the window. “I hate the way that sounds, because I really do appreciate all you’ve done. And Addie. It’s just that…”

“I understand.” The carriage came to a stop in front of the theater just as a light drizzle started. Marcus took her hand, which she tugged back. “I can’t imagine how you feel, but please know that anything I, or Lady Pamela, or Addie, does for you is truly with the best intentions.” He stepped out of the carriage and turned to assist her. A footman walked with them to the front door of the theater, covering them with an umbrella.

Once they were inside and shed their outer garments, they strolled the lobby waiting for word that the show was about to begin. Marcus was pleased when Lizbeth accepted his arm as they made their way through the gathering crowds to Berkshire’s box that Marcus used whenever he was in Bath. Perhaps the dimness of the carriage and the closeness of their bodies had caused her to pull back when he’d taken her hand before. Even now she still managed to keep almost a foot of distance between them.

Although Marcus lived in London, he had numerous friends and business contacts in Bath, and it seemed most of them were at the theater this night. He was happy to note that Lizbeth did not shirk from those they met, and after an initial reluctance to join in conversations, she lost some of her stiffness and appeared to be enjoying herself.

They had just begun to climb the stairs to the upper level when Lizbeth sucked in a deep breath and turned to face him, her eyes wide, her face pale.

“What’s wrong?”

Tears flooded her eyes and she shook her head. “I must leave.”

She turned as if to go back down the stairs, but he stopped her as she stumbled in her urgency. “Lizbeth, tell me what’s wrong.” He took her by her forearms, looking in her distressed face. “What happened?”

She gulped and clenched her fingers together. “The man over there,” she glanced to the right at a group of men and women conversing.

“Which man? And what of him?”

Her breathing increased and she began to shake. “The one with the red waistcoat.”

Marcus studied the group and found the man she was referring to. Unknown to him, he was bulky, not too tall, bald on top of his head, and waving a cigar around. Marcus put his arm around her shoulders and led her up the stairs. Miraculously, she did not shrug him off. “Hold on for a minute and we will be in our box.”

Lizbeth merely nodded and stumbled along with him. It was only the two of them in the box, and it was dark, so he felt Lisbeth relax once the curtain swished closed, blocking them from the crowd. He led her to a chair and sat alongside her, wanting to take her hands, but felt it was better to not touch her at the moment. “Who is that man, Lizbeth?”

She swiped the tears from her eyes and looked up at him. “He’s the man who ordered my beating after I was caught trying to stab my first customer at the brothel.”

6

“What?” Marcus’s shout startled her into jumping back. “You were beaten in that place?” He lowered his voice.

Lizbeth wiped her nose with the handkerchief Marcus handed her and nodded. “Yes.” She sighed and crumbled the linen in her hand, the memories that she’d tried so hard to push to the back of her mind racing forward. “As strange as it sounds it turned out to be for the best because they didn’t make me work until the bruises had healed.”

In the dim light it was obvious Marcus was livid at her confession. She continued, “That was why I only spent two days actually working. Three if you count the night you and Mr. Smith rescued me.”

Marcus ran his palm down his face and took a deep breath. “I need to find out who that man is. Will you be all right by yourself for a few minutes?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Do not fear, my sweet, I won’t beat him. Yet. But if you’re determined to bring these people to justice, the best place to start is right here and right now.” He reached out and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. She jerked back, but it amazed her that his touch did not make her skin crawl. “I will be back as quickly as possible.”

With those words, he kissed her forehead and left the area, the curtain swinging closed, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She rubbed the spot on her forehead with her fingertips. Marcus was a sweet man, but still a man. She shivered.

Lizbeth kept herself busy looking through the program and studying the people in the boxes across the way. It was obvious all the boxes were filled with nobility and the nouveau riche. In the few visits she’d made to the theater, she’d never been seated in such an elegant, prominent place.

She turned as the curtain opened and Marcus entered.