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

Her eyes grew wide, probably not completely aware of what she said. “Maybe. Maybe not. It depends.”

He leaned his forearm against the door jamb, smiling down at her. “Depends on what?”

“On whether you intend to treat me like a child. Or a partner.”

“Partner it is.” He raised his hand as she smiled brightly. “However, you will not go off on your own, putting yourself into danger.”

“Um, I was planning on going to see Mrs. O’Leary sometime soon.”

Marcus backed up. “What? You cannot go anywhere near her. What are you thinking?”

Lizbeth crossed her arms over her chest. “I am thinking I want my belongings back. Particularly my paintings.”

“Paintings?”

“Yes. I am an artist. An accomplished artist, I might add. I had been planning an art show in the town close to where I lived in Somerset when my family died. I couldn’t stay in that house because of the memories, so I moved to Bath with all my paintings.”

Marcus tapped his lips with his fingertip. “I agree. You should get your things back. But you cannot go alone. Mrs. O’Leary might not even know that you are no longer at the brothel and I don’t know how she will react.”

“I’m going,” she said. “Tomorrow, in fact.”

He blew out a deep breath and looked upward, hoping a greater power would give him strength to deal with this woman. “I will go with you.”

Lizbeth nodded. “Good. Thank you. Good night.” With those abrupt words she entered her room and closed the door, leaving him standing there, staring at it.

He knocked on her door. “Don’t you dare go without me.” When there was no response, he turned on his heel and strode down the corridor to his room.

Obstinate woman.

7

Shortly after luncheon, Lizbeth entered the drawing room in the Berkshire House to await Marcus. They were going to Mrs. O’Leary’s house, and Lizbeth was honest enough with herself to admit she was nervous. The thought of facing that woman terrified and angered her at the same time.

“Ah, I see you’re ready to go.” Marcus strolled into the room, looking as calm as a cat sleeping in the sun.

“Yes. I am ready.” She moved past him and headed for the door, anxious to get the visit over with.

Marcus followed behind her and took her wrist. “Slow down. We want to appear as though this is nothing more than a rightful request for your belongings.”

She nodded but continued at her fast pace to the carriage waiting at the edge of the pavement. The driver held the door open and Lizbeth gave him the direction of where they were headed. They climbed in and sat facing each other.

“I would love all my things back, since there are pieces of jewelry—not worth much in money—but that have sentimental value for me. But my main concern is my paintings. There are quite a few because I was preparing for that art show, plus all my art supplies that I spent way too much money on were left behind.”

Marcus merely nodded and continued to study her.

“Is there something wrong? Do I have dirt on my face?” Lord, that came out churlish. It was just that she was strung tight and wanted this confrontation over.

“No. I was just thinking how lovely you look this morning.” He smiled at her and despite her angst and her snapping at him, she relaxed a bit and smiled back. “Thank you. Truth be known, I don’t feel lovely. I feel nervous and angry.”

They remained silent for the rest of the trip to the boarding house. Once they arrived, Marcus stepped out and helped her out of the carriage. Lizbeth straightened her dress, tugged on the cuffs of her—borrowed—jacket and headed up the steps, Marcus right alongside her. She dropped the knocker and after a few minutes the door opened.

“Yes?”

She raised her chin. “Mr. Andrews, it’s me, Miss Davenport.”

The man’s face paled and his eyes grew wide. “I’m afraid I do not know you, young lady.” He moved to close the door but was stopped when Marcus’s foot blocked his movement.

“It is of no concern to us whether you recognize Miss Davenport or not. We are here to speak with Mrs. O’Leary.” Marcus’s tone caused the hairs on the back of Lizbeth’s neck to rise. He could certainly sound dangerous when he wanted to.