Ask for It (Georgian 1)

“Westfield. Wait a moment.”

“Yes?” He paused midstep, and turned about.

“I owe you an apology.”

Every muscle in Marcus’s body stiffened.

“I should have heard your version of events before passing judgment.” Setting the book aside, William rose to his feet. “Explanations are perhaps worthless at this point, and in the end they are just excuses for why I failed you as a friend.”

Marcus’s anger and resentment ran deep, but it was a tiny spark of hope that prompted him to say, “I would like to hear them, in any case.”

William tugged at his cravat. “I had no notion of how to feel when Elizabeth first mentioned her interest in you. You were my friend, and I knew you were inherently a good man, but you were also a scoundrel. Knowing my sister’s fears, I thought you two would be a bad fit.” He shrugged, a sign not of nonchalance, but of sheepishness. “You’ve no idea what it is like to have a sister. How you worry for them, and want to protect them. And Elizabeth is more fragile than most.”

“I know.” Marcus watched his old friend begin to pace nervously, and knew from experience that when William moved so restlessly, he was in deadly earnest.

“She was mad for you, you know.”

“Was she?”

Snorting, William said, “Bloody hell, yes. She went on and on about you. And your eyes, and your blasted smiles, and a hundred other things I did not care to hear about. That is why, when I woke to her tearstained missive about your indiscretion, I took it to be true. A woman in love will believe anything her lover tells her. I assumed you were beyond redemption for her to run off as she did.” He stilled, and faced him. “I am sorry I assumed. I am sorry I did not go after her, and talk some sense into her. I am sorry that later, when I knew I had done you an injustice, I did not come to you and make amends. I allowed my pride to dictate my actions, and I lost you, the only brother I have ever known. I am most sorry about that.”

Marcus sighed inwardly, and walked to the window. He stared out at nothing, wishing he could give some glib rejoinder to defuse the tension. Instead, he gave the moment the attention it deserved.

“You are not entirely to blame, Barclay. Neither is Elizabeth. If I had told her about the agency, none of this would have happened. Instead, knowing how she longed for stability, I hid it from her. I wanted to have everything. I did not realize until too late that what I wanted and what I needed were two different things.”

“I know it is my commitment to Elizabeth that brought you here today, Westfield, but I want you to know that I am equally committed to you. If you ever require a second, I will not fail you again.”

Marcus turned, nodded, and welcomed the chance presented to him. “Very well, then,” he drawled, “we can call it even, if you forgive me for stealing Lady Patricia from you, although I think we both agree that your offense was greater.”

“You stole Janice Fleming, too,” William complained. Then he smiled. “Although I thrashed you for that one.”

“Your memory is faulty, old chap. It was you who ended up in the trough.”

“Good God, I forgot about that.”

Marcus twirled his quizzing glass by its ribbon. “You once took a dunking in the Serpentine, too.”

“You fell in first! I was attempting to assist you when you pulled me in.”

“You would not have wanted me to drown alone. What are friends for, if not to suffer together?”

William laughed. Then they shared a grin, and an unspoken agreement to truce. “Truly. What are friends for?”

Chapter 20

It was late afternoon on the second day of travel when they arrived at the ancestral home of the Ashford family. The compelling castle-like appearance of the massive mansion gave mute testimony to the perseverance of Marcus’s lineage. Turrets rose at varying heights across the great expanse of the stone exterior that sprawled for some distance to the left and right of the front door.

The three carriages and luggage cart slowed to a stop. Instantly the front door of the mansion flew open and a multitude of servants in Westfield livery descended the steps.

Alighting from the carriage, Elizabeth stared in awe. Marcus set his hand at her waist and stood beside her. His voice was low and intimate in her ear. “Welcome home.”

He kissed the sensitive part of her neck where her shoulder met her throat. “Wait until you see the inside,” he said with obvious pride.

As they entered the foyer, Elizabeth sucked in her breath with wonder. The ceiling vaulted away from them to dizzying heights, where a large crystalline chandelier hung from an impossibly long chain. Tapers gently lit alcoves located along the walls on either side, and the stone floor was covered in several immense Aubusson rugs.

Elizabeth set the pace for the group, walking slowly as she struggled to take in her surroundings. The sound of their muffled footsteps echoed hollowly through the vast space. In front of them, at the other end of the foyer, was a wall of French doors. When opened, they led out onto the large expanse of lawn just beyond.

But the focal point of the room was the immense split staircase curving gracefully along either wall to join at a massive landing above. From there the ascent branched off to hallways on the left and right, which led to the east and west wings.

Paul looked at her with a proud smile. “It is impressive, isn’t it?”

Elizabeth nodded with eyes wide. “To call it impressive wouldn’t do it justice.”

They made their way up the dual staircase on the left side while servants hauled up trunks on the right. Marcus drew to a halt in front of an open doorway and held out his hand to urge Elizabeth inside. Paul and Robert excused themselves, promising to see them at the evening meal.

The room she entered was massive and beautifully decorated in soft shades of light taupe and creamy blue. Striped silk curtains framed wide windows that overlooked the front circular drive. Two doorways flanked the sides of the room. Through the open door to the left she could see a sitting room and a decidedly masculine bedroom beyond that, and on the right, a nursery.

Marcus stood directly behind her. “Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect,” she acknowledged.

With a caressing smile and a mischievous wink, he left through the sitting room and headed to his room beyond.

Alone, Elizabeth took in the contents of the room with greater care, this time noting the little details. The small bookcase built into the bottom of the window seat held copies of her favorite books. The vanity drawers held her customary toiletries.

As he had for the nights they’d spent in the guesthouse, Marcus had thought of almost everything.

Removing her hat and gloves, she went in search of her husband. Stepping through the open double doors that led to his room, she found Marcus at the desk, sans coat and waistcoat. She approached him with a smile.

“Marcus,” she started gently. “Must you charm me every day?”

Rounding the desk, he wrapped her tightly in his arms, his mouth pressing a hard kiss to her forehead. “Of course.”

She hugged him back almost desperately, so grateful she couldn’t help telling him so.

“I’m relieved the house pleases you,” he said gruffly, his mouth nuzzling her skin. “I will give you a full tour before supper and in the morning the staff will line up for your inspection.”

“It is not so much the house that pleases me, as your thoughtfulness and care for my comfort.” Elizabeth kissed the sharp line of his jaw.

He squeezed her brutally close, and then set her away. Returning to his desk, he bent his head to the papers he pulled from a drawer.

Sighing at the loss of his embrace, she sank into a chair in front of the fireplace. “What are you doing?”

His gaze remained on the desktop. “Gathering my ledgers and notifying my steward that I’m in residence. I usually handle expenditures after the Season, but since we are here, I may as well begin now.”

“You are not decoding the

journal?”

He glanced up and hesitated a moment before answering. “Keeping you and the journal in one location is foolhardy.”

She stilled, surprised. “Where is it? With Eldridge?”

“No.” He took a deep breath. “I placed it in Barclay’s care.”

“What?” she asked, shooting to her feet. “Why?”

“Because he is the only person besides St. John to have worked with Hawthorne closely on matters regarding the agency. And, at this moment, he’s one of the few people I can trust.”

“What about Mr. James?”

“I would have preferred Avery, but Eldridge has him occupied at the moment.”

Elizabeth’s stomach dropped. “St. John.”

Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. We must know everything he knows.”

“What of Margaret? And the baby? The time draws near, William cannot be embroiled in this now.” Her hand lifted to shelter her racing heart. “What if they should be attacked, as I was? How could you do this, when I begged you not to?”

“Barclay has been prepared for attacks against himself and his wife since Hawthorne’s death.” He rounded the desk.

“And that is why my room was ransacked?” she snapped.

“Elizabeth—”

“Damn you. I trusted you.”